me: I'm a homebody.

gunner: what does that mean?

me: it means I would rather be at home most of the time rather than any place else.

gunner: I'm a homebody too. I'm definitely not a schoolbody.

*******

**In commemoration of today, I decided to re-post this blog post from two years ago.

*******************

Sometimes, certain things happen in life that change a person. Changes who they are, how they react, how they view life and whether or not they want to off themselves.

Oh, and when it happens twice? In one lifetime?

Complete and utter devastation. Doom. Disaster. End of times. 

Might-as-well-call-yourself-a-liberal-and-advocate-for-free-obamaphones.

What am I talking about? Let me get you up to speed here...

I had a precious, precious baby boy on March 14th, 2010. He was born within five hours of arrival at the hospital and only required 2.5 vaginal pushes. When he first came out, I noticed the abundance of goo and sticky-ness all over him and promptly asked the nurses to clean that thing off before handing it to me but more so, I saw what an incredible head of hair goobaby had. I mean...amazing.

day one of being alive

That head of hair kept on keepin' on, as it grew into the most amazing ringlet curls you ever did see on a little boy. And the naysayers who told me to cut it? Sheeew....I'll cut you if that's alright.

It was beautiful.

I prided myself on his long, thick curly hair. I loved it. And no amount of anyone telling me to cut it would detract me. I mean, the ringlets! Seriously?!

But then we went to the Caribbean and left the kids with my parents. And my mom decided to take Colt for a haircut. "Just to trim his bangs" she said.

Mmhmm. Right. 

That visit "just to trim his bangs" ended up with this hack masterpiece...

I came home from the Bahamas and wanted to cry. And I did. Hard, bad, ugly tears.

I was so pissed that I just said "eff it," and shaved his entire head.

We were heading off to Hawaii the next week (where my dreams of having a long haired surfer baby frolicking in the ocean were demolished into teeny tiny pieces) and my mom tried to make a funny by saying "well maybe they will think he's a Make-A-Wish baby and give you special attention."

Really funny mom, real funny.

That was almost one year ago. And finally, finally, my little angel baby's hair was growing back. 

this photo was taken just a few days ago

Fast forward to yesterday. I asked Rob if he could be home between 11 and 2 so I could go visit my sister and her new baby. I had a very relaxing time at my sisters house holding my sweet little Poppy, relishing in my time alone and feeling confident in the fact that my kids were in good hands.

I kissed Poppy and the twins goodbye, got in my car, jacked up some old skool Britney and arrived back at home in record time. I walked in the door and as per the usual, both kids came bombarding towards me with hugs and kisses.

Except.

Oh Except.

What I saw next I don't think I will ever be able to erase from my memory. See, my love for my kids is tethered to their appearance. They look good, I look good. They look bad? Well, wasn't me...

Cute kids are just easier to love...

But for all seriousness. I have an image to upkeep. I am the tree. My kids are the branches. They are a reflection on me. And when I came home from visiting my precious newborn niece and saw this???

WHAT! THE! F&%K?!?!?

I mean...I just...I....I....I HAVE NO WORDS!!!

Turns out, while I was rocking the presh Poppy to sleep a mere ten miles away, my husband decided to take the kitchen scissors and give my youngest a trim.

In his exact words:

"he wanted his hair out of his eyes so I got it out of his eyes."

Yes, yes you did Rob. You did indeed get his hair out of his eyes. Thank you for that, btw, as in the past few hours he has been compared to a few pretty impressive people.

Such as Lloyd Christmas from Dumb & Dumber...

right down to the em-effing missing tooth!!

and Ishmael from Kingpin...

really?? did he have to cut his bangs so far back?!

The text comments I received were the icing on the cake, however.

From my mom - Omg! Which bowl did he use?

From my cousin - Is Rob drunk?

From my sister - Well at least now you have good blogging material.

From my other sister - Buahahahahahahahahaha!!!

I am just SO heartbroken.

I mean, could you love a face haircut like this?

Well??!?

ps. your guys' comments on instagram last night? Had me rolling. So thankful for you all to make light of such a situation. You provided me with many good laughs.

Let's just get it out there. Chuck E. Cheese is a disaster. Unless you have an affinity for drug deals underneath the animatronic show, contracting herpes or really, really bad pizza, most people avoid the place like Planned Parenthood on a Saturday.

