Thistle

As a parent, the things you will do for your children makes for a very long list.

It begins with the whole letting another human being take up residence is what was once a firm taut belly and ends somewhere around...well, it doesn't ever truly end.

I've wiped heinous poop explosions off of many surfaces (including the wall, my shirt and underneath my fingernails). I've caught puke in my bare hands. And I even had to put a fever-reducing suppository into my wee baby's butt.

But there is one thing I cannot bear (aside from watching Dora): loose teeth.

Mina is at an age where she is losing them faster than a meth addict on a bender.

The squick factor is high, not helped by the fact that she wants me to actually wiggle the hanging on by a thread fuckers myself.

Excuse me. I had to stop to retch for a moment.

The only saving grace of the whole experiment is that she looks even cuter with missing teeth. More like a goofy little imp than a hillbilly.

Her adult teeth are starting to come in around the remaining baby teeth and I can already tell that she is going to have my teeth.

Mine may look fine now, but as a kid I had truly awful teeth. The first time I got braces put on was in third grade if that tells you anything.

At least she doesn't have the horrid overbite I did. I'll go ahead and thank Jim's bucky-balancing genes for that.

Jim is out of town, so I need to figure out how to get something from the tooth fairy on the DL. Our tooth fairy has brought small gifts for each tooth so far. Might be time for her to start making with the cash money.

A few weeks ago, while visiting the inlaws for Father's Day, my father-in-law mentioned that they would be happy to help with the cost of braces for the girls when the time came.

Small miracles, people. Small miracles.

For Katie

A few months ago I was driving down the road, minding my own business when what should appear before me but a license plate I HAD TO get a picture of for a very special girl.

I tailed him for a good mile while I fished my camera out of my purse. I must have gotten a bit too close for his comfort while getting the shot because he hopped over to the right lane and slowed down enough to give me the finger, then sped off.

It's for love, people. For love.

Best.Birthday.Ever.

I had far too much fun at my slumber party. Probably more fun than a grown woman should legally be allowed to have.

No, fuck that. I did deserve it. And my wonderful friends deserved a night of drunken revelrie as well.

Photographic proof of our night. LOTS o' pictures.

Flowers from my husband before he got the hell outta' Dodge.


I made some pretty cupcakes:


Enough?


It started off innocently enough:
"Hmmm...do I start with bourbon or wine?"










Present from Travis. He thought I needed a new gym bag. Inside the gym bag were colorful cigarettes and vaginal wipes. I love him.



My husband HATES celery. Hates it with a burning passion. This one is for him.


Who's a Pretty Barbie Birthday Princess? I AM! Thanks to Meghan.


Things went downhill (in a good way) quickly. Soon we were drunk.

Apparently I thought something we really fucking hilarious. I wish I could remember what it was.




No pillow fights, but Rachel got smoochy.










Phil is mysterious.


My dogs wanted us to shut the fuck up and go to bed.


But I made Ichabod play some Wii.


Full contact Wii.




Me. 3AM drunk in three parts.







34 is gonna' be a good year.

Regret meme

Katie tagged me with this one: You’ve just learned that tomorrow you will die at sunrise. Tell me the five things you regret and the five things you don’t.

The Don't Regrets:

1. I don't regret starting a blog. Though I was hesitant at first (who the fuck am I that anyone else wants to read about my take on stuff?), I'm glad I hopped on the bandwagon. It wasn't until I re-found Grant Miller digging around on the internets that I seriously considered it (read: you can blame him for this amalgam of whoosit).

I've since (both virtually and actually) met some new friends through it, and not one restraining order has since been filed. In two days, it will have been one full year since I started Better Living Through Bacon. And it's been delicious.

2. I don't regret having children. In my younger years, I honestly didn't think I would. I didn't think I had it in me to take on the responsibility and set aside my own selfish tendencies.

It's not perfect, and sometimes (all the time) I question my capabilities. Having children has tested my sanity in ways I never thought possible. If they weren't so damn cute, I'd have sold them to the gypsies years ago.

With the difficult however comes the amazing. The adoration that oozes from them all over my husband and I is payment enough for every sleepless night, every splatter of poop, and every puddle of puke (of course, they aren't teenagers yet).

Knowing that I have two mini-humans counting on me to keep my shit together gives me reason enough to try and be a better person.

