Silly Sundays - Help I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

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Happy Sunday evening everyone -

I don't now if the following tidbit could be considered "silly" or just fuktarded. You be the judge. Also, if you want to play along...stop over to The Blue Zoo and link up. Even if you don't want to play along, stop over anyway, you won't regret it!

We got DUMPED on here on the east coast on Friday. Thursday evening I went to bed we had NO snow. Friday I couldn't leave the house because the guy that blows out my driveway couldn't get down my road until late afternoon. I drive a car with 18" tires and there was no way in hell I was getting through that mess.

Saturday I fell. I never fall. I wear three inch heels through most of the winter and skip across icy sidewalks the way Julie Andrews skipped through the fields in the Sound of Music (minus the gaggle of kids following me). I do not fall. Saturday Nora and I were heading out to the mall, I had sneakers on (don't judge) for hell's sake. My foot hit the top step of the deck and I felt it slipping. It went something like this.

Oh (thhh thunk)
Shit (thhhh thunk)
Owww (thhh thunk)
Damn (thhh thunk)
It (thh thunk)

And then I landed in the snowbank. Unable to breath, convinced my back had snapped in a million pieces and I would just freeze to death in the snowbank.  My tailbone hit every damn step on the way down. Nora is standing on the deck almost in hysterics because she thought I was dead. I couldn't speak because all ability to breathe had been knocked the fuck out of me. I have a flat ass. Seriously, you could set a level on my ass and it would be totally straight. I have no padding there. You know those bones you have in each ass cheek. Yeah, they really hurt when  you bring 170 pounds down on top of them. Nora is kneeling behind me, "Mom are you ok, MOM???" trying to drag me up by my armpits. All I can do is nod. When I finally managed to pick myself up out of the snowbank Nora said to me, "Mom I'm so glad you're not 50". I asked her, "What does being 50 have to do with it hun?" She replies, "Well, if you were 50 a fall like that would totally kill you." I have 14 years left people, 14 years before a fall like that will take me out!!

Then I went to the gym today. I know, I'm beyond retarded. I never ever denied it. But please, feel free to tell me JUST how retarded I am.  I really thought I was ok. Really. Now...well I can't sit down (I'm standing at the kitchen counter right now). Standing kinda hurts too, now that I think about it. Laying down .....yeah that's not really an option either. It's probably just a really bad bruise, right?

I'm Amazed I'm Still Alive...Really.

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Disclaimer: Dear readers, as you peruse through this post, please keep in mind that the Dual Mom you all know through this blog is not the same girl as depicted in this story. As a matter of fact, the woman I am today could not be more different from the teenage me. Thank the powers that be....

My poor mother. She had such great expectations when she found herself knocked up with her third child. I was supposed to be a boy.  I thank my lucky stars ultrasounds didn't exist back then (you know..back when dinosaurs roamed the earth) otherwise I'm sure she would have just flushed the embryo that would be me down the toilet. I was the third daughter. According to my mother I came out screaming the house down and was, in her words -  "this pink bundle covered in white down just like a little pig". Pig huh...some things never change obviously.

Anyfatpig....she used to tell me that when the nurse put me in her arms... my arms were flailing and I had my face scrunched up like I had just sucked on something sour (huh a look I still have to this day). Apparently when I opened my eyes my mother almost dropped me, for I had blue eyes. Both my siblings had been born with brown...almost black eyes, like my mother. My eyes were blue,clear, ice blue, just like my father's. My mother would often tell me when I was a teenager, and doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, "I knew you would be a problem child the minute I saw those blue eyes". Yeah well, love you too Mum!

Problem child, me? Well I guess that would depend upon what your definition of problem is. If problem means getting picked up by the police when you're thirteen years old for being drunk and disorderly in a public place, well than yeah...I guess I could have been labelled as such. I swear my friends made me consume the half quart of Kelly's Wine I drank that night. They than proceeded to leave me passing out, in front of the youth centre we had been hanging out at. The person who owned the lawn which I was napping on called the cops. The cops apparently frown on young teenage girls sleeping on lawns. Who knew?

I think they probably also frown on teenage girls puking in the back of the squad car on the way to the police station...but I can't be 100% sure on that one. On the puke oh yeah...I did. Several times. I'm just not sure if they frowned on it. Because really, it's all just a blur. I remember the puking. I remember the cops discussing who was going to stay with me in the car while the other cop went in to call my mother. I don't remember giving them my number. Now that I think about it, I have no idea how they knew who to call. I was 13, it's not like I had a driver's license on me, or had ever been arrested before. Huh, I'll have to ask my sister. The cops were really nice, I remember that.

Mother's also frown on being called at 10:00 at night to come and pick up their teenage daughters at the police station. This I know for 100% certainty. My mother did not drive. So not only did she have to schlepp her ass down to the police station to pick up her 13 year old daughter, she had to phone one of her girlfriends to pick her up, so she could pick me up. My poor mother. Mother's also frown on being told, by said teenage girl, that she's going to hang out at a friend's house, when said problem child is actually getting drunk with her no good friends. I do remember my mother's fury. Holy fuck she was mad. I have never in all my life seen my mother that angry. She couldn't even look at me (or perhaps it was the puke all over my clothes that caused her disdain) when she came to pick me up. She took me home and almost threw me in my bedroom. Warned me that if I puked in the bed I was cleaning it up my damn self and that come the next morning, I would be a very very sorry girl indeed. My poor mother.

I wish I could go back in time. I would give myself an ass whooping that I would not soon forget. I was horrible. That part of your brain that says, "Perhaps this isn't such a great idea" did not exist when I was a teenager. I had no fear, no sense of decorum, no inhabition. I was game for anything. Stay out all night when you're 15 years old with your 21 year old boyfriend, who by the way, thought you were 18...check. Lie to your mother on a daily ...christ hourly...basis. Check. Fist fight with your younger brother until one of you bleeds. Check. Throw your older sister into the dresser because she wore your favorite top and ruined it. Check. Throw a party when your mother is working the night shift, get high on acid and decide to take the cat for a your midnight. Banner idea. Check. Fall down a flight of basement stairs (drunk), break your ankle, lie to the ER doc about how much alcohol you'd consumed, and THEN  phone your Mum the next morning to come to the hospital to sign papers so that you could have surgery on  your ankle...because it was broken in three places and required two plates and a shitload of screws to put it back together again. Mum thought my 17 year old juvenile deliquent ass was babysitting for the weekend. Check!

I swear, I did not grow up in a trailer park. My mother had all her teeth. We did not have multiple disassembled cars in our front yard. 

I get physically ill when I think that my daughter might be anything like I was. Physically ill. The big difference though between me and my mother. My mother kept giving me "chances". For some reason I was able to convince her EACH and EVERY time that it would be the last time I'd get in trouble. I think she was just so fucking tired of dealing with me that she didn't have the energy to fight with me. Also, keep in mind I grew up in the 80's. Parents were not the parents of today. I hitchiked to school, with my mother's blessing. Parents did not call their child 12 times an evening on their cell phones. We would head out the door, promising to be home by curfew, knowing full well half the time there was no chance in hell curfew would be made, and that's where our parents control would end. Oh she would ground me, she would kick my arse (literally), she would lock me in my room, she would take my allowance away. None of it had any type of lasting affect. With me as a mother, it would happen once, and only once and than I'd just break her legs so she couldn't walk. Kidding...kind of.

Do I regret doing this stuff? Honestly? I do and I don't. I regret putting my mother through that. I have no doubt the stress and worry of dealing with me took years off her life. She never gave up on me. She would have been totally within her right to throw my ass out of the house, but she didn't. She let me push, and push and push at the boundries, until the boundries were left in a cloud of dust. She loved me through it all.

But holy shit I had fun. The beach parties, the friends, the laughs. We were always laughing (and no it wasn't the acid...that only happened once). I have memories of camping trips with friends, sitting around the fire telling stories and laughing until we hurt. I fell in and out of love on a regular basis. It was during one of these parties that I met my best friend. Twenty two years later and we still have each other's back.  No one ever got hurt , ok yeah, the whole plate and pins in the ankle thing ...yeah ok you got me there. But it really did make me a stronger person. All of it.

Then on my 18th birthday I told my mother, over the phone (because I was so damned scared) that I was pregnant. That's a story for another day.

This Is Me...Were I A Cat

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I couldn't resist really...this pic just spoke to me.

In all actuality, it's more like this....

I got nothing for ya.

Hey, tell me what you want to hear. I have tons of stories, from the time I puked in the back of a cop car when I was 13 to the time I had to tell my mother I was pregnant...on my 18th birthday. What's something you'd really like to know about yours truly? Because I'm just that fascinating, I know.