Rob and I didn't plan to take our kids to Chuck E. Cheese, no, instead we took them to the much more socially acceptable local trampoline park, which turned out to be closed because it was a Sunday - a weekend day - aka a day all kids are out of school - aka one very bad business decision because hello! it's the weekend and when else are kids supposed to break an ankle jumping into the foam pit…however that is neither here nor there and the moral of the story is the tramp park was closed, our kids were pretty upset and after ten minutes of begging to go to Chuck E. Cheese instead we gave in like most incompetent parents these days who would rather just say yes than expend energy actually, like, parenting.

So there we were. It was shoulder-to-shoulder traffic, much like Vegas on New Years Eve except Rob wasn't drunk. (I was, in case you missed that. Turns out, plastic Starbucks containers with "water" is perfectly acceptable for a high-class joint like Chucks.) Somehow, Rob and I got split up, with him in one corner of the place with one kid while I was on the other side with my 5 year old.

There is this game similar to jump rope. You stand on a platform and when the digital lights circle around, you "jump" over them. The line was five deep. My precious little angel baby was waiting patiently, super excited to try his turn and win a few tickets that at best would get him a piece of gum. (You know how they do there -- get your kids all uber excited about winning all these prize tickets and then when they get to the counter to claim their reward, their only options are paperclips or superglue, unless you pony up twenty extra bucks and then they get to pick out an amazing toy that would cost you $6.99 at Target.)

Back to the story. Gunner's turn was coming up. We had been waiting a while and there was only one person in front of him. A girl, about nine years old. She stepped up to the platform and took her turn. When her time ran out, she reached into her pocket and plunked in another token. Alright, no big. So she got a little overly juiced up and wanted to continue on her winning streak. After her second turn was over, I was astounded when she reached into her pocket yet again and plunked yet another token into the machine.

You know when you say something to your dog that really entices them such as "want a treat?!" and they kind of cock their head to the side like so? Yeah, that. That is what I did as I watched this little hussy in front of me overstay her welcome. And then Gunner looking up at me with his angel eyes wondering why he wasn't getting a rightfully deserved turn to jump rope his way to a plastic superhero toy marked up 2000% really lit a fire inside of me.

Of course, given that I'm a decent human and forgiving the fact that this female was only in the single digit age bracket, I politely waited for her to finish her third turn and caught her attention right before she was about to reach into her pocket again for a token.

"Hi there, would it be okay for my son to have a turn now? He's been waiting in line for a while."

Homegirl looked right at me, gave me her best you disgust me look and turned back around to play another turn.

That dog-head-cocked-to-the-side thing? Imagine if that dog was possessed, about to have an exorcism performed on him. Also see : Oh haaaaaaiiiillllllll no girlfriend!

So I took a step forward and stood between the jump rope machine and the hustler. Still nicely, still politely, still giving this young lady the benefit of the doubt. I mean, maybe her mother watched The View while pregnant, you never know. And once again, I declared, "you don't understand. My son has been waiting patiently in line and it's his turn. You had three turns and now it's his turn."

What came next I am still trying to grapple with. I mean, I didn't walk into Chuck E. Cheese's thinking we were at some upscale Build-A-Bear workshop. I knew what I was facing. For God's sake, I snuck in vodka in a Starbuck's container! Still. Still. I wasn't expecting to hear the following:

"Go ahead ugly. You look like the Kardashian with the big nose."

Right about now would usually be the time I would pull out my numchucks and karate a bitch, but I was just so…...I mean.…..did she just…...???

Oh. my. gawd. 

She said I look like Khloe Kardashian.

Forget my kid and his jump rope aspirations.

This is the BEST. DAY. EVER.

Like, ever.

(Please God let her have been referring to Khloe and not Bruce.)

 So here's one for ya. You know how sometimes my husband works out of town? When he's gone, I always make my sister Boobie come stay with me. She sleeps downstairs in my bed and I sleep upstairs in the guest bed (only because my kids are upstairs also and they can be noisy sometimes, so since Boobie is doing me a favor of staying with me so I don't get killed alone by a serial murderer, I figure the least I can do is give her my room and let her sleep in peace). 

Well last night my husband decided to drive home at 2 in the morning and surprise me. He went around to the back of the house and tried to open our bedroom door. It was locked. (Which it usually never is.)

And that? Happened to be very, very, VERY unfortunate. 


See, he was going to sneak into our bedroom, strip naked 
and crawl into bed with MY SISTER!!! 


Oh Lord God up in Heaven, had that actually come to fruition it would have made my life complete and I could have died happy right then and there.

