I'm with the band....

For those of you who don't know this is Fabrizio Moretti. I just call him Fab, for various reason I'm sure you can't figure out. He is the drummer for The Strokes. And I adore him. Sometimes I refer to him as my "boyfriend."
I also refer to Eduardo Verástegui, Charlie Hunnam, Marcus Mumford, Naveen Andrews and Henry Ian Cusick with the coveted title. (Even my husband has been known to refer to a guy as my boyfriend! Such a good sport that one.) You should know that the title of Pretend Husband lies solely with the beautiful Jeffery Dean Morgan. Or Jeff if you're me, the Pretend Mrs. Morgan.... talk about a coveted title. I digress because clearly you get the point and now I really want to go watch Grey's Anatomy reruns.

There is a point: I told you guys about my "boss" on free night. He just turned 21 and he is so precious. I imagine one of my boys wearing their hair shaggy like him and what is with these boys and the tight pants? It's like he's wearing leggings, but he's so nice that as a mom I don't care. And he likes really good music. Like good music. And he blasts it in the back room and we all act like we don't see the other dancing. A couple weeks ago we were jamming to The Strokes and I made a comment about Fab my boyfriend.

Fast forward to last night:
"I told my best friend you dated one of The Strokes. He thinks you're the most awesome person in the world now. They're his favorite band. He wanted me to ask which guy it was."
You can imagine my face right about now. I waited for two beats.
"You know I was joking right?"
"No!"
I am an idiot. Note to self: Not everyone gets the sense of humor. Or your affinity for celebrity men.
"If I'd actually dated Fabrizio Moretti I wouldn't work here... I'd just be off somewhere being awesome!" He and I both had a good laugh about it. And when I stopped being mortified I realized something. He thought I dated......

this???????????????

I take it back... I take it all back...

I want my hair back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I tried loving it. I even tried liking it. Now I'm trying to hate it less. It sounds silly to say I worked my ass off to grow my hair out because in reality I did nothing but wait.... and wait... and wait... for two years but it was finally at the point that when I looked in the mirror I got to think, "YEAH! It's the perfect length!" And then my hormones had to get all crazy because having a baby wreck you physically and emotionally isnt enough he also has to cause you to lose your hair like George Costanza. No. Really. Good thing I'm head over heels for my littlest guy. My nickname was "Wookie" for the three months it took B to convince me that it was "time." Don't worry I've been guilt tripping him as often as I can manage without pissing him off. The real turning point for B was when one of my long and luscious hairs got wrapped around three of the baby's toes. Now I'm a bitch but I would never want anything to happen to my child because of my hair. So I cut it. Wait- more like chopped it. The good news is that Baby has all of his toes intact, there is not more cursing when B showers after me and I dont have to spend half hour blow drying all of that hair that I busted my ass growing. I do however have to spend thirty minutes with a hot iron trying to tame my "wash n'go" style..... or I just walk around lookin a hot mess. hmm.... I wonder which usually happens. In an even more entertaining note I found myself saying to B "Instead of waiting another year, let's just hurry up and have our third (and planned to be final!) baby so I can grow my hair out." To which he said, "I'm going to go ahead and pretend you didn't just suggest we have a baby so you can grow out your hair." Ugh...

I'm alive!

Hi. I'm still here. Yippee for you right? Seriously though I have been busy. But I don't know what I've been doing. Hmm. The life of a housewife (stop giggling). So there are two things on my mind... drum roll please....

1) Hubby turns 30 tomorrow err.... right now. I know- he's ancient. He hasn't so much as glanced this thing yet (remember, 'you should write a blog, it would be hilarious!'?) anyway, he's not seeing it so I can tell my two readers that my husband is old. Like dirt. I don't really care, I'm so looking forward to the big 3-0! I have always felt that your 30's 40's and 50's are when you really live life. Your career (hehe) takes off, your family life really begins, and you realize that you're the only one who doesn't like your hair- or even notices your hair really. You're you so just live with it. B on the other hand is all "why do you insist on saying that number?!" Because that's all it is, a number! I make the dirt joke for one reason- when I met B he was 21. That math makes me feel old as dirt! Last week he said "How did we know all those years ago that we'd still like being together? We're still best friends, we still have fun. How did we know?" B is not a sensitive guy, that was a big statement for him but he's right we're still having fun. Its just that now sometimes that fun involves me laughing at him for asking for the fourth day in a row, "Am I losing my hair?" :-)

2) This isn't even a 'sidebar' conversation so bare with me... I hate my living room. As in it makes my skin crawl. Which is unfortunate since it's kind of my office these days. I keep telling B it would be different if he would let me buy new furniture, then I get the side eye and keep online shopping in silence and disgust. The truth is we're able to live comfortably on one income but in this house 'comfortable' doesn't involve $7000 French sofas.... what's that saying about champagne taste and beer budget... yeah you guessed it I'm beer... I'm freakin Natty Light with a horrendous living room. I am also not a moron. (Stop acting so surprised you guys.) I don't believe in financing that crap, especially with two kids and a perfectly good working if not good looking couch.

Free night....