Getting In On The Action

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Think Tank Momma

I know it's almost Wednesday. However, Zgirl over at the Think Tank has come up with a fabfun new thingamabopperthingy for all you snarcastic bloggers. Thank you notes Tuesday with a twist. I couldn't let her grand unveiling pass by without participating. So even though I'm a day late, here's your chance to get in on the fun.

Dear Co-worker,
Thank you so much for the lovely sarcasm dripping from the words of your email . I really do love starting my morning with a cup of coffee and a bullshit email. While I realize you could be just having a really shitty day,and I appreciate a sarcastic snip as much as the next girl, can I recommend you proofread your emails before replying to an innocent inquiry made on my part? I have no problem dealing with a craptastic attitude when I deserve it, however, I've been known to slap a bitch when she gives me attitude that I don't deserve. You do understand that your budget has to go through my office before it's approved, right? Consider yourself warned.

Dear Sons of mine,
You have the next four days off of school. I'm so happy for you. This means, of course, that I'll need to buy double the groceries because when you roll out of bed at noon you'll be hungry. Sleeping is hard work, I know, my poor darlings. Stock up so you'll have lots of energy for playing those video games. By the way, when I come home from work that list of chores I left for each of you better be done. You know damn well I will not hesitate to kick you squarely in the arsehole. Thanking you in advance.

Dear High School,
No exams for general courses? Ingenious fucking plan. Way to challenge the students and teach them the value of hard work. And giving them the entire week off, brilliant. Really. It's no wonder you guys were put in charge of teaching and shaping the next generation. I feel so confident that my children are receiving a quality education. Thank you.

Dear scales,
I'm sorry I ripped your guts out. Really I am. But  you had it coming. Your lack of cooperation is nothing short of mind boggling . You really should sit down for a chat with Mr. Treadmill, he'll set you straight on how hard I've been working. You'll be back on the losing track next week, right? Thanksomuch

Dear Weather,
-24 last week which was typical east coast weather. +7 today. Should I get my summer clothes back out? Could you make up your damn mind please? It's cold, it's warm, it's cold, oh wait now I'll blow some 100km winds just for shits and giggles and rain like a mofo. The yo yo is getting old, fast. And these temperature fluctuations, oh they do just grand things with the dirt road I live on. Just be winter already and get it the fuck over with please? Thank you.

Dear CTV,
Airing the entire Season 5 of Lost one week before the start of Season 6? Really? Fuck you're killing me here. Like the wait hasn't been bad enough now I have to contend with you dangling these recaps in front of me. Just put me in a coma until next Tuesday, please? Thank you!

Ahhhh that feels better. The world would be such a dark, terrible place without sarcasm, non?

Week Three Weigh In

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As many of you know, I’ve lost weight before, quite a bit of weight, going from a size 14 down to a size 5. I know how to do this. I know what works and what doesn’t work for my body.

So the following synopsis was cut and pasted from myfitnesspal food and exercise diary.

DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/24/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/23/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/21/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/18/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/17/2010 and was under her calorie goal

Ok, got that?

Here is the exercise I did last week.

Monday – 1hr cardio, 35 minutes weights
Tuesday – no exercise
Wednesday – 1 hr cardio
Thursday – 1 hr Yoga class, 1 hr cardio
Friday – no Exercise
Saturday – 1 hr 10 min cardio, 45 minutes stretching/weights
Sunday – 45 mins cardio

That’s a total of 4 hrs 45 minutes of cardio and 2 hrs 20 mins of yoga/weights. So tell me, how in the sweet flippin name of all that is holy, I gained a pound last week? I have not eaten a fucking cookie, a french fry, a burger; nothing that could be considered “cheating” has passed these lips. I can't even believe that I've become one of THOSE people. You know the ones I mean, the people that go on and on about how they can't lose weight no matter how hard they try and all the while you're thinking to yourself, "Yeah, removing the cheeseburger from your fat trap might be a start."

I did drink on Friday night but even with that the scale should not be reading what its reading. When the fitness pal says I’m under my calorie goal….it’s usually on average by about 500 calories. No, I’m not starving myself. I’m eating about 1200 – 1300 calories a day, but I’m burning close to 600 calories on the days I exercise. And yes I’m fucking drowning myself with 4563 million glasses of water a day.

I’m pissed. Pissed is an understatement.

As I sat trying to reassemble the pieces of my scale last evening, I thought of something. Could it be because I’m getting older? “They” (whoever the fuck they are) say that as you age, losing weight becomes increasingly difficult. Am I destined to remain fat because I’m getting older? You know what I say to that notion?

Suck my arse AGE! There’s no way in flying fucking hell that’s gonna happen I’ll tell you that right now.

Since I’m all about the scientific experiments, I need you to help me. I need to figure out if my increasing age is indeed playing a role in my fantastical failure increasing difficulty losing weight. Then I'll know that I just have to work my aging ass a little bit harder. So, I need you to tell me how old you are and how much weight you’ve lost so far. If you don’t want to post your age, email me at Please help a girl out. Otherwise I fear for my sanity, the lives of my children, and really just anyone who comes in contact with me today. The proper thing to do would be to post a warning around my neck:

"Fat, aging chick, sweating her arse off and not losing weight...proceed at your own risk"

I'll accumulate the data and post my findings. You know... the highly scientific, accurate results of my highly scientific experiment.

Where's A Confessional When You Need One?

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I have a confession to make and if I were religious I’d so be down on my knees saying Hail Mary’s for all I was worth and dousing myself with holy water. I’m absolutely convinced I’ve been taken over by demons and an exorcism is the only answer.

I arose from my boudoir at 11:00am on Saturday morning. This is unheard of for me. Over the past several years I find it impossible to sleep in past 8:00am on the weekends. This could have been a direct result of the alcohol consumption from Friday night. No, this is not my confession.

On Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed at 9:30am. Again, not my confession.

I made it to the gym for 1hr 40min on Saturday and 1 hour on Sunday.

My house looks as though a complete and utter slob has moved in with me. There is a pile of laundry sitting in the basket in my kitchen and no matter how much I give it the evil stink eye, it refuses to fold itself. The floors are being cantankerous and refuse to scrub themselves. The glass tops on my coffee/end tables look as though I have two sets of quadruplets living in the house. My house is a mess. One would think an entire weekend sans kids would be a prime opportunity to get reacquainted with my scrub brush.

Instead. Instead. Instead I spent the weekend watching Real World (hangs head in shameful remorse). I have talked before about the fact that I do not have cable/satellite tv. There’s a reason for this. Yours truly has an obsessive personality. I can’t eat one potato chip, I can’t buy one pair of shoes, I can’t watch one hour of tv. No, instead I spend an entire weekend watching what has to be some of the worst television ever made. There are 23 seasons of this show. How is that possible? How is it possible that prior to this weekend I had no idea MTV gathered up young people and put them in a house together and urged them to be dramatic, and cheat on their boyfriends/girlfriends and sleep with each other. AND THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT. Worse yet, I watched it. My eyes were bleeding and my brain was pleading with me to just perform a full lobotomy and put it out of its misery. And yet I sat there watching.  I showered multiple times but couldn’t remove the feeling of stank ass dirtiness. Sometimes I really hate modern technology and the internet. Bless me father for I have sinned………

Apparently there are spin offs to this show where they bring back favorites from the various Real World seasons and pit them against each other in physical challenges? Please tell me this shit isn’t available to watch online too?

After posting about my Friday evening several of you have commented that we need to drink together. This is highly imperative, I believe, for all our personal growth. I’ve had a bit of an epiphany (you know where this is going). MTV needs to do a new reality series, about bloggers. That’s right. They need to gather up a shitload of us and put us up in a swanky house for a month and let us have at it. Hell, they could even gather up a bunch of us from LIB and we could do a whole Real World/Biggest Loser thing. You see, this way, we could spend a month together hanging out, blogging together and drinking from shoes. How fanfuckintabulous would that be? Entertainment at its FINEST people. I have visions of me and Zgirl battling it out on the treadmill while an entire nation watches, completely riveted of course. Instead of a confessional we could do blogs. I have the entire first season cast in my head. So MTV, if you’re reading this, have your people contact my people.

I know I’m supposed to do a weigh in today. I did weigh myself and have decided to refrain from posting about it until tomorrow. I’m afraid we need to have a chat.

We're Not Cougars....We Just Look That Way

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I'm getting so damn old. 11:00pm on Friday night and I was D.O.N.E. I remember fondly the days of old when 11:00pm was when one would start applying their makeup for the evening rather than putting on their pajamas and looking forward to crawling into bed. So damn old.

I am sad to report there are no tales of shoe debauchery though we did manage to draw the attention of everyone in the bar (once again). Friday evening we were celebrating K’s 47th birthday. I am the youngest of the group and I like it that way. K is 47. B is 47 and G is 50. I love these women, like seriously love them. You could not find a different group of women if you tried. K is a millionaire. G is on her 3rd marriage and B lives in a bubble and still thinks the world is flat. Then there’s me. The baby of the group, the loudest of the group, and probably the least restricted of the group. By restricted I mean no husband, kids that aren’t with me every second week...I essentially live the life of a 30 something single woman for two weeks out of the month.

The evening started tamely enough. We met at our favorite watering hole and were delighted to find that our favourite waitress was working. By favourite I mean this girl (by girl I mean she’s 29, which we learned on Friday evening, which completely blew us away because we thought she was 20, bitch) comes to our table and sits down with us for 15 minutes to catch up on the happenings since the last time we were there. We LOVE her.

After about twenty minutes of chatting and drink ordering we hear a masculine voice say, “Of all the places to run into the fearsome four”. And it’s our director of programs. When I say director of programs, think Richard Gere. Yeah I know. If this man had any idea how we salivate over him and have wet dreams about him he would absolutely die. He has no idea just how sexy he is. So he would be B, G and K’s boss. Let’s call him Richard just for simplicity sake. I actually work for Richard’s boss so technically, in the hierarchy of work; I would be the only one that does not report to sexy Richard. Sexy Richard and K are good friends outside of work. They are both runners and run together on a regular basis. G and B have the whole “You’re our boss so therefore we have to act all professional and prim around you but behind your back wed love nothing more than to get busy with ya, if we were single, and you were single” thing going on. That is until they get a couple of glasses of wine under their belt. Then the fuck’s start flying and the stories start flowing and poor Richard was dying to stay with us for the evening but had a prior commitment with “the boys”.

A good part of the evening was spent discussing age. When I sit with these women I don’t feel 10 years younger than them. To me there is no difference in age amongst us. K then started spouting off that my boobs aren’t nearly as floppy as hers and I have no laugh lines or wrinkles in my forehead. So we decided to do an experiment of sorts. It was highly scientific let me tell you because we were all drunk by this point. So we started stopping random people walking by our table and asking them who they thought was the youngest person at the table. Yes, we are retarded, what was your first clue? The women we stopped were quick to answer. The guys we stopped hedged ALOT, there was no way in hell they were putting themselves in a situation of pissing off a table full of inebriated woman by answering incorrectly.

Out of the nine people we asked, 9 of them guessed I was the youngest. Yeaaaah for me! By the ninth person, I could tell the girls just wanted to stop this game and drop kick me out of the group. I get really ballsy creative when I’m drinking so on my next trip to the bar to buy a round, I spotted four guys sitting there chatting. They were in their late twenties or early thirties. So I approached them and this is what I said (I’m so fucking embarrassed and if I EVER run into these guys again I will die of shame).

Hi guys!! How are you this evening?

Guys – sort of lean their bodies away from me, raise their eyebrows and respond, “Good?”

Me: Listen, I’m wondering if you could do me a favour?

Guys – looking around for the closest exit

Me: I’m at a table over by the back window with three girlfriends...

Guys: Get a little more interested....

Me: We’ve been doing a bit of an experiment and I’m wondering if you can help me out.

Guys: Leaning in closer now...

Me: I’m wondering if  the four of you, one at a time, could casually stroll by our table and when one of us stops you and asks you which one of us you think is the youngest I want you to give the following answers.

I then proceed to designate one of the other girls to each of the guys. The girls all very different in looks so this was a bit of a no brainer.

And the guys are sitting there looking at me and they keep looking behind me and I can only wonder if they were looking for the man with the white coat to come and take me away, but they did it. As each guy approaches the table I would say to one of the girls, “Ok, let’s ask him” and one of the girls would stop him and ask him and on cue the guy would stand there, ponder a bit and give the proper response. To give credit where credit is due the guys played this to the hilt and the girls had no idea they were pawns in my little game.

The girls were shitting themselves with glee. So we sit laughing and talking and drinking some more and our waitress comes over to the table and puts down a bill in front of me. I looked at her quizzically and she says, “This is the bill for the round you bought the four guys up at the bar.”

Fuck me.

The table goes dead silent and K says to me, “T, you didn’ didn’t PAY those guys to do that?” Then B starts laughing, she’s doubled over laughing. And G starts explaining to the waitress what we’ve been doing and what I had done and the waitress starts laughing. I start chuckling because damn it WAS really funny. So here we are in the middle of a crowded bar ....the waitress is holding onto the table laughing and the four of us are just splitting our sides laughing and EVERY single person within hearing distance of our laughter is turned around in their seats watching us, no doubt dying to be at our table because damn we looked like we were having fun.

Nothing like making a spectacle of yourself. I don’t know what it is about us but it never fails. An evening out with the fearsome four is just not complete until we’ve drawn the attention of the ENTIRE bar toward our table.

PS. The four guys then proceeded to buy us rounds before we finally called it a night and stumbled out to the cars of the waiting hubbins (theirs...not mine).

Fragment Friday's

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Mommy's Idea

I can't seem to gather my thoughts together to write an intelligent (I use the word intelligent in the loosest manner possible) post so you're getting fragments of my mind. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Fragment One
I went to yoga for the VERY first time in my life last night. I don't think the instructor had any idea this was my first class...I was full of  swan-like grace, amazing feats of balance, and muttered curse words emanating from the back of the room.  I was like a fucking elephant in a china shop people. I went for a half hour run afterward and have never in all my life felt so good running. My hips and joints felt as though they were fluid. I was completely floored by the difference the hour of yoga made in my body. Will be making that a regular part of my routine.

Fragment Two
I just found out a coworker had emergency surgery last night. The doctors told him before surgery it was to repair a small tear in his large intestine. Today he has no large intestine and will carry his feces around in a bag on the outside of his body for the rest of his life. He's 43 and a sommelier at our Culinary school. Double whammy, right? I hate the fact that life can change so suddenly. Fuck

Fragment Three
This week at work I have been asked to work on three different projects that are outside of my normal job duties. All three are challenging but will see me putting in long hours. No, there will be no more pay. I thrive on the challenge and than bitch and complain about the stress. I seem to do this to myself every January. I'm an oxymoron...or just a moron perhaps.

Fragment Four
We're having a birthday celebration this evening for one of the girls in our group. Those who have read about my tequila escapades knows what this means.

Fragment Five
The kids have been with their dad this week. One would think this would be an opportune time to get the house cleaned on Monday evening thereby enabling one to enjoy a clean house for the entire week, right? Yeahhhhhh notsomuch. I think I emptied the dishwasher on Tuesday and that was it. Now I have to clean this weekend only to have the kids come home on Monday and destroy the cleanliness. It makes no sense, do not try to understand it. It pisses me off that I do this all.the.time.

Fragment Six
Speaking of the Ex, I have been looking into filing a divorce. We've been apart for almost 10 years but never divorced. I just learned that he can sue me for child support because I make a bit more money than he does (probably over 15 grand more a year....okay more than a bit...but goddammit). This makes me want to kill every fucking policy maker in Canada. I left yes. However, in what type of a warped fucking reality would it be "fair" to make me pay him child support when he lives in a house given to him by his parents (a house that WE lived in when we were married, that I walked away from without asking for a penny), he pays no mortgage, he pays no utilities beside his phones, he pays no upkeep on the house. And his girlfriend has lived with him for almost 9 years. I live on my own, I pay a mortgage, utilities, house upkeep blah blah blah.  And the kicker of it all, it wouldn't be him that would sue for support, he would actually never do that (I don't think). If she (I so want to call her the c very badly) had any idea of how much money I make......she would dance all the way to the court house to sue me for support on his behalf. And he would let her.

And you know something else, I believe in a 50/50 shared custody agreement, no man should have to pay child support either. Annnnnnd y'all are so going to kick my ass for saying that...

Fragment Seven
Thank fuck it's Friday.

And So It Begins

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Maybe it’s the pants I’m wearing. Maybe it's the knee high boots. Perhaps it was because I was almost at a full run in a rush to get coffee and get to a meeting on time and that made me look all sporty like. Perchance the moon is in the first quarter and the stars are aligned just right. Whatever the reason, it has happened, I got my first random, spontaneous “You’re losing weight” today………..

And damn it feels so good.

That's What She Said

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Thank you for your comments yesterday. Who would have thought that a virtual world could make someone feel so loved? It amazes and humbles me.

I got this in my email the other day:

My name is Jason and I’m part of the Promotions Team here at CSN Stores. We have been seeking out high quality websites and blogs, gauging interest in doing a giveaway with one of our sites.