Guys, it would have been perfect. My sister is a heavy sleeper, the room is pitch dark, and I know how my husband likes to slither in and spoon up. I have no idea why the stars didn't align last night and allow this to happen, but in retrospect? It's probably better this way. I mean, I'm pretty sure that my sister would have screamed bloody murder and died from a heart attack, but not before punching my husband in the face, then I would be upstairs hearing the screams going on downstairs, and I would automatically assume that my worst nightmare is coming true and the serial murderer has arrived and I too would have died of a heart attack. 

However I still think it would have been worth it. 

I have often wondered, what is it with husbands? What is their main malfunction, anyway? I mean, trying to get mine to stop at Starbucks to get me a coffee is harder than physics, and that's even when I'm in the car with him. If I call from home and ask him to bring me one? Forget about it. (I wonder if he forgets occasionally who his sex partner is...) 

Anyway, one of the hardest things to get my husband to do is take my damn picture. You'd think I asked him to fold the laundry or something but no, just please take my picture so I can, you know, put it on my blog. 

Sometimes he complies. Most of the time he doesn't. But when he does?

Well, let me just show you what results...

"hey hubs...will you take a picture of me and my friend?"

"hey hubs, can you get a picture of me overlooking the caribbean ocean at night?"

"hey hubs, could you maybe not take a picture of me in my bath towel?"

"hey hubs, will you take a cute picture of me with my margarita?"

"lemme see. that was horrible! Can you please try again?"

"hey hubs, can you please take some pictures of me out on the dance floor? You know, those candid pics I love so much."



no.



no.



no.

"hey hubs, can you take a picture of my friend and I since we are in Vegas and I want cute pics from the trip?"

"can you please try to get my face in the next one?"

"For crying out loud! Get my face in the picture this time!"

"hey hubs, since this is our last night and I'm dressed all sorts of fancy, can you take my picture?"

he was trying to get a shot from underneath my dress

"For the love! What do I have to do to get you to take a good picture? Can you at least aim the camera in my general direction?"

That's it. No sex for you. 

Oh. And when he actually tries and gets a semi-decent shot?

IT'S ALWAYS BLURRY!!

And then there's the self portraits. Of him and I.

Even then, I can't get a straight face.




But the best part?

The best part is the pictures he takes himself. Totally unprovoked, unprompted.

When he takes it upon himself to photograph me without my asking.

Like the time I went in for surgery...



or the time I fell asleep in the car...



or yeah, that time...

What an ass.

Him, not mine.

I don't know what it is with me, but for as long as I can remember, I've gotten pleasure out of other's torment.

It is what it is I guess and unfortunately I can't apologize. And as much as I hate to admit it, I love pulling pranks on my own flesh and blood, my two precious innocent children included. 

As some of you may have already seen on my instagram account, a few days ago I pulled the exploding pen prank on my oldest. His reaction gave me quite the lols...

I'm an equal opportunity parent, so when the chance arose for me to pull the same prank on my littlest (only three years young), you best believe I dove right in. (Even though he had been present when I pranked his older brother with the same exploding pen, I figured since he was so young, he wouldn't really remember and put two and two together.)

However, his reaction to the explosion in his face wasn't the clincher. No no, what he said afterwards was what really caught my attention...

Um.

Come again?

He has never said that word ever before.

And I knew I shouldn't have let my kids watch Spongebob!!

*you can also see that other time I terrorized my kid in a jimmy kimmel halloween prank here.

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So, one of my all time blog favorites Becky held a link-up a few days ago and I knew right away I had to participate. Basically, the assignment was to ask a loved one to write a little post of 10-20 "facts about you."

Naturally I asked the person who knows me the best, the good ol' husband.

So I sat the computer down on his lap, gave him his assignment and let him be. I had no idea he thought so...well...that way about me.

Below are his "facts about me" in his own words, completely unedited. And of course I had to throw in my two cents, written in pink.

***************

1. Raven suffers from Princess Syndrome. According to Dr. Phil. Ok, first of all, princess syndrome? How incredibly rude and condescending. On the other hand, it's totally true. It is. I am a princess. Dr. Phil knows what's up.

2. Raven puts herself first, then the boys, then her mom, dad, sisters, aunts, uncles, bloggers, friends, etc. etc. etc., random people at the pub, etc. etc. etc. and then good ol' Rob. Random people at the pub? Really? I think you're being a little extreme. Only if random people implies those who can get me a free drink, which in that case, is a bonus to me and you. And by you, I mean your wallet.

3. Raven hates laundry, cooking, cleaning, dishwashing and all other SAHM responsibilities. Ok. Who doesn't hate laundry and doing the dishes?

