blurry photo, but let's face it, so was most of the weekend

me: um, what is all this food doing in our room?

rob: you don't remember? You ordered room service last night.

me: I ordered all of this?! (there were like 4 entrees)

rob: yes Raven, you did. $100 worth of room service and you only ate the fries.

me: oh. oops.

me: Rob, I'm pretty sure this isn't our hotel room.

rob: well then how did we get in here?

me: I have no idea, but this isn't our room. This isn't our stuff.

rob: oh shit someone is sleeping in the bed, hurry go out!

randy: hey Raven, I really love your Target boots.

me: bitch, they are Fergilicious and if you say that to me again, I'm gonna punch you in the face.

me: (when I wake up in the morning) omg Rob what happened to your face?!

rob: what do you mean?

me: go look in the mirror.

rob: holy sh*t I think I'm going to need stitches!

randy: yeah, you should be thankful I didn't have a needle and thread with me or I would have stitched that up myself. I usually carry a set in my pocket.

me: did I wear Spanx last night?

rob: no idea. you wore some fat reducing thing.

me: oh yeah I wore them then.

me: (going through my pictures on my phone) wait, I ate a hot dog last night? omg! we were at a concert last night? Is that Elton John?!

randy: hey Raven, I like your Target boots.

me: eff off. don't you own any shirts with sleeves?

rob: this isn't Las Raven, its Las Vegas. don't kid yourself.

me: ah, how nice! you made me a drink?

rob: that's the drink you carried up from the bar.

me: oh yeah.

randy: hey raven, you have no idea how lucky you are to be here right now and not in jail.

me: what do you mean?

randy: you don't remember?? you tried to take a gun out of a cops holster.

me: what?! shut up. no I didn't.

randy: yes you did. if I wouldn't have reached over and grabbed your hand when I did, you would be sitting in a Las Vegas jail with Buster right now.

me: (so confused) when were we by a cop?

randy: seriously? our cab driver got pulled over last night.

me: what?!

me: (later on that day) omg! I have video on my phone of that cop last night! Apparently I recorded the whole thing!

rob: you recorded the cop? I'm pretty sure that's illegal.

randy: so we have tickets to Nascar tonight...

me: huh? who did you get those from?

randy: Steve.

me: Steve?!

randy: seriously? you don't remember Steve from last night?

me: no.

randy: you only hugged him fifty million times.

rob: hey Raven, do you remember trying to eat with chopsticks last night?

me: take a wild guess.

me: um, what are these marks on me?

randy: I think you got tasered by a cop last night.

brandy: the Toby Keith bar was so fun last night.

me: did I go to the Toby Keith bar?

brandy: no. you passed out at 6 pm.

me: I want to order room service

rob: no.

randy: you know when you order room service at 3 am that you are getting a Van Wilder.

randy: that girl over there said she liked your boots. I told her you got them at Target.

me: I hate you.

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

Tomorrow I will be recapping the rest of our Vegas vacation along with more pictures, the story of Coco the bouncer and the amazing British-Canadian guy we met in the pool.

gunner: I hate these pink pants.
me: they aren't pink, they are light maroon.
gunner: huh? what is maroon?
me: maroon is an offset of pink. a distant cousin of sorts.
gunner: I hate these pink pants!

me: before I met daddy I lived in a house by myself.

gunner: you lived by yourself? you didn't have any friends?

me: I had friends but I lived alone.

gunner: oh. that's really sad.

as I was styling gunner's hair before school:

gunner: I don't want a mohawk.

me: too bad. you have to make yourself look presentable before you go places.

gunner: but you never make yourself look pretty before we go places?

colt: werkjdsf lfdv lzdfkgjubfdgh dkjebzx
me: what?
colt: oisdfb wiu fkjhsdbwe vkjzsd
me: what??
gunner: he said he wants some juice and a waffle.
me: oh. ok. thanks.

gunner: can we fly my kite today?

me: no, it's too windy.

the next day...

gunner: can we fly my kite today?

me: no, it's not windy enough.

gunner: mom now I think you are just being lazy.

colt: I'm mad at you!
me: that's ok.
colt: I don't like you!
me: that's ok too.
colt: I don't want you to be my mom!
me: haaaaaa!!! sucka you go boy! you go find someone else who wants to be your mom and tend to your snot nose and wipe your butt. good luck!

me: so gunner, what did you learn in school today?
gunner: I'm not telling you.
me: ok. so what was your snack today?
gunner: I'm not telling you.
me: ok. so we have to stop by Target and I don't want to hear a word out of you.
gunner: we learned about the republic of Mississippi and how many stars there are in the sky and I chose chocolate pudding as my snack now do I get to pick out at a toy?



