Muppet Bathing – The Day of the Damned!

I hear that people have children that like bathing. I am not one of those people. In fact, the very idea of bathing my Muppets sends me into a panic attack that requires Diazapam and alcohol.

It all started when the 2 year-old was 4 months. Something happened. We are not sure what, but it led to PDD-NOS. This led to not wanting to be anywhere NEAR a body of water. It is as if the water turns to lava the second I place the Muppet into it.

See the 2-year-old loves to play WITH water, not in it. The 1-year-old thinks that the battle cry of the 2-year-old means he has to be scared, too. So, both act as if I am ripping their flesh off when I run the tub.

Typically, I will have 2 glasses of wine and then announce to Hubs that I am going to bathe the Muppets. I have to warn him to for his better mental health. It also takes 2 of us to do this correctly. I then de-dress the Muppets in preparation.

One of two things will happen. Either they will hear the water of the tub, put two and two together and realize they will soon be put into the mass tub of lava, or they prance around happy and naked through the house oblivious to the impending doom for them. Either way, it is short-lived.

Muppet bathing is an art form. You must have everything prepared prior to the torture. If not, you will have to hear the blood curdling screams longer and someone might get hurt. List making is a good skill to possess when you have Muppets.

  1. Get out enough towels for drying and comfort = 4
  2. Place bathmat next to tub
  3. Make Muppets naked
  4. Drink 2 glasses of wine with Hubs
  5. Run bath with bubbles
  6. Drink 1 more glass of wine and find a wash cloth
  7. Ask for first Muppet

Here is where it gets fun for all. The first Muppet – the 2-year-old – is now screaming, which has alarmed the 1-year-old. The 1-year-old is now whimpering at the very least, if not crying already and is nowhere near the water. I literally have to dunk the Muppet in, scrub him while singing some song, and then yell for the exchange of a wet, clean Muppet for a dry, dirty one.

  1. Hand over wet, crying Muppet
  2. Force in second Muppet
  3. Forget singing and just scrub
  4. Remove screaming Muppet
  5. Dry it off and dress it
  6. Drink more booze – any kind will do

I think what makes me wonder the most about bath time is that once it is over, they are happy. Seriously, they act as if the best thing in the world happened and wonder why I am twitching in a corner.

If I have one more drink, I will forget it ever happened. Then we will all be happy.

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new headbands + a giveaway

Check out this Momma’s new headbands + a giveaway. Make that special girl in your life even more special!

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The Bitch Monster From Hell

So, I am not a very nice person as I approach my time of the month. I really never have been. It used to be a couple of days of whining, crying, and bitchiness, now it is days leading up and time during that the Bitch shows up and takes over.

She comes in slowly. Like I will be sitting at the computer and Hubs will say something like, ” Would you like me to make you some bacon?”

I will immediately turn to him and the Bitch pops out and returns the dialogue with ” Are you fucking trying to make me fat? I thought you hated fat chicks? Are you wanting a divorce?”

At this point Hubs has a very perplexed look and backs out of the room. I am sure he whips out a calender and checks the date. He is really smart, so he realizes that “she” is ready to come to town, yet again – the Bitch Monster from Hell! Hubs is not a dumb man and retreats to where the gaming machines are and leaves me to wallow in my own pain and bloated misery, as I prefer.

I admit, it is not pretty. Not at all. I am in such discomfort that and in hormonal turmoil that I can snap at nothing. Due to the fact that Hubs and I work and live together 24/7, he is usually the one to get the Bitch at her worst.

I think I would be better if my uterus was not trying to escape from my body. She thinks that this bleeding thing means it is a fucking free for all. She is wrong! All it means is that I am not pregnant, which at this point I would take to not have this torture. My hubby would rather deal with the Bitch. I would reach up and rip the damn uterus out, but that is not possible.

