A Now An Important Message About The Value Of Sleep

rock star

I’m just going to admit it from the get go here, I’m a little punch drunk today so not really sure where this is going but let’s all consider it a little adventure we can share, mmmkay?

Why am I punch drunk you ask?   Because of this little known fact:

It is entirely possible for your children to get into an argument at 2:30 am.

Yes, 2:30 AM.   On a school night.   And they aren’t even teenagers yet.    I’m just going to give you a moment to get your arms around that humdinger of a factoid.

Now that you have absorbed that, you may be asking, “But wait Stiletto, why weren’t they asleep???  What kind of mother are you anyway?”    I’m a stupid mother, dear reader, that’s what kind.    You see as a treat for finishing their yearly benchmark tests at school, I allowed them to sleep in their TV room upstairs.   Great fun was to be had, watching TV a little later than usually allowed, sneaking snacks up for each other.   Oh it was all so grand and wonderful!


Miss G has a little issue with talking in her sleep.   Apparently last night she was talking about her little friend Savannah which apparently she did so loudly she managed to wake her brother up.   Of course, he wanted to know what she was talking about so he woke her up and asked her.

Bad move little dude.

You see, Miss G does not like to be woken up, not even a little bit and especially not by her annoying tween brother.   So she did what any reasonable princess would do and started yelling at him.    I woke up promptly at 2:30 AM thinking someone was getting murdered and ran up the stairs to find The Man trying to extricate a very angry little girl from the situation.    Mr. C had wisely retreated into his own room and was never seen or heard from again for the remainder of the night.   Knowing this was not going to iron itself out without some pretty major sacrifice, I told The Man to go back downstairs and I’d sleep with her to calm her down.

Yeah, about that.   She didn’t calm down and the fact that I didn’t want to agree with her that her brother was indeed the most horrible boy in all of the world only made it worse.

How bad, you ask?   Well, at 3:00 AM she decided she could not tolerate one more moment in this family.   She marched straight into her closet, got out her suitcase and began packing.    I can tell you that I honestly considered letting her go through with it for a few moments if only so I could get some sleep.

After another half hour of intense negotiations, she returned to bed where hand holding and head rubbing were required to get her to go to sleep.     Finally at 4:30 AM she was back asleep….and I was wide awake.

After a relatively uneventful morning getting them both off to school, I decided to try something to wake myself up.

This?  Was possibly a far worse decision than my earlier idea to let them sleep in the TV room together.   I think these energy drinks might be a good idea for someone who is slightly worn out but for someone who is full on delusional from lack of sleep they are the worst idea in the history of ever.

After downing this tasty beverage, I noticed one thing:  I was now intensely aware of how very tired I was and could now do nothing about it.   My eyes were bugging out of my still swimming head, I was still yawning but very rapidly.   My mind was very adamant that taking a brisk walk would be a fabulous idea, but when I stepped outside, my body basically gave me the finger and refused to move…so I crawled back in and stared at the wall for a while.

Anyway, there really isn’t a point to this post other than the fact my brain needed something to do and the most energy I can muster up is typing.

I wonder how many calories that burns off?



A Post About Bunnies That Has Nothing To Do With Easter


It’s that time of year again.   Spring is in the air, flowers are blooming and the rabbits are mating like….well, rabbits.

Each year at least one family of rabbits choose our back yard as their home for their new crop of babies and every year it ends poorly for them.   This year was no exception.    Meet my dog, formerly known as Mr. Potter:

A few afternoons ago, I was sitting on my back porch talking to a friend.    It was a beautiful day and I was getting caught up on all the latest news while The Perp was running around like a mad man.    This should have been my first clue that something was up since he rarely moves his 38 lbs of mass that quickly unless bacon, eggs or sausage are in play.  The second clue was when I heard the sound of him playing with a squeaky toy because, well, we don’t have any squeaky toys for him as  he would never waste the energy to play with them unless they were bacon, egg or sausage flavored.  Or possibly cheese.

But I digress.