3. I don't regret quitting my job as a hairstylist almost three years ago. I miss doing hair sometimes, but I don't miss hauling my kids around to get to work for a paycheck that was barely covering expenses incurred from working. How sad that it sometimes cost me money to go to work?

4. I don't regret being slutty in college. I would never buy a pair of shoes without trying them on first no matter how gorgeous or cheap they were. Some people learn by seeing or being shown. I learned by trying every pair of shoes in the shoe store.

Sure, I got my heart broken more times than I'd like to admit and maybe I should have listened to that inner voice a little more often. In the long run however, I can't say that I regret any of it (OK, maybe a couple of them).

5. I don't regret going on crazy pills. This is a recent development here in the land of salty meat, and not something I ever planned on talking about here, but there you have it.

I spent way too long ignoring the unignorable. I had myself convinced that everyone felt the way I did. They just didn't talk about it. I was wrong.

My only regret is that I didn't deal with it sooner.

The Do Regrets:

1. I regret never living alone. I went from living at home to the dorms to having roommates to getting married. I never got to enjoy the kind of freedom one has knowing a space is all one's own. I missed my opportunity to do it when I could, and until my kids move out and my husband decides to get a trophy wife, I'm SOL.

2. I regret not finishing college. I could always go back, but time and money don't grow on trees. It's always in the back of my mind though. Someday.

3. I regret not cutting poisonous people out of my life sooner. Whether it was a bitchy friend who never had anything positive to say or a loser boyfriend who couldn't tell the truth to save his life, I regret not having the balls to tell them where to go. I always seemed to fall into that trap of not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings even when the situation made me miserable. I know better now.

4. I regret not standing up for myself when I should have. I spent way too much time in my young adulthood not asking for what I wanted and/or needed. As hard and tough as I thought I was back then, that girl in her twenties would cower in front of the woman I have turned out to be.

5. I regret not owning my actions earlier in life. I also spent the better part of my 20's spending too much time blaming others for my own mistakes. With age has come the realization that I am responsible for my own choices and the fallout--and that that's not a bad thing. This to me is what led me to come to grips with my Atheism (after a whole life of being raised in a religious household).

I hope to look back on this post after a long while and not have anything to add to the bottom part of the list, but without regret what would spur us on to try new things and learn from our inevitable mistakes?

Un-regretfully yours,

The Bacon Lady

I think they get it from their Dad

While I was cleaning up from making cookies yesterday afternoon, my children managed to tie their butts together.

Mina took a string belt off of one of her dresses and tied one end to the crotch of her underwear and the other to the crotch of her sister's underwear.

After freeing them, Mina shared some of her inner thoughts with me.

"Mama if I was a zombie, I would feast on your brain."

They really are good girls, bright girls and not prone to these types of things often. When they do get on a roll however, it's pretty much a wealth of hilarity.

The other night at dinner, Mina told me that she decided she loved Alex in addition to Matthew R.

"Well," I told her, "You can't marry both Matthew and Alex. You'll have to choose between them."

"No Mama," (eyeroll), "I"ll marry Matthew R. and Alex will be my boyfriend!"

I need a hug

The world's abuzz with the news of another Spears baby. Big whoop. I've got a bigger scoop.

Mina's getting married.

She informed me of the impending nuptials as we walked to the car after school today.

I should have known something was up when I saw her hanging out next to him after school the other day. She wouldn't leave until he gave her a piece of gum, and she seemed a little too giddy over it.

It all starts with gum, doesn't it?

His name is Matthew R., and they are planning way ahead. It seems they want to marry each other when "they are bigger". It was discussed and agreed upon at recess.

Someone get me a fucking valium because I am so not ready for this.

Mina told me that her friend Caeli (gawd, I hate the "unique" spellings some parents come up with) is going to marry Hunter as well--and they've kissed.

KISSED! In Kindergarten! What.the.fuck?

Mina denies any lip smacking, and she'd better not be lying.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that just a week ago Mina was telling me that she doesn't ever want to get married and plans on adopting a bunch of babies that I apparently will help her raise.

How did this happen? They are SIX years old.

Tomorrow is the big "Holiday" party in their classroom. I plan on giving this Matthew R. the once over.

I suppose I need to check out my future son-in-law. I hope he has nice teeth.