I feel as though somehow I got ripped off. I mean, really. Who thought it would be fun to design a body that could push a 10 pound turkey, but not have a orgasm easy? Or bleed at least once per 30 days like a stuck pig? What do men get, a good orgasm and a stupid look on their face after. Wonder why we are all bitchy?

At some point it all ends and the cycle starts again. Everyone huddles in a corner and cries when it happens. At least I am the only girl in the house. If there was more than one, my Hubs would hang himself.

Me. I will just continue to drink.

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I Used to LOVE to Drive

Driving has always been one of my most favorite past times. Nothing was better than turning on some tunes, lighting a smoke, and taking a drive around the bay. Even as time moved on and more and more muppets took over the back seat, and added to the noise factor, and the smoke is no longer there, I still enjoy a PEACEFUL car ride.

Peaceful is the operative word here. This was not hard to accomplish before hubby and I popped out the last two muppets. The oldest boy was in school and already had been properly trained to shup factor in the car or face the wrath of Mean Mom. The latter two have not figured this out yet, nor do we think they give a shit. Seriously, they know what shut up means and be quiet, yet they are determined to either cry that horrible toddler wail from having to be restrained when they do not want to, screaming for the fun of it, or yelling some type of kid show title over and over and over and over.

I now dread car time. Hubby and I will sit down and think of how we are going to pull off each errand as quickly and in the shortest time possible. We plan ahead for food and drinks and binkies. Somehow, even the most well planned trip turns to shit as soon as the car door opens and we attempt to put a child in the vehicle.

Me: Quinn, sit down.

Quinn: WHAAAAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Me: BEND, DAMMIT!

There I am in my driveway in front of the entire neighborhood, shoving a 1 and a half year old into his seat and strapping him down so he cannot move. At the same time my husband is on the other side trying to wrestle the 2 and half year old into his seat. This child is the master of stop and drop. The type of toddler offense maneuver that leaves your back out for 4 weeks and your blood boiling.

Hubs: Rory, get in the car!

Rory: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! DADDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYY!! NO!

Hubs: RORY! Sit in the seat, we are going bye-bye.

Rory: WHAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! DOWNNNNNNN!!!

This is about when I have finished one child restraining procedure and tag team Hubs from the other side of the car to accomplish the second. We each provide our muppet with the proper shup devices – sippy cup for Rory and binkie for Quinn – and climb into the car ourselves.

We are already tired and stressed out. If I could sedate them prior to each outing with something like St. Jude’s Valium for Children, I sure as hell would. All car rides would look like this:

Usually by the time we are exiting the driveway the natives are calm. They tend to settle down to recoup as we venture forth. Once we hit a quarter-mile down the street someone will drop their shup device and start talking or crying. There might be some forceful hand holding. This is where one toddler forcefully makes the other toddler hold their hand against their will. This usually results in someone screaming STOP IT!!! LEAVE HIM ALONE!

A recent trip to the grocery store had actually been very uneventful. The kids were remarkably well-behaved in the car. We were driving back home in as peaceful a manner as possible when you own muppets. Every once in a while you would hear HOME PEEPO or BJs from the back seat. The hubs and I were chatting and enjoying the car ride.

We got about 4  miles from the house and all of a sudden both children broke out in song.

Muppets: Yo Gabba Gabba! Yo Gabba Gabba!!!

At first we laughed. They were happily chanting and it was kind of funny – for the first 5 minutes. One rule you learn very early if you have ever interacted with muppets is that you NEVER laugh at something they do. At least not in front of them. This encourages more exaggerated, loud behavior that will continue for decades. Or until they run out of air.  

Muppets: YO GABBA GABBA! YO GABBA GABBA! YO GABBA GABBA!!!!!

And, so it continued for the rest of trip home.  By the time I pulled into the driveway, I had one big eye and hub’s face had melted off. We quickly removed the muppets from their car restraint device (which by the way is not for safety, it is to keep them from jumping on you while driving) and got them into the house fast, as that is where the alcohol is.

Like I said – I used to LOVE to drive. Now I LOVE to drink.

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