tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46593728358220411512024-03-13T10:00:54.944-05:00Daily Dump, Life is a Shit ShowBarrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-70436887656793514272017-01-12T21:57:00.000-06:002017-01-13T13:32:11.520-06:00A Letter From Your Threenager<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EVAe_D_yXbY/WHhN4Lmpy-I/AAAAAAAAAlU/OZC_Y767zQs3SvkfhUt2Y-On_-NqD1PKgCLcB/s1600/child-1260411_1920%2Bdark%2Bedges.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EVAe_D_yXbY/WHhN4Lmpy-I/AAAAAAAAAlU/OZC_Y767zQs3SvkfhUt2Y-On_-NqD1PKgCLcB/s320/child-1260411_1920%2Bdark%2Bedges.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Dearest mom,</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am writing this letter because I’d like to fill you in on a few things. A few very important things that you definitely need to know. You are always wondering why I get angry or lose it over the littlest things. You are always asking me the questions like “what’s wrong?” or “what do you need?” or "why are you crying?" In your mind I am an angry little dictator…always demanding something. Maybe I kind of am. The truth is, mom, you just don’t really understand me. I feel that my demands are very clear, but you somehow seem to mess it up every single time. </div>
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You just don’t get shit right. Simple as that. How hard is it to know when I want the pink cup or that I HATE those pants...or wearing pants at all? Sometimes, you even give me snacks that I hate. Never mind that I just asked for it. Come on, mom. Figure. This. Out. </div>
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Let me give you a few examples of your ineptitude.</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You never understand my words. Literally. Are you stupid? </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I don’t want your help. With anything. Ever. I can do it myself…until I do want your help. Then, drop what you are doing and help me immediately. Hurry! Do you want me to lose it again?</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You are always rushing me. Just stop. If it takes me until hell freezes over to put on one slip-on shoe, then so be it. It needs to be just right…so stop rushing.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Pants are the devil. Stop making me wear them. I prefer to be pants-less at all times.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes I want a hug and sometimes I don’t. It’s up to you to know when.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Dinner? I don’t want that shit. I’d rather manhandle all the food on your plate or just eat the stashed candy I keep under my bed.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Stop trying to pick out my clothes. Seasons don’t matter. If I want to wear a tank top backwards and shorts when it is 10 below zero, then so be it. I’m a fashionista. You’ll see.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Please just don’t say no. To anything. I am three now. I can make my own decisions. If I want to do art while we are eating dinner, just let me. If I want to take a three-hour bath, let me do that too. If I want to play in the sandbox naked, that’s my choice. No more of this “no” shit. Kapeesh? </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">If I get frustrated about anything, it is going to get thrown directly at you. Probably at your head. Sharpen up your reflexes.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Figure out my moods…there are really only two: Raging mad or adorably lovey.</li>
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So, mom, next time you see me flop around on the floor, screaming hysterically, and completely losing my shit, you need to know it is because of <b><i>you</i></b>. Instead of trying to get me to stop, just wait until I am done, applaud my mad tantruming skills, and then give me a hug…and maybe some candy. Unless less I don’t want you to. Figure it out. </div>
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Love,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Your Threenager</div>
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<div align="center">
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-26317692602039197742017-01-09T20:40:00.000-06:002017-01-09T20:40:29.270-06:00Hazmat Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PTm68Miivck/WHRJLYaEBVI/AAAAAAAAAk4/jgLs1Eke0GYXTRl4GsFN0NSItfPPZJvxwCLcB/s1600/shokotan_hazmat_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PTm68Miivck/WHRJLYaEBVI/AAAAAAAAAk4/jgLs1Eke0GYXTRl4GsFN0NSItfPPZJvxwCLcB/s320/shokotan_hazmat_1.jpg" width="103" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Do
you mind being puked on, spit on, or peed on? Do you enjoy spending your days
wiping noses, sticky fingers, and poopy butts? If you answered yes to any of
these questions, being a mom might be the job for you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">All
the mommies out there will tell you… you encounter some pretty repulsive things
while tackling this parenting thing, and most of them on a daily basis.</span><span style="background: white; color: #424242; font-family: "archivo narrow" , serif; font-size: 12.5pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Folks,</span><span style="background: white; color: #424242; font-family: "archivo narrow" , serif; font-size: 12.5pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">raising kids is disgusting. Kids themselves
are disgusting and they definitely have some questionable hygiene practices. <i>Most</i> adults (I said MOST) know how to
deal with the body’s disgusting stuff in sanitary ways. Kids on the other hand,
they are pretty helpless and don’t grasp the monumental grossness of what they
are doing. That leaves mom to clean up the mess and try to teach them how <b><i>not</i></b>
to be disgusting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Motherhood
is a serious business. I’ve heard that being a mom is the hardest and most
important job of all…and after being a mom myself for the last 8 years, I would
have to agree. Not only is raising a child into a respectable and kind human
being difficult, at times, it is also pretty gross. As a mom, I’ve encountered
feces, vomit, boogers, and spit more times than I can even count. I’ve seen
things you could have never imagined pre-kids…and no matter how hard I try, I
can’t unsee them. If I’m being honest, a hazmat suit would come in pretty handy
sometimes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Here
are just a few of the hazardous jobs moms do:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Director of Regurgitation</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">:
How many times have you been puked on or spit up on? How much vomit have you
cleaned up? Moms are regurgitation specialists, whether they like it or not. Not
only will you clean up vomit and spit up, but there will also be oodles of spit
out and chewed food, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Snot Stream Specialist:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> Kids always seem have a stream of green snot
running down their upper lip. It’s just a fact of life with kids. It is mom’s job to eliminate this snot stream
before it becomes a little warm snack for them. Just a heads up…watch out for
the sneeze. Really. Watch out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Fecal Matter Investigator:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">
You will examine more poo that you ever thought. You will genuinely care about
the color, consistency, frequency, and even smell of the poop and will have
detailed conversations about it. Yes, you will talk about poop…with doctors,
spouses, your kids, and even friends. AND…you will eventually touch it. Might
be when cleaning out a massive blow out that reaches their hair, or perhaps you
are fishing out floaters out of the bathtub, but poop will be in your hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Odor reduction Specialist:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">
Kids smell. End of story. Mom gets to find the sources of all the smelly
surprises and eliminate them before they become too pungent. Could be poop,
could be sweat, could be rancid breath…use your imagination. Not only do we get
to smell the children themselves, but then there is the rotten food, rancid
milk found in a sippy cup in the car, or that small piece of chicken nugget
found under the couch cushion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Motherhood
is a lot of things—some beautiful, some awful, and some really, really
gross. We do this all without vacations, sick days, or raises. We are soldiers.
