Yesterday, I had a dream.

It was a simple dream…

See, yesterday was supposed to be the first Tuesday in months that my Mommy’s Morning Off was actually going to be OFF: No doctor, No therapist, No acupuncture.

Just me, the laptop, Panera and the blog.

In my dream, you, my lovely reader, would have already finished a hilarious post that made you pee yourself laughing while simultaneously stroking your junk heartstrings with it’s common-every-woman-ness.

But my jacked up, hot mess of a body had other plans for me…

Monday morning I woke up with a swollen and painful right eye. I forced myself through the day, but by Tuesday morning I decided to call my eye doctor when I looked a little too much like this dude:

So instead of my sweet little blog ménage à quatre, I spent the morning being driven to the eye doctor by Mr. Bee and being diagnosed with an eye infection.

But the most super awesomeness of it all?

Now I get to spend a week in my glasses, having been banned from wearing my contacts.

“So what?” you ask, innocently. “You’ll just look like a nerdy, hot librarian for a week. Deal with it.”

Well, true, my friend. But…

But…

My glasses are like one tiny prescription below where I need them to be. So that means I’m more of a squinty, confused librarian.

Oh, AND when we moved last, apparently I thought the safest way to pack my hardly-ever-used glasses would be to wrap them in diamond-crusted sandpaper after grinding them in to some gravel and letting two drunk cats with sharpen claws bat them around for a few hours.

My point?

They are scratched to hell and back.

So while this week didn’t exactly turn out as I had planned, at least I can spend my time hunkered down in my house dreaming about a non-infected next week.

Fingers crossed.

Song title: Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood

Don’t forget to enter our very first Giveaway for free Tea children’s clothing!

For realios, people. You’re making it really easy for the two people who read this blog! Spread the word! Enter the giveaway! Win and give the clothes to me!

Geesh, fine. Keep the prize for yourself. Greedy, much?

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Okay, today we’re going to discuss a little dark secret of mine*.

Mom, Dad, you might want to go read The Onion or Martha Stewart or something right now.

Go ahead, we’ll wait.

{jazz musak}

Oh shit, that will just KEEP my dad around. DAMMIT!

Alright, now that we’re all comfy and cozy, I have to tell you a little story about a crazy ass bitch that road raged on me today.

[Open on a one-way two-lane-wide road climbing a hill and about to merge onto a larger road]

Here I am, coming home from today’s doctor’s appointment (more about that later), minding my own sweet business listening to talk radio (shut up) and climbing the hill that leads to my neighborhood.

As I look in my rearview mirror, I notice a shitty white car zoom out in to the next lane (that is about to merge on with MY lane in a few cars lengths) for no apparent reason besides trying to be an asshole and cut me off.

Now, there are many more cars in front of me and some that are legitimately merging in to the lane. THOSE PEOPLE, I would’ve let merge in front of me. But this stupid girl (I won’t compliment her by calling her a woman), for no reason, zooms up and tries to cut me off at the merge.

Here’s where some background on me might be useful (*This would be said deep, dark secret). It’s probably easiest said like this: Don’t fuck with me when I’m in the car. ESPECIALLY when Bee is with Grandma so I REALLY don’t have any reason to be careful. Because, while I won’t purposefully insight road rage against someone, if you cut me off or are a total dick or are speeding beyond reasonable amounts, well, first I’ll probably call 9-1-1 because I’m a total narc, but next I’ll probably try to fuck with you and thwart your evil plan of evilness (trademark!).

So when this chick tried to be a bitch and cut me off, I didn’t let her. My car is bigger and way faster so it was fairly easy and non-confrontational. She, on the other hand, didn’t think so.

Needless to say, there were a few hand gestures exchanged (only one from me – guess which one). I was actually trying to be the bigger person and didn’t try to box her in or anything when we merged on to a road giving us two additional lanes. She’ll zoom off and I’ll just smile and wave and get back to my errands.

It looked like it was going to go that way. I stayed in the slow lane as she zoomed ahead, cutting off other innocent drivers (without her blinker, of course, because if you’re gonna be a dick, I guess you just have to give it 110%). On we continued for a half mile or so, me going on my way cars and cars behind her while she drove like a douche bag.

As we approached a stoplight, I was turning right in a right-turn only and, luckily, wouldn’t have to stop next to her because AWKWARD. As I passed, she shot her car out in front of me causing me to slam on the brakes so I didn’t hit her.

Oh no you didn’t.