Three

Happy Birthday Little Bean.

Woof

My dogs are either lazy or have a heightened sense of self-importance. I think it's both.

They think they deserve a "treat" (read: doggy biscuit) for simply mustering up the gumption to sit by my feet when I go out on the back porch to smoke.

What they lack in work ethic though, they more than make up for in cuteness (and bad breath).

I won't lie. I just wanted to post some pictures of my dogs.

Koo Koo Kachoo, Mrs. Robinson

This morning I realized I had forgotten to go to a baby shower I was invited to last week. I feel like a complete asshole about it too. I should call her and apologize, but I don't really have a credible excuse.

This afternoon I left the house a full half hour earlier than I needed to for my daughter's swim class. I have no idea how this happened because normally, getting us out of the house with minutes to spare is one for the record books. It did however work in my favor as I had the chance to stop by the grocery store to pick a few things I needed for dinner tonight.

I found a parking place right up front and pulled in. Not until my daughter was halfway out of the car did I notice that I had taken up a handicapped space. I quickly ushered her back into the car all the while loudly proclaiming to everyone within earshot that WE HAVE TO MOVE THE CAR! I PARKED IN THE WRONG SPOT! I didn't want anyone around me thinking I was some kind of deviant cripple-hater. True, I milked the "New and Expectant Moms" parking spaces for as long as I could, but this was different. I don't think mental illness constitutes a special parking space. I had to park elsewhere.

I used the self check out because my five year old likes to help me scan the groceries. While she was scanning and bagging (hey, she wanted to), I totally got caught checking out the hottie cashier a few lanes over. I hate when that happens.

My only explanation for all this distraction is my recently acquired infatuation with Justin Timberlake.

You think I'm kidding.

I should probably hide my 33 year old married mother of two face in shame for admitting this, but I won't. I have a crush on JT.

I can't help it. He's just so damn hot and young (and really funny). By the way, have you seen him dance? Don't tell me he can't do other things well when he can move like that.

My husband knows. He went out and voluntarily bought me the new CD for Valentine's Day. He didn't so much as tsk tsk when I DVR'd the Saturday Night Live which my crushy crush hosted. He even watched it with me, ignoring whatever it was I was doing under the blanket on the couch. I'm going to wait a while before putting up the life-size stand up....at least until we move into the new house.

So there it is. Apparently I have regressed back to adolescence. Who can blame me really? I mean, I wasn't even aware sexy had gone anywhere in the first place and here he goes, bringing it back. If that's not something to write home about, well you tell me what is.

Shoe Porn

I'm feeling a little funny in my girl bits.

Fantastico!

Flip This House

Today I realized how selling my house mirrors my love life 1990-1996.


House:
On the market.

Former Love Life:
On the market.



House:
Tastefully decorated.

FLL:
I knew my way around an eyeliner pencil.



House:
Looking for a stable, loving family to move in.

FLL:
Looking for a stable, loving man who can buy his own cigarettes.



House:
Solid structure, unfinished walk up attic ready to be finished.

FLL:
Good bones, a little koo koo in the head but working on it.



House:
Decent curb appeal, but looks even better once you come inside.

FLL:
Uh....maybe I shouldn't be making this list.

Got MILF?

We're on Day Two of our snowed-in extravaganza. I haven't lost it...yet.

Snow days do have their advantages. For one, I don't have to participate in life outside the warm confines of my house. School is canceled. I don't have a job but even if I did, I would have called in. Our snow shovel broke this morning while my husband was trying to make a path to get his car out.

Since I am not leaving the house, I do not have to look presentable to the outside world. Not that I care one way or the other what I look like at the grocery store or post office, but one never knows when one might run into an old friend or worse, an ex-boyfriend. I hate looking like shit when that happens. I can just picture what they're thinking: "Geez, she used to take much better care of herself before she succumbed to "mommy guilt" and quit her job. Sad. Very sad."

Well, fuck you and your small dick.

It's hard to get motivated to keep up on personal hygiene when I'm trying to keep two young children entertained all day. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself. That's not really an anomaly exclusive to snow days, but it just adds insult to injury in this case.

Last night, as my husband and I were brushing our teeth before bed, I took a long hard look in the mirror.