Just a day in the life.

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.

**I first put Arthurs story on my blog over a year and a half ago, but I went back and watched it again last night and wanted to repost that post, just incase anyone missed it. Definitely a must-see.**

I had a few paragraphs written up for the intro to this video, but nothing I could write could put my feelings and emotions into words. I cried (hard), I smiled (hard), I cried again and I walked away affected.

If you want to know what it feels like to be so content and happy in the very gut of your soul

watch this.

Inspired yet?


ps. I'll be back tomorrow with a blog post that has been on my heart lately and which subject definitely convicted me. 

We all have that place we grew up. 

That one place we know very well. 

That place we call "home."

This is mine.

I was born here in 1980.

By 1981, the stars were practically aligned. 

This is the town where I fell in "love" with a boy at 11 years old. The same town where he went on to marry one of my best friends thirteen years later. We are no longer friends as she turned out to be a total whorebag.

This is the town where I got my very first car, a cherry red Ford Probe, and drove it over 135 mph on some crazy windy country road. This is also the same town I managed to stay alive in.

This is the town I skinny dipped in. I would put a finger on all the spots I did so but that would take up an entire episode and a half of Dr. Phil and in this town, I don't miss happy hour.

This is the town where my parents forced me out of public school and into private. The same town (and the same private school) where I learned the ins and outs of "mastering the art of male attention." I may not have gotten a 4.0 in chemistry but I sure as hell earned that grade in "how to get ahead when you have boobs." Which I am still using to my advantage as we speak.

This is the town where my friend and I waited until my parents went to sleep, and then we snuck out of the house, put the car in neutral and pushed it half way down the street before we turned on the engine. This is also the town where my friend and I were geniuses.

This is the town that I left when I was 19 years old, to quit college and go snowboarding full-time. This is also the town I moved back to after I quit my full-time snowboarding job and two weeks later decided to move to Las Vegas.

Obviously, this is the town I ended up back in when Las Vegas panned out. This is the same town I made a very bad decision on my 21st birthday, and also the town I got my waitressing job in where I met my husband. This is also the same town in which I denied my husband my presence because he wore tight tapered high-waisted jeans and I would have nothing to do with that. (Obviously that situation has been remedied as I know do all the clothes shopping for us.)

This is the town I bought my very first condo in. The town I lived in on my own and the same town I got married in. This is the town I live in now and this is the town my kids will grow up in. (As long as I threaten them correctly.) 

This it the town I write my blog in and this is the town I live in.

This is my town.

As I was rummaging through facebook last night (you can find me here) I came upon a status update from "Gun Owners of The United States." (A different post for a different day.) Below is what it said:

I drive a truck. I work with my hands. I drink beer and whiskey. I take my coffee black. My 5 o'clock shadow is 4 days old. I got a rough exterior but a heart of gold. I live by a set of traditional American values. I'd take a weekend in the mountains over a weekend in the city any day. I shoot guns and love my country. My dog is my best friend and everything else is a distant second to my family. I am a dying breed. I am the American man. 

THAT, is my husband to a T. That is the kind of man I actively aspired to marry. That is the kind of man I want my boys to grow up and be like. That is the kind of man I respect and that is the kind of man I love.

And it's funny. Because a lot of the time, I think women today don't appreciate a real man. The "women's movement," whose goal is to empower and help women, have told their own kind that men aren't really needed. That men are irrelevant, replaceable, and God forbid "don't ever let a man tell you what to do" or they are brutes, barbarians, and are trying to diminish your existence as a female human.

I don't know about you, but let me tell you about my personal experience...

When I first met my husband, he pursued me. I rejected him at first - a few times - for various reasons (and it wasn't because he had an awesome ass), but he never gave up. After asking me out in person, a few slips of his business card and one brightly colored rose left on my car windshield, I finally agreed to go out with him. On that first date? He paid for everything. Had he not paid for everything? I would have never agreed to see him again. Was that because I was a money hungry gold digging honey?

Quite the opposite. I knew my worth and I also understood how men worked. If he wanted the honor of taking me out on a date, he was going to pay for it, pun absolutely intended. People value more what they have to work for. I can't even tell you what I would do if a guy asked me out on a date and insisted on going dutch. I would probably pay my share and walk out without saying a word, and then warn all my girlfriends what a douche he was and to stay far away. The extreme feminists, who are supposed to have your best interests at heart, will have you believe that a man who insists you pay your own way is "beneficial" to your well being, to your place in this world as a woman.