Now this is where a normal person would probably just yell obscenities to themselves in their head (we already know how I feel about that) and go on their way. I made the poor decision to instead cut her off (slightly, albeit) to take another route to the store I was heading towards.

That, as it turns out, was a bad idea.

So this crazy. ass. bitch. starts following me.

The trouble is: I’ve got all the time in the world, a half-tank of gas and Bee chillin’ at home with the Grandma. How do you handle such a situation?

You drive around the block, through the store parking lot, over and over.

And over.

And over.

Because the bitch just won’t go away.

I figure, I could do this all fucking day if I needed to and, luckily, she finally gave up when I decided to take a tour through the adjacent parking lot and expand our little round robin.

But seriously. WTF!

I doubled back to fill a prescription at the local drive-thru pharmacy, making sure to be sickeningly sweet to the pharmacist in case he happened to just witness the last few minutes. As I was a leaving the parking lot, a local cop car pulled in and I am just crossing my fingers that they weren’t called on my (and crazy bitch’s) behalf.

Upon arriving at home, I was so full of energy and adrenaline (not in a good way) and I just knew that I had to get this story on the blog so that I could forget about it and that you could assure me that crazy bitch isn’t going to hunt me down and deface my car in the middle of the night.

Thank god for gated communities, right?

Song title: Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry

To Whom It May Concern Regarding Current Stork Performance:

I am writing today to request a swift and immediate improvement in current stork performance as it pertains to the Bee Family. I have been an employee of Baby Bee Incorporated for more than two years, and I feel that my experience and skills, while increasing daily, warrant a promotion to Mother of Two and a raise in the form of an additional baby.

Throughout my tenure, I have advanced from a married woman with countless hours of free time to a typical suburban mom, counting the minutes until I have a free hour to myself to watch The Housewives of New Jersey. Despite the decrease of personal breaks, which, by the way, must be in violation of state law, my workload continues to grow.

Since I was hired two years ago, my responsibilities have grown significantly. I have managed to raise Bee somewhat successfully from an infant to a toddler and, at last count, all ten fingers and all ten toes remain intact. To date, there have been no emergency room visits and only one outbreak of butt worms.

Daily evaluations of Bee’s intellect also indicate promising results. She became proficient at spelling by 19 months and her vocabulary grows in an exponential fashion. This week, we are working on saying “I want a baby sister, you godd@mn Stork” with perfect pronunciation.

With that said, I do admit that my abilities in the cooking and cleaning departments are lacking, but I think you will find that my standards will remain static, if not improve, with a second child.

Who are we kidding? It will get worse. But no one ever died of dirty dishes on the counter, right?

There has been an obvious increase in your workload in my surrounding area so I can see how you could have possibly overlooked my delivery. I am well aware that these mothers have earned their promotions as well, but seeing the local baby increase can be quite frustrating for a consistent and well-deserving employee such as myself. Might I suggest that instead of giving everyone and their cousin a set of twins, maybe you could divide the burden among a few different mothers? Just a suggestion.

Based on the feedback that I have received, I believe that you and your manager (Mrs. Stork?) will find that I have been performing excellently as a mother. I am beyond ready to tackle the challenges of being a mother of two and look forward to the increase in duties.

I feel that this discussion is long overdue, and I hope that you will give my request some serious consideration. I fear that a lack in response from you soon could result in personal harm to yourself in the form of a duck hunting rifle to your temple. Don’t risk it, Stork. Just don’t.

In conclusion, please submit my request of a promotion immediately and remit compensation in the form of one adorable Cletus the Fetus to my womb immediately.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Mama Bee
CEO of Parenting and Household Management

Song title: I Get the Job Done by Big Daddy Kane

I just realized that the Jon & Kate Plus Eight diatribe that I spent an hour writing this morning has been eaten by Wordpress.

Someone will die for this.

Or I will die a little on the inside.

Maybe both.

Song title: Someone Must Get Hurt by She Wants Revenge

On Wednesday, I became that woman.

You know, the old bitty in the neighborhood who screams at the tweens on their gosh darn, new-fangled skate shoes.

Except I didn’t yell at the tweens for skating (although it is just a matter of time…). I was heading to my morning play date when I noticed two tweens looking as suspicious as I do after an unsupervised shopping trip to Target. Otherwise known as: guilty as hell.