A few things - if you're seeking out high quality websites and blogs, how the hell did you stumble upon mine? There's nothing high quality here Jason, we don't do quality here at Dual Mom's place. Granted I do manage to post most days, so I guess you could say high quantity, but quality, nahhh it's just rants and lots of cuss words and me trying to be funny. Sometimes I suceed, sometimes I fall on my face in a pile of shit. But hey, if you wanna give me free shit to give away to my fabulous readers, I'm game. Because my readers, now there's some high quality. And hey, if you want to give me free shit and have me publicly trash it because I am one hard bitch to please and I won't lie just because you're givin' me free shit  review it, ok, I'll play that game too.

And I've been getting a few anonymous comments this one:

Genial dispatch and this post helped me alot in my college assignement. Thank you for your information.

What the hell is genial dispatch? Are you retarded Anonymous?

And this one:

Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!

What the fuck? Is this a compliment or a criticism? Are you saying my first posts are shit? How dare you!?! Jason just told me that my stuff was high quality. So there! Show yourself dammit so I can respond to this comment. Keep it up you say? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on - how's that for original and creative?

Then there's the dude (or dudette) that sends me Chinese messages. I think they're slyly trying to recruit me for an uber top secret arm of the Red Army, they realize I have incredible powers of persuasion and have decided I will be their glorious leader. "But you don't speak Chinese Dual Mom nor are you actually of Chinese descent and your a woman." Pssssshhhhh that's just semantics...I'm sure I can work around ALL of those hurdles. And when I'm leader of the Chinese Army....I'm making all of you Generals, or Lieutenants, or some such fabulous title that will give you all uber powers. I'm soooo having those messages translated.

Along with the comments that make me go "WTF" are some search terms. Take for instance -

drunk lips tingle - So do mine.

fuck teacher - Oh naughty naughty boy (I'm assuming) you kiss your mother with that mouth?

cougars drinking with boys picture - I see a theme developing here and it's making me think I need to tone down the material on my blog. I'll have you know we do not drink with boys, and if we did we'd never allow actual evidence of it...jeesssh we're not stupid.

not even panties - Really? Good for you.

dad's 12 year old daughter is his domme - I didn't know what a domme was. So I googled it. At work. I expect to be fired any moment now. Thanks.

I would strongly suggest grounding your daughter until she's at least 18.

what do you do if your kid says huh all the time - If it's a teenager you're dealing with -  the word huh and eye rolling are their main forms of communication. Around the age of 14 they lose all ability to speak with their parents. Unless of course they're telling you how stupid you are. If you're desperate to communicate with your teen try texting. They're really good at that. You'll need a book of translations because they don't actually use words.

tequila out of a shoe - Who would ever do such a thing?!?! Really, have some class people.

Be good!


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If you’re looking for Dual Mom’s usual wit and charm ....hold on a second, wit and charm? You come here looking for wit and charm? You read the shit stuff that I write, right? wit and charm today. My mum died 13 years ago today. As is always the case when someone dies young, there were so many things I never got to say to her. I write this for me....because I need to put words to it. No offense taken if you choose not to read.

Dear Mum,

Thirteen years ago today I held your hand as you took your last breaths. You were 56, I was 23. You were too young to die and I was too young to lose my mother, but such is the way of this wonderful thing we call life. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, other times, I have trouble remembering the sound of your laugh, and it makes me incredibly sad. After thirteen years, I still miss you so much it sometimes stops me in my tracks and takes my breath away. Only sometimes, I know you wouldn’t want me to be sad and I’m not.

Your last days on this earth were horrific, and I know if you could take the memories of those days out of my mind, you would. You would take them and leave me only with the happy memories. I try not to dwell on your last days. It does no good. It’s very difficult sometimes, to forget that I had to tell the doctors to let you die, that it was what you would want. I still doubt my decision; no 23 year old should ever have to make that type of decision. It’s difficult to remember the tears rolling down your face, even though your body was shutting down and you hadn’t opened your eyes in seven days. It’s difficult to believe the doctors were right when they said the tears were from pain. I think they were tears of sorrow, I think you knew you were dying, and you didn’t want to go. I didn’t want you to go either.Oh how I raged against the doctors, I fought and screamed and pleaded with them to do something, anything. You would have been very proud of your obstinate daughter. In the end, there was nothing any one could do. I hope you knew that I was there, you weren't alone Mum. I held you as you died, I kissed your forehead, I laid my head on your chest and whispered that I loved you, that I would miss you, but that it was ok to go. I told you I would look after J, my brother, I told you not to worry, I told you over and over again that I loved you. I hope you heard me.

I’m sorry for so many things Mum. I’m sorry for being a shit face asshole teenager. I’m sorry I never had the time with you to truly learn to appreciate every sacrifice you made for me. I’m sorry I’ll never have the chance to tell you that you were oh so very right when you used to say to me "some day you'll understand". You were right. I understand that "because I said so" is indeed a valid argument, even though it used to drive me batshit crazy. I’m sorry you’ll never be here when I find myself saying things that you used to say, things that made me so angry I just wanted to spit at you, things that I swore I would never say to my own kids. You were the best Mom and I’m sorry.

I would give all the riches in the world to hear you say, "I should have eaten you while your bones were soft” just one more time. You believed in yelling to get your point across. You would scoff at the way people parent children today. You laughed from the very pit of your stomach when something tickled your funny bone. You believed all life’s woes could be cured with a home cooked meal, made with love. When we made you proud you would try so very hard not to cry, but the tears of joy would be brimming in your eyes, but never falling, because you believed you had to be strong for us. You told us always to be honest, at the very least with ourselves. You taught me that reading was the easiest way to travel the world, without leaving home. You taught me to be good, and if I couldn't be good, to damn well enjoy being bad because there would always be repercussions for my actions.

You had your faults, I know that. It would piss you off to no end to be put on a pedestal in your death. You had a temper that was ferocious to watch. You never laid a hand on your children, but we loathed being the cause of that temper rearing its head. You were stubborn as a mule and proud to a fault.

I look at my children sometimes, and I think of how very much you would love them. The fact that you have five grandchildren that will never know you breaks my heart. Their lives are less without you even though they don’t know it. Your first grandson remembers you even though he was not quite four when you died. He remembers laying in your bed when he had sleepovers with Nanny and watching Power Rangers with you. He remembers making blueberry muffins with you, when you would give him the bowel filled with batter and a spoon, letting him have at it. I would get so mad at you when I went to pick him up, to discover him covered in blueberry batter. He remembers that still after all these years. I tell him often that he was your boy. I tell him that you loved him beyond reason. Coadie was just over a year, he has no memories of you even though he spent your last Christmas with you in your hospital room. My daughter was not even a twinkle in my eye when you died. Oh how you would love her Mum. She is her mother’s daughter and so very much like you and I. You would dance with glee over the fact that she will probably drive me as crazy as I drove you. Just would say.

I like to think that you would be proud of the woman I’ve become; the woman that you helped shape. My strength comes from you, of that I have no doubt. I have conversations with you in my head sometimes. At 23 I was only just starting to appreciate you for a person, outside of your role as my mother. I know that we would be great friends if you were still here. I smile when I think of subjecting anyone to our combined sarcasm. I sometimes long for your words of wisdom and your support.

I remember the week before you died, you couldn’t talk, but we knew you were still in there. You kept picking up that damn Chicken Soup for the Soul book, every time I sat near you you would reach for the book. I wanted to throw the damn book out the window because I couldn’t understand why you wanted it. Three weeks after you died I finally found the strength to sort through your things from the hospital and the book was among the items. I found the story you had marked Mum. I hope you know that I found your bookmark. I sat and read the story, proof of your last days of life surrounded me, and I read about the woman who bought the red dress, hanging it in her closet to save for a special occasion. I read the story about that woman dying before ever having worn the red dress she loved so much. I sobbed as I realized that the story was about your regrets, for things you hadn’t done. You were trying to tell me to live. I laughed through the tears because even in death you managed to get your point across. I promise you, with everything that I am Mum, I will always wear the red dress.

I love you Mum forever and always.

In loving memory...
Velma Noreen Birt
March 28, 1941 - January 19, 1997

Week Two Weigh In

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Well, it’s Monday. Happy Monday! It’s also weigh in day. I was rather excited about this weeks’ weigh in because I have been a very good girl over the past week. I’ve even started journaling using My Fitness Pal. This is not something I’ve done in the past. The last time I lost a significant amount of weight I did it through exercise and eating in moderation. I did not track the number of calories I stuffed into my face in the run of a day. Now I am and according to the fitness pal I have consumed on average 100 calories less per day than I’m allowed. Also, I went to the gym FIVE freakin times this week, each time doing an HOUR of cardio. So excited to step on the scales, right?

