New Facebook Trick!

A friend just alerted me to a neato trick if you have a facebook account:

1. Sign on.

2. Scroll to the bottom left of the homepage, click english (usa)

3. Now click English (pirate)

4. Be highly amused.

5. Continue to be amused and tell people about it.

6. Go around your home saying "arg" a lot, or until your daughter yells "STOP IT MOM".

7. Start to get irritated because you can't figure out what half the shit means.

8. Scroll down to the bottom left

9. Click english (pirate)

10 Now click English (usa)


Ah, that's better. Wasn't that fun?!

Name That Larvae!

There I was, in my back garden area, enjoying spring by diggine holes and sticking stuff in them. When I came across this:



HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE HELL IS IT?! Or better yet... what is it GOING to be. That's my pinky finger. MY PINKY! Seriously, every small to medium sized pet that gets lost in this neigborhood was probably consumed by this freakin' thing. This is New York. We don't have big bugs in NY! Well.. make that past tense. We didn't have big bugs here.

I couldn't even squish it because it's so big I'd probably have to put my ass kicking boots in the washing machine after.

Anyone who can either tell me what it is or going to be when it grows up gets a prize. As for me, I just hope I can sleep tonight.

No More Public For Me

I went to our local overcrowded and overpriced drug store that-shall-not-be-named to get a comb and toothbrush. Whoopie, am I a big spender or what? I go in the door and there's a stack of Spring wreathes for 75% off. Not the greatest, but one would give my front door some color and hey, a twelve dollar wreath at 75% off is what.. three bucks. So I'm like woot.

I get my stuff and get wrung up, and the total is way too much. I look over it and first they overcharged me for three other items so I quickly fix that, and then I see the wreath was wrung up for 9 bucks. I politely say sorry miss, you overcharged me on this, it's 75% off.The little girl looks and says "No, I do right. 75%."

"No, 75% is 9 dollars."

"Yes."

"So you have to take nine dollars OFF. It should be 3 dollars."

"75 percent not three dollar!"

"NO. Three dollars is what's LEFT when you take 75% OFF. 75% is nine dollars."

"Yes."

Aggravated and knowing I have two adorable time bombs nearby, I ask the cashier next to me to correct it. She looks over tells me the first one is right. What? Again I say NO. You're supposed to SUBTRACT 75 GODDAMN PERCENT. 12-9=3! I ask for the manager because I know him. He's not there. Moo starts crying for some boobie and Ma is trying to go for the M&Ms under the register (WHY oh WHY do stores have to put CANDY at a childs eye level? Obviously whoever thought of that is either unreprehensibly evil or doesn't have kids.) ... and I soon realize I'm fighting over 5th grade math and a chinsy looking wreath and leave without it, defeated.

I'm starting to hate going out in public.

I Almost Forgot..

I've officially become probably the wackiest Avon Rep EVA. Like girly stuff? Love me? Then shop here:

www.youravon.com/elizabethmerrill

"Oh Liz, don't shamelessly advertise yourself on your blog!" Well hey, why not?

I'm totally throwing an "Avon and Alchohol" party soon for local girls. Bwahahaha!

H&R Block can kiss my

Yeah. Me being the Queen of Procrastination, we did not go off to get our taxes done until 6pm last night.

BAD IDEA.

Firstly, My normally sweet little Ma somehow transformed into a raging shrieking demon child in the tiny crowded waiting area of the office. Lurch was in charge of her while we wait and I sat back in a chair and nursed Moo while my hubby chased Ma around in circles and took her to the bathroom (After she ever-so-loudly announced "I PEE PEE POO POO!", making nearby fellow customers snicker and my face turn bright red.)

When they returned a few minutes of magical calm went by as she occupied herself with a kids book, but the peace was short lived when she suddenly sprang up, ran to the middle of the (PACKED) waiting room, screamed "LOOKIE ME I SHAKIE MY BUTT!", lifted her dress and wagged her tush at the entire room.

A tush... without underwear.

I almost shrieked "OH MY GOD PUT YOUR DRESS DOWN WHERE'S YOUR UNDERWEAR." and then gave Lurch a look that I hope he read as "If you don't stop and cover our child I'm castrating you the second we get home." and his face was equally pale and he shrugged with wide eyes full of panic before making a dive for our half nekkid daughter, knocking his char over in the process and attracting the attention of more bystanders.

If you could only imagine the looks some of the older women gave me, and all I could do was sheepishly grin and send Moo telepathic warnings about how well he is to behaved when he's three and what will happen to him if he isn't.

