Published April 18, 2017 by sarcasmica

Being a stay at home mom has turned my brain into Jello. This is not to say i’m not smart, that’s the frustrating part. I am…or I was once. I am lightening quick with vomit, diahrrea (pets or small human) laundry, finding appropriate snacks. I am more often than not Superhero levels of psychic when planning for an outing and having what may be required in any given situation. I have figured out how to make a meal for 4-5 people out of toothpicks, peanut butter  and soy sauce. I have wrangled Santa lore, Easter Bunny theory and Tooth Fairy visits all while navigating a freeway and dropped goldfish crackers.

Sometimes I’m kind of a badass. Then I get kicked in the nuts with how insufficiently i am prepared to deal solely with professional adults. Communicating with grown ups is not more complicated, but it has bigger consequences when you do it wrong.

Currently I am supposed to be coordinating with a designer to whip our new house into shape…preferrably the shape of a home people compliment you on when you walk in. A home where you feel shame for leaving dirty socks outside of a hamper…a home where there is something called a hamper. 

Y’all, I dont know what the hangup is, but scheduling and coordinating other adults is like wrangling sloths with ADD. With kids you can blame the kids. Maybe they forgot English. Maybe their ears were switched into the ‘off’ position. Maybe the TV reprogrammed their prefrontal cortex. With another grown up, there seems to be a disconnect in my own brain. I dont know if its because I overthink it all out of habit, or i’m clinically just stupid now. It’s amost depressing, but I can’t be bothered to care that just means people’s expectations of me are now below what they would expect from my 6 year old.

If I follow through with an appointment or promise without having to apologize for some portion of the process I am impressed with myself.

The upside: the PTA has not requested me for any jobs. 
Disclaimer: I now must apologize for any misspelled or incomprehensible thoughts as my iPhone word press app no longer babysits my spelling/spellchecks.  Frankly nowadays we are no longer expected to identify this shit for ourselves anymore. 😱

Spring Chicken

Published April 11, 2017 by sarcasmica

My kids are on spring break and it’s gonna break my brain. We have a deal in our house where the kids can have crappy sugary cereal only if they are on a school break. .. and it’s supposed to be within reason.

This morning has me wanting to burn down every box of Cap’n Crunch Peanut Butter Crunch in all the land.

I grabbed a box the other day because they were only $1.99. I mean, it’s cheaper than a vat of ice cream and even more delicious. Seemed fool-proof.

This morning I wake up first at 3 to handle someone’s bad dream, then my back screamed me awake at 6am and somewhere around 7 my husband’s alarm went off. Needless to say I was just shy of Disney Princess when I finally gave in and woke up.

My oldest, my dearly beloved eldest offspring, came tearing up the stairs virtually asking to not make it to 11. I nearly obliged… nearly. Instead I tried to convince him sitting in my master closet would be a great “reset” for the morning.

He didn’t quite fall for it.

Throughout the struggle I discovered both children had no less than THREE BOWLS of cereal this morning.

mmmm kay. let’s not do that again. Cap’n Crunch is now Cap’n Flushed.

So games were lost for the day, crying ensued, I didn’t care, and I moved right along…. into my daughter’s bedroom whereupon I find that her male hamster is either pregnant or bloated. The male parts convinced me bloated was more realistic. The little guy trotted all over in the ball on the floor, though. The clincher was the smooshy poo he left on the hamster ball wall.

Pets are not for the faint of heart. His fur was unkempt, his tummy bloated – more on one side than the other – and he had a wet tail…. hence “wet tail” was assumed.

Then I get a text from the playdate mom “are we still on for this morning?”


Because i’ve been in a furniture vortex for the last three days, I completely misunderstood a very simple email exchange that was indeed in English stating a drop off and pick up time. My muddled brain just couldn’t comprehend it though and so I dropped them off 25 minutes late cutting the play time short by nearly half an hour.

What the f*ck ever.

Mixed into all of this was a deadline to order a sofa we finally agreed on over the weekend. We discovered a satanic game the furniture stores seem to all be in on. It goes something like this:

“We love this, how long is the sale on?”
“Tomorrow is the last day.”

This one store in particular added a fun new bonus round.

“Pick your own pillow fabric! Customize! Circumsize! Dramatize!”
“Great! What are our options?”
And a wall opens up with a thousand fabrics to choose from.. but wait! There’s more! There are online options, too!

Choosing a pattern and fabric for the cushions on this couch took more intervention, iteration, and discussion than naming either child. .. and it all had to be done in less than 24hours.

So I dropped the kids off, peeled out of the drive way, got home in time to circulate through the patterns online, chose my third combination and finalized it, scanned, emailed, coordinated with all parties involved in color-choosing our new house and studied up on all manner of wet tail antidotes.