4. Raven loves playing on her iPhone, computer and iPad all at the same time while watching something on TV that she knows I can't stand. In my defense, I try and spice things up while watching tv, throw in a little variety, which is why I give Rob the option of watching The Real Housewives of: Orange County, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, New Jersey, Miami or New York. How many more choices does he need?! Picky bastard...

5. Raven absolutely loves taking pictures (of herself) more then any person I've ever met, especially the boys, and of course herself in the mirror. I have nothing here.

6. She loves to play pictionary, it would be nice if someday she were on the winning team. We pray. HA! Ha. ha. Rob once drew the word "chin." His partner couldn't guess it. How bad do you have to be to not get your pictionary partner to guess chin?!

7. She also loves to gossip, but I've been told that it's just a girl thing so quit worrying about it, ROB. I take offense to the capitalization of "ROB" assuming I say your name in a way that makes me sound like a ditzy teenage valley girl. ROB.

8. Raven doesn't mind being unorganized, guess that works...for her. Guess so.

9. Raven has an appetite, guess that works...for me. Ok, when I first read this statement, I suddenly and violently attacked Rob with "what are you saying?! That I like to eat food? That I am such a glutton who salivates over cheesy fries and chocolate cake? Are you calling me fat? Are you? ARE YOU?!?!?" And then Rob looked at me and calmly said, "no Raven, I was talking about an appetite for sex."

oh.

10. Raven has very strong opinions, guess that works...for her. Not so much for US sometimes. Like the old saying goes...I would agree with you, but then we would both be wrong.

11. Raven is a good mother to our two boys, she would do damn near anything for them. Except some of the things listed above. Yes, because my boys never have any clean clothes, food to eat, non-moldy beds to sleep in and basically they look like they live in a swamp.

12. And last but not least, she loves her duckfarts. Don't EVER interfere with her and her straight shots. TRUTH.

Most of you probably already knew most of these things, but if not, there you go.

***************

And...there you go.

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So. 

When I wrote a little blurb in this post about my mom almost leaving me in San Diego, stranded and alone, with no way home, all because of one big misunderstanding with a rented jet-ski, an overwhelming amount of you wondered about my moms account, and begged me to have her guest post. Ok, so maybe only one person asked (thanks Kelsey!) however, I did, and she came through!

Quick backstory: a few years ago (like 15) my mom and I went on a vacation to San Diego, just her and I, over the 4th of July. One warm sunny day we decided to rent jet-skis and take them out on the ocean. Mine was busted. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 

However my mom has another "version" of exactly what transpired that almost caused her to leave me deserted thousands of miles away from home. 

Below, in my momma's own words... (with a few tidbits from me peppered in, written in blue)

Let's just start where Raven left off. I was justified in leaving Raven alone stranded in San Diego for this reason alone:

The man that rented us the jet skis told us in no uncertain terms that if we took the jet skis "over by that island" that we would get stuck in sea moss and DIE. Plus we would still be responsible for paying for the jet ski. I love how she says we would still be responsible to pay for the jet skis if we were dead.

Needless to say, little Miss "don't quote the Raven" headed right over in that direction. Lies! She will tell you that she "accidentally" drifted over that way by mistake, but no, her jet ski pipe got clogged with that clumpy sea moss and it almost burned out the engine. Black smoke was spewing out of that jet ski like you wouldn't believe! Now she was really adrift, couldn't get it started again, and I am deciding how to pay for this $5,000 machine!

After all, this vacation was being done on a shoestring budget, or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when we checked out of the hotel and I got our room bill...and realized that Raven was already a day drinker! Did I tell you this trip occurred when she was 16? 16 and a half. AND A HALF!

Anyway, back to the jet skis. Foxy little miss met foxy little mister stranded out by...you guessed it...THAT island. Mister got off his jet ski, swam over to her amidst all that gunk (yes readers, Raven really is "that " hot oh my gosh I'm embarrassed -- even at 16 -- and BB*), stuck his arm down that pipe, pulled out all the moss, pushed her while swimming in it, until her jet ski was clear of it all, it started up again, and she headed back to shore. 

We turned the jet skis back in and waited to see if we would get our deposit back, and what kind of damage Raven had done. Seriously? I got a lemon!

Can you say C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E OVERHAUL? Can you say "Raven, find your own way home?" I don't know, can you say child abuse?

A few other things you may not know:

Raven is my first born. And her favorite. She always promised her two innocent younger sisters a trip to Disneyland if they would do what she said. They believed her and they did it! For years! I think she owes them that trip -- all expenses paid. Ha! No.

