Mom to Bee

We will find out if our little nugget Cletus is a hamburger or a hotdog (girl or a boy) on March 23rd. It seems like lately whenever someone realizes that I’m pregnant and not just letting myself go (to be fair, I am letting myself go as well), the first question out of their mouth is…

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

First of all, that’s a horrible question because no matter how you answer it, you feel bad that your not-so-soon-to-be-baby will feel like shit if he/she ever found out that they have the “wrong” genitalia. Unless, of course, you answer with the super fucking lame, “We just want it to be healthy.”

Really?! Because there are so many of us parents out there that don’t give a shit if our kid is totally a retarded spider monkey potato baby just as long as she has a vagina?! Jesus Christ.

Anywho, like I was saying, I think the question is really unfair. Mostly because I am totally bias.

My answer to the question every time? A girl.

But it’s not my fault, really. It’s Sissy’s fault.

We were so cute. What happened?

You see, I have one older sister, Sissy. During our youth, we were the typical siblings: I completely annoy the shit out of my sis to which she would respond with an Indian burn on my arm. To which I would go crying to my mom like the youngest is supposed to do. Don’t blame me, blame society.

But once Sissy went away to college, I think it only took roughly 24 hours for us to become best of friends. It was then that we learned that as long as we don’t have to live with each other for longer than a week or so, we are super BFFs.

Sissy and I have never understood how siblings could be anything but the best of friends. We see each other as often as we can living an hour away from each other and having 4.5 kids between us. We call each other roughly 112 times a day, 8 days a week, if only to discuss getting boob jobs and giggling over scenes from the Hangover.

But there is a glorious beauty that comes with a BFF Sissy. For one, there are so many things that we can share that few others could. (Side note: Random Friend does not represent any one of my particular friends so don’t get pissed, k?)

While Shopping with Sissy
Me: How do these jeans look? Super fly, right?
Sissy: Um, no. Definitely not. They kind of give you camel toe but in your butt.
Me: ((sigh)) You’re right…

While Shopping with a Friend
Me: How do these jeans look? Super fly, right?
Random Friend: Nah, I don’t think those are working for you.
Me: What do you know, slut? ((stomps away))

Chatting with Sissy about Family
Sissy: Can you believe what random family member did? What a butt monkey?
Me: Right?! Don’t even get me started on that reh-tard!!

Chatting with Friend about Family
Friend: I can’t believe what your random family member did! What a butt monkey!
Me: Shut up, bitch. That’s MY retarded family member you’re talking about!! ((throws punch))

Planning a Night Out with Sissy
Me: First we should eat and then drink and then drink some more and have a slumber party and be drunk with the drinking and it will be awesome!!
Sissy: I’m pre-funking already!

Planning a Night Out with Random Friend
Me: First we should eat and then drink and then drink some more and have a slumber party and be drunk with the drinking and it will be awesome!!
Friend: Sorry, I have to wash my cousin’s aunt’s sister’s friend’s neighbor’s poodle’s hair that night.
Me: Whore.

You know, maybe I’d have more friends if I stopped calling them whore all the time…

So anyway, you can see that I’m terribly biased when it comes to preferring a sibling gender for Bee. I know that if Cletus is a boy, he and Bee will be as thick as thieves (mainly because I will force them to be friends even if I have to use Sissy’s Gitmo Indian burn technique), but somehow I don’t think they’ll be calling eachother five times a day to discuss vaginaplasty when they’re older.

But, hey, I could be wrong.

Song title: My Best Friend by Tim McGraw

Guess what I did this last weekend?

A 5K Run/Walk!

::this is where I wait for you to stop laughing::

Okay, asshole. No need to laugh that hard.

Really, stop laughing.

I know, I know. It is kind of unbelievable.

First, I should probably really emphasize the WALK part of that previous statement.

Sissy decided to do the Run/Walk in memory of her father-in-law who passed a while back from lung cancer. To keep her company and support her, I decided to join her.

Crazy, right?

Sissy has been doing great with some training while I have been training my muffin top to regrow those five pounds I lost due to that God-given stomach bug a little while back.

Seriously, people. It should be illegal for someone like me to have so much left over Halloween candy in the house. As I type this I have not one, not two, not THREE, but FOUR empty candy wrappers sitting next to me.

By the tin of Petite Palmier Cookies from Trader Joe’s.

I have a problem, y’all.

Despite my candy binge carbo load, I got off my ass and walked 3.125 miles on Sunday.

Oh yes, I looked up exactly how many miles a 5k is because hell if I was gonna walk 3.126 miles. Fuck ‘em. At milepost 3.125, I’m OUT.

Sissy assured me that this is going to be a sweats-wearing, Starbucks-drinking kind of event so it may not surprise any of you that we didn’t come home with any medals.

However, Sissy wasn’t entirely accurate with the clothing description. I actually ended up wearing:

- track pants
- a long-sleeved shirt
- a hoodie sweatshirt
- the race tee
- a rain poncho
- a fleece scarf wrapped around my head turban-style
- gloves stuffed with those brilliant hand warmey things

You know what? I think a picture speaks a thousand words…

It was a little chilly. And, yes, maybe I don’t look thrilled to be there.

But I was thrilled to eat the IHOP breakfast we treated ourselves to afterward.

Aren’t you supposed to carbo-load for a big athletic event?

Song title: A Long Walk by Jill Scott

I almost died the other night. Fer reals, yo.

On Saturday, Sissy and I slapped on our waterproof mascara, packed our pockets full of garlic and crucifixes, and generally prepared to have the shit scared out of us.

See, one of Sissy and I’s favorite things to do is to see a good scary movie. Now, I’m not talking some gory grossness like Saw XVIII or Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I’m talking really good give-you-nightmares-and-make-you-afraid-of-mundane-things-like-answering-the-telephone-or-taking-showers scary movies.

Don’t worry, I eventually learned to not fear showers. Thank God, right?

With purses full of Xanax and adult diapers, we sat down to watch Paranormal Activity, a movie which has been referred to as the scariest movie. Ever.

In general, I can handle a scary movie as long as I have the ability to hold my hands up to my face during the entire length of the film. That is, I do fine until Sissy (and she does this every time) leans over to me and says, “I can’t believe you have your feet on the floor. That’s how they GIT you!”

Cue feet up on chair and Mama Bee watching the rest of the movie in the fetal position.

If you like scary movies, Paranormal Activity is definitely the movie for you! It starts slow, but builds on your basic things-that-go-bump-in-the-night fears.

Ugh, even as I typed that last sentence, images from the film flooded my mind and gave me the heebie geebies. I really need to see it again. Soon. It was that good.

Honestly, I’m pretty sure that both Sissy and I would’ve wet ourselves multiple times during the film if it weren’t for the audience in the theater. It was pretty barren except for roughly 15-20 gigantic men. It seems that the Washington Huskies played the Arizona Something Er-others yesterday and before the big game, some of the team decided to get the bejeezus scared out of themselves by going to the movie with us.

First of all, I always recommend seeing a scary movie surrounded by a bunch of gigantic, muscular men. Something about it is just slightly comforting. Whoda thunk?

But seriously, I would’ve gone in to a frightened coma if it weren’t for the hilarious commentary they provided immediately after every frightening scene:

Something scary happens. “What the FUCK?!” I hear behind me.

Something even scarier happens with the girlfriend in the movie. “Man, I’d be on MySpace finding myself a NEW GIRL!!”

They were HILARIOUS!

But even that comedic reprieve didn’t stop me from having a heart attack later that night, while I was sitting in a darken living room, by myself (thanks for leaving me alone, Mr. Bee. Way to defend me against evil demons! Wasn’t that in our marriage vows or something?! I swear it was right after something about “for richer or poorer” or some shit…), after Bee had gone down for the night.

*thump*

“Hmmmm…what’s that?” I wonder.

*thump*

*thump*

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I thought.

*thump thump*

*thump*

“It must be a car outside…”

::listens to car drive away out::

“SIGH!!! Thank god.”

*thump*

*THUMP THUMP*

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

Despite my inner movie audience telling me “DON’T GO OUTSIDE ALONE!!!” I peeked outside and quickly realized that my “scary monster trying to eat me” was actually some event across the valley celebrating with fireworks.

But I totally almost gotten killed by a scary demon. I swear.

Song title: Scary Footsteps by The Movies

On one of our last days in Seaside, Sissy took her fancy schmancy camera out to the beach with us for a mini photo shoot. Mr. Bee and I have been wanting to get some professional photos taken for a while, but haven’t wanted to shell out (beach pun!) the clams (zing!) for professional pics. Sissy volunteered to give it a go and just check out the awesome shots she got!

Of course this was the one day that Bee decided that (1) sand was the devil, (2) her father was trying to kill her whenever he attempted to touch her (“Daddy HURT me!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”), and (3) well, she was just going to be the devil incarnate the entire shoot. Despite all of that, we got some photos that I can’t wait to hang on the wall at home.

Yet another reason that my Sissy is the super coolest. Like you needed another reason.

Song title: Picture on the Wall by The Carter Family

Don’t forget to enter my Giveaway to win free admission tickets to the Puyallup Fair! All you have to do is CLICK HERE and tell me your favorite part about the fair. Contest ends TONIGHT, so hurry up and enter while there is still time!!

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Thank you so much to all the SITSas that visited Mom to Bee yesterday (and today!) I had almost 500 visitors yesterday, which is so insane it actually blows my mind in to tiny little plankton bits. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Oh, and come back soon!

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During our trip to Seaside, Sissy and I decided that our money was better spent not on salt water taffy, but on some more memorable entertainment.

Oh, wait.