Then I picked up the kids because, BOOOOOP! Times up! Ran to the pet store, phoned a second furniture order, and proceeded to wait around for 10 minutes until the one soul in all of Petsmart could coach me on the right combo of things to fix the rodent pet. The veterinarian housed right inside the store could not help me. *face palm*

I got home in time to organize a little quiet time for the kids where I got to doze on the couch and fantasize about a nap and then it was off to fencing practice.

This is where I say how thankful and happy and lucky and blessed and wonderful life is because we have our wonderful cherubs of perfection. … but in reality this is the day where from the minute your eyes open, you just can’t wait to punch it in the throat, bury it, and call it a day.

I am looking very much forward to tomorrow when my biggest worry is whether or not I will leave my volunteer gig with all the parrots with all of my fingers.

No time outs, no video game management, no cereal police, no refereeing, just beaks and poop!



Playdate Pain

Published April 6, 2017 by sarcasmica

I’m gonna get real with y’all. I’m terrible at adulting. Nothing highlights that more than being a parent. All the mingling at school, pick up, drop off, playdates.

It’s hell for this introvert! I am not at all comfortable with small talk and chit chat. I see it as a huge waste of time. It’s not like that crap lets you get to know a person. Your feelings about the weather do not concern me. Your chatter about your husband’s job will not be remembered.


My son has allowed me to live in a hermit bubble because his friend lives next door. The interaction I have with the parents is minimal and it’s familiar because Hello! We live next door. It’s comfortable without being forced….. usually.

My daughter, however, is little miss parade float. She high fives and waves and “hello!”s every kid in her class and all the kids in the other kinder class and a few of the 1st graders and a couple 2nd graders.


I’ve had 2 playdates requested and completed as it is and now I have #3 today. I’m TERRIBLE with follow up. Awful. I did not invite those two other playdate requesters to our house for a reciprocated play date.

Sue me.

My house is a mess, I’m disorganized, we have a smelly hamster cage and a dog that barks when the scent of a new human is wafted through a window. I have a kid that goes to practice twice a week resulting in a 30 mile round trip event in the heart of rush hour traffic. I volunteer twice a week with ear drum-rupturing decibel level creatures that want to remove my fingers, I hopefully get to sneak in breakfast or lunch or coffee with a friend at least once a week between all of that.

I like the rare quiet down time that I do occasionally get. I don’t want to have to worry about entertaining a person I don’t know and likely wont know after this year because we are moving.

This all makes me a terrible bitchy anti-social human being, right?

My husband met the dad of the first one-playdate-stand we had at a daddy/daughter dance I made him go to. I had to justify why he’s never heard of the kid or the dad before.

It’s not that they weren’t nice. The mom was SUPER nice. Really polite. Quite cordial and friendly.

Unfortunately for her and my daughter, I don’t know what to do with that. I can’t relate. I’m not ‘nicey-nice’ and that’s what’s expected of you when you trot your daughter around to princess playdates.

We are more of a super hero family that dabbles in princesses. And these days you are a neglectful parent if you don’t run down a laundry list of awkward questions before crossing the threshold. I can’t just drop my kid off. Stranger danger! Do they have guns? Do they have a teenage boy? Do they have a face-ripping monster pet? Do they have a creek in the back yard? Do they have a bomb shelter? Donate organs? Feed the homeless? Leave their car unlocked? Doors unlocked? Stairs? Peanut allergy? Oxygen allergy? Sunlight intolerant?

It’s not as easy as “MOM! I’m riding my bike over to Mikey’s house, k? BYE!!!!”

And no, those weren’t “the days”. I had many an unwise unchaperoned visit with friends growing up and frankly, I probably shouldn’t be alive. This is not a knock on anyone, it’s just how things were in the 80’s. (actually it was how it was done up until the 90’s!)

I will do my best to keep my kids reasonably upright and functioning. I’m a stay at home mom, so it’s sort of expected … I think. The employment contract I signed is sort of vague.

So today’s playdate at least has a kid for each kid. Little kinder sister, big 5th grade brother. It’s a double play date. I was given the option to just drop them off and go …. something i’d probably appreciate if I were a nice enough human being to invite other small humans to my house accompanied by their parents, but I feel irresponsible dropping and leaving BOTH kids in a house I have never been in with people I do not know. I guess I can at least stay for coffee before peeling out of the driveway

Plans and Paint

Published April 5, 2017 by sarcasmica

Current project: Figure out a design for the new house.

Current status: Clueless

I have done the unimaginable and hired a designer. I need help. I, apparently, am easily overwhelmed. Funny how this happens more and more the older you get. I guess my cup o’ shit is running close to full a lot because the minute someone hovers above it with a handful of more, I start twitching.

Not that this process is anywhere near “shit” status. It’s not. I am just out of my depth. I blame HGTV, Chip and Joanna, Pinterest, and life. I am no longer satisfied with garage sale furniture forced to function and ADD walls with one color over there, another color in the bathroom, and a totally separate color in the hall. It’s time to live like the grown up I’m pretending to be, and the government insists that I am.

BLEND, bitches, BLEND!

The beautiful house we bought has some color scheme issues. The entry is green, the living area is sand, and the kitchen and TV room is burnt orange.


And the home office is green and the guest room is burn-your-eyes-out blue, one bedroom is regurgitated yellow, another is pleasant boy blue, and the master ceiling – just the ceiling – is ocean sky blue.



I mean, seriously. The painter we met at the house was just like, “Huh?”

So we are de-patching and wholly unifying. We are gonna bring that space together, but in order to do that, I need a professional. A low-cost, fairly noob-ish designer. You know, one that is still driving around the Escape and not yet into the Mercedes.

I met her at the house and she helped me narrow down a color. It’s beautiful, I love it, but now I’m wondering how big the project is going to get. Not because she’s pushing, but because I just want to do this once.

We are trying to upscale the furniture a bit so we have to not only pick wall colors that match mantles and carpet and hardwoods, but also that lend to some creative furniture ideas and colors.

DELFT by sherwin-williams

This gets overwhelming quickly.

Is it happy hour yet?


Alien Evolution

Published March 24, 2017 by sarcasmica

Driving my son to fencing practice last night, he began talking about civilization. At first I thought it was just iPad withdrawal, but turns out he was going somewhere with it.

I have to paraphrase here because honestly, I wasn’t actually listening in the beginning. I tuned in off and on and it went something like this

“…. where we came from…”  “… like from another planet, because there are a lot of planets and we still don’t know everything that’s out there…”  “.. how I got here. I just wish I knew where we came from, you know?”

This was obviously the answer portion of the show.

“You mean like reincarnation?” (a topic of discussion last week)

“Yea.. sorta… but like where people came from. I wish we knew how we got here.”

How can he not know this at 10? Have I been that negligent that these basic concepts were left out?

“Honey .. we know where we came from. There has been lots and lots of science that tells us our history and how we got here.”

silence…. which, if you live with a ten year old boy who plays Minecraft and video games, you know this is not usually a positive reaction.

…. ?? hello?

And it dawned on me that he didn’t really want to seem out of the loop, but since it is a huge loop, more of a sphere, I delved into the very limited information I have on the topic. I was cursing myself for not paying more attention in Ancient Civilization in high school.

We talked about evolution. We talked about early humans. We talked about evolution and early humans. This somehow segwayed into a conversation about language. He wanted to know how language becomes established. Thankfully this I had slightly more information on based on having a near certification for Interpreting.

I explained how language is an ever-evoloving thing. There is no set permanent language because it’s constantly reflecting society.

Language is a result of the culture that establishes and uses it. Think about the word “Cold” or “snow”. Do you think Alaskans have more words used for that or Arizonians? We went on to discuss how the culture determines the usage and rules of a word.

He was still spinning on the fact that words are still being created. “Can I create a word?” “Only if you can find a massive group of people to all use it the same way you do, and then they influence and cause millions more to use it all in a common way.”

“Take ‘Selfie’ for example. This was not a word before smart phones. There were people flipping cameras around to take photos of themselves, yes. I was/am a master at this. It just didn’t have a name until people began using smart phones, apps, taking pictures of themselves en masse. Instead of always saying ‘I’m taking a picture of myself.’ it evolved down to just a single word. A word everyone uses for the same thing.”

We talked about how words get added to the dictionary every year because society and culture is always finding a new way to describe something. We talked about certain things being invented long ago that forever changed society. Fire. The wheel.

It was quite a cerebral conversation for a non-college educated mom and her ten year old son.

And this, my friends, is what can happen when you travel without an iPad. (because your son lost privileges due to behaving like a rabid beast every morning before school)

Don’t get me wrong, this conversation could have played out in a million ways. 999,998 of them being about Minecraft in one way or another. Also, I could have tuned in and out of whatever current story is being written in his brain. This one time it was educational and interesting and I actually found a topic I didn’t have to bullshit my way through entirely! SCORE!


Parrot Life

Published March 21, 2017 by sarcasmica

Birds were never in my plan. Animals, yes, birds specifically, notsomuch.

My “life plan” (chuckle chuckle chuckle) was to flounder in community college for a little while before sticking with the sign language interpreter program. Once I mastered that, I would go to Moorpark College in Simi Valley, CA and work as an interpreter while simultaneously studying in their exotic animal training and management program. In order to study in the program, you also have to work at the college zoo. The only block I had was how to get through all the bug stuff. I hate bugs. HATE. I can appreciate their role in an ecosystem and yes I understand how important they are blah blah blah, but handling them?! No.

Blech. I can’t.

