Kitty Therapy

I think my kitties may need couple’s therapy.

There’s been a lot of hissing and growling going on lately. Some Kung-Fu moves have been flying between them and a heck of a lot of fur has been flying in the air.

I tried to step up as a mediator. I used a calm approach. I suggested a pause. A break. A time out. I thought that perhaps they could take a deep breath, put the past behind them and focus on their kitty future together.

My efforts were not appreciated.

Hubby’s suggestion to send them to the kitty spa for a kitty pick me up only added fuel to the fire.

Our kitties don’t travel well.

My daughter’s idea to take them for a romantic stroll to the park was met with a sour look, a turn of a furry heel and a sudden storming out of the room.

Apparently, my kitties disdain romantic strolls….and leashes.

Well, whatever is between them…whatever valley their union has fallen into….whatever grievance has cast its shadow upon their love…

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly they snap out of it.

PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

My Iron Fist

As I’ve mentioned before, I run a tight ship here at the Mamma Talk humble abode. I govern with a firm hand, an iron fist and with nerves of steel.

“OK, kid. Stop screaming…. I’ll give ya a cookie?”

I believe in order and structure.

“Just shove it all under the bed, will ya? They’re gonna be here any minute!”

Discipline is the backbone of our family.

“Wanna another cookie?”

Rules and regulations steer this household.

“No eating in the car…. Yeah, we’ll take a couple Happy Meals to go and….”

Consistency and follow through are my mantra.

“And, I’m not going to tell you again….OK. This is the last time I’m going to tell you….Did you hear me? For the last time!”

Yep. There’s just no fooling around here at my house.

“So, how do you feel about a lollipop?”

Hey. Whatever gets you through your Mamma Day. Yep, and sometimes a little sprinkled exaggeration helps me through mine.

“STOP screaming! !!! Ice cream, anyone?”

And, I got all teary eyed over this Mammatalk review by Crafting with Rinos here. Be a pal. Go pay her a visit.

I Tried to Scream.....

It was a scene from a horror movie. A page ripped right out of Stephen King. A real life nightmare.

Much like a monster peering from a closet, these hairy toes of mine were peeking out of my flip flops.

The chipped polish. The unclipped nails. The corns. The bunions. The callouses.

Oh, my.

I tried to hide. I tried to run. I tried to scream. All, to no avail.

The Curse of Ugly Feet.

The ultimate horror flick.

Somebody, pass the popcorn…..yeah, and maybe a nail file?

Micromanage this!

I admit it. I am a bit of a micromanager. I bark directions and yelp orders all day long. I am bossy and controlling. I just never let anyone up for air.

“Get up. Get dressed. Drink your milk. Brush your teeth. Out the door. In the car. Buckle up. Don’t yell. Don’t run. Say hello. Please share. Don’t hit. Please be nice. Eat your snack. Wipe your mouth. Say goodbye. Wash your hands. Eat your lunch. Close your mouth. Clean up. Play nice. Share your things. Take a rest. Time to eat. Sit down. Eat your peas. Drink your juice. No dessert. Did ya wipe? Don’t whine. Mind your manners. No TV. Take a bath. Don’t splash. In your jammies. Brush your teeth. Say your prayers. Kiss goodnight. Turn off the light. Go to sleep. Sweet dreams.”

And, then, I turn my wrath on hubby.

“Remote, please. Rub my feet. Not now. Go to sleep.”

Those dog days....

So, they call 'em the dog days of summer? The way I see it, these lazy summery days are more like cat days.

Dozing, belly up, in the sun. Stretching and yawning the day away. Meditative. Relaxed. The Devil may care. Purrrr.

Yep. The cat days of summer.

A dog?

Well, a dog is for September. Up and at ‘em. Ears perked and tail a waggin’. Eager to greet the day. Attentive and enthusiastic.

The dog days of Autumn.

There ya go. Just a little more accurate, I say.

Woof.

You’re welcome.

Luck be a Lady.....

I was simply on fire. On a roll. Luck be a lady. Baby’s got a new pair of shoes.

I simply brought the house down.

All that and it was only 10:00 AM.

I was at the local MOMS Club Mother’s Day raffle. I bought 5 tickets and all 5 were winners. My biggest win was a $900 laser leg hair removal package.

A week later, I went to the Medical Spa to claim my wonderful prize.

Zzzap! Ouch. Zzzap! Ouch. Zzzap! Ouch. Zzzap! Ouch.

Afterwards, I looked at the welts on my legs and realized that beauty does come with a price tag.

Indeed.

OK, so maybe it was free for me, but you get the picture.

How About a Little Nap?

I feel robbed. Burglarized. Cheated, really.

My preschooler has given up her afternoon nap.

My daily 2 hour oasis of peace and tranquility is no more. Like a puff of smoke, a spray of mist, a candle in the wind. Puff. Gone. No more. A relic of the past.

I wasn’t going for the whole idea at first, of course.

“Whatcha mean, you’re not tired? Lay down. Grrrrrrrrr!”

I wasn’t one for changing up the schedule.

“When I say, Sleep, kid, I mean, SLEEP.”

I was inflexible.

“Sleep! Sleep!”

I was grumpy, selfish and guided by my own agenda.

“Look here. I got a date with Danielle Steele and a box of chocolates. Mess with me and there’s gonna be trouble.”

I was completely married to an old schedule.

“It’s 1:30! Snooze! Now! Now! Now!”

And, I certainly wasn’t going to take things laying down. ( Ahem.)

“SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP NOOOOOOW!”

Needless to say, it took some time before I accepted things. But, in the end, I began to realize little girls grow up, naps fall by the wayside along with diapers and pacifiers. (thank goodness)

And, mammas need to find their oasis elsewhere.

Mommy’s Night Out, anyone? First round’s on me.

Author’s note. I know, I know…But, Quiet Time in their room with a book just isn’t working here. Something about a slime monster in the closet. Another post. Another day.

Blogging- A Winter Sport?

I’ve come to the conclusion that blogging is a winter sport. It’s right up there with snowshoeing and tobogganing.

I’ve noticed recently during my travels through the blogosphere, many of my fellow bloggees…ah…bloggos……ah….never mind…are a bit distracted. It seems most are camping, gardening, sunbathing and the like.

I decided to consult a local social scientist to see if the empirical evidence I have gathered is indeed substantiated.

Mammatalk: So, Doctor. Do bloggers blog in June?

Doctor Blogger: This is dependent on the location of the bloggee. The closer to the Poles the bloggee resides, the longer the Blogging season. The winters in the Polar Regions tend to be longer. As such, Polar dwelling Homo Sapiens tend to habituate indoors longer seeking intellectual stimulation in front of electronic devices.

Mammatalk: Ummm-Hmmm…

Doctor Blogger: Conversely, the closer a Homo Sapien resides to the equator, the more likely blogging behavior will decrease in June. Subsequently, an increase will be noted in outdoor behaviors …. bird watching for example.

Mammatalk: Ah…yeah?

Doctor Blogger: However, we do have a few anomalies. For example… the bloggee who resides in an area with mild year round weather. To these bloggees, a sunny day is merely a sunny day. Not a distraction.

Mammatalk: Yo, Doc. Pass the sunscreen?

Doctor Blogger: My point exactly.

5 Minutes for Parenting

Today, I have the honor of being featured here on 5 Minutes for Parenting in their A Dose of Humor weekly column. If you would like to link up your funniest moment of the week, be sure to pay them a visit.

Happy Birthday, Cowboy!

In honor of my hubby's birthday, I am re-posting his favorite Mamma Talk post. Still can't figure out why this one is all time fav. Go figure....

Happy Birthday, Hercules...Purrrrrr!

I have a confession. Since having 2 babies in 2 years, I have become a Sex Nazi. Yes, I am a rigid ruler in our love palace, littering our marital rolls in the hay with abrasive commands and demands.

“Skip the fancy stuff, Mister. I got laundry.”

“Cut to the chase, Bud. Baby’s crying.”

“OK, Romeo. Your time window is T minus 10 minutes and counting.”

The clock glares at us ticking down those precious bedroom moments. I, of course, contribute to the romantic mood with my tyrannical tirades.

“Can ya put the pedal to the metal? I’d like to wrap this up before Oprah.”

“Let’s skip to the good stuff, Tarzan. I got a sink full of dishes and no time to waste.”

“None of that, big boy. No time. Maybe later.”

I admit it. I rule the bedroom with an iron fist, steadfast to the strict schedule and adherent to our time constraint, one ear listening for the stirrings of our offspring.

“The kids are stirring. Our time window is shrinking. Better deliver the goods pronto, cowboy.”

Luckily, I am married to a team player. He has taken one for the team on several occasions, and does not mind playing with a handicap. He is quite the trooper, always looking for ways to fill our sometimes desolate sexual landscape. Despite the stiff parameters, he always manages to deliver a grand performance, worthy of a standing ovation, lengthy accolades, and a “My hubby is better than yours” show down any day!!

After all, despite my bossy shortcomings, I did manage to wrangle me a Bedroom Superstar!