Oh, Boys!

Overheard yesterday afternoon while cooking dinner:

The President (in a voice just above a stage whisper): "Fat Baby, say Oh, CRAP!"

Fat Baby: "Oh, CRAP!"

Pres: "Say, CRAP!"

Fat Baby: "CRAP!"

President (slightly softer voice): "Fat Baby, say SHIT!"

Fat Baby: "SHIT!"

Pres: "Say, SHIT!"

Fat Baby: "SHIT!!!!"

It makes me so happy when they can entertain themselves.


And another peek into our Southern Fried World....

When I went to pick up Fat Baby at preschool this afternoon, the teacher told me that he didn't want to take a nap (& since he's so. freaking. loud)--she asked him if he would like to go play in another classroom while his classmates slept. When I picked him up she said, "Ms. Teacher-in-the-other-class says she wants to meet Fat Baby's mom!" Yep, that's me. I'm the girl who produced this loud, buck-wild, funny as hell, into-every-darn-thing, naughty-but-in-a-I'm-so-damn-cute-you-don't-want-to-hurt-me kind of way...Yes, I am responsible for that. Funny how he's the hit of the party everywhere we go, yet no one will take me up on my offers to let them have him for a day, week, or month at a time...hmmmm, what's up with that?

A blog about nothing

I'm sitting here procrastinating, because I don't feel the heat of my grant-writing deadline just yet. I should totally be taking this opportunity to work. I've got the house to myself. Both kids are in school. Pop took my van to get new tires & pick up some grocery items. I've got the desk & computer area set up like I like it. And yet, I'm just wasting these rare moments of silence and uninterrupted work time. I'll be cranking out this grant with two kids underfoot, dinner cooking, Pop folding laundry (which makes me feel guilty, like I should be helping), My Baby's Daddy reading over my shoulder humming , "Bow Chicka Wow Wow." It would be so much easier to get ahead, but I almost think I function better in the midst of chaos. That makes no sense at all. I'll chalk it up to my creative, free-spirited side. Whatever.

In other news, I am finally sitting in my new office. (Again, another good reason I should be working). We had an office with a desk and the whole nine yards...then we had Fat Baby. The office became the nursery, where he lived happily for nearly three years. Then, about the time The President decided he wanted to re-do his room and get bunk beds, Fat Baby started climbing out of the crib every. freaking. night. We were in the process of renovating The Pres's room, so for a while we ended up with both kids in our bed. every. freaking. night.

We got the bunk beds, put them in a room together, and I got my office back. I'm still "decorating" it, but it's oh, so much better than the cramped little corner of my bedroom where the computer was stashed. I feel like I can spread out, and I can also leave something I'm working on & come back later to find it still there. It rocks.

This could be the most boring post I've ever written....somebody, send me a meme or something! And let me know when and how you procrastinate! I'm going to work now, I promise!

Keepin' It Real

I rushed out to a meeting last night. It was the end of a long, frazzled, blazing hot day. I don't think I even took the time to brush my teeth & reapply lipstick after dinner, because I was running late. After the meeting, I spoke to a very sweet (and cute, and skinny) acquaintance of mine who also serves on the board. She was dressed in her "grown-up" career clothes & I had on a casual but cute sleveless top & denim bermuda shorts. Okay, everyone does tell me that the particular blouse is the best color evah for me...but, still. Long, crazy, freakin' hawt day. Sweet friend looks adorable & fresh as a daisy (as usual). After the meeting, she rushes up to me and says, "Oh, my GOSH...you look fabulous!!! I need to be doing whatever you've been doing! You look great!"

The only difference I can see is a few extra pounds, a leftover tan, and the flat-ironed hair. I tell you, I'm on to something with this straight hair thing. Oh yeah, and the stress. This has been the most traumatic, difficult, stressful, and life-changing year I've ever faced. I can literally feel myself aging.

But, this really cute and perky girl is standing here telling me how great I look. And you know what? I started to feel great. My long-ish, straight-ish hair felt all bouncy. I remembered I was in my A-game shirt. Yeah, I do look kind of great....I couldn't wait to get home & stand in front of the mirror to examine myself for signs of cuteness.