The kids were standing at the nearest fence line with spray cans in their hands, which they quickly hid as my car drove past. “No they didn’t!” I thought as I made a u-turn and tried to decide how to deal with the situation:

Option 1: Call the neighborhood security people.
Honestly, I only thought of this in retrospect, but I don’t even think we really have a security guy. The neighborhood has a security CAR, but I’ve only ever seen in parked in the community center parking lot. I’m guessing it doesn’t even have gas in it. AND I don’t have their phone number in my Crackberry, requiring effort on my part.

Option 2: Call the police.
Again, effort. Of course I know The Number but I figured two hoodlums weren’t exactly 911 material.

Option 3: Confront the asshats myself and scare the love of God in to them.
This, on the other hand, requires very little effort as I can stay in the car and yell at them out an open window. And should provide to be quite entertaining. And it was…

So I drive up, roll down my window and yell, “You guys can stop what you’re doing right now or I can call the police. Your choice.” in my meanest I-Mean-Business tone.

The kid who had the cajones to actually talk to the crazy old bitty in the Soccer Mom SUV had the weirdest, kind of questioning look on his face. So I followed up with, “Are you tagging or graffiti-ing or whatever?”

Threatening, I know.

Then the kids hold up their cans and say, “Uh, we were just gonna Silly String our friend when he comes up to the bus stop…”

“Carry on…

…and have fun with that.”

Man, I’m a jackass.

Song title: Neighborhood Watch by Dilated Peoples

If there’s one thing that enrages me it’s…well, let’s not kid ourselves, there are a LOT of things that enrage me!

But recently I have read a lot of posts on the Interwebs that I can only call “anti-mom”. Or at least positively demeaning to mothers. You can read my response to one of the posts here.

As the rage subsided from yesterday’s anger-induced coma, I was surfing Twitter and found a worse post about children and moms.

I quickly went from a cool-headed Bruce Banner to The Hulk again.

To give you a little background, this blogger refers to herself as the “Childless Bitch” and needless to say, the name is very fitting. I might even rename her “Childless Fucking [fill in the blank with a word that I won't even write on my blog in case my mother reads this post] Who Should Find Some Where Else to Blog” if they are looking for a new blog title.

Apparently CB, as people are calling her, has quite a long list of anti-mom posts that you can read here. Let me warn you that if you are anything like me, these posts will get your blood boiling. Here is a small sampling of her most recent bile:

As a vacant vessel — read: lady without a baby, I am here to throw some enlightenment your way regarding a specific Facebook phenomenon. New moms, especially the stay at home type, have taken to their Facebook status updates as a means of letting the world know every detail of their spawn’s daily developments…

…Shut the F*&% Up Parents is a collection of Facebook status updates that make our eggs instantly dry up. It documents every offense from using your baby’s face as your profile picture to thoughts on burying placenta in the backyard. Yes, non-mommies find these tidbits offensive – as in OMG, we really don’t care that you are about to walk your infant to the duck park.

First of all, let me ask: Why the Fuckity Fuck Fuck would a MOM’S WEBSITE be posting these rants?! Seriously! If your website is all about motherhood and parenting, why would you let some total bitch who obviously hates children post this “articles” for all the moms to read?

Secondly, to address CB’s issue, asking a parent to not discuss their child is like me telling my non-parent friends to not discuss their jobs, husbands, or dogs. Then life (and conversation) would be pretty boring wouldn’t it?

And not only is it ridiculously rude to ask someone to not write or talk about their children, it’s down right demeaning, as if our life (which pretty much consists of ONLY dirty diapers and walks with our children through the duck park) is far too boring and pedestrian for the uber-hip non-baby folk.

I’m sure my friends could give a shit if Baby Bee spelled “milk” by herself or used the potty for the first time, but if they truly are my friends, they listen, smile and maybe even give me the occasional “oh, how cute!” even if they don’t mean it.

And to both “Future Mama” (even though, yes, the majority of this point does not pertain to you) and “Childless Bitch”, while you both probably mean well (I can only assume that CB is attempting to be funny. EPIC FAIL there, bitch.), why don’t you come back over when you have your own “spawn” to deal with.

Hopefully your Facebook Status won’t be the only thing to change.

Song title: Baby Baby All the Time by Diana Krall

Phew!
Just when you think the idea of change is actually catching on in the world, how refreshing that Senator Obama chose…wait for it…an old white dude to be his running mate. Well done, my friend. Thanks for solidifying that glass ceiling for us ladies. We women didn’t want a chance to break through our stereotypes and actually help change this F’d up world we live in; we’re much happier staying in the kitchen and making pies.

Congratulations, old pasty white men! We definitely need more of you in politics.

Song title: Same Ol’ Thing by A Tribe Called Quest