Well, y’all can imagine my surprise when the scales indicated I had lost one pound. ONE FUCKING POUND. Don’t bother telling me “it’s a pound Dual Mom…it’s a loss, don’t be upset”. If you tell me that shit I’m liable to go ballistic on your ass. PEOPLE, five fucking hours of cardiac exercise I did last week. I’m not talking casual strolling on the treadmill here. I’m talking working out until the heart rate monitor on the machine is telling you to slow the fuck down because you’re about to stroke out and there’s no one handy that’s willing to do CPR on you. Do you know what I could have done besides working myself into a complete fucking lather in those five hours? I could have worked on my couch ass groove for christ sake. FUUUUUCCCCK.

So after standing there contemplating jumping all 170.5 pounds of me up and down on the scales until it was splattered into smithereens the way the fucking thing deserved, and after having my daughter come tearing into my bedroom to find out why her mother was cursing at the top of her lungs like a whore at a truck stop so early in the morning…… I decided to get dressed. Today I was wearing THE black pants. All women have a pair of THE black pants. You know the ones. The ones that look great on you even though you’re pmsing and have put five pounds on. You know the ones that you can wear with a weight fluctuation of up to 10 pounds. In actuality, it was these black pants that got me on this health kick. I had them on one day last month and by the end of the day I felt as though someone was slicing me in two. I almost had to go to the ER to have the damn things surgically removed from my waist at the end of the day, they were cutting into me THAT badly. The one pair of pants that I could wear with any type of weight fluctuation no longer fit me.

This morning I put them on and they fit. Yeah, they are still snug, but I don’t feel as though someone’s taking a hacksaw to my midsection. So something’s happening ……… the scales just aren’t showing it. I’m actually ok with that.

And I cried on the elliptical trainer Saturday, at the gym, in front of a bunch of skinny bitches. See, I thought it would take months to get back into being able to exercise the way I used to. I thought between the weight gain and the fact that I haven’t exercised in almost 3 years, my body would completely revolt against abruptly going from working on my ass groove to actually working out. But it hasn’t. Saturday I did a half hour on the treadmill, alternating between running (not fast) and walking with a 6% incline (which just kills me btw). Then I hopped on the elliptical (which is easier on the knees). I set it for 30 minutes, alternating between 0% and 25% resistance. Up until Saturday, I’ve had to cry uncle and bring the resistance down to 15% halfway through the 30 minutes. I just couldn’t finish the 30 minutes at the 25%. My heart rate would go into “you’re going to stroke” zone and my legs felt like they were just going to spontaneously disconnect from my body if I took one more step. On Saturday, I got through the entire workout without having to lower the resistance and my heart rate stayed within the cardio zone. I was so incredibly happy when the machine started doing the 5 second countdown thing all I could do was hang my head as the tears rolled down my face. I did it, I pushed my body and it responded, and anyone that has ever pushed themselves physically knows what an incredible feeling it is to have your body respond with “yeah…we can do this” rather than “fuck you floppy gut, your ass is too big to work this hard”. I’m sure skinny bitches were wondering why the crazy lady was smiling so serenely as she wiped down the machine. Let ‘em wonder.

So bring it on folks, I can’t wait to read how your week went.

Yes, I Know I Suck, How 'Bout You Tell Me Something I Don't Know

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Advocate Mom over at the Accidental Advocate gave me this award on New Year's Eve. Let's not talk about how badly I suck because it took me two weeks to thank her for it. So thank you Advocate Mom, you are full of the awesome.

I'm actually going to follow the rules for once in my life (it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm killing time before going to the gym at noon). The rules state that I must list 10 things that make me happy and than pass the award onto 10 bloggers. I can do that!

So 10 things.

My bed - which I crawled into at 7:30 last night to read for a bit and then proceeded to promptly fall asleep. I crawled out of said bed at 7:30 this morning. Can you say lazy arse? C'mon say it with me. My bed holds a special place in my heart because it took me two years to pay for it. Yes, it was that expensive, and worth every damn penny. If you don't have a really good bed, you are cheating yourself out of one of life's greatest luxuries. I literally smile every night when I pull my duvet up and snuggle in.

Gardening - One of the things that caught my eye when I looked at the house I bought two years ago was the property it was sitting on. Almost an entire acre of land with nothing but the house sitting on it. It was like a blank slate and I was an artist extraordinaire waiting to create my masterpiece. The first summer I was here I dug and planted 3 flower beds and a vegetable hand. None of this fancy sod turning machinery for Dual Mom. I then proceeded to spend the rest of the summer nursing a torn ligament in my shoulder. This past summer I expanded the vegetable garden and planted and dug two more flower beds. Next summer I'm moving onto the start of my apple orchard, which I have planned for the backyard. Of course the money I spend on flowers and plants would be better spent on a ride on lawn mower, but whoever said I was sane was sorely mistaken. An acre of land is a bitch to cut with a pushmower but one helluva workout let me tell you.

My kids, obviously. Because they say wild shit that is highly entertaining to me. The other evening I had asked Jimmy to get my laptop for me because my nails were wet. He did it and than Nora asked him to get something for her because her nails were wet (like mother like daughter). He turned to her and said, "I don't have to do that for you because I didn't come out of your vagina".  What's a mother to do but shake her head and chuckle to herself?

Wine - really do I need to explain this one?

Sleepovers with girlfriends - Besides a brother I have no family living in the same province as I do. My girlfriends are my family. Our sleepovers are epic fun.

Working out - I had no idea how much I missed this until I started again. There is something indescribeably pleasing about pushing your body to the max and having it deliver.

Coffee - If coffee ever ceased to exist I would die. Seriously, I would just die or hang myself. I love coffee THAT much.

My patio - and not so much my patio as the summer evenings on my patio with friends, music, kids, food on the bbq, and cold drinks.

Shoes - another addiction. I'm seriously considering turning my daughter's bedroom into my shoe closet.

Bloggers that post shit on their blogs that makes me laugh hysterically. Bloggers that leave comments on my posts that make me spew my morning coffee onto my laptop. Bloggers that write serious shit that makes me think about something from another point of view.

So I'm passing this along to some new-to-me blogs that I've been following recently. You should check them out because they are full of the awesome.

Quixocticlife - she wrote a great post this week about advice for husbands that made me laugh. It also reminded me of why I refuse to cohabitate with a male EVER again.

Terry at Oh4Petesake - she offered to share her daughter's ADD meds with me so that I can have a leg up in beating Zgirl in our challenge. Apparently one of the side affects of ADD meds is loss of appetite. Makes her a queenshit in my book!

Nathaneal at This is How It Feels - he's probably one of my youngest readers but I think he has an old soul. Nathaneal has a big heart and tends to take the weight of the world on his shoulders. He also has No Reply turned on and I can't respond to the comments he leaves me (fix that shit boy!!!!).

Kat at 2010 Year of Miracles - who has started a blog to journal her self-improvement efforts. She's also one of the LIB ladies so stop by and give her some love.

Laura at Heels and Hemlines - she has 3 kids and 4 stepkids. I get tired just thinking about it. She also started a blog about her LIB adventure so stop by and give her some encouragement.

MaeRae at In and Out of the Bubble - one of her posts talks about her son having to remove her 8 1/2 size boot from his rectum. Need I say more?

Libby at Libby Logic - because anyone with a daughter that cute so deserves an award. I kid you not, her daughter is BEAUtiful.

Feisty at Spaghetti And Bagels - because she had her signature spelled Fesity for a really long time and did not realize it. And then she called her readers wankers because we didn't tell her. Not our fault YOU are retarded there....Fesity! lol

CrazyAssMomma at Skinny Bitch or Bust - because she calls herself a crazy ass mamma and a self-proclaimed bitch.

Alex at Whoa Mumma - she's giving away a set of awesome red champagne glasses this week to an LIB follower. kitchen is red Alex. Did I mention that?

So you know the rules, post the award, give us 10 things you love and pass er' on to 10 bloggers.

My daughter is making me breakfast. How the hell did I get so lucky? Then it's gym time. Have a great weekend everyone!

Screw You and Your ADD

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When Monty was in grade 3 or 4, I can't remember which (I have dementia and have lived a very full life and can't be expected to remember every damn thing), a teacher tried to tell me he had all the classic symptoms of ADD. I bitch slapped her and told her if she ever called my son an add again I'd have her fired. Yeah, I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I was a young, a first time mom who knew shit about shit.