We get this shit done. Literally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-533835355478879252017-01-06T11:52:00.001-06:002017-01-07T22:02:03.851-06:00Dear Kids...Meet Dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GfxXlI9tsyE/WG_YqXaXvrI/AAAAAAAAAko/j2uSwQB7XjEiry7oh0rDBcUGq34Ryg15ACLcB/s1600/Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GfxXlI9tsyE/WG_YqXaXvrI/AAAAAAAAAko/j2uSwQB7XjEiry7oh0rDBcUGq34Ryg15ACLcB/s1600/Dad.jpg" /></a></div>
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Dear kids,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I would like to formally introduce you to someone very special. He might look vaguely familiar to you and you have probably seen him around the house. He lives right here with us, and eats dinner with us each night. You know, the guy you rough house with, play outside with, and talk Pokemon stats with…He is your dad. I wanted to point him out to you, because I fear that you may not realize that he is here and can help you out with things, too. Whenever you want or need something, he must become invisible and you can’t see him. It’s the only explanation. I wasn’t aware of his superhuman camouflage power until we had kids. Now, I beg him to teach me his impressive incognito ways.</div>
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Here is the thing, kids. Your dad is a smart guy. His legs are not broken, and he is perfectly capable of doing all sorts of things. He can get you milk, he can answer hard math questions, he can get you a snack, and he can even help you locate your missing hats and mittens (ok…maybe that one is a bit of a stretch). I have also heard rumors that he is super good at helping put on pants and socks. I know I’m your mom and you clearly think I am amazing, but I am really <b>not the only one</b> in this house capable of doing most of the things that you are asking. I am so tired of saying, “Ask your father! He’s right there!” How can you not see him? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To prove my point, let me give you a little example of what I am talking about. Remember that time when I was upstairs in the shower and you decided you wanted a granola bar but didn’t know where they were? Remember when you walked past your dad in the kitchen, through the living room, all the way up the long flight of stairs, through the hall, through my bedroom, and finally into my bathroom to ask me to find them for you? Yeah. It would have been way easier to just ask your dad. He was right there! Could have saved a lot of time. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So, next time you are hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, hurt, sick, or in need of anything at all, let’s try something new…ASK YOUR DAD! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mom</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-82205007492280536762017-01-03T12:04:00.000-06:002017-01-05T12:09:52.655-06:0050 Reasons My Kids Are Fighting<div class="WordSection1">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YYyw5nDmlis/WGvm2PKYA9I/AAAAAAAAAkQ/cj3Y-Mns0ecpNoXlbT81AU7RE-el2M1FwCLcB/s1600/Kids%2BFighting%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YYyw5nDmlis/WGvm2PKYA9I/AAAAAAAAAkQ/cj3Y-Mns0ecpNoXlbT81AU7RE-el2M1FwCLcB/s320/Kids%2BFighting%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My children love each other most of the time…until they
don’t. Then they hate each other. Once we hit that moment, there is no turning
back. Anything the other person does aggravates the situation. Including
breathing, smiling, moving, looking…well really just about everything. I know
fighting with your siblings is normal…it has been going on since the beginning
of time. But it’s completely exhausting playing referee constantly. I don’t
think we can go two minutes without someone yelling, crying, screaming, and
tattling. “Mom, she is looking at me” or “He said he doesn’t like me”. The
fights are completely pointless most of the time. It blows my mind to think
that half the time they play so great together, then at the drop of a hat, they
want to kill each other over some stupid McDonald’s toy they found under the
couch that no one has seen in two years. No joke…my kids have fought over
garbage. Literally garbage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Conflict is a normal part of any relationship. But
come on, kids, some of this stuff is just dumb. These are the 50 most
ridiculous agreements my kids have. (Yes, 50)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<ol>
<li>He is looking at her. </li>
<li>He likes the cat more…no she likes the cat more. </li>
<li>It’s her turn to sit by mom. </li>
<li>She almost touched him. </li>
<li>He wanted the blue cup. She got it last time. </li>
<li>She smiled at him. </li>
<li>He let the dog out yesterday when we got home. He always does it. </li>
<li>Who started “it”. </li>
<li>She was singing. </li>
<li>She took the last granola bar. </li>
<li>He wanted to shower first. </li>
<li>Who gets anything first. </li>
<li>Who gets anything last. </li>
<li>He put my Barbie in his pants. </li>
<li>Which toothpaste tastes better. </li>
<li>Who is taller. </li>
<li>Who won anything. Ever. </li>
<li>She ruins his life. </li>
<li>Who can run faster. </li>
<li>Who has the most books. </li>
<li>He took the last cookie. </li>
<li>He got his dinner plate last again. </li>
<li>She got to sit by mom. </li>
<li>She touched my toothbrush. </li>
<li>He’s in my room. </li>
<li>Who gets mom’s phone first in the waiting room. </li>
<li>Who gets to sit on what side of the bathtub. </li>
<li>It’s mine…no matter what “it” is. </li>
<li>What show to watch. </li>
<li>She wanted to be first. </li>
<li>She wanted to push the elevator button. </li>
<li>He peed on the seat. </li>
<li>You always open his door first. </li>
<li>His blanket is not as warm as her blanket. </li>
<li>Her feet smell too bad. </li>
<li>The girls are copying him. </li>
<li>She “stole” his book. </li>
<li>Who gets the corner seat on the couch. </li>
<li>She gets more hugs than him. </li>
<li>Who gets the first piggy back ride upstairs to bed. </li>
<li>Why does she always have more money? </li>
<li>He “won” in the game. It's not fair. </li>
<li>She laughed when he tripped. </li>
<li>He tripped her back because she laughed. </li>
<li>Who gets to sit by the cat. </li>
<li>Who is better friends with the neighbor? </li>
<li>Who has bigger feet? </li>
<li>Who gets to keep that special piece of garbage (literally). </li>
<li>Who likes who more? </li>
<li>Who started "it"?</li>
</ol>
<br />
Geez! This is only 50. I am sure I could list hundreds more! They come up with a new reason to fight multiple times a day. Now, I totally understand how my brother and I would drive my mom crazy. Mom, I'm sorry.<br />