So there I was, listening to my friend and getting a little annoyed at the squeaking when I casually looked over my shoulder and started gagging.    “OMG!!  That’s not a squeaky toy, it’s a baby bunny!!!!” Needless to say, this was an unexpected turn in the conversation but this friend has known me long enough to know I am prone to some strange outbursts so he sort of just carried on.

“AAAAARRRRGGG!!!! There’s so much blood!!!” This got his attention and I promptly explained through gags that the squeaky toy I heard in the background was not actually a squeaky toy but a real life, teeny tiny baby bunny.

I should tell you here the the Mama Bunny was running back and forth frantically, trying to decide whether to save her own life or that of her baby.    After whipping his head back and forth with the bunny in his mouth  like Willow Smith trying to convince all of us she is an artist,  The Perp had retreated into the shrubs to finish off the job.    The level of commotion was high.   My friend told me to calm down, it was just the circle of life playing itself out and so on.

And I did calm down, for about a full thirty seconds,  right up until the moment The Perp decided to bring make his way very rapidly towards me with said circle of life, now dead, hanging from his mouth.   “Noooo!!!!  Ack!!!!! He has the dead bunny in his mouth and he is CHASING ME!!!”

I hung up and ran into the house with The Perp close at my heels.   I just barely made it through the glass door and closed it before he was able to bring his new chew toy in with him.     The now bloody and gut spewing chew toy which he promptly discarded right in front of the window on the door just to make sure I admired the lovely gift he had so thoughtfully selected for me.

I closed all the blinds and told the kids to go upstairs and play video games all they wanted.   (BTW?  I am now the best! mother! ever! for that one.)    The Man got home shortly after and found me as white as a sheet, shaking and possibly drinking wine directly from the bottle with a straw.    Okay most of that isn’t true….I wasn’t sheet white or shaking but the wine thing was a necessity people.

The bunny was removed with a shovel  and Mr. Potter was promptly remanded into custody in the side yard where there are no bunnies.  He is currently awaiting sentencing and quite frankly needs a lawyer as skilled as Lindsay Lohan’s to make me forget this little pre-Easter treat.

So how was your Easter weekend?   Here’s hoping it was lovely and only involved bunnies of the chocolate variety!



Thank You Neighbors, But I Don’t Need A Plan B

Plan B

The other day I was minding my own business sitting outside on a beautiful cool Texas night when The Man interrupted my navel gazing tendencies deep thoughts with an announcement:

“Hey!  I meant to tell you!  You’ll never guess what I found in the trash outside today!”

Well, that got my attention, because while he has been known to come home with “As Seen On TV!!!” things that I consider to be absolute trash, I’ve never known him to dig through the actual can (bin, whatever…) to find something worthy of conversation.

“Okay, I’ll bite.  What did you find?”  I asked.

“A Plan B!” he replied.

It was at this moment I became deeply and utterly confused.  A Plan B?  Like a solution to achieve early retirement?  Something that would make our children stop trying to shiv each other on a nightly basis?   Something to solve the growing concern I have over rising gas prices and the world economy in general?   Because these are the only things I need a Plan B to address.  Also, I highly doubt the answer to any of the above referenced issues will be found in my trash.

No, it was the real deal.  Plan B.   Witness:

Yes, he is holding it with tongs.  Yes, it is the morning after pill.  And finally, yes, it was in MY trash.

Let’s all stop here for a moment to discuss, shall we?

There are a few (million) things wrong with this.  First of all….it did not belong to me. Secondly, someone decided my trash was the best place to discard this who may or may not have known me.  Thirdly, I live in a gated community so this is not a random act.   Or maybe it is, but it is limited to a set amount of households, in this case a little over 500.

My first thought was “Ewwww…..gross!!!  In our trash!!!! Grossy gross gross!!!” even though it is just a pill and contains no bodily fluids the meaning of it is not lost on me.

My second thought was this, “How fucking dare you.”