So here's the deal: when I left my job as a Starbucks store manager I was able to stay on with the company part time. When I say part time I mean five hours a week.... from 7p-12:30a. One night a week (or two nights if I'm really lucky) I do not have to change diapers, wipe noses or load that friggin' washer. So last night was my 'free night' which is a sad way to refer to a job but none the less I do and this is my safe place so don't judge me. I'm making lattes and looking forward to my ten minute break when I get to drink a free Frappuccino and read a book without any guilt. Did I mention free Frappuccino?
I knew I was doomed when my 'manager' (he's twenty one and I helped hire him into the company last year because I thought he was precious and now he tells me when to go drink my free drinks) tells me that B is on the phone. Let me just tell you I thought hell had frozen over. B never calls me at work- EVER. I get on the phone and its worse than hell... its an all out screaming bloody murder baby. Screaming over said baby B says, "You have to come home! I don't know what to do! Something is wrong with your child!" Oh no. He's no longer our child but 'my' child, this is serious. In an absolute panic I find someone to cover for me (I absolutely love the partners at my new store. They rock and make free night a blast. Or maybe I like them simply because they can go pee on their own and don't beg to watch Cars over and over and over....) and jump in my car. By this time I have the husband and screaming baby on my cell phone. As I start pulling out of the parking lot something miraculous starts happening. Bloody murder baby stops crying and becomes happy smiley baby... because his Mama is on speakerphone.
I get home and pick up the again crying child. B glares and mumbles inappropriate things as the beautiful child smiles at me as if I am Jesus himself. His little eyes were red and swollen from all the missing Mama tears but his little heart is happy because here she is in all her coffee smelling glory- Mama to put him to bed. Little adorable jerk face. Didn't anybody tell you its free night? I didn't even get my Frappuccino...

More goin on than just baths...

So now that Father's Day is behind us I feel I should be honest.... the sink that the guys installed.... doesn't work.

Yep. Mama is rinsing dishes in the bathtub until Thursday... that's when the part that got 'broken' during the installation is expected to arrive UPS. Please God let it be here Thursday because in my opinion the bathtub is for, you know, bathing. Crazy right?

On a positive note I promise not to take the proximity of my kitchen sink to the dishwasher for granted again. At least for a little while.

Happy Daddy's Day!

So here's the deal.... parenting is hard. I mean sometimes it is HARD. And our oldest isn't even three yet so come back in fifteen years and I can only imagine what I'd have to say. I don't think it was a mistake when God created woman and man because this is definitely a two person gig. Even if its just taking turns walking said two year old back to time out.
My point is: I am so lucky to have such a great partner in parenthood. From the moment that I met B he told me he wanted to be a father and not to brag, but he's pretty great at it. E is an absolute mini daddy. If daddy does it it's the thing to do. That being said B gets the side glance a lot- like the other day when E apologized for holding his "junk" on the way to the potty. Wow Daddy. Now in hindsight I give it a chuckle because again- parenting is hard (don't even get me started about how E refers to himself as Lady Gaga sometimes- Nice one Mama). Brian also manages to juggle having two boys that demand his attention, a job that demands his time and a wife who demands his money (what? I thought we were being honest!).
So short and sweet- the boys and I are lucky to have him! I try to tell him as much as I can just how thankful I am for his love, support & friendship and for giving me the opportunity to make raising our children my purpose.

*edit*
So I started this post on Saturday night and am finishing it on Sunday night... anyone want to guess how my wonderful husband & dad spent Father's Day afternoon?
...............putting a new kitchen sink & faucet in our kitchen because it kept spraying me in the face......... even on their special day they manage to take care of us. :-)

June is more than just a month...

So let me just kick this thing off by acknowledging the obvious: I am well aware that every third person in this world is now a blogger. Some of my best friends have wickedly entertaining blogs. So don't think that I am here to enlighten the world. I'm not. I'm here to create a journal for myself, my sons, my husband and any of our friends and family that are slightly interested in hearing about our adventures. This is for me.

That being said let's get on to June. No not the month... the other more famous one...


I recently became a stay at home mother or as they called it back in the day a "housewife." HA! I know. The word itself terrifies me. I am outspoken. I have been lovingly referred to in a derogatory term that rhymes with itch. And I like it! I'm a feminist. My husband and I bicker every single day because I am right and he is wrong. There is no "yes dear" in my marriage (even though I admit sometimes there should be- or at least a firm handshake and a truce) I am not June Cleaver. I've entered into a whole new world that I once thought myself incapable of enjoying. Don't get me wrong, I adore my sons and love my husband dearly, but I am a woman that likes working. I had a job I really loved (ok they all have their days- but mine was pretty great) and I had the pleasure of managing a staff of amazing people (friends). Now the only thing I'm managing is our new front loaders and a pail of cloth diapers... we'll get there... I'm not going to scare you in the first post. (Read: Diaper sprayer) So I am the new Household Manager aka I do the dishes, clean the toliets, wash the diapers, and cook the meals- oh!- and I run the budget... that part I enjoy a little too much however. So I'm toting the line today as I line up the ingredients for my Hubby B's favorite dessert on the kitchen counter. I know June would be proud and I'm drinking a beer... because I'm proud too.