So like all good mothers, I turned to Dr. Google, who at the time was really just an infant model of the giant he would later become. The classic symptoms of ADD, inability to concentrate, fidgeting,  difficulty finishing homework etc etc, were classic Monty. But the other symptoms, often in trouble, speaking out of turn, trouble sitting for extended periods of time, were so off kilter with Monty's personality that I had difficulty swallowing this teacher's armchair diagnosis. At this point I had been through three grades of parent teacher interviews. Without exception, each interview had the teachers praising Monty's social behavior, his kindness toward others and the fact that he used please and thank you on a regular basis (apparently quite an abnormality for kids of his age at that time). His academic progress was in the toilet but socially this child excelled.

At the teacher's recommendation I took Monty to our family doctor. I explained to the doctor that his teacher was smoking crack and I didn't want the crack whore cutting me so I was doing this to placate her. Doc laughed at me and decided to send Monty for a hearing test. Hearing test came back perfect. To make a long story short Monty was finally "assessed" and this assessment indicated with a resounding NO YOU FUCKING idiot, this child does not have ADD.

Monty has been in school for 12 years and he no more has ADD than I do. Or so I thought, until this morning. My boss was showing me a pamphlet he had picked up at the drug store, which has six questions that will assess whether or not a person has Adult ADD. Boss had picked it up as a joke. We work with a guy that is classic ADD. Working with this guy is like working with the tasmanian devil. We'll frequently ask him if he's forgotten to take his ritalin (no, the guy does not take ritalin...he's at least 60 years old and spent a large majority of his career as a high school principal). Anydrugs.....I was looking at this pamphlet this morning, reading the questions, when I realized....holy hell....I can answer a resounding yes to all of these.


Then I went back to Dr. Google....who has grown infinitely since 2000 and I found this.

Results of your Attention Deficit Disorder Quiz

You scored a total of 73

It is highly likely that you are presently suffering from adult attention deficit disorder, according to your responses on this self-report questionnaire. You should not take this as a diagnosis of any sort, or a recommendation for treatment. However, it would be advisable and likely beneficial for you to seek further diagnosis from a trained mental health professional immediately.

I need to seek further diagnosis according to Dr. Google. Now, I'm twenty sixteen years old (which sounds so much better than 36, right?) and if I do indeed have ADD, I've managed to function pretty damn well as an adult. I have a successful career, I manage to get shit done, albeit some days I just want to bitch slap everyone that crosses my path and drive a shiv into my jugular because I'm not what one would describe as a patient person, and idiots send me around the fucking bend. I've never been fired from a job (unless you count that one time when I was 16 and worked housekeeping at a hotel and was fired because the manager didn't like the fact that I reeked of alcohol EVERY Saturday morning when I showed up for work. It's not like I was still drunk from the night before...much). I haven't been kicked out of University classes recently, I manage an overall 89 average while working full-time, taking care of three kids, managing a home blah blah blah blah.

But I have to wonder...... if I do have ADD and received treatment for it........holy flying fuck I'd be SUPER.WOMAN. I could literally leap tall buildings in a single bound. I could find the cure for Cancer and eradicate starvation in third world countries. Mother Theresa would have nothing on me, the acts of human kindness I could perform if treated for my ADD, would blow your MIND bitches. I could be what society totally needs, a hero with great fucking shoes. I'm so doing a huge disservice to myself and the ENTIRE world by not seeking treatment, right?

In actuality, it would be more like this.

Does this mask make me look fat?

So would you like to find out if you have Adult ADD? I knew you would so here's the link.

We can so start a support group, right?

Disclaimer: Neither of the pics above are actual photos of Dual Mom.

WTF Wednesday?? Dusting Off the Soapbox or What The Hell Are People Thinking

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As my decade in review post indicated, self-reflection is not something I do often, however, once in awhile I come out of the rabbit hole and appraise the world around me. It scares me. The craziness of the world scares me. I'm not talking about wars in Iraq or genocide in Darfur. I'm talking little things, that seem innocuous enough until you sit and think about them.

Things like business cards for Moms. That's right, apparently one of the big trends on the playground is for Moms to have business cards printed with their stats; indicating that they are INDEED a mom (because little Johnny hanging onto their leg screaming for gummy bears isn't indicative of this fact), stating who their children are (often with pics of their kiddos) and how Mom can be reached to set up a playdate for little Johnny. WTF???? When did childhood become a "have my people contact your people" game? When did it become necessary to validate motherhood with a business card? Because let's get real here folks, cell phones (who EVERYONE has) these days can do everything but wipe your ass for you, this includes the ability to store phone numbers and schedules. These cards have nothing to do with necessity, it seems to me a way for these moms to feel validated in their role as mommy, and that need for validation - that's what scares me. Is the bond between a mother and child no longer validation enough? reports that research financed by the Sage Foundation and the Human Motivation research program at Rochester recently discovered that people are happier on the weekends. Researchers used pagers with 74 adults, ages 18 to 62, who worked at least 30 hours a week, paging them at random intervals to determine their level of happiness at that particular time. The researchers were shocked to discover that this rule of thumb (being happier on the weekends) did not apply to those that normally work weekends, leaving them to conclude that people are happiest when not working. needed to do research to discover this......excuse me while I bang my head against my desk.

Educational experts calling for a "report card free" school system. This is akin to getting rid of the practice of passing out trophies to the "winning" team, or making a school policy whereby if a child is having a birthday party, they are required to invite everyone in the class...or no one at all.

Oh dear jesus just kill me now. As a society, could we get any more politically correct or touchy feely? Seriously. The world can be a harsh, cruel place. We all know that. Don't we, as parents, have a responsibility to teach this to our kids? I know I know, it's also our job to protect them. But at what cost? Google "teacup generation" and see what comes up. We're raising teacups. So the whole report card free way of thinking is so that teachers and parents are required to communicate (a good thing) and little Johnny is assessed on his effort rather than a grading system. I'm sorry, if I have a brain surgeon opening my skull, I take no comfort in the fact that he tried really hard in med school, and he played well with others. No, children are not doing brain surgery in K-12...but what alot of people don't realize is that as the bar is lowered in the K-12 system, this forces Colleges/Universities to also lower the bar. I know this for a fact. Post secondary educators spend (on average) 75% more time today doing remedial training (writing, math, language arts) than they did 10 years ago. What does this equate to? Rather than teaching College students how to assemble the engine for a plane, we're spending a significant amount of time teaching them how to do the math required for such a task, we're teaching them how to read manuals, and write a report with proper punctuation and spelling, things that you and I knew how to do when we graduated from high school.

And last but not least....American Idol. WTF?!?!?! Simon is leaving? And where the hell was Ellen? I was looking forward to watching Ellen give the gears to Simon. Instead we get Victoria Beckham? And consider this my PSA for the day -  just because you're really good at playing the video game version of American Idol does NOT mean you should go on National tv. Shake your damn head. Also, if you have a muffin top like one of those super sized muffins one would buy at a high end bakery....yeah....a belly top might not be the wisest fashion choice.

I May Swoon...Where Are My Smelling Salts?

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Have you seen the trailer for Valentines Day? I'm not normally a romantic comedy type of gal (with the exception of Pretty Woman...Pretty Woman is the exception to just about every rule out there). Ironically enough, Gerry Marshall is also directing this one. Check out the star studded line up for this movie.

Jessica Alba
Jessica Biel
Bradley Copper
Eric Dane
Patrick Dempsey
Hector Elizondo
Jamie Foxx
Jennifer Garner
Topher Grace
Anne Hathaway
Queen Latifah
Emma Roberts
Julia Roberts
Taylor Lautner
Taylor Swift
Joe Jonas voices of Border collie (Jessica Alba's dog)
Carter Jenkins

Not one -  but BOTH of the McYummies, Jamie Foxx AND Bradley Cooper. I wonder will the cinemas be giving out plastic bags for the ladies to sit on? That's what she said.

Oh c''s not like you didn't think it. With a lineup of men like that....a whole smorgesboard of Mchotties. You can bet your ass I'll be standing in line to see this one when it comes out next month. Plastic bag and all.

Week 1 Weigh In

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Though I did my official weigh in yesterday, I did not post about it. I could make some really good excuse like my house was hit by a freak monsoon and I sustained a concusion in an effort to save my shoe collection or Simon Cowell phoned and asked me to be a guest judge on this year's American Idol, even though I'm not American (of course neither is he), therby sending me into a twitter about what I would wear...but alas, neither of those things happened, I was just lazy folks.

Three pounds down. Last week I weighed in at 174.5 this week the scales shouted, "Hey bitch, you're 171.5, having said that you're also PMS'ing and your stomach looks as though you're about to give birth to triplets, banner day to wear black girl".  Yeah the pounding headache and cramps that make me want to rip my uterus out weren't enough of an indication about the PMS, thanks scales.

I'll take the three pounds.