Of course, I was greeted with bath time on a School Night. Cute Girl suddenly turns back into Sweaty, Wilting Cess Pool of Motherhood. Oh yeah, and Fat Baby crapped in the tub. After I clean it out, get him back in and bathed, he begins to poke around my arm flab. He investivates the fat-dimples and asks, "Boo-boos?"

Thanks for bringing things back into perspective, Fat Baby.

Addictive Personality? And some cute stuff from the Southern Fried Brothers

Some people just have that gene for addictive personality disorder. My substance of choice is food. Love it. Love everything about it, cooking it, smelling it, thinking about it, tasting it, reading cookbooks, watching food network. But, as I've well-documented...I lost about 100 pounds of lardass after Fat Baby was born, so I can't indulge my addiction as much as I'd like. I want to stay as healthy as I can, so I've decided to pick up some new vices. Thought I'd share....because it's my blog, and I can.

With the start of a new school year, I decided to go all out in the organizing department (my type-A-ness has been well documented, here). I didn't post about the total extreme makeover of the boys' living space, because I was too damn busy cleaning out, painting, constructing, ordering, purchasing, and working my ass off to talk about it. I moved them into a room together (The President wanted bunk beds, so we gave him a roommate!) and am re-claiming Fat Baby's room as the office it once was. I thought our chances of keeping everyone in his own bed might increase, if they had each other for company. Plus, I really needed a work space.

In my attempt to get on the organizational bandwagon, I finally purchased one of those fancy-schmancy labelmakers. Totally addicted. Anything that would usually get a name slapped on it with Sharpie is now neatly marked with a clear adhesive label. Anything that can't be labeled gets monogrammed, and vice-versa. Yeah, I have a real thing with the monogramming. (I seriously have the monogrammer on speed-dial in my cell phone). Is the whole monogramming thing limited to the South? If so, I am totally in the right place.

As if the monogramming and labeling frenzy weren't enough, I was cleaning out my pantry yesterday when I discovered that I apparently have some sort of vinegar obsession. Seriously. I had like 8 different kinds of vinegar in the pantry. And I use them! I guess that kind of goes along with my cooking/eating addiction...

Since I've been growing my hair out, I can't seem to step out of the house without purchasing some kind of hair product. Clips, barrettes, pony tail holders, headbands, flat irons....just trying to keep things interesting. I also seem to be stockpiling body wash and pajamas lately. Maybe I'm getting ready to hibernate for winter.

And of course, there's the internet, blogging, and reality tv. Yeah, I think it's safe to say that I'm a likely candidate for several multi-step programs.

In other news, here's some funny stuff my kids said today.

From The President, "Oooooooooh, yuck!!! Mama, my breath smells like Fat Baby!"

"You mean your breath smells like his breath?"

"No, I mean my breath smells funky, like the smell of him!"


My poor baby grabbed my excruciatingly hot flat iron the other day. There's nothing like learning a lesson the hard way, after you've been told a bajillion times. (Around here, we call that The Law of Natural Consequences). This morning, he noticed it on the counter and we had this conversation:


(Imagine a gravelly tough-guy baby voice, just like you'd think a 48-pound-just-turned-three-year-old would have).

"That's hawt, mama."

"Yes, it is...you burned your fingers on it the other day."


"Yeah, that's hawt. That alligator is hawt."

I love their imagination! Who would've thought that the flat iron looked like an alligator?

The kid who nearly got his little "pingers" burned off by the sonofabitch, that's who!

Words of Wisdom from my boys

Life around the Southern Fried House of Fun has been a never-ending roller coaster ride of chaos. School started on August 9th. That Saturday, we celebrated Fat Baby's third birthday (which was actually the 12th) with a pool party. On the 13th, I turned 36. Yeah, I'm on the dark side of my thirties. Yippee. And, oh yeah, we're potty training. It sucks. I'll tell you straight up, the 5-day-a-week-daycare trained the President, and I just reinforced it at home. And so I am spending a L O T of time in the toilet begging, pleading, cajoling, bribing, threatening, and getting nowhere fast. I'm not too worried about it, honestly. It will happen before he goes to college, but for the sake of the preschool staff, I'm making an effort.