Thankfully, we were quickly called to a nearby computer by a sweet blonde women who apparently missed the flashing. We sat down and Lurch started babbling while wrestling a screaming Ma and couldn't even remember his social security number, so I bent over and in a low voice said "You. Go with that child back to the waiting area so I can get this done and for the Love of God go home and have a glass of wine." Blonde Tax lady giggled and said "I understand, I have three kids at home."

Yeah, probably three NORMAL children.

Things went smoothly until it was time to claim our First Time Homebuyers Tax Credit, and all of a sudden things hit a brick wall.

"Oh sorry, you don't qualify if you're related to the seller."

Now, before arriving there I did a good three hours of research, so even though I had to swallow a bit of panic I politely countered "No no, I did the research, we bought it from my husbands uncle, not father or grandfather. We qualify."

Tax Lady scrunched up her face and showed me the tax code "See? It says so right here, lineal family fathers, grandfathers, ect."

I counter again "Exactly, uncles, cousins, siblings, ect are NOT lineal. Lineal is a direct line. Lineal. LINE."

Tax lady stared at me blankly and then called over to a preparer playing Solitaire next to her and asked about our dilemma. She was given a blank stare and a shrug in return. Now this is where Liz started to get a little annoyed "You do know what lineal is, right? It's a line." and I made a straight up and down motion with my hands "son, father, grandpa.. now uncles and aunts go like this "and like the crazy loon I am I branched my waving out horizontally, knocking over her pencil holder. I was met with a further blank stare and she turned and typed in a word I did not expect to see from a so-called proffessional:

GOOGLE.COM

She started with the tax code but I cut her off and said "TYPE LINEAL".
"But I'm looking for the irs-"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE TYPE LINEAL."
"She started to steam but did as I requested and up popped Websters Dictionary." "HIT THAT" I demanded as a familiar siren like evil shrieking started back up from the waiting area.

"DAAAD! I WANT TOY! I HUNGWY! I WANT MOMMY! MOOOOOOMMY HELP HELP MOMMY HELP" And inaudible banging and crashing ensued as I started to rub my eyes so hard my makeup streaked to the sides of my face.

Then I finally heard what I needed to hear "Oh look, lineal, direct descendants, what do you know you were right."

I KNOW LADY, I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.

We try to continue but the credit form confused the poor doll more, so I end up switching seats and filling it out myself in no time. We wrap it up, I feverishly anticipate her hitting the final "File" button so I can know my sweet sweet return will be in my bank account in a matter of weeks, and it hits.

200 dollars in charges, they won't file until I pay them.

I stare for a second. How much? Bu wha? I think for a minute and tell her I forgot my photo ID, she tells me she can't take the (way too much of a) charge out of the return, I have to pay with check or cash.

I slowly say "Okay, let me help my husband get the kids in the car and I'll come back with a check." I pack up my frazzled obnoxious yelling screaming fuming family and we go to the car. I'm pretty sure I heard applause as we left, but it could be my humilated mind playing tricks on me.

I climb in and Lurch goes "Aren't you going to pay them so they file it?"

Pay them? Pay... THEM? I did all the work and I have to give them 200 dollars to stare at me blankly for an hour an argue over 11th Grade English Class vocabulary??

H to the ELL NO. I'm doing it myself, now that I know how to. Taxact.com, here I come.

Bare with me

I'm having THE WORST WRITERS BLOCK EVA! SERIOUSLY! I've been coming on here every morning, I stare at the screen for 10-15 minutes and then sign off again. What in the name of Baby Jesus' First Childhood Pet is wrong with me? It's not like there's nothing to talk about. Like how cute is Barack Obamas dog? Or why does more of our Tax money go to Polar Bears than teachers? Why is Nancy Pelosi such a creepy douchebag?

Why does Comedy Central keep playing the same season or two of Scrubs over and over and over again, and why does that episode when Ben dies STILL makes me teary even though I've seen it 18 plus times? What the frack happened to Demetri Martin's show, did it get cancelled? How BAD is that new show Krod Mon Dude or whatever the Hell it is.

Why didn't the fish heads my husband buried last summer in my vegetable garden for compost.. NOT compost and instead turn into nasty smelly toothpaste-consistency goo I had to wipe off my shovel when I turned the soil yesterday?

Why, even though it reminds me of battery acid and probably completely corroded both of my intestines, I must drink enough Blackhouse to kill a dog when I go out?