I had washed my hair that morning, but instead of brushing it into a manageable style, I let it dry naturally. My hair has a bit of a wild streak. Normally I can beat the curls into submission, but if left to its own whimsy, I look like I got a perm circa 1984. After a day of rolling around on the floor, playing with the kids and the dogs all day, my hair looked like that of a crazy homeless person.

In addition to my Mariah-Carey-on-crack-esque coif, my skin is depleted of any moisture whatsoever (forced air heat + old house + winter weather = very dry skin). This, in addition to PMS has caused a bit of a revolt in the skin department. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just use a bit of this handy-dandy face mask stuff I have for such an occasion."

My uniform all day pretty much consisted of what I had worn to bed the night before plus a ratty-looking but very comfortable sweater. Another reason staying in the house can be a treat is the fact that I don't have to put on a bra. Sometimes the girls need to breathe, ya know.

If you haven't been keeping score, let me recap:

My hair is caught in a time warp.
I have a smear of white face mask slapped haphazardly across my face.
PJ's from the night before, accented by a sweater that probably needs to be retired.
No bra (which would have been kinda' sexy about 6 years ago, read: pre-babies, but now not so much).

So, my husband and I are brushing our collective teeth at the bathroom sink and I stop and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, toothpaste foam forming a slow crawl down my chin....

"Jesus Christ, wouldya' look at me?"

(husband stops to gaze upon his lawfully wedded wife, most likely frantically trying to interpret my tone)


"Darling husband, I gotta' ask you, how on earth are you resisting all this hotness?"

Heartbreaker

When I was 22, I kissed a guy on a dare.

It's not that I needed any impetus to kiss someone. It's just that on this occassion, my friend -the dare giver- knew something I didn't. Oh, and we were really drunk.

(Sidenote: the friend in question happened to be this guy's ex girlfriend.)

What she knew that I didn't was that said dare target had a crush on me. I almost typed "huge crush", but I have a hard time thinking someone would have any crush on me, let alone a huge one.

Had I known that this was the case, I never would have done it. It wasn't that he was unattractive or creepy. In fact, he was pretty darn cute. It was just that knowing he liked me would have put a type of pressure on me that I hated. At the time, I wasn't real into living up to someone's perceived expectations. It was for the best that I thought that he thought he was getting a random smooch from a random drunk chick.

I did know him casually. We worked at the same bar, ran in the same circle of friends and went to the same parties. Aside from my bartending job, I also worked at the gas station/liquor store down the street from his house. I saw him around a lot, but never really gave thought to being more than his friend. Again, this was not a result of his appearance or demeanor. It had just never occured to me. Maybe it was because he was a little bit older than me. Maybe it was that ever so slight grumpy old hipster vibe he gave off (while endearing, did put me off a little). Who knows?

So, I kissed him.

He was understandibly taken aback. It was a nice kiss, the kind that makes you want to do more than kiss. In my head, I silently thanked my friend for giving me the dare.

I ended up hanging out talking to this guy for a few hours. Turned out, we had a lot in common (our love of bourbon for one). I still didn't know that he had a crush on me at this point. I just thought we had stumbled onto some dumb luck.

For the next 3 months, we were obnoxiously joined at the hip. Impressive if you consider we both had more than one job (in addition to our job of pouring Jim Beam down our throats). It was summertime. He had a motorcylce. It was fucking fantastic.

It didn't take me long to realize that this really nice, attractive guy called when he said he was going to call, didn't look at other girls, treated me with respect, and seemed to genuinely like me--a lot.

It was weird. I wasn't used to this. In the past, if someone stuck around for more than a month, it was usually because they had nowhere else to sleep. Lovely, eh?

In my youthful stupor I mistook a good man for a man that must have something wrong with him. He was too good to be true, so I did what any young college co-ed with painfully low self esteem would do--I pre-emptively broke up with him. I figured it was coming sooner than later. Better to be the dumper than get my heart run over and drug down the street...again.

A week later, I got this letter. It was sealed with a promotional sitcker for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion-Orange:

I hope things are less stressful for you this way. I am glad to see convenience is a big factor in how you evaluate a relationship. Lucky for me you decided I wasn't worth the time or effort before I fell in love with you. I'll remember to set my sights lower in the future.

P.S. Get your bike before someone steals it.

Two months after that we got back together.

We've been married for almost 9 years.