<div>
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<div>
It is clear that my children have a love/hate relationship. I think that is probably the norm. I guess we can only cherish the good times when they are best buds and hope they don't end up killing each other. </div>
<div>
<br />
What ridiculous things do your kids fight about?</div>
</div>
<div align="center">
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-56584409948549757592017-01-01T11:22:00.000-06:002017-01-01T11:22:19.551-06:00Top 10 Viewed Posts of 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E0fvSeX7G_I/WGkzYsNxClI/AAAAAAAAAkA/FiCMlzi5hygjE58c2LntFY2l4B6LIroNwCLcB/s1600/dd%2Blogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="86" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E0fvSeX7G_I/WGkzYsNxClI/AAAAAAAAAkA/FiCMlzi5hygjE58c2LntFY2l4B6LIroNwCLcB/s320/dd%2Blogo.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Well folks, 2016 has come to a
close. 2017 is a fresh start for
everyone. I don’t know about you, but I am looking forward to new beginnings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">For me, 2016 has been a hell of a
year (so much so there is an entire post devoted to it <a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/12/2016-worst-year-yet.html" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a> if you missed
it). It has been filled with transition, anger, change, and even death.
However, there was something very good that came out of it. I started writing. This
is something that I had no idea I could even do and didn’t even know I liked,
for that matter. I have started my blog, </span><a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/">Daily Dump</a><span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">, and it has done quite well, if
I do say so myself! I’ve worked really, really hard and I think it is starting
to pay off. I can’t wait to see what the
future brings! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">So, with that said, I thought I
would share my top 10 viewed posts from 2016. There is some really funny stuff
here. Please stop by and check them out if you missed them, or relive the
massive parenting blunders...and Bismark antics and laugh until you cry!</span></div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/12/american-girl.html">American Girl</a> – We entered the world of American Girl dolls this past Christmas. Boy is this a expensive little land!<br />
<div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/11/to-sleepover-or-not-to-sleepoverthat-is.html">To Sleepover or Not to Sleepover</a> – What are your thoughts about kids having sleep over? Are they safe?</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/10/ultimate-2016-christmas-gift-guide.html">Ultimate 2016 Christmas Gift Guide</a> – Want some fun and easy gift ideas that kids will love? Check them out here! These are not your typical gifts. Things like tupperware, rocks...find out more!</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/11/disgusting-things-that-even-your-kids-do.html">Disgusting Things That Even Your Kids Do</a> – It’s a well-known fact that kids are disgusting. Check out some of the disgusting things that even your kids will probably do. It's true. Your precious kids are not immune to the disgusting habits.</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/11/better-late-than-neverright.html">Better Late Than Never, Right?</a> – Find out all the reasons that I am late for just about everything. I think a lot of parents can relate. Pretty much never on time...for anything.</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/12/how-mommy-stole-christmas.html">How Mommy Stole Christmas</a> – This is a wonderful little tale of how mommy lost her shit and ruined Christmas. If you missed it, check it out now! You don't want to miss this. </div>
<div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/10/american-horror-storymy-life-with.html">American Horror Story…My Life with A Toddler</a> – This is one of my favorite posts. It compares my life with my toddler to a horror movie. Eerily similar.</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/11/dear-random-chin-hair.html">Dear Random Chin Hair</a> – Ever get that one rogue chin hair? The one that seems to grow two inches over night? Yeah…me too.</div>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/12/reindeer-gamesthe-dreaded-office.html">Reindeer Games…The Dreaded Office Christmas Party</a> – Am I the only one that hates office Christmas parties? I think not based on the views of this post.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><i>And the #1 most viewed post of 2016 is...</i></b></blockquote>
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<a href="http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/11/how-having-toddler-is-like-having-worst.html">How Having a Toddler is Like Having the Worst Boss Ever</a> – Hands down, my favorite post. Looks like everyone else likes it too! Check it out if you missed it. It's a good one.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">Thanks for all your support and I
look forward to seeing what 2017 brings! If you haven't already done so, please subscribe to automatically get updates right in your mailbox! Then you'll never miss this shit show!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-10985269352995134052016-12-30T10:06:00.000-06:002016-12-30T10:06:01.459-06:002016 - Worst Year Yet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, it's the end of another year. It seems customary that all bloggers have to do some sort of year-end blog post, right? Well, here is mine. It is more of a self pity rant, but it's all I got. Here is my open letter to the year 2016.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d3I34Ttu8OA/WGaE3VyIHTI/AAAAAAAAAjw/77Yoyc_4pf0943oJ6R7Gob6wJGpisGy_ACEw/s1600/2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d3I34Ttu8OA/WGaE3VyIHTI/AAAAAAAAAjw/77Yoyc_4pf0943oJ6R7Gob6wJGpisGy_ACEw/s1600/2016.jpg" /></a></div>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
Dear 2016,</blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
As you know, the end of another year is rapidly approaching. Halleluiah! Your year, 2016, completely sucked. I’m done pleading with you. I’m done trying to talk to you. We are over and you can kiss my ass. </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
2016, you have been less than kind to the world with all your murders, wars, diseases, riots, natural disasters, deaths, and of course the election. Each day we turn on the news to find something even more terrible happened. Why? Why are you so terrible? Aside from the major world issues, you have been a real bitch to my family as well. I know in comparison to what is happening all over the world, my problems are small. But still, what do you have against the Bismarks? We haven’t done a damn thing to you. Just 10 short months ago, I had a lively mother-in-law, a different job, different friends, and different lifestyle. I know change is constant and people say that change is good, but I am not a fan.</blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
So, for a moment of self-pity, let’s break it down:</blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
First, you took my husband’s mother and my children’s grandmother. She had a long 2-year battle with ovarian cancer, and the cancer won. She fought hard and struggled for two years. It is still surreal that she is gone. Birthdays and holidays are not the same. Although life has moved on, as it always does, things are just eerily quiet and we miss her so much. The screaming kids are still there, but it is not the same without grandma riling them all up. Now all we have left are the memories…and the regrets.</blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
Then, you took my job. A job I busted my ass for, for a decade. You allowed a few arrogant people take my career into their hands and make decisions that would impact me for the rest of my life. These decisions were made solely on hearsay, jealousy, need for control, and the opinions of others and not on fact or merit. I doubt they even realize how their actions deeply affected not just me, but my finances, relationships, my children, my self-esteem, and my career. </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
As if those things aren’t enough for one year, then you decided to have the storm. Now this could have been much worse, I know that. No one was injured and our house is still intact, but this storm took down two huge pine trees in our backyard along with the back of our fence, swing set, and kid’s playhouse (in addition to the major powerlines that have caused power outages for months). We really enjoyed spending money we didn’t have on tree removal and repairs. So, thank you for that. Thank goodness we have amazing family and friends that helped us get it all taken care of and fixed pretty quickly.<br />Then, let’s talk about the car accidents. Let’s count them together. Not one, not two, but THREE car accidents in just three months. Now this, this is really something special. No one was injured in any of them, so that was a blessing for sure. Two cars were totaled during these accidents. Now our car insurance rates are skyrocketing and we got to enjoy the glorious car-buying experiences. I mean…really? </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
2016, you broke me, you really did. I am still cleaning up the pieces of all you broke. 2017 has a good shot at being a better year; you did set the bar, low, after all. 2017, do better. Please. 2017, you are going to be our year. </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
Sincerely,<br />The Bismarks</blockquote>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-33345851838919520032016-12-28T22:33:00.002-06:002016-12-28T22:33:44.936-06:00Stupid Things I Said Before I Had Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c4jVmNzWtU4/WGSRMnerRWI/AAAAAAAAAjg/VSmwjX0Ze248qL7PX4JCGwGjjyEZeiZOwCLcB/s1600/fit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c4jVmNzWtU4/WGSRMnerRWI/AAAAAAAAAjg/VSmwjX0Ze248qL7PX4JCGwGjjyEZeiZOwCLcB/s1600/fit.jpg" /></a></div>
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I remember it like it was yesterday. How I thought I knew everything about kids before I actually had kids. Remember when you used to think that you would be a better parent than all those yahoos you saw at restaurants or stores with the screaming kids? Surely you would do a far better job as a parent than them. They must all be total idiots.</div>
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The good old, pre-kid days…the days when you didn’t have to worry about anyone but yourself. The days when you lived in the whimsical world where you judged everyone else on something you knew absolutely nothing about. You just sat there on your high horse and made faces and comments and vowed to yourself that you would NEVER be that mom, or NEVER let your kids act that way. In your mind, things would be different for you, for your kids. Those perfect little specimens of humanity would never act like that. Your precious peanuts would never throw fits in public or be disrespectful. Your kids…well, they would be amazing, in every way. </div>
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While I do think my children are amazing, they are definitely not the perfect angels I once hoped they would be. Those screaming, dirty, angry little freaks whose behavior I once cringed at are now my own little rug rats. They misbehave, throw fits, cry, and sometimes even talk back. I confess. I am not the perfect mother with the perfectly behaved children I once thought I would be. </div>
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I was a total idiot when I thought things would be different for me. It is the same for all moms…kids are hard. Here are some of the dumb ass things I thought and said before I had my own children. </div>
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<i style="font-style: italic;"><b>When we have kids, they can eat what I make or go hungry! –</b></i><i> </i>As I make 4 different meals Every. Single. Night. </div>
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<b style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><i>My kids will never throw fits like that -</i></b> What was I thinking? Now, I enjoy watching as they thrash about on the floor in the middle of Target. Judge away non-parents. Judge away.</div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"><i>My kid will never be the mean “kid” –</i></b> That’s a load of crap. All kids are mean and will behave like brats sometimes. It’s inevitable. </div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"><i>Sleep when the baby sleeps –</i></b> Great idea! The chores will do themselves and the other kids, they don’t need food or attention. I’m going to nap.</div>
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<b style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><i>Crappy food will not be allowed –</i></b> Jelly beans for dinner…. I guess. Only if you eat two bites of chicken first. That’s how we roll. Hey, they’ll have a vitamin too.</div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"><i>My house will always be neat and tidy –</i></b> Fast forward a few years. Now, it looks like it barfed all over itself. Nothing is where it should be. I don’t even have enough places for all the crap we own.</div>
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<b style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><i>I will never be rude and show up late –</i></b> Now…I will never be on time. Ever. To anything…Ever again. Sigh…</div>
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Seriously, I have no idea what kind of delusional, unicorn land I was living in before I had children, but becoming a parent has certainly changed the way I view a lot of things. There is nothing quite like raising children that challenges your patience, attitude, and character. So, all you young, non-parents at the grocery store judging me and my kids…just you wait. There will come a day when it is your kid flopping around on the floor at Target screaming for candy or running around buck naked at Grandma’s birthday party. Just you wait.</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-522652643271033632016-12-26T22:13:00.000-06:002016-12-26T22:13:22.962-06:00Maxed Out Working Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4CisshRCUEo/WGHo7E80ZAI/AAAAAAAAAjE/F8p8bZ6ojvwfpgpH-xz8J_1lkV7na6SuACLcB/s1600/Working%2BMom%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4CisshRCUEo/WGHo7E80ZAI/AAAAAAAAAjE/F8p8bZ6ojvwfpgpH-xz8J_1lkV7na6SuACLcB/s1600/Working%2BMom%2B2.jpg" /></a></div>
All moms work hard, there is no question about that. Whether it is full-time, part-time, at home, or outside the home, it is all overwhelmingly exhausting at times. I happen to work outside the home. I spend most of my daytime hours counting down the minutes until I can leave and head home to my next job. At work, my brain is a never ending “to do” list of all the things I need to do at home. At home, it’s a laundry list of everything I should be doing at work. As the stress mounts, the guilt mounts. I’m either feeling guilty I am at home with my kids when I should be at work, or I feel guilty when I am at work and not with my kids. I can’t win. If you are a working mom you might relate to some of these. <br />
<b><i><br />You know you’re a working mom if…</i></b><br />
<ul>
<li>Your kids leave the house almost every day with either mismatched clothes or messy hair…sometimes both. You just don’t have time to argue.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Most of the time, your laundry doesn’t make it out of the clothes basket into the dresser drawers or closet. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Your calendar is filled with reminders for your kids doctor appointments, conferences, and sports schedules in addition to your conference calls, team meetings, and webinars. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You have never been to “breakfast with mom” day at school. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You can find diapers, underwear, Barbies, Legos, and wipes in your laptop bag. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You go to work nearly every day with spit, snot, or food crusted to your clothes. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You cry on your commute into work in the morning because you just pried your child off your leg and left them screaming at the window with their teacher watching you drive away.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Your employer thinks you are out interviewing for a new job…You are not. You are just out with sick kids that often. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Your teachers see your kids’ “firsts” before you do (first steps, first words, etc). </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You never drive when you go out to lunch with co-workers. No way you are letting them see the rotten food and garbage all over the kid-mobile!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You feel guilty for leaving work before a project was done because you had get a kid to gymnastics…but you would feel even more guilty if you missed gymnastics.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You have shown up to work with a princess or Ninja Turtle Band-Aid on your finger. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>You get home from work just in time to feed the kids, do homework, baths, and put them to bed each day. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>On the bright side…Work is the only place you can go to the bathroom alone with the door closed or finish a cup of coffee while it is still hot!</li>
</ul>
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To all my maxed out and exhausted fellow working moms out there…hang in there. <br />
<br />
Cheers to stress, exhaustion, and doing our best to survive! I'll take another glass of wine, please…<br />
<br />
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-84219577818451000342016-12-24T10:36:00.000-06:002016-12-24T10:36:02.944-06:00Worst Christmas Gifts EVER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iWfB3vrY1WI/WF6jgmE9fTI/AAAAAAAAAi0/xEoM-6TXCccFCdjVSZj6OiWf1sU-rg3_gCLcB/s1600/Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iWfB3vrY1WI/WF6jgmE9fTI/AAAAAAAAAi0/xEoM-6TXCccFCdjVSZj6OiWf1sU-rg3_gCLcB/s1600/Christmas.jpg" /></a></div>
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The holidays are a time for coming together, celebrating, eating, and enjoying the company of your friends and family. What could be better than that? Oh, right…the presents. When it comes to Christmas gifts, it’s the thought that counts, everyone knows that, right? </div>
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As a parent, there are certain things I don’t want my kids to have. I think every parent has their own list of things they DON’T want you to get for their kids. You know, the usual things like drum sets, Playdoh, slime, electric guitars with amps, items covered in lead-based paint, games with trachea-sized pieces, and so on. While the actual nightmare gift varies from parent to parent, it seems inevitable that your kid will get a toy that you don’t approve of over the course of their childhood. </div>
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Like most parents, I strive to create and maintain a safe lifestyle for my children...and keep myself sane. There are certain things that I just don’t want my kids to have. Here are some things you should NEVER give to kids, especially mine. Under no circumstances. </div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">A pet cobra…as in the snakes. They are poisonous and deadly.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The entire series of the TV Show Jessie. The theme song alone might kill me. Well really, any of the Disney Channel shows in their entirety. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Nail guns. They are not for kids. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Hamsters, gerbils, or rodents of any kind. No thank you. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Bleach. Kids and bleach just don’t mix. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Fun Dip. Dipping sugar sticks in pure sugar is never a good idea. They already have sugar highs this time of year. I beg you…don’t do it!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Plastic Bags and duct tape. Suffocation is real. It’s not a game. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">A box of those little “do not eat” packets you find in shoes. I don’t know what happens if you actually eat them, but I don’t want to find out.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Anything with PlayDoh, slime, or putty. That shit always ends up all over the house or stuck in hair. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">A machete. They can cut people…and their siblings.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shards of broken glass. These can cut kids and parents. </li>
</ul>
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Please, you want to make sure your gifts elicit squeals of delight, not screams of pain and terror…from the kids or from me!</div>
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Merry Christmas!</div>
</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-959865555869732712016-12-20T22:00:00.000-06:002016-12-20T22:00:27.877-06:00Christmas Morning: My Head vs. Reality<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vA2d2osrtyM/WFn7ZxtKVaI/AAAAAAAAAik/a2k8uQbZ5KUPABFnfYfc-XW6TSo6qvmWQCLcB/s1600/perfect%2Bchristmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vA2d2osrtyM/WFn7ZxtKVaI/AAAAAAAAAik/a2k8uQbZ5KUPABFnfYfc-XW6TSo6qvmWQCLcB/s320/perfect%2Bchristmas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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What is better than Christmas morning? Nothing. It is the most magical one-day-a-year…at least it is in my head. As parents, we want Christmas morning to be a time full of smiles, excitement, and maybe a little bit of magic for both our children and for ourselves. We hope our kids will remember our Christmases together as a family when they are grown and we can talk about the memories for years to come. Alright, maybe I watch a few too many of those sappy Hallmark Christmas movies. But somehow, every year, I expect this great, wonderful, perfect morning…and each year I am slightly disappointed that it didn’t turn out quite like I had pictured in my head. </div>
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<b><u>In my head</u></b></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div>
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The children quietly wake up on Christmas morning to find beautiful, white, fluffy snow slowly falling and gently covering the pine trees. Excited, to see if Santa came, they sneak down to find the beautiful Christmas tree lit and twinkling with all the amazing, perfectly wrapped presents beneath the tree. There is soft Christmas music playing in the background and the house smells of hot chocolate and fresh cinnamon rolls just out of the oven. The kids quickly run back upstairs and wake up mom and dad to come down so they can open their presents. We all sit around the Christmas tree together laughing and taking turns opening each of the gifts together as a family. Once everything is opened, the kids quietly play with their new toys while mom and dad sip their coffee and just sit back and enjoy the moment.</div>
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Ahem...Ahem...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u>Reality Check!</u></b> </div>
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<br /></div>
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The over-tired, over-stimulated, sugar-high children excitedly storm into our room at the break of dawn, slamming the door against the wall from the force of opening it so quickly. Not only do they scare the shit out of us with the loud slam, they proceed to jump on us and nag us until we finally give in and stumble our way out of bed...in the dark. The kids run down the stairs as fast as they can and I am heard bellowing from the top of the stairs, “Wait for mom. Don’t you dare touch those presents until I get down there” as I quickly try to get on my pants and slippers. I fumble for my camera and run downstairs as quickly as I can in hopes of capturing the magic when they first see the gifts that Santa left for them. On the way down, I step on the cat’s tail and she runs away wailing. The dog has to go outside and in the excitement, no one has let him out, so he starts to take a dump right there on the rug. Nothing like the smell of a hot, steamy pile of dog shit to make Christmas morning complete. I’m yelling for my husband to hurry up and get down here so he doesn’t miss it all. Meanwhile, the paper-ripping, box-destroying, toy free-for-all is happening just a few feet away in the living room. In a matter of minutes, the kids have torn through all the packages and their stockings without even a pause for a breath…or a single picture. The whole process lasts a whopping 5 minutes in its entirety…and there is no Christmas magic anywhere to be found. Another Christmas morning done and gone before I am even fully awake to enjoy it. And that’s a wrap.</div>
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So, the silver lining or lesson here? I guess all we can do is try to go with the flow and enjoy the moment (literally)…every loud, rushed, glorious moment of it. No Christmas morning is complete without nagging, tantrums, attitude, tears, yelling, and maybe even a little poop. Someday, we’ll look back at these “perfect” moments and wish we could have them back. Or so they say…Meanwhile, perhaps a shot of schnapps in our coffee is in order. Tis the season!</div>
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Merry Christmas everyone!</div>
</div>
<br />
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-56030010135593600542016-12-18T21:13:00.002-06:002016-12-18T21:13:48.305-06:00American Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gaX_f1Jbq1Y/WFdKd8miKzI/AAAAAAAAAiU/jB7F5MEku2cXx-PFCHlaaljaF_jSiF0OQCLcB/s1600/IMG_5362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gaX_f1Jbq1Y/WFdKd8miKzI/AAAAAAAAAiU/jB7F5MEku2cXx-PFCHlaaljaF_jSiF0OQCLcB/s200/IMG_5362.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, the day has finally arrived. I've managed to avoid this doll craziness for the last seven years. But this year, the American Girl doll has made her way into the Bismark home. We finally took the plunge and decided to give our middle daughter her first American Girl doll. Happy birthday, baby girl! I hope you love it!</div>
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These dolls are a big investment. More than I realized. I mean, I have furniture in my house that didn't cost as much as this doll. I know there are probably families out there that have a dozen of them, but for us, it is expensive. Regardless, we decided that we wanted our little girl to get what she really wanted for her birthday.</div>
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The road to this point took about 4 years. At first, it was just the occasional magazine that would find its way to our mailbox. These marketing geniuses hunted us down and started targeting our house about the time she turned three. Most of the time I was able to quickly throw it away before she saw it. No sense in getting her hooked on something I couldn’t afford to get her. Then, as she got older the magazines started coming a little more frequently. She would find them and look at the pages over, and over again. Now, her little friends all have them and they all talk about them at school, gymnastics, and wherever else there are groups of 7-year-old girls. So now, the pressure is on. She must have one.</div>
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Not only is she the middle child and gets forgotten about more times than she should, she also has a birthday a week before Christmas. So, to buy her forgiveness and with the help from Gramma and Grandpa, she is getting her first American Girl doll for her 7th birthday. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now, the doll that she really wanted was the gymnastics girl. She takes gymnastics herself, so she wanted a doll to be just like her. Well, I scoped out the price on that little gem and realized it would be damn near $300 for the doll and the equipment. For a DOLL. Oh hell no! So, off to Costco we went to get her the $120 package special with three outfits. Sorry kiddo! Samantha, it is. I did find a lovely gymnastics outfit on Amazon for her though. Real doll, generic accessories. That is the best we can do! </div>
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Now that we have opened the door into the American girl vortex, I am fearful we may never get out. I mean…there are people that take them out to lunch at the café at Mall of America. There is the enormous store filled with all the billion dollar accessories. I am just not sure if I am prepared to become a part of this cult of cray cray moms that get so excited to bankrupt themselves buying dolls. Let me give you a little example. The other night I was trolling Amazon trying to find alternative doll gymnastics equipment and leotards, I started reading the reviews on some of the outfits. Why? I have no fricking clue. But there I was reading review after review on what is the best outfit for a doll. There was one particular customer who was commenting on an outfit she had recently purchased. She was very upset that it came with open-toed doll shoes paired with a sweater. She went on and on about how she really wished they were closed toed shoes because closed toed shoes go much better with sweaters for the cold weather. Wait. Are you kidding me? I had to reread to be sure I understood. Ahem…Number one. Do you realize you are talking about a doll? I am really sorry to shatter all your hopes and dreams, but dolls are not real and they don't feel temperature nor do they care if their shoes are open toed or close toed. Why do you? Number two. How in the hell do you have the time to comment and review clothes for dolls? I mean…I guess I was reading them. But still…if you have nothing better to do than critique the style of shoes for your doll, perhaps you should try to find something more meaningful to do. Just a suggestion. My fear…I am going to turn into one of these crazy American Girl outfit Nazis. </div>
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Crazy or not, I have entered this doll world. We also have another younger daugher as well, so I think I will be part of this for awhile! She was ecstatic to get her Samantha doll and hasn't put her down all weekend. I do love to see her so very happy! </div>
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Today, I’m complaining about how expensive and ridiculous all this is. Tomorrow, I am going to be having tea with a couple of dolls. Welcome to the other side.</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-83588101478260577552016-12-15T12:23:00.000-06:002016-12-15T12:23:20.876-06:00MAN-ual: A Translation to Female Logic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7g9QLwbMAu4/WFLfJoahyBI/AAAAAAAAAiE/peTxfPxxoXc0LkKvIpMM5s3rzazYSl7NQCLcB/s1600/Confused%2Bman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7g9QLwbMAu4/WFLfJoahyBI/AAAAAAAAAiE/peTxfPxxoXc0LkKvIpMM5s3rzazYSl7NQCLcB/s400/Confused%2Bman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">As a service to all the men of the world that seem to be
totally lost and confused when it comes to communicating with women, I feel it
is my duty to give you a little help. Selfishly, I am really tired of having to
explain myself over and over again and never being understood. I mean, you
would think that by now men would have figured out the hidden messages we are
sending them. Is it really that hard? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The truth is, women are complicated sometimes. I’ll admit
it. Quite frankly, half the time I don’t
think we even really understand ourselves. So, men everywhere…here is my
valuable gift to you. This is a list of common phrases you probably need help
with interpreting because they <i>don’t</i>
mean what you think they mean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">You’re welcome. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Fine:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> Actually, this means
the opposite of fine. It’s not fine. The argument needs to end. We know we are
right and you need to shut your mouth. Discussion over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
don’t care:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> Yes, yes I do care. I care a lot.
Let’s talk about it more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Nothing:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> Really means something. Figure it out. It probably means
that everything is wrong and everything is not ok. You should be scared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Go
ahead, do what you want:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> ALERT!