Why doesn't John Cusack age?

Why am I incredibly fatigued and nauseas, and my ab hurts over by my left hip bone?

Why is Annies Boxed mac and cheese so damn watery but tastes so good?

DEADLIEST CATCH STARTS TONIGHT!

"I love you"

My husband is a funny creature. When it comes to men he has characteristics of an Endangered variety. I'm fully aware not all husbands voluntarily sneak up on you with two glasses of wine and a foot rub on a Tuesday Night, or bathe your rambunctious children every evening, or cook and clean the kitchen before he's even out of his work uniform and the sweat from a rough day at work dries from his forhead.

Don't get me wrong, he has his share of obnoxious moment that make this Mama twitch, but they're usually overshadowed by flashbacks of him flying through the house during the holidays with the red Christmas Tree skirt tied around his neck like a cape, with a giggling 2 year old right behind him. Or his voice at 3am saying "It's okay hon, you look tired, let me get up and feed the baby." without a single hint of sarcasm.

The tears he doesn't hide at the loss of a loved one or the meeting of a new life, his hand on my swelling pregnant belly before I birthed each of his children and telling me I'm beautiful when I feel more like a dairy cow or bridge dwelling troll. Him on his knees at a little table with his daughter for a tea party or round of Play Dough molding, or him dozing off to Max and Ruby with his son on his chest. Refusing to go out for a night with the guys, but happily shoving me out the door to hang with the girls. Coming home from work a a chef at 1 in the morning, waking me up with an exhausted smile on his face and a big pan of lobster for a romantic midnight dinner.

That's a man.

Now here's my dilemma. How do you possibly thank a man like that? It's times like this when I think back and realize that a simple "I love you." can't possibly be enough. Or when I do snap over something small and then feel overwhelmed with guilt over my spoiled actions. My life is devoted to the two little creatures we made together. I buy BPA free everything, my groceries range from organic, to no HFCS, I've been making and freezing my own babyfood, Hell even the cat eats organic. I spend hours a day reading and skimming articles on how to be the best mother possible. Should I vaccinate? Should I homeschool? Should I breastfeed for just 6 months or 18 months? Is this household cleaner healthier than that, or should I make my own? These questions tie up every day of my life to the point where I sometimes forget about an equally important member of the family.

The man of the house.

We both have our stereotypical parental roles. He works hard and makes the money, I keep the house in order and we raise our kids together. But what can I do more of? I don't mean I should run out and get him some extravagant gift Just Because. He knows I appreciate a single rose so much more than two dozen. I want to find a simple way to show him I adore and appreciate him as much as he does me. Things like this should not be so tricky. Sure, we have Holidays for it: Valentines Day, Christmas, Fathers Day; but showing your loved one your affection shouldn't come with an excuse or feel like an obligation. It should just happen. He knows how to do it. Though rough and tough on the outside he most certainly has a sugary romantic center. We've been married almost five years and I still can't seem to let my guard down enough to do the same, and when I realize this I can't help but feel a little ashamed.

So perhaps I should put down the Parenting magazines and delete my favorite Mommy Websites from my Bookmarks for now. I've been so tied up with being the Mommyhood Poster Child I forgot I have a whole other role I haven't filled to my satisfaction, Loving Wife.

I know I'm a good Mom, I see it in the crazy grins of my children, so maybe I should stop stressing on how it for now and turn my sights back onto being the perfect wife.

Well, not the perfect wife. Such a title doesn't exist. Sheesh, I'm no Stepford Robot, and I'm DEFINITELY no Nicole Kidman, that's for sure. (Which is okay because Lurch is no Matthew Broderick either, heh.)

But I surely need to return the favor in the spoilage department. Tonight I'll be the one to deliver the glass of wine and the foot rub, and I won't roll my eyes and sigh when he turns off Comedy Central and flips on Food Network. I won't mumble thanks and roll over when the baby whines and he offers to get up. The little things he does mean so much to me when I look back at them, perhaps they'll mean just as much to him if I do it more.

I hope so.

Clips and Snips of the household

So April Fools Day was rather quiet in my home. We just had way too much on our minds to worry about pranking each other. All except Ma. Last night Lurch was washing Ma up and I keep hearing
Ma: "KNOCK KNOCK!"

Lurch: "Who's there?"

Ma: "SHOWA!"

Lurch: "Shower who?"

Ma: "I TAKIN' A SHOWA! HAHAHAHA! FUNNY!"

Yup, my child is a regular comedian.