I wear glasses and Raven would always tap on them while I had them on until I threatened her that if she did it one more time, I would take her out! So, she started coming toward me with her fingers curled, fractions on inches away from my glasses and says "what if I do, mom, what if I do?" Well, she did, and I took her out! Her dad came home just in time to save her, with a "what the *$&% are you two doing now?!" This one is true. Now that I have two boys that drive me insane sometimes, I feel really, really bad. I'm sowwy momma.

But...every cloud has a silver lining.

Raven is the only person who will go to a scary movie with me.

Raven drinks duckfarts with me.

Raven goes wine tasting with me.

Raven never comes to my house empty handed...she always has her rum and diet coke. Good one mom.

Raven is an awesome daughter. I am proud of her (yes, a round peg that will never fit in a square hole), she is an amazing mommy and her boys simply adore her! She will always be their best friend (oh my...just thinking of Raven's two daughter-in-laws! Please God don't let them marry a Democrat), she does discipline them, but they are hard and fast buds! They are her life and she has fun with them. They are so lucky! *blushing*

Actually with Raven, her cloud has a gold lining...in the shape of a heart. 

She really can be a blast to travel with...we laugh a lot! And I would go back to San Diego again any day with her. Me too mom, as long as you are paying!

I love her. AND YOU CAN QUOTE THAT!

* before boobs

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So the backstory real quick: 

Bre and I have been blog friends since last March. It started as a comment here and there, then facebook messaging, then texting, one FaceTime sesh and next thing I know, she is booking her ticket from Sacramento to come stay the weekend with me. 

Quite like myself, Bre is pretty f*ucking hilarious. (snort) And I knew I wanted to do something when I picked her up at the airport, something that conveyed exactly how I felt about our friendship. Hence, the chicken costume idea was born. 

She flew into Portland, Oregon, which is about a four hour drive from my house. I knew I wouldn't be able to take a few swigs of liquid courage since I had to turn around and drive back home, which trust me, did not sit well with me. Because despite what some may think, I can get very self-conscious, least not while walking around a public place in a freaking chicken costume. 

So yeah, I was pretty embarrassed. And it didn't even matter that my entire face was covered and no one would even know it was me (not to mention we were in Portland and no one would recognize me anyway) but still.  

Anyway, I pushed through the mortification of it all because I knew it would be amazing. Epic. And I couldn't wait to see the look on her face once she realized it was me under that beak. So I parked my car at the airport, grabbed my costume and made my way to baggage claim. 

And below are a few memorable things I heard whilst dressed as a chicken.

********************************************

From the security guard, while standing at the entrance to the airport, holding my enormous chicken head in my hands (I didn't actually put it on until right before she got off the plane):

"Well, you don't look suspicious or anything."

From many people (after I had put the costume on): 

"can I get a picture with you?"

From two little kids, VERY loudly, causing everyone in the entire baggage claim area to turn and stare: 

"oh my gosh! Mommy! It's a chicken! A chicken mommy! What is the world is a chicken doing here!?"

From two guys, about 20 years old, after they walked past, asked how I was doing, and I responded "pretty good!" (remember they couldn't see my face): 

"oh shit! It's a chick in there! That's not a dude!"

because clearly most people expected some class clown male underneath.

From another security guard: 

"this is the best thing I've seen since another guy picked up his friends in nothing but a thong bathing suit!"

Oh, and I made one little girl cry. 

And then for the finale. When Bre first came down the escalator. I saw her out of the corner of my chicken eye, I had my camera on record, ready to capture her reaction which I had been anticipating all day. I assumed she would walk right past me (thinking to herself "who is this idiot dressed as a chicken?"), look around for my face, then be confused as to where I was. I thought she would have inner dialogue with herself like "ok, so where is she? Is she late? I don't see her anywhere. There is no way she can be that person dressed as a chicken. I mean, can she? No. No way. She would never do that. But then again, would she?"

And then after looking for me in vain, she might approach me, circle around me a few times, start chuckling a little, and finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I remove my chicken head and she busts up laughing, unable to control herself and I would have an amazing video to show you guys which would most definitely start trending on youtube. 

Except. That totally didn't happen.

It went more like this:

Bre first comes down the escalator, spots me right away (obviously), whips out her camera phone, takes a picture of me, sends it to me, walks right up to me, and says in a very matter of fact way, "so how long are you going to make me stand here before you tell me it's you."

Really?!?

That's it?! Talk about not the reaction I was expecting! I wanted something grandeur, amazing, epic, at the very least, BLOG WORTHY!

And so, I digress.

Btw. I asked her how she knew it was me right away, and she deadpanned

"Because who ELSE would be crazy enough to dress up in a chicken suit at the airport."

Oh.

Yeah.