This is not permission. It is a dare. Just see what happens. You shouldn’t do
it unless you want to experience the wrath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s
ok:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> It’s really not ok. We are actually
thinking about how you will be punished for your mistake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Wow:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> This means that I’m amazed at your stupidity. Don’t be
confused. This is NOT a compliment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Whatever:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> Our way of saying F you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Forget
it:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> Don’t forget it. Let’s keep talking
about it. Probably for a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Don’t
worry about it:</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> No, you should worry. If I’ve asked
you 100 times to do something and you don’t, I’ll just do it myself. I won’t be
happy. So you should worry because you’ll pay for this later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It’s
up to you</span></u></b><span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">: Really, it’s me deciding here…you
just think you are. The decision has already been made. Isn’t the correct
decision obvious? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Hopefully, with the help of this MAN-ual, men everywhere
will be able to figure this shit out. Study this. Learn this. Really, you
should do it. Stop annoying your significant other by not really understanding her.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Good luck to you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-91617758301998232242016-12-13T10:44:00.000-06:002016-12-13T10:44:59.343-06:00All I Want For Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XLqh_x7gZOI/WFAkTOeXyOI/AAAAAAAAAhw/cvdVViFK2jQkEZUYVB_NIMNfMeBvvbx-QCLcB/s1600/Mom%2BChristmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XLqh_x7gZOI/WFAkTOeXyOI/AAAAAAAAAhw/cvdVViFK2jQkEZUYVB_NIMNfMeBvvbx-QCLcB/s1600/Mom%2BChristmas.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Christmas is upon us. For weeks now, my family has been talking about what we want for Christmas. The kids are making their long lists for Santa and adding to them with every new commercial they see. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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I have also been thinking about my very own Christmas list. Of course it includes the politically correct things like world peace, an end to starvation, health...or even a million dollars, or a day at the spa. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But here’s the thing. If I am being totally honest, I really don’t want those things. Sure, they are really important things, but selfishly, there are a few other things that I desperately want for Christmas this year. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Without further ado, here is my REAL Mom Christmas list:</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to stop repeating the same thing over and over and over again and have one of the kids listen the first time. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to drive a vehicle without garbage, crumbs, and rotten food all over the backseat.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want the kitchen counter tops to be free of multiple piles of papers and garbage that we don’t need to keep. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to watch an adult TV show in its entirety without having to pause it 15 times because someone got out of bed. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to sit down with my coffee or my computer for more than five minutes at a time before someone says, “Mommmmm… Will you get me...water, milk, breakfast, a Band-Aid, paper, Kleenex, pants…"</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to look in to the kitchen from my cozy spot on the couch and NOT see all the cupboard doors open and every single light left on. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to arrive to church on time, and sweat free. Just once. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want all the socks to have matches. Where are the fricking matches? </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to have a pen in the house that works and that is kept where it is supposed to be in the drawer. Just one.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want to have one meal…just once, where the kids don’t fight over who gets to sit next to mom. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Even better, I want to sit down through an entire meal. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want one day where I don’t have to watch the Disney Channel and here the song “Hey Jessie”.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want someone else to do the kid pick up after work. Someone else to wrangle the toddler and the two school-agers. Someone else to carry the backpacks, art projects, boots, hats, gloves, and screaming toddler through the snow in the frigid outdoors to the car.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want someone to listen when I say “don’t eat in the living room” and really not eat in the living room. </li>
</ul>
<b><div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>AND…</b></div>
</b><ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I want A silent night. A peaceful, quiet, calm night. </li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There you have it. Mom’s REAL Christmas list. In the end, I know I will get perfume, a pair of mittens, or a kitchen gadget. And that’s okay. Even though whatever I get won’t be matched socks, a clean kitchen, a meal with no interruptions, or a silent night, whatever I do get will come with love. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Merry Christmas!</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-2105619867245033272016-12-10T08:56:00.000-06:002016-12-10T08:56:56.711-06:00Reindeer Games...The Dreaded Office Christmas Party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_4MOD-U2yCA/WEwWbB7z7EI/AAAAAAAAAhc/fO4CcJaTmzoYm4ZRAARt1jiL6yyXSmzEgCLcB/s1600/office-christmas-party-dos-donts-angels-fancy-dress-blog-fresh-office-party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_4MOD-U2yCA/WEwWbB7z7EI/AAAAAAAAAhc/fO4CcJaTmzoYm4ZRAARt1jiL6yyXSmzEgCLcB/s640/office-christmas-party-dos-donts-angels-fancy-dress-blog-fresh-office-party.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tis the season! Companies everywhere are hosting the annual “performance” when they pretend they care about their employees for that one very special, drunken night. The awkward boozing and schmoozing with upper management and your co-workers is at an all-time high. Personally, nothing gets me more into the Christmas spirit than being forced to hang out with a bunch of intoxicated co-workers, only a handful of which I can tolerate, late into the night after a long day of working with those very same people. If I am being honest, I don’t like spending time with most of you, even when I am getting paid for it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
How wonderful and generous that our fabulous companies want to throw us a party! How great for morale! Ahem…only problem is…no one actually wants to go. Yes, insensitive bosses everywhere, it’s true. Most of your employees really do hate attending your annual holiday party. Not everyone enjoys drinking, getting harassed by drunk people, and eating the god-awful food you have catered in for the big event. If I was going to have a night out without kids, it would be with my husband and sure as hell wouldn’t be spent with my intoxicated boss.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Those of us who are lucky enough to be in administrative support roles sometimes get the worst of these parties. First, we are forced to be on some dumb planning committee and attend pointless meetings about a party we don’t care about nor do we want to attend. Then, you expect us to plan the party, coordinate all the details, set up the party, and then clean up afterwards. Wait…didn’t you say this was a Christmas party to thank your employees, increase employee morale, and wish them the happiest of holidays? Hmmmm…something doesn’t seem right.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here are some other reasons why I hate these dumb, forced, drunken bashes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I talk to you jokers every day, all week long. What makes you think I want to spend my evening with you also? </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Yes, it’s expected that we be there for “team building” I get that. But here is an idea, how about you do it during the day while I am already at work so I get paid for it. Don’t make it more stressful by having it one evening in the middle of the week so your employees have the added stress and guilt of having to make other arrangements for their kids pick-up, transportation to and from sports, and bed time. Not everyone has a paid nanny at their beckon call.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The food tastes like shit. Always. We don’t want to be forced to eat nasty food because your best friend owns a “catering” company and you get some sort of discount or kick back for using them. Don’t trade your employees for brownie points with your BFF.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Surprisingly, most women don’t enjoy fending off drunk asses as you try to harass us, dance with us, or be inappropriate with us. Really, we aren’t interested.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Sorry, but we don’t want to listen your drunken sob story about your divorce or about how you can’t afford to go to Hawaii this year for Spring Break because numbers are down. Really. I. Don’t. Care.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">And my favorite, you won’t even let us socialize with the people that we want to talk to. You criticize us for hanging out with the people that we work with every day and not “mingling” with other departments and managers. So really, you force us to go, and then force us to talk to people we don’t want to. I can’t imagine why no one wants to go! </li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m not saying don’t have a holiday party. There are probably companies out there that really do mean well and throw great parties where none of these things happen. Just not any that I have ever worked for. I’m just saying please respect your