I rocked the gym this week. I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to get back into it. Day two on the treadmill and my muscles were crying, "Oh damn this hurts, but we remember what it is to move, and we like it, we like moving". My knees were not liking the memory as much. That 10k this fall may just be a pipe dream of mine if my knees don't cooperate. I'm hoping once I get some more weight off I'll stop feeling as though a hot branding iron is being driven into my kneecaps when running. Yes people, I ran. It was not far, it was not fast and you can bet your sweet ass it was not pretty....but I ran. So four evenings at the gym, a combination of cardio and weight workouts and I'm feeling pretty good about that.

The food thing. While I didn't gorge on anything bad I didn't eat great either. My biggest problem is forgetting to eat. In my rush to get out the door in the morning I generally do not eat breakfast, lunch happens if I don't have something more important going on and by dinner time I'm so damn hungry I just pull a stool up to the fridge and sit there until bedtime. I KNOW this is my downfall. The fluid intake could have been higher also.

So my goal this week is to eat brekkie each morning. Considering I flew out the door this morning with a hair roller still in the back of my head, without eating, spent twenty minutes scraping 3 inches of ice off of my windshield, then had to defrost my nose hairs when I got in the car, thereby making me 15 minutes late for work, yeah this goal is just working out fucking great. I hate PMS. PMS should die.

I firmly believe elective hysterectomy's should be an option for woman over 35. I don't want the damn uterus anyway, it has served it's purpose and I'm done with it.

I'm looking at my computer monitor and I want to hit it. This is what PMS does to me. I want to hit my computer monitor. No, it hasn't done anything to offend or upset.....I just want to hit something and it seems like a good candidate.

Deep breath.

You know what makes PMS better? Food. Oh but wait, I can't do that can I? Oh because that's not making me cranky AT ALL! Damn you Zgirl.

I can't wait to see how everyone has done. Some have posted already and everyone seems to be doing so well. I'm so proud of you guys. (This is me being encouranging when really I just want to blow up the world).

Calgon take me away.

The Dual Mom you all know and love will be back tomorrow. Until than, keep warm, stay safe and play nice with others.

Why Are You Scratching?

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Those who read my mindless blatherings well constructed, intelligent thoughts on a regular basis have by now formed a mental image of Dual Mom. I’ll even go out on a branch and assume my readers would not describe me as one who bites her tongue. Tentative, hesitant? Probably not a word often used to describe me. Yeah, I tend to speak my mind fairly frequently (often to the dismay of those in my company). I would even go as far to say that it probably would not be a terribly bad idea if I implemented my brain/mouth filter more frequently than I do. This of course would require me to get one of those fancy brain/mouth filter things because I don’t think my DNA currently has the components required to operate such an apparatus.

They say there is an exception to every rule. And in the matter of me being a loud mouth they would be correct. The exception to my speaking my mind and calling it like I see when I am in the company of my older sisters. I have two. For the sake of anonymity we’ll call them Sister One and Sister Two. I know, my creativeness astounds me too. Sister One is 45, 8 years older than me. Sister Two is 38, 2 years older than me. Both sisters live on the other side of the country. I love my sisters, but.....ummmm....errrrrr I often wonder who it is my mother had an affair with because there’s no damn way we have the same parental units.

Every year, Sister One comes home during the summer along with two of her children. Family time is great, right? Sure, yeah ok. Whatever. They stay with me each year. So that would be two adults, and 5 children in a three bedroom home, for three weeks each summer. Just like a big party, right, good times, family spending quality bonding time, cousins getting to know each other, good times, right? Right? Yeah...notsomuch. You see the problem is Sister One and I both like to drink wine, and that’s about where our similarities END. I shave my armpits, this is optional for Sister One. I like to bathe every day, also optional for Sister One. I’m even such a freak of nature that I make my kids shower each evening (especially in the summer). Again, not a priority in Sister One’s life. As much as I hate housework, I love nothing more than a clean house and work hard to keep it that way. Sister One...yeah....moldy food on dishes doesn’t really concern her.

To say that we are different would be the motherfuckin understatement of the year. Keep in mind what I said about my sisters being the exception as you continue reading. Two years ago was my first summer in my new home. I had been living here for 9 months and I was still in the complete OCD stage where EVERY. DAMN. THING. had to be perfect and clean (glad I got over that stage). So my sister and her troupe arrive for their yearly sojourn. On the morning after their arrival, Sister One and I are on the deck drinking our morning coffee, listening to the birds chirp, catching up and it’s nice, right? I think to myself, “Self, perhaps this is the year where you’ll learn to accept your sister’s differences. This year you will actually enjoy your time with Sister One rather than wishing for the sweet release of death just to end the agony of her visit.”

And then I noticed my niece scratching her head.

I paused in my conversation with Sister One and watched niece scratch her head. After several minutes I asked, “Niece, you need to wash that damn head if it’s THAT itchy.” I had NO FUCKING CLUE people. I was so naive. Sister One looks at Niece and asks, “Daughter, come here and let me see your head.” She knew.....she KNEW immediately what was wrong. Niece had a HEAD FULL OF LICE. I dropped my coffee cup I was so shocked. I have three kids, we have been fortunate enough to avoid lice even though without fail, every winter there’s a notice coming home from school about outbreaks of lice. So literally, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with such an experience. I freaked the fuck out. Completely went apeshit crazy. Sister One is sitting there looking at me as though I’ve suddenly grown a second head and need to be put back on my meds and then proceeds to tell me she’ll pick up a treatment after she goes for a run. After you go for a run? After you go for a run? No bitch, you’ll take your skinny, dirty fucking ass to the nearest drugstore right this minute and you will buy EVERY damn treatment they have in the store; you’ll pick up six cans of Lysol and 12 bottles of bleach, and then you will wash the fucking BUGS out of your daughters hair and if that doesn’t work I’ve got a razor with her name written all over it.

I nodded my head. I nodded my head people. I said not a word and nodded my stupid fucking head.

Sister later tried to convince me my reaction was wayyyy over the top. And perhaps it was. But her jokes about picking the lice out of niece’s hair the way the apes do....yeah didn’t have the calming affect she was hoping for. Her nonchalance made me want to gouge my own eyes out of my head. She spent the next three days prancing around like she didn't have a care in the world. She's on holidays, after all. It's not her responsibility to clean someone else's kitchen after her kids leave it looking as though a fucking plethora of wild hyenas had emptied the contents of the fridge and cupboards all over the place. Letting her daughter go down to the beach in her barefeet and return to the house, tracking mud into every FUCKING room and THEN crawl up on Auntie's brand new sofa...yeah banner idea.

I spent the next three days doing laundry. In three days I did 27 loads of laundry. If that’s not bad enough, because I’m a freak and the idea of having bugs in my house made me want to rip my sister’s uterus out to prevent her from ever procreating again, I dried each load in the dryer for at least 2 the dead heat of summer. I scoured my floors twice a days with bleach, I followed niece around with a scrunchie, constantly telling her to put her hair up. I had visions of having to shear my own daughter, who at the time had gorgeous blonde hair straight down the middle of her back.

After four days of going completely out of my mind, I donned a hazmat suit and checked Niece’s head again and there were still bugs ( I am so scratching my head just writing this shit). At that point I purchased insecticide and started spraying my furniture. When my sister realized what I was doing she pointed out to me that insecticide wasn’t good for people to be around. Yeah, you know it....Dual Mom lost it. I turned to sister, holding the can in front of me and said, “Back the fuck up, or you get sprayed next”.

Sister and her troupe left the next day and went to stay with a friend for the remainder of their holiday. Sister did not come home last summer. I’m not sure if my reaction to her total disregard for my home was the reason, but I suspect it played a part in her decision. I can’t say I was broken hearted over not having her here.

So let’s hear it. Have you ever had to deal with crawly critters at your house? Do you have sisters you love with all your heart?

Dreams of a Little Girl

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My 11-year old daughter sleeps with me. Yeah, I'm right there with ya...children should not sleep with their parents (or so I believed). None of my kids slept with me as babies.  I fell asleep once nursing Monty in bed and freaked the fuck out when I woke up. I was so scared I would smother him. I needed sleep like a crackwhore needs her next fix and I just could not sleep with a baby beside me.

I had a friend in high school who lived with her older sister. Older sister had 2 children, they were 4 and 2 at the time. Both children slept with their parents. Neither kid was toilet trained, they were mouthy, uncontrollable, holy hellion terrors. They were without a doubt the WORST kids I have ever met. It was not their fault, they had NO boundaries. I remember once when I said to one of the kids not to touch something, the mother said to me, "We don't tell the children they can't touch, everything in this home is theirs". Ummmm ok sure, fill your boots there on the hot stove little kid...just remind your Mom that the stove is YOUR'S when you burn the shit out of your little hand. So I guess I've always associated co-sleeping with those holy terrors.