What the f*ck does that even mean? I am here to tell you that it absolutely does not belittle or cheapen your womanly virtues to have a man work for your attention. To have a man put forth extra effort to spend time with you. That it absolutely does not debase you as a woman to have a man provide for you and protect you. Yes I know you can open a door by yourself but isn't it nice when a sweet studly man does it for you? Yet so many women out there will tell you the opposite.

After my husband wooed me and we got married (he paid for the ring, the parts of the wedding my parent's didn't and oh yeah, no prenup), and when we decided to have children, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I said I would be staying home full-time to raise our children. In fact, he said it was what he expected. And right then and there I fell in love with him all over again, because I knew he realized and valued the importance of a stay-at-home mother. He has never, ever, made me feel less than for not working outside the home. And to have my husband's support in something that I feel so strongly makes me a fulfilled woman means the world to me.

But then again, since I do stay home full time, my husband also expects a tidy home and dinner every  night. But let me clarify: what he does not expect is a "spit-shined model home" nor dinner piping hot the minute he walks in the door. Almost always, whenever he walks in the house after a days work, the house is in chaos. Kids running ramped, toys strewn everywhere and there is usually piles of clean laundry on the living room couch. But every night after the kids go to bed, I take about twenty minutes and pick up the house, make it orderly and comfy. No he doesn't have dinner waiting for him the second he gets home but he does eventually get fed, and he doesn't complain when we are eating in front of the TV watching the 10 o'clock news.

He doesn't complain because he's a real man and he knows that staying home with kids is hard work. And I don't complain when he comes home and kicks his feet up to watch a little football because holy hell, he got up at 5 am and worked his body to the bone. And he gets up every day and works hard for me. For our kids. He makes so many sacrifices daily so I can have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. So we can have nice things, take vacations. And he does it every single day because he prides himself on taking care of his family.

And guess what. Sometimes my husband does tell me what to do. And sometimes I tell him what to do. And I do it, because he never tells me to do anything harmful or to do anything that devalues me as a person. It's called marriage and it's about give and take and respect and I think I'll go ahead and trust that my husband has my best interests at heart and not those "other people."

No, I'm not "lucky." I didn't blindly stick my hand into the pot and pull out a provider and protector. I chose wisely. Like I've said before: I told my husband on our second date, "I plan on one day being a stay-at-home mom so if that is something you don't believe in, thank you for dinner but let's go our separate ways because I will never budge when it comes to my stance on this subject."

Now here we are, ten years and two kids later. Yes, we have had our tough times. I've made no secret of the fact that we have our counselor on speed dial as she is crucial to our success as a married couple. We fight, bad sometimes. But at the end of the day, we have a mutual respect for each other. I love being mother hen, I love being a homemaker and I love making our home a "home" for my husband. And I love that my husband supports my decisions and respects the sacrifices I make for our family.

And if that isn't female empowerment, then I don't know what is.

FOLLOW ME ON: GOOGLE+ // TWITTER // FACEBOOK // INSTAGRAM // PINTEREST // BLOGLOVIN’

...and it's located in what should have been my home state.

California, come to momma.

I have always had a love affair with California.

I have family that lives in Northern CA and I've visited quite a few times.

San Diego? Don't even get me started. I puffy heart the golden state real bad.

And a little lake named Shasta put the cherry on top.

Teal blue water, temps that rivaled my jetted bath and lots and lots of family members.

Including the newest member of our family, Breezy. 

I first met her in person last February, when I picked her up at the Portland airport dressed as a chicken. We spent the weekend together and by the time she went home back to Sacramento, we were full-fledged bff's. Now? After spending a week with my crazy family at some RV campsite? After throwing back copious amounts of duck farts? After sleeping with me on a deflated blowup mattress in a busted tent and after experiencing what life is really like when Rob and I are together? (Hint: it ain't pretty).

Now, well now you are officially inducted into our bat shit crazy tribe.

And it's kind of like the Bermuda Triangle. 

Once you're in, you are never let out.

That is, unless you tell everyone the truth about me.

And how I really am.

And what I really look like before photoshop.

Then I'd just have to kill you.

FOLLOW ME ON: GOOGLE+ // TWITTER // FACEBOOK // INSTAGRAM // PINTEREST // BLOGLOVIN’

We went back to school shopping yesterday and the conversation at the check-out went like this:

salesperson: I love that purse you have there.
Gunner: I'm a boy and I love rainbows and hearts.
salesperson: whatever makes you happy!