Let me explain.  Can you imagine for one minute if my husband thought that was me who threw it away?  That shit right there is marriage ending material.   I’m lucky though for a few reasons.   1.)  I am physically incapable of having any more babies.  I paid my doctor a pretty penny to take care that for me and trust me, the world is thankful for that.   2.)   To put it mildly, I am not a fan of cheaters.  You want to wreck your marriage?  That’s your business, just don’t leave your problems in my back yard.   3.)   My kids are not old enough to have these particular problems.  If you are a teen in trouble?   There are venues to help you on both sides.  Seek them out, talk to your parents, get advice  from someone who can help you.  My trash can is not that venue.

My husband knows all of  these things.  The first obviously, because he drove me to my surgical procedure.   The second because as we all know, I have some pretty strong philosophical thoughts on matters and I’m not afraid to speak them…ad naseum.  And the third?  Well, we will cross that proverbial bridge should, God help us, it ever comes to that and they feel safe enough to talk to us about it.

I don’t even want to imagine how that conversation would have played out if the above two (three)  things were not firmly in place.   What might he have thought?   Harbored in the back of his mind?

It blows my mind that someone would be that irresponsible to not think of the possible consequences of their actions.

So, to my neighbors:  Whether it was a wife or a teenage daughter who so thoughtlessly left this in my trash?  I respect your options to make a choice but disagree with your actions in light of your current situation.   It’s not my problem but you brought it to my house.

Do not leave your baggage in my trash.  I have cameras on the back of my house.  And while I can’t go back that far on tape, I’ll be watching a little more closely going forward.

Stay out of my personal perimeter.  You’ve been warned.


And Now A Brief Word From The Soapbox I Find Myself Upon

Laid Off Dad

I want to tell y’all about my amazing trip to Seattle, I really, really do but in order for that to happen people are going to have to stop pissing me off this week.  Blame them, not me, because we all know it’s never really my fault, right?

I have a long fuse most of the time.  Except of course with my husband who knows the “real me”, the one that I will never allow any of you to meet because she is evil and prone to nasty temper tantrums that may actually cause ear drum damage.   Just every once in a while, an event or a series of events gets under my skin and I start to think some really unkind thoughts.   This?   Has been one of those weeks.  What’s it all about you ask?

Don’t mess with Texas, that’s what.

Let me clear up a few things that managed to draw my ire this week, but of course not from you dear reader, because you are sweet and kind and all sorts of wonderful.

  • We do not all drive trucks.
  • Very few of us have gun racks.
  • Even less of us own cows or horses at our homes.
  • Sadly, very very few of us have oil wells in our back yards.
  • We rarely say Yee-Haw or Howdy, and openly mock people who do.

And I have to mention here that if Laid Off Dad happens to read this, I’m not talking about him, though he seems to be the one who brought this to my attention when I started quibbling with him over dinner in Seattle.    File this under embarassing:   He finds my smart ass tweets about people from New York talking about Texans, shows me his phone, adds me as a friend and I am all, “OH MY GOD!  You are Laid Off Dad!!!  I love you!!!!

Um, yeah.

Turns out he’s every bit as awesome as he is on his blog….we just got started on the wrong cowboy boot foot.  It’s all good now people, it’s all good.

No, it’s been a few remarks this week from an entirely new group of offenders who have managed to create this little rant.

Offense number one:   If you are coming to Texas, please don’t ask me if we serve “oil martinis” here.  We don’t.  But I would be happy to share a little bit of manure with you from the imaginary horses and cows grazing in my back yard and tell you it’s a ChocoTini.   Warning:  Taste might not be what you expected.

Offense number two:   If you are on a diatribe about how stupid everyone up North thinks all of us in the South are, please refrain from singing “Away Down South In Dixie” in front of a large group of….um Northerners.   Couple of things, Texas isn’t Dixie but the little bit of folklore about all of us being bat shit crazy is actually true and it’s entirely  possible I will get my imaginary gun out of it’s imaginary gun rack in my imaginary pick up truck and hit you over the head with it…but I’d never shoot you because I’m too nice for that.   However, I might kill you with a run on sentence because that?  Is how I roll.

Wow, I feel better now.

So tell me, how’s your week so far y’all???

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