I don't think I could parent small children in today's world. Parenting has changed so much over the last 15 years and I firmly believe alot of these changes haven't been in the best interest of our children. I could go on and on but chances are I would piss someone off, and though a knock down drag out argument about parenting styles can be full of the fun sometimes, I'll leave it at that for now.

This whole sleeping with me thing started about a year ago. She had a bad dream and came into my room at 3:00 in the morning and she was inconsolable so I pulled her up into bed with me. I almost lost my daughter when she was three years old, I willingly admit she holds the key to my heart. In the morning when I woke up, she was there, and I lay in bed watching her sleep. I'm guilty of not truly looking at my children often enough. I mean really looking at them. It had been a LONG time since I had taken the time to watch one of my kids sleep.  The boys would call me a freak and throw something at me if I attempted it with one of them. Looking at her I thought about my newborn daughter with the headfull of black hair, my gorgeous toddler who would squeal with delight when I came home from work, I thought about the fact that I almost didn't have this with her, that it was almost taken from me, and the memories filled my heart.

Anyway, that one night has turned into every night. She sleeps in her own room at her father's house and I once asked him if he had trouble getting her to bed (I was afraid that allowing her to sleep with me was screwing up her sleep at her dad's). He told me that she goes to bed at 8:30 on her own, they seldomly have to tell her it's bedtime.

She always goes to bed before I do but will give me a sleepy "good night" when I finally crawl into bed. I can't help but think it will not last long. She is 11 after all. There will come a time in the near future when she hates me. I know this. Teenage girls and their mothers are like oil and water. As with all things that are fleeting, I find myself treasuring the time.

The other morning I tickled her feet as I usually do to wake her up. She kicked at my hand while letting out a groan and said to me in a soft sleepy voice, "Mom, I was having a dream and you woke me up." Me, "It's time to get up hun, what were you dreaming about?" In the same beautiful, soft, sleepy, voice she replied, "I was in Candy Land, I was a unicorn and we were eating lollipops from the trees".

Wow. How awesome is that....a unicorn in Candy Land? I hope my baby always has dreams filled with beauty and wonder.

Strokin' The Ego

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Seriously!?!? Seriously....I'm featured as post of the day over at the Rising Blogger!! Check it out!!! Holy exclamation points batman!!!!!

They Are Mine...And You Can't Have Them

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I often get asked by people in real life how I make the whole shared parenting thing work.  It is not easy, make no mistake about it. My life would be so much simpler if Ex picked up the kids on the weekend and dropped them back off to me on Sunday evening. The shitload of child support he'd be required to give me would totally support my shoe addiction. However, this would not be "in the best interest of the children".

We're both fit parents, as much as I totally sucked hard at being a wife and he was a complete assdink husband, suprisingly enough we have our shit together when it comes to this whole parenting thing. We always have. It helps that we share the same views when it comes to parenting: at 8 years old you don't get to determine what time you go to have a bedtime, sometimes "time out" just doesn't cut it and if you're being a complete asshole and throwing a fit over nothing at all you will get a slap in the butt, you bet your sweet ass you're grounded for life if you get in shit at school or backtalk to an adult. If you want an allowance you're going to contribute something to the running of the house, money does not grow on fucking trees. We are so not new age parents. New age parents are fine, we've just never gone for that parenting style.

Another thing I often hear is that it is not fair to expect a child to live in two different home. Yes, it is an adjustment. Let's look at the alternatives: stay together for the sake of the children, or expect the child to forfeit part of his or her relationship with their father (or mother, but it's usually the father). Neither of those seems like a win/win situation to me. I can guarenfuckingtee that had Ex and I stayed together for the kids, one of us would be serving a life sentence in a cozy 8x8 cell right now. Being patted down before visiting mommy or daddy at the local penetentiary makes for really well-rounded kids, doesn't it?

My friends think I'm off my rocker because I do not make Ex pay child support. I may well be off my rocker, but my response is "Why would I?"(shoe addiction aside). He has them for an equal amount of time. School related expenses, eye glasses, and all other miscellaneous things are shared equally between us. He buys them clothes to wear when they are with him, I buy them clothes to wear here. It's simple math (even for a math tard like me).
I get that break ups are hard. I get that there is often anger, feelings of betrayal and yes, even hatred. I think it's a parent's responsibility when seperating/divorcing  to look at your kids and ask yourself, "Am I doing this(fighting for custody) because it is going to make my child happy, or am I doing this because I hate the motherfucking sperm/egg donor and my sole purpose in life at this moment is to make that son of a bitch suffer to the very core of his/her being?" If it's the latter, yeah you might want to talk to someone about your anger issues.

Shared parenting is totally inconvenient and a pain in the first. Then again, kids in general are a pain in the arse most times. As with all things in life, there is a silver lining. I couldn't drink tequila from a shoe on my birthday, in a really fancy restaurant, with all of my BFF's if my kids were with me full-time. If I were a single mother, in the true sense of the word, I'm pretty sure I'd be addicted to prozac and a raging alcholic. Kuddos to you guys and gals out there doing it solo. I know for a fact I couldn't. I have time to be me, which is something that alot of moms/dads don't have. The kids always have a parent with them. Always. Appointments, meetings, work stuff, life stuff is scheduled, by both Ex and I, during the time when the kids are with the other parent.

So I encourage all of you to leave your spouses and do the whole shared parenting thing.

*silence* thought I was serious, didn't you?

Seriously, it is not all bad. It is what you make of it or some deep shit like that.

Of course, throw a girlfriend who should be cursed with the pox and a raging case of chlamydia into the mix, and all bets are off. Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I'm going back to see how many times, since I've started blogging, I've wished an STD on Ex's girlfriend. I'll burn in hell I tell ya.

To Tattoo or Not to Tattoo

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Say that really fast ten times.

Whether or not to get a tattoo isn't really a question, I have one. It's whether or not to get another one. I got the first one a year after Ex and I seperated. It was a total act of defiance on my part, me flipping the bird to him by permanently marking my own body (the logic isn't there...don't try to find it). He thought tats were low-class.  If you knew the man you would know JUST how pot meet kettle him thinking that was/is. He has a real problem with self-expression and I think it was more to do with that than an issue with tattooing. Anyex....I got one about eight years ago.

Very few people know that I have it. It's not something I talk about nor something I show off. Being that it's located on my bikini line it wouldn't really be appropriate to stroll into the staff room and announce, "Hey y'all...check out my new ink" while yanking down my pants. After eight years, I still love it. It reminds me that I'm strong enough for new beginnings, that I am unique. The whole experience was done solely for me, not because I had any urge to be a cool kid.  It was about no longer living under the thumb of someone else, no longer twisting myself to meet someone else's ideal of a "proper" wife and mother. The location meant that I would basically be the only person that saw it on a regular basis, and that's the way I wanted it. What is it you ask?

It's the chinese symbol for "strong woman". Yeah, the irony of the placement didn't escape me. Nor did it escape the guy doing the tat. He chuckled through the entire process. There's actually a pic of my bikini line on ths guys wall.

And now I think it's time for another one. Actually, I have thought it's time for another one about an hour after getting the first one, but could never decide on something that I wanted to permanently ink to my body. It had to have meaning for me. I'm not big on tattoos just for the sake of tattoos. I'm tossing around three ideas.

There is this -  Tattoo. For those of you too lazy to click on the damn link - it's an anagram of "carpe diem" - sieze the day in italian. I think it's beautiful. There is an anagram of "Life/Live", only written horizontally, rather than vertically. Then there's the lotus flower. The lotus flower, which grows abundantly in swamps in China, struggles to emerge from the mud only to blossom into one of the most beautiful flowers in the world. The only lotus design I've found that jumps out at me is done in deep deep purple, with shades of gray on the inside petals, absolutely stunningly beautiful but would probably cost several mortgage payments to have it done.  If I choose either of the ambigrams they will be solid black ink.

As for the placement, I'm thinking right in the middle of my back. My job is not one that would allow me to be sporting a sleeveless dress with tats showing. As with the first one, this is about me, not something I wish to share with the rest of the world (blogging about it is different...shutyourpiehole). I briefly considered the lower back but the term "tramp stamp" makes me cringe and I'm closer to 40 than I am to 30 (christ that makes me cringe too). My defiant streak wants me to say piss on cringing at the term and go for the lower back.

Here's where you come in. I want to know your thoughts on this, I want to know if you have tats, what they are. I want to know if you think I'm retarded (ok....yeah quit rollin' your damn eyes). I want to know if you think I'm retarded to be thinking about getting another tattoo AT MY AGE.....**gasping in horror**

Let's hear it...I want brutal honesty.