Salesperson is one smart chick. And of course when Gunner picked out a purse, Colt had to have one also, so for the better part of an hour, there we were, walking around the mall with my two boys swinging their little purses. I'm about 20% positive a few people gave them double takes and maybe even a stink eye here or there, but I can't tell you for sure because I'm also about 100% positive that I didn't give a shit. I wasn't looking at other people to see what their reaction was to seeing two of the most adorable boys on the planet carrying what were clearly "girl" purses.

I mean, it's such a non-issue to me that writing that top paragraph there seems like a waste of blog space. But that's just it, it's a non-issuse to me. And for now, it's a non-issue to my boys. It's how I'm trying to raise them and so far, so good. My boys have no concept of race or social status or so-called differences in others.

And the reason is because of this.

While we were sitting at the food court yesterday, there was an employee cleaning up around us, wiping down tables, etc., who happened to have down syndrome. Being the outgoing and talkative person that he is, Gunner struck up a conversation with her and at the end, asked if she could come home with him and play. It didn't matter that she couldn't exactly respond and converse with him like he is used to, all that mattered to Gunner was that she was a person and Gunner really really likes persons (his word, not mine ;) ). Not once has either of my kids ever asked me why someone looked different than them. Not once has either of them pointed out someone who was "fat, ugly, too tall, too short" or anything other than "hey mom, look at that kid over there, can I go play with him?"

Because in the words of one really smart man,
"A person's a person..." and well, the rest doesn't really matter now does it?

However I know soon, when they get out into the "real world" aka kindergarten and such, they will come home asking questions, repeating things that they have never heard spoken in our household. They will ask me why someone said something derogatory about one of their friends. They will want to know why the littlest kid in their class is always getting picked on. And I'm sure that one day, Gunner will no longer want to take his pink purse to school because he will get his feelings hurt one too many times by bullies making fun of him.

And that breaks my heart, because my boys have the sweetest soul.
They are kind, they are accepting and they just love all persons.

But that's not the real world.
I can protect them and teach them in this little bubble for a while, but inevitably they will have to experience hurt and meanness and prejudice on their own. I can only hope and pray that I have shaped them and taught them to be strong enough to handle it, to stand up to the bullies and even more important, to stand up for those being bullied.

Oh.

And in the words of another wise persons...

"Now swing that pink purse in the air, 
and wave it like you just don't care!"*

FOLLOW ME ON: GOOGLE+ // TWITTER // FACEBOOK // INSTAGRAM // PINTEREST // BLOGLOVIN’

Listen. I love reality tv. I watch them all. Survivor, The Amazing Race, Big Brother (thank GOD surfer dude is adios), MTV's The Challenge (hello CT), The Kardashions, and every single city of The Real Housewives. I love it. And I think one of the biggest reasons I love reality tv so is because when I watch it, I feel so much better about myself. You know what I mean? 

Which got me thinking. As much as I would love the notoriety and the fame of being on a reality tv series (oh I so would), below are a few reasons I am thankful I haven't become famous after releasing my homemade sex tape. Yet.

• If I had my own reality tv show, everyone would discover my deep, dark secret...I cry during Dr. Phil. But since I don't, let's pretend you never heard that.

• If I had my own reality tv show, ya'll would be subjected to my naked cooking. And naked cleaning. And naked 4-wheeling. What? We make our own rules out here in the country.

• If I had my own reality tv show, you might all hate me when you realize I sleep in 'til 9 am. Sorry not sorry but I'm not the ninny who didn't tinfoil my children's windows. 

• If I had my own reality tv show, Honey Boo Boo would be S.O.L. Because there is only room for one biscuit in this business.

• If I had my own reality tv show, I'm pretty sure my parents would never speak to me again. There are some things that seriously need to be kept hidden.

• If I had my own reality tv show, I probably wouldn't sing Britney's "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman" out loud anymore. Actually, I would. I totally would. Talk about ratings gold.

• If I had my own reality tv show, I'd probably never eat. Because nothing and I mean nothing is more disgusting then seeing - and hearing! - people eat. On the plus side I'd be a real hungry skinny bitch...

• If I had my own reality tv show, I'm pretty sure it would get cancelled after one week due to acts of violence, nudity, profanity and x-rated material. 

FOLLOW ME ON: GOOGLE+ // TWITTER // FACEBOOK // INSTAGRAM // PINTEREST // BLOGLOVIN’