In traditional, grown-man-in-a-7-year-old-body-fashion, the President has been throwing me some zingers this morning. For example:

He was talking about some of the 'tween shows on Disney Channel with his dad & he said that if Hannah Montana's bodyguard (female) became the manager of the Naked Brothers Band, then she would be the "womanager."

He was getting dressed this morning to go to the store with my husband & came out with socks & tennis shoes. To save time I suggested that he just put on Crocs or flip-flops. I was told, "Mom. Crocks and flip-flops are 'so last year!' "

Finally, as we were all gathered in the bathroom, waiting for Fat Baby to produce a little squirt, The Pres tells his little brother, "It's all about transportation. When you've gotta go, just take yourself to the bathroom & put your stuff in the toilet."

And not to leave out the budding philosopher known as Fat Baby. The other day, I was pulling out all the potty training tricks I could think of. So I put a few Froot Loops in the bowl for him to shoot. I forgot that he had eaten that kind of cereal for breakfast until he said in his booming baby voice, "I EAT THAT!" Bad idea, Mom.

Snapshots of Back-to-School

Today was our first day back. I hate transitional days. I think I'll do this post in bullet form, because I seem to be typing in bulllet statements. Here goes:

• The President is (by our choice) repeating the first grade this year. He has several strikes against him, in that he is

#1) male

#2) hereditarily pre-disposed to ADD (remember My Baby's Daddy has adult ADD)

and #3) he has a late birthday

Last year's school performance did not at all reflect the brightness, intellect, and high scores that you would expect from The Pres. Teachers & the (fabulous!) school guidance counselor assured me that it could very well be nothing more than that late birthday. He was 6-9 months younger than most of his class. We decided to try it again, and if attention-span issues arise (again), we will address them. He is very cool with trying it again. He's a fan of being the oldest one in class, and most likely the best reader.

• Yesterday, The President & I made homemade cookies that I sent to the teacher this morning in the cutest little pink striped bakery-box. It's never too early to kiss a little ass. (And I really do appreciate teachers who are underpaid for the phenomenal work they do.)



• It rained for like 3 weeks of our summer vacation (not complaining, we need the rain down here). Today it is hotter than three hells. Why couldn't it be 159 degrees and sunny when all we had to do was splash in the pool?



• When I left to pick up The Pres, Fat Baby decided to climb in the big boy booster instead of his carseat. It's a short drive, and he definitely exceeds the minimum weight requirement to do the booster. When we got to the school, he unbuckled and began to roam around the van. He made his way to my lap, and pretended to drive. When I had to pull forward about 15 feet, I felt like the Britney Spears of our school, with baby on my lap. (No, I am not shaving my head...though I am about half bat-shit crazy).



• Got the big boy in the car, great first day, and soon heading for home. Our elementary school changed the pick-up procedure slightly, so I'm sitting in one of four lanes of traffic, with hundreds of cars in front and hundreds of cars behind. This total. freaking. dumb. ass. in front of me starts to do a three point turn, like he's just going to weave around & jet on out of there! I was so pissed off! Even if it's his first time at our school, he had to know that we couldn't all just cut & run when we felt like it....I can't stand it when people think the rules don't apply to them! The President was afraid I would take my unstable, hormonal self out there & embarass him. I almost did.



• Fat Baby starts military pre-school on Monday. After he flooded the bathroom yesterday, dumped a whole colander full of freshly-washed grapes all over the kitchen floor to watch them roll, and was generally a pain in the butt...I have to say it was quite easy to commit to three days a week for him. I hope to the GoodLordUp Above that they teach him how to follow directions, and how to transition from one activity to the next, because I sure as hell haven't been able to.


