Gonads, Ice Picks and Husband-Eating Zombie Wives

If Hubber begins one more sentence with, "Since you'll be at home all day doing nothing, could you..."... I'ma pluck his eyeballs out with a rusty ice pick and squish his gonads between my freakishly strong toes. Then, I'll pull his hair.  And for good measure, I'll scrub the toilet with his toothbrush.

For some strange reason, Hubber seems to think that I roll out of the bed each morning and assume this ritual:
  1. slurp down a cup of coffee
  2. stumble into my house slippers
  3. drive starving teen spawn to school
  4. get back home and crawl back under the covers
  5. take magically dressed, sugar-filled kindergartener (with shiny clean teeth) to school
  6. get back home and crawl back under the covers
  7. take a two-hour nap
  8. turn the tv on and watch soaps and talk shows while munching on Cheetos and drinking rum and coke
  9. roll back out of bed to frolick around in the backyard with the dog
  10. "play" on facebook until it's time to pick teen spawn back up from school
I wish, mofo!

Instead, shit usually goes down like this:
  1. fall out of bed
  2. try to spruce myself up a bit to look alive
  3. scream at teen spawn to hurry the hell up
  4. beg tiny spawn to get up
  5. answer a few work-related emails
  6. plead with teen spawn to eat/drink something before we leave
  7. argue that we do NOT have time to go to McDonald's on the way to school 
  8. drag tiny spawn out of bed kicking and screaming
  9. pile kids up in the car and drive to the high school
  10. halfway there, teen spawn freaks out that she forgot something at home
  11. more arguing takes place
  12. drop teen spawn off at school
  13. get back home to get tiny spawn ready for school
  14. fight with tiny spawn regarding hair/teeth brushing and NOT having a popsicle for breakfast
  15. remind her that panties and socks are essential on school days
  16. answer a few work-related emails
  17. take tiny spawn to school
  18. sit in the car line for at least 10 minutes while other jackass parents figure out how to fucking drop their kids off and move the hell out of the way
  19. get home and let the dog out
  20. scream at dog for fighting with neighbor's dog
  21. feed animals / clean litter box
  22. make FIRST cup of coffee
  23. answer work-related emails
  24. return a couple of calls
  25. work
  26. wash some dishes
  27. work
  28. throw a load of laundry into the washing machine
  29. work
  30. sit in on ridiculously long conference call while catching up on some writing
  31. pay bills
  32. run to the grocery store
  33. work
  34. look at the time and freak out that I only have 10 more minutes until I have to pick teen spawn back up from school
I'll stop there because what comes next deals with carpooling... arguing with teen spawn... running (literally) in the direction of tiny spawn's bus stop so the bus driver doesn't get mad at me for being late again..... getting write-up from teacher because my kindergartener can't behave at school... arguing with tiny spawn about her television priveledges... trying to get more work done... etc. etc.

Then, Hubber gets home all tired, wondering what the fuck I did all day and why we're having cereal again for dinner and why I didn't wash a load of whites.


2011: It's a Wrap!

2011 was a tough year for my family. 

It's been nearly a year since my grandma started hangin' loose with the sweet 6 lb, 8oz baby Jesus in heaven.  And, it seems we've all been stumbling through the year making up new family traditions for ourselves without her.  Shit just isn't the same without that ol' gal.  But, the world keeps turning and life seems to be going by at full speed.

On the homefront, we had to adjust our lifestyles to my new career move. You know, THE MOVE. The one that resulted in less income but more freedom.  The one that relieved me from stress and restored some of my sanity.  The same move that has injected me permanently into the daily lives of my children.  Yeah, that one.

I've watched my teen spawn mature a little.  She appreciates having me at home and has been a real trooper when it comes to budgeting for material things she was accustomed to getting at the drop of hat.  I'm one proud momma.

I think I've had to adjust more than anyone else. I haven't bought myself new clothes or shoes in over a year. The funny thing is that I didn't even realize that I have been going without until I was cleaning out my closet the other day.  Some things just aren't THAT important.

Also, I've learned that "working from home" isn't as easy as it sounds.  You still have to bathe, shave, manage your time, juggle "work" and "home", and deal with dumbasses on semi-regular basis. 

All in all, though, life is good.

Happy Holidays!  May 2012 bring great adventures!

We're More Like the Griswolds Than Cousin Eddie's Peeps

Although telecommuting isn't always all it's cracked up to be, the one constant positive thing about it is that I can work from anywhere.  And by "anywhere"... I mean ANY FUCKING WHERE!  Like here, for instance:

Hellooooo, Minnie Winnie!
That's right, people! The Hancocks bought a second home...and this bad boy has wheels!  His name is Minnie Winnie.  Like a small weiner.  (But, we all know, size doesn't matter. Besides, Minnie Winnie has very ginormous balls.) 

So, why did we take the plunge?  Well, Hubber had an itch.  I guess it's the caveman in him.  The last time he had this itch, I nearly died... and in order to live through his itch this time, we decided a motorhome was the way to go.

The first itch took place several years ago when Hubber introduced me to his kind of "roughing it."  It was loaded with nature, tents, sleeping bags, fires and more nature.  Momma don't like too much nature, y'all.  But, I'll try anything once... so I was a good sport about my first camping trip.  Mother nature, however, wasn't too keen on my dabbling with her affairs.  First, it was hot and muggy and mosquitos were everywhere.  Next, it was so cold I thought my nips would break right off the ends of my boobs.  Then, it rained.  All night. As I lay in my tent. Dying.  I kid you not.  And, to make matters worse, in the middle of the worst rain storm in history, my toddler decides to contract explosive diarreah.  Climbing (but mostly slipping and sliding) a half mile uphill in the dark of night to find the restroom nearly killed us both.  It's a miracle that I lived to tell the tale.

So, when Hubber got the "we really need to go camping" itch again... the solution was either DIVORCE or buy a motorhome.  We figured a divorce would be too taxing on the children so we opted for the latter.

Which makes the entire family happy.  The "real campers" can pitch a tent if they want to, but Momma's gonna be warm and cozy inside her Minnie Winnie; banging away on the laptop, sipping coffee and watching trash on television.  And, when the explosive diarreah stikes (and it WILL strike), the toilet will only be 6 feet away!

Although I sure hope that when the shitter gets full, Hubber doesn't turn into this guy: