Smudgemama's Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

Way back in the tenth grade I had one of the hardest days of my life. Without going into too many details it basically consisted of had my boyfriend, intimacy and him not being solely intimate with me. I cried and cried. I felt like a moron. And I cried and cried some more. My German teacher, Mr. Pittner, gave me a photocopy of "Alexander's Horrible No Good Very Bad Day" because he could see I was thisclosetotheledge. His kind gesture talked me down off the ledge (proverbially). It didn't make things all better, but it did start the healing because I knew someone cared about my pain---that I wasn't alone. And listen, ask Harold Kushner, author of "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" and he'll tell you too, shitty things just happen. (Being a Rabbi he'll probably not use that exact phrase, but the sentiment is the same.) They just do. You don't deserve them or maybe you do, but that isn't why they happened. Shitty things just happen.

And I've had a shitty-things-happen-kinda-day. I could feel it coming. I knew I was the bug and I knew the windshield was approaching but I just forged ahead because I had no choice. We all have choices, so that is a lie. But my other choices would be more like hitting a cinderblock wall instead of a mere glass windshield. So the lesser of two evils was to keep on, keepin' on.

Of course, this being a public blog and having too many personal contacts know of it, I can't divulge details. Which sucks because I really just want to spew my day's details forth and say, "Okay, yes, I've made mistakes but none of them warranted this." And what sucks more is that, that last statement applies to both my professional and social life. I was sandwiched in between two hard, stale pieces of crap bread where I had two different "superiors" from two different areas of my life telling me the same thing. I could see where one was coming from...but the other person was full of crap and I am growing weary of being treated like a 12-year-old girl who doesn't know her ass from her elbow.

So I'm hanging in there, by a thread, but hanging in there. People have responded to my SOS calls and cared about the pain I was in and that is a blessing in itself and I am grateful for that.

Tomorrow I hope to find the humor again. But today I feel attacked from both sides.

Sassy Fun: Hah...in your face!

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I'm still reeling from the fact that I wasn't anywhere near them when this event took place but I had to share this photo from the same event.

The story is, having seen Kid Rock up close and personal, I swear up and down that he has blue eyes and others tell me that I was just lust-struck because he has brown eyes. Whatever....here's my proof.

Photo also by Barry King

Sassy Fun: Smudgemama's Dream Come True

AVCO Cinema
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

So this was taken on 4/1/01 for the Joe Dirt movie premiere. Where the hell was I?! Dream come true...all three of them in the same area.

All pics were done by Barry King.

Writing: Motherf--ker Stole My Lunch!

NOTE: Listen, first and foremost I have to give Susie all the credit for introducing the blogging community to the phrase "Motherf--ker stole my lunch!" If you don't understand what it really means, perhaps you haven't read Susie's blog enough. I'd give you the direct link to the exact post but I've got four kids, a job, a husband, a house and all sorts of other fun shit to contend with. But take my word for it, you will be highly rewarded by gobs and gobs of funny stuff that makes you giggle if you take the time to read through her posts to find the meaning of "Motherf--ker stole my lunch!"


Here's my story:

So...what is it now....about four or five months that I've been blogging? So I'm still new and learning and trying to get html, css, meta tags, search engines and all the blogging tools into my brain and in a good order. Little by little, I've made my way. But I've found search engines (especially Google) very discouraging. So as lame as I know it is, I like to double-check every so often and do a "Smudgebaby" search to see if I ever, ever, ever show up.

Recently I bought www.smudgebaby.com Don't go there, it's pathetic right now. Fine go there, but keep your laughter to a dull roar because if you wake up Pebbles it won't be pretty. Basically we've got a strict "You break her, you buy her" policy here.

So after trying to move my blog to my new website (not easy...at least not easy with my limited knowledge) I gave up. And then I felt stupid, because now what am I going to do with this other website? I thought, "Geez, buying the domain name could have waited....because really, how popular is the name 'Smudgebaby' after all?" After a day of bashing myself, I figured, oh what the hell, better safe than sorry and I'm sure I'll learn more someday and be able to post there or do something with it.

And then guess what? A Motherf--ker stole my lunch! Oh yes, he did.

I was doing one of my innocent random searches the other night to see if Google's bot (which seems to operate ALOT like DMV personnel) had finally found me and this comes up:

http://smudgebaby.tripod.com

What? How? Why? When?

Smudgebaby is me and I am Smudgebaby. What. Is. This. Other. Thing. Also. Called. Smudgebaby?!

Did I have a twin at birth and mother only kept me? How can this be....another Smudgebaby?

So as any flabbergasted Smudgebaby would do, I went to visit this site. It turns out to be a website for an actor, writer or something. And it is only one page with links that don't work and is under construction.

But being the fair Smudge that I am, I decided to read the page and see, maybe, by some weird possibility that the word "Smudgebaby" was in there, aside from just being in the web address.

Nope. I am willing to venture that I might have missed it in my identity crisis frenzy but really, I saw no "smudgebaby" around. I was looking for anything, possibly a sentence along the lines of, "The other day I was walking and I saw an peculiar looking bird on the sidewalk. (*Ed. Note: See this could very well have been me!) Once I arrived home and looked it up in my Bird Encyclopedia, I found it's name to be 'Smudgebaby.'" See...I could have handled that.

But no mention of Smudgebaby except in the web address....I don't know Scooby...something seems wrong to me.

So I am left with the feeling of "Motherf--ker stole my lunch." And thank you Susie, because before I read your posts I wouldn't be able to express myself so eloquently. I might have resulted to, "Dirty freakin' assholes, what the f--k?!" "Motherf--ker stole my lunch" is so much more appropriate for this situation.

Sassy Fun: Cool Link Wednesday....er....Thursday

I was so proud of myself....I was introducing blogging themes to my days. For instance, Wednesday would become "Cool Link Wednesday" and Thursday would be "Sassy Mommy Tip Thursday" and such. Sort of like those old school home-making traditions: Monday is Wash Day, Tuesday is Ironing Day, Wednesday is Fix Yourself a Martini Day, Thursday is Shoot Yourself In the Head Day.

Well anyway.....so I finally find something I feel is worthy of linkage and it's after midnight, thus I'm now on Thursday and not Wednesday. I will press on though.

So today (pretend with me that is Wednesday) the link I find share-able is from The Imperfect Parent and, specifically it is the WTF? Toy Round-Up page. It makes me laugh. 'Nuff said.

Sassy Mama: Regarding the magazine cover below

I got the link from Kristine who made a cool cover. You can make one here also. Enjoy!

Sassy Mama: How could I resist?

magazine
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

Writing: Uh...yeah...sure

(I will not blog about work, I will not blog about work, I will not blog about work.)

Which really sucks when such blog-worthy things are happening.

But I'm not going to blog about work. Because I need the paycheck, however piddily it may be.

But if I could blog about work, you would laugh so hard at the actual conversations that take place, and not only take place but are done so seriously. Times like this I really do wish I could earn money taking online surveys or stuffing envelopes.

It sucks when you like your job and you like the people you work with but there is always that ONE challenging person that, because the fates have conspired against you, you have to work closely with. And this person is your button-pusher. The one that says things that are so out there...so completely irrevelant and you, because of some sort of power force, are unable to say anything to defend yourself and/or clear up a situation. You may try to do so, politely, respectfully, hell even lovingly but they just don't get it.

Which is bad and trying to me. I mean if these things were actually happening at my job, which of course, since I don't blog about my job, they are not.

The other website is a slow-go for right now. Apparently, I have to learn some sort of new language, comparative to Latin, to get it to work like a blog, i.e. if I don't want to use someone else's template. Which I don't. There just ain't too many Smudgebaby-esque templates around, know what I mean?

Creating: Smudgebaby is Moving!!!

I haven't posted that much due to the fact that I just purchased webspace for my own website blog. I feel like I can do alot more, alot faster if I own my space on the net. So I've been busy transferring files and building my new blognest at the other space.

So for now...get crafty with old t-shirts and clothing:

She Made This
Oh My Stars
T-shirt Surgery

Get busy....!

Sassy Fun: This cheered me up considerably.....

You're Bettie Page!


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Sassy Mama: The Big Questions

I'm pondering the big questions today. No, not about the meaning of life, or if there is really a God or even whether it's true or not that each person has a soulmate out there somewhere. For all my disjointedness, I think that I actually have my own personal answers to those questions.

No, the one question that is on my mind today is: Why do we have children? Why? I think we are lured into the cuteness, especially us woman-folk. Babies are everything we love: soft, good-smelling, sweet, pleasingly round (appeals to the eye), and just so innocent. It's like you can smell, hear and feel God when you are holding a baby. Heaven on earth. And who doesn't want a bit of heaven on earth?

But then they walk. And then they talk. And then they say, "no" or some sound that clearly resembles a "negative" answer to whatever you are telling them.

And later they wet their beds. Every night. And don't put their dirty, soiled p.j.'s in the laundry room. They let you find them with your bare feet. And they fight, oy they fight. They disobey at every turn.

You continue to love them because you know, they're family and your offspring, but there can be whole weeks when you don't like them.

Did I mention they are messy? So messy.

And loud. So ear-splitting, brain-draining, temper-gauge-rising LOUD.

When a good day comes along, probably after the first week of school, I'll be able to recite all the joys of having children. But not today. Not when I am up to my ears in pee-pee clothes, hyper children that are confined to a tiny apartment (don't you dare suggest I take them to the park, I hate the freakin' park... have you ever tried to keep track of four tiny children in a big park complete with a weird man overlooking the whole playground, making you so sure he is going to grab one of your AWOL children and hurt them)---an apartment that is starting to resemble both the sight and sound of the primate house at the zoo, and heat. Heat sucks.

I have more big questions, but that's enough bitchin' for now.

Sassy Mama: Pebbles

Pebbles
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

This is Pebbles....I suggest you don't piss her off.

Sassy Wifey: Quickly, grab Phil's baby book...

I'm so proud...I may cry. It's like watching a baby take his first steps. Phil (sniffle, sniffle) has actually performed a chore without having to be told. Yes, it's just *one* chore but it is a start.

And he didn't even brag about it afterwards. I got to find out on my own which wasn't exactly pleasant. Let me paint the picture for you: I walk into our bathroom late at night. Our room is dark, the bathroom is dark. I'm lucky thus far to have made it without breaking a limb. I open the bathroom door and flip the lightswitch on. Holy crap! It was like turning on the lights for a stadium. I think I even heard the buzzing sound. And suddenly everything was illuminated, brightly illuminated. More than usual. My pupils shrunk in fear. My head throbbed.

I had grown accustomed to the light of two bulbs working, but Phil had put two additional ones in, for a total of four lightbulbs brightly shining into my small, teeny, tiny pupils. Now, I don't exactly know what we need to see that clearly in the bathroom...I surely don't want to see every nook and cranny that I missed with the Lysol Wipes but it is nice that he had the initiative (not a word you'll commonly see linked with Phil's name, especially when he's at home) to change the lightbulbs without being told to do so. Seriously, my butt hasn't shined that brightly since the last time I was giving birth. Awesome...like I wanted that illuminated.

On to other news: While the blog-round-table discussion was being held at my house last night to decide on a proper alias for my older sister (Bisquick), my father pointed out that he wanted to know what his alias was. I said it was "Dad." He didn't like it. I don't blame him, I'm not entirely fond of being known as "Mom" either. So I've decided on Jiminy Cricket. Because he is, I'm not shitting you. He is like that freakin' cricket in Pinocchio. He sits on my shoulder or in my brain and constantly dictates his opinion on how I should handle business. I swear I hear my dad's voice in my head during times of crisis or depression. It's really cool because he was/is a good father so the advice is usually sound and doesn't require me to use any anti-psychotics to silence him.

He knows he's Jiminy Cricket. I've told him this before. He even has a stuffed Jiminy as well as a little plastic figurine. He's proud of his cricket status. So that's Pop's alias. When I'm hurried or when Pebbles is furiously trying to rip the keyboard from my hands, I'll just refer to him as "JC" as in "Jesus Christ" as in "Our personal Lord and Savior" which I think Dad would prefer anyway.

As for last night's post:
I'm feeling a little bad about the reference to Bisquick's children as "hollering drunks at last call." Er.....shoot, I don't have aliases for them. We'll call them Waffle, Flapjack, Muffin and Dumpling. Anyway, Waffle, Flapjack, Muffin and Dumpling are sweet kids and don't abuse alcohol at all. They are loving, albeit LOUD, children.

Ta-ta!

Sassy Mama: Saturation Point

I found mine today, i.e. my saturation point. It happened while we were parked outside the pediatric dentist office while the older boys were getting their teeth worked on. Phil was on dentist duty while I sat in the minivan with Ornery Tiger Cub and Pebbles. Everything was going as good as can be expected, considering I had confined a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old to a small space. I had them unbuckled so they could roam and pillage--the absolute bare minimum prerequisite to ensure the happiness toddlers. So things started out fairly well.

Soon though, the pillaging and thrashing grew tiresome and the wee ones became restless...and LOUD. Out of nowhere, Ornery Tiger Cub started a chant that almost killed me: "Mama-wait-mama-wait-mama-wait-mama-wait." It was chanted at a rapid fire speed with a high-pitched helium-induced-like tone. My head actually started to buzz. As my brain cells and synapse processes paused in horror, I experienced a complete absence of thought. Which, of course, was nice....but soon the buzzing came back and my brain clearly shouted, "MAKE THAT SOUND STOP NOW!" So I did what I do best. I yelled, "Stop that yelling right now!" I'm a good example, aren't I?

I've been having these brain freezes more frequently lately. Amidst the noise and chaos of the children fighting or playing (and sometimes you can't even tell which they are doing, all you know is that it is too damn noisy!) I freeze up. For a split second there is nothing...no thoughts. And although that sounds heavenly, it isn't. It's more like a major traffic jam on the brain-thought-idea highway. All thoughts freeze and I'm left (not for a long time, so don't grow concerned) with my mouth agape and murmuring, "Ahhh......." shortly followed by, "Shut up now. Shut up now!" And then I just want to flip out, start yelling and hollering and scaring the little human ballistics factories into submission.

It's horrible I know. And I do feel guilty. So I talked to my sister about this since she has four kids and I desperately needed to know if these are *normal* feelings for a mom of four or if I needed to seek Anger Management classes. My sister prefers not to be named by her real name. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that she'd be happier if she never, ever gets mentioned in this blog. But she ain't that lucky. After much thought as to what her alias should be (Horsey, Mouse, Hamburger Helper, Horatio) I think I've decided on "Bisquick." Why? Because I like the way it sounds. There's no funny story to go along with it. I just want to call my older sister "Bisquick" and since this is my blog, damn skippy, I'm gonna do it.

So I called Bisquick up and asked her if this was normal. But she wasn't listening. Because her kids were hollering and hooting in the background like a bunch of drunks during last call. I understand this scenario so I patiently repeat my question,

"Bisquick," I say, "is it normal for us mothers of four kids to want to flip out? I mean, of course it's normal. But is it normal for our heads to buzz and to have the urge just to slap their heads together? I wouldn't ever do it. On purpose. But is it normal?"

And Bisquick's answer was, I think, more to herself than to me. She replied, "Well, Jen (she doesn't have a spiffy nickname for me...yet...but I'm thinking it's going to start with "b" and end with "h") kids are just like that."

What? Okay, rewind. I know kids are "just like that." What I want to know is if I'm on the fast track to loony, anger-filled Momville. So I repeat the above question and she basically repeats her answer, "Jen, I don't know why. Kids are just weird."

I think Bisquick had been hitting the bottle prior to my call to her and I don't blame her. I did eventually get both a coherent and applicable answer from her but it was lame and I forgot it already.

This I know.....I'd be a freak if I didn't have the urge to take whatever measures necessary to stop the crazy primate-house-like noises that bounce my eardrums are hither-skither. That wouldn't be normal. It'd be like watching a bee land on your arm and prepare to sting you and you do absolutely nothing about it. That's just not natural.

But I also know this, I must be an outstanding mommy because the worst I've done is yelled, "Quiet" or "Shut up" real loud, oh alright, and added some pretty colorful cuss words. BUT.....I've never boxed their ears or hung them upside down or followed through on any of the other loony thoughts that flash through my head when they drive me to that point. And that, ladies and gents, takes mad mommy skills.

Sassy Mama: Look to the Light...

There is a light at the end of my tunnel and the date is set for the end of this month-the day my older two children go back to school. How beautiful is that? Less than a month away and they have to take their child energy someplace else. I'm so excited.

We recently got a school newsletter in the mail and there was a sheet of school supplies that are needed for each grade. Holy crap! Since when do fourth graders need Post-it notes? And since when did schools become brand-conscious? At the top of the paper it said, "Please buy exact brand whenever indicated." So that totally ruled out my planned Dollar Tree excursion. Thank God Wal-Mart is cheap. But shopping at Wally World for school supplies is a little like jumping in a free-for-all stationary volcano. But hey, I've got the 5 cent folders and the reams of binder paper for 33 cents a piece as my badges of honor. Coool.

Phil is still milking this vasectomy thing and I'm supposed to be supportive of it all. No puns intended. Seriously.

I had the worst headache today....absolutely horrid. Phil in his martyr-saint-like status pitied me and sent me to bed. I slept WAAAAYYY too long (I view this as his fault...I'm asleep and don't know any better. He has a clock....wake me up!) and woke up at 8:30 p.m., just in time to watch Hogan Knows Best. Love that show. Anyway, my house is thrashed, the kids are hungry, laundry is still dirty and the table still needs to cleared....but hey, at least I'm rested. Ugh.