• Have I mentioned that it's hot as Hades around here?!? I flat-ironed my hair twice today! (A sister's gotta stay cute, ya know?)


• I'll be glad when we get into our new routine!

By any other name...

We returned home tonight from a fabulous dinner out. I was totally stuffed, and my new bra (which made the girls oh-so-perky) was cutting me in half. I started shedding clothes on my way to my room to remove the offending garment, and snuggle into my cozy pjs. Let me remind you that:

#1) we have a very liberal nudity policy around the House of Southern Fried Fun
#2) being genteel Southerners and all, we are big fans of the euphemism...(body parts, bodily functions, sex and sex-related acts, diseases, scandal and scandalous behavior, and the like)

The boys refer to their package as their "goober." The accompaniments are known by various names, including nuts, the boys, balls, etc.

Since there is only one non-boy in the house, my stuff is known as "not a goober" and "boobies."

I will (and have) teach them age-appropriate, accurate information as the situation dictates. The President knows that his goober's "real name" is a penis. He seems to prefer goober & I'm fine with that. The President remembers me breastfeeding, and is aware that my boobies have a purpose & his don't. He will tell you that boys' boobies are just for decoration. He sometimes calls his tiny little nippley-area, "my decorations."

But it was his little brother who followed me into the bedroom. When I took off my bra, Fat Baby smiled & said, "A Goober!"

I said, "No, those are Mommy's boobies."

Staring in fascination, he said again, "Goober!"

"No, those are my boobies." (I'm wondering how on earth this kid has made the connection that all things private are grouped together in a set...)

Finally, he said, "And a Goober!" I looked down, and realized...the ceiling fan was on, air conditioner full-force, and my boobie had sprouted a goober, indeed.

Show Me The Money!

My son, The President is a budding capitalist. He loves him some cold, hard cash. I admire that. Today we had one of those impromptu "teaching moments" as I was preparing to go to the bank to make a deposit. He often takes inventory of his piggy bank, which weighed in around 100 bucks this morning. I explained that if he saved and invested, he would have enough money to buy his own car when the time came; and later he would be able to buy his own home. "Now doesn't that sound better than blowing your money on candy and crappy little toys that will break and be thrown away?"



Twelve years of being married to Dave Ramsey's biggest fan have made their mark on Southern Fried Mom. My Baby's Daddy was loving it, as I explained the merits of saving and investing. ("Do as I say....")



The President was all in the halleleujah chorus, too. He's planning his jet-set life, full of big bucks and a seat on Air Force One. Then he asked, "How much money will I have when I'm 37, mom?"



"Oh, thousands and thousands of dollars..."



"Well, would it be appropriate for me to take a money-bath, then?"



"Absolutely."



Now I know how Donald Trump's mom must've felt.

Scattered, Smothered, and Covered...

Stuff I've been doing:

• Cramming as much fun into the last days of summer as I possibly can...




• Coordinating schedules and hauling The President to all his essential summer activities like wrestling camp, swimming lessons, and Bruster's for milkshakes




• Having my (extremely high energy) nephew visit for a week




• Doctor's visits with Pop




• Extreme Makeover: Boys' Bedroom Edition (This is a post unto itself...)




• Dreading the start of school




• Family time (but not as much as I'd like...)




• Trying new recipes...my Creamy Tomato Basil soup is fab-u-lous




• Thinking about taking a fall mini-vacation




• Flat-ironing my hair for a new look




• Hoping to get to the bookstore soon for some new reading material




• Watching The Singing Bee with my sweetie, Joey Fatone...we love this show, and you can't stop yourself from singing along!


• Also watching Scott Baio is 45 and Single. If you are a child of the 80s...you have to see it just for the reality show/train wreck/Chachi/Charles in Charge mindless entertainment! Again, we're hooked!

Stuff I need to do:

• Shop for school supplies
• Finish converting the room formerly occupied by Fat Baby into an office
• Make myself doctor's appointments (annual gyn, therapy, dentist...)
• Get a pedicure
• Sign Fat Baby up for a preschool program
• Chill out

So, what's new with you?