Yeah, we bought a little taffy too.

Seriously, people. I’m pretty sure my stomach is lined with taffy at this point. And the above photo is the taffy we have LEFT from the trip. Oy.

After we bought a metric fuck-ton of salt water taffy, we decided to blow invest our money in a psychic reading.

This was my first “psychic” experience, save for watching that douchebag Edwards on television. Needless to say, I was a bit skeptic. I was hoping that Allison Duboix herself would pop out of the shadows and read my fortune, but instead it was some thirty-something year old chick who had just gotten back from a day at the spa. Couldn’t she at least dressed up like that creepy old lady from Poltergeist or something? Is that too much to ask?

Here are a few things that she mentioned to me during my palm reading:

You have a loving mother and a loving father but they were never meant to be together.
I guessing that the psychic was banking on America’s divorce rate, but yeah, my parents are still together. Awkward…

Your friends are very important to you and you give a lot. But when you need them to be there for you, they aren’t there.
Okay, so this kind of struck a nerve. I totally feel like this all the time. Which is probably just self-absorbed of me. And honestly, sometimes I almost hope that my friends will have some big problem that they need help with just so I can show them how much I care about them and that I’m a super good friend who will be there for them in their time of need.

Or, you know, hypothetically, you could be the kind of friend to completely forget about them when you promise to bring them food after they’ve just had a baby. Three different times (to three different friends). Hypothetically.

So, tomato, to-mah-to, I guess.

Your husband will get a promotion soon.
Which is kind of like, duh, since he does get promotions like every other day.

You will have five children.
But don’t worry, I’ll have twins that will miscarry so yay for me! Thanks for the up-beat future outlook, lady.

You will move soon.
Okay, kind of creepy since we did just move last year in to our new home…

This is your second life. You once came close to death but the good Lord saved you.
Hmmm. I think the closest to death I’ve gotten is clogging my arteries will all that god-damn taffy. And really? I’m pretty sure that The Big Guy, if he’s not too busy battling The Great Flying Spaghetti Monster, has underlined my name twice on his shit list.

You and your husband are soul mates and will never be separated or divorced.
Uh, duh. When I find someone like Mr. Bee who will put up with my foul mouth, crazy moods, and constant nagging, I’m never letting that dude get away.

After the palm reading, we realized that the psychic’s studio was also conveniently an airbrushing tattoo stand (it screamed of authenticity, I tell ya). Since my little niece was going to get a little arm tattoo, I decided to join in on the fun.

Sissy and I thought it would be hilarious to get a tramp stamp so Mr. Bee would think I was super sexy. But which one…which one…

See? I told you we are soul mates.

Song title: Right in the Palm of Your Hand by Alan Jackson

Last week, Sissy and I took the families to Seaside, Oregon for a quaint little beach house vacation.

And by “quaint” I mean that our beach house was 3700 square feet.

Sah-weet!!

Seriously, you would’ve died. The bathrooms alone were enough to make me wet myself a little. You could have literally fit about 10 people in the master bath shower (I actually did measure it out while showering one morning. Don’t ask.), which was outfitted with two shower heads, one hand-held shower thingy and four body spray nozzles.

We spent the week lounging around and visiting the beach. I think the kids had a little bit of fun.

The entire week was a blast, which shouldn’t be so surprising except for one little thing: Sissy and I can handle a maximum of two days living together before we have a full on relationship breakdown and can hardly handle being in the same room together.

So you can imagine our shock and awe when the vacation was all but over and we hadn’t bickered at all!

We were just as shocked as you are.

Bee had many huge breakthroughs of her own last week. If you know Bee personally, you’d know that Bee hates getting dirty. We once took her to a local beach and she refused to venture out off of the towel because (gasp!) sand! Dirt! Oh my!

So imagine our surprise when this happened:

And this:

And even this:

She even ATE sand, people!! ATE IT!

That beach has magical powers, y’all. (at least I hope it had magical powers and not more butt worms)

Song title: Break on Through by The Doors

Because I have nothing else for you until poo starts to explosively shoot out of my butt this evening (and, oh yes, I will be blogging from the toilet), please enjoy a text conversation I had with my Sissy last night as I sat around waiting for a wedding to end.

Sissy: Watcha doin 2morrow?

Me: Starving myself and shooting poo out my ass. You?

Sissy: Oh, yeah. Sorry to be missing out on *that* parade!

Me: You could come down and watch! Front row seats! Bring your face shield and nose plugs.

Sissy: I was gonna say I could be your right hand man. Ew, I even gross myself out.

Me: Luckily for you, my right hand does all the wiping. PS: It’s colder than my vagina outside. Brrr!

Sissy: I’ll trust you on that vag temp. Call me later or 2morrow when u r on the crapper.

Ahh, the sweet words of love from one sister to another.

I ::heart:: my Sissy.

Song title: A Text Message To The So-Called Emperor by Project 86