Anyway, I got as far as my interpreter program. I didn’t even complete that. See, my step mother was the interpreter coordinator for the campus in addition to a teacher in the department. (That is how she and my dad met and later married) My last semester I had a class that is only offered once/year at only one time. I was at the end of my last semester in the three year program when my dad died. Being as how I was the only offspring of either side to help my stepmother make arrangements, get through the awful tragedy, and deal with the hurricane of tedium you have to deal with when a loved one dies, school suffered a bit. I still made it to my final roughly a week after the funeral… the funeral my teacher for the same class attended along with most of the department and all my past and present instructors.

Guess who failed the class? Yup. Moi. I wasn’t expecting a free pass, I wasn’t expecting an A, but can you really not help someone out in that scenario? Really?! Can you honestly not offer some kind of counseling on the side or advice? Just F, done, buh bye, sorry for your loss.

Anyway, I was bitter after this happened, naturally. I also was connected through my step mother with my first signing job in Irvine at a high school. I moved to Irvine and could not manage the 2 hour rush hour commute for the one hour class back in Torrance, either. I just let it go.

Anyway, that job and that city led me to Arizona and another job and then got married and had a kid and life and yada yada yada. Long story short, I never made it to Moorpark College.

In my early 20’s while still in school, a friend of mine was a manager at Petco. She offered me a job as a Bird Specialist and I’d be in charge of the department – ordering, feeding the babies, caring for the cages and animals, stocking, etc etc. I took it knowing any knowledge needed I’d have to research myself since they do not have any sort of extensive training for this. I loved it. It was sad – seeing the state they were delivered in from breeders – but it was also gratifying – being able to educate people on a pet. I was absolutely astounded at how many grown people have a fear of birds. Kids would readily go into the bird room while their parents stood outside shaking their heads and twitching at the thought of wings coming at their face. (a common fear, apparently)

Anyway, I suppose that’s where the seed was planted. Ironically twenty years later I’m working the other side of the pet industry. It’s exactly opposite, actually, right down to me volunteering and not getting paid to care for the birds that people could not for a million and eighteen reasons commit a lifetime to. It’s so rewarding that there’s about 65 volunteers that the sanctuary heavily relies on for feeding/cleaning/food prep/grooming. I’m always impressed with the volunteers that balance this work with a paying full time gig. There are students, retirees, unemployed (moi) but we all, I think, look forward to our time there helping out.

Everyone has their niche. Some people like the cage work; cleaning and feeding. Some people like the massive open flight area. Some like the rooms and some don’t even interact with the birds. They handle food only. My happy place is the room. I have one room where I’ve learned about 70% of the birds names and know them fairly well. I don’t handle many because, quite frankly, I’ve seen enough bites to not be excited by that happening. I’ve had only one bad bite that’s left a scar, but like most stories of bites it was my own fault. I took a bird out and she didn’t want to return to the room when I needed her to. Instead of getting a perch, I kept insisting she step up on my arm and after repeatedly pushing back with her beak, she finally gave me a good clear chomp. … then I got the perch. Duh.

Funny enough two of my favorite birds reside in rooms completely different than my favorite. I don’t hold it against them, though 🙂

Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to fulfill my wish of actually working and interacting with wild exotic animals for a job, but truthfully my kids and these crazy parrots seem to be filling my heart. So while I figure it out, I’ll just keep taking pictures and hope people enjoy them.










Junior (i think)





Published March 20, 2017 by sarcasmica

My therapist was proud of me today and that feels good! 

I am a firm believer in therapy. I feel like absolutely everyone can gain from a little guidance and cheerleading. People don’t often talk about it, but I don’t much care for what people think of me. Take me or leave me, I show you what you’re workin with. 

Therapy has helped my marriage. My husband is a crazy strong man who happens to understand when help is beneficial. I have always admired his strength and someone who can acknowledge when his own limits are met and get help to reign some sanity back in is very sexy. My husband has taught me a lot of things, and the freedom of therapy is one of them.

I’ve worked with our therapist on and off for about 4 years. 

On & off means sometimes weekly, sometimes twice a year, sometimes twice a week. 

I’ve done couples and individual counseling. She’s helped me navigate the lonely, confusing waters of motherhood. She’s helped me understand and manage feelings of second wifehood and stepmotherdom. She’s guided me through the overwhelming valley of ‘oh shit, being MOM isn’t the answer to my all-being?!’. 

It’s helped me understand myself and why I make certain decisions. It’s also helped me not abuse my friendships (too much) by bitching and complaining (too much) about my personal life. Truthfully I think my friends breathe a little sigh of relief when they hear I have an appointment! 😜

It felt good today to hear how far i’ve come and get some positive feedback and encouragement from someone, one of the few people actually, who knows just about every single dysfunction I have carried with me. So i’m taking a moment to enjoy that. 

Letting it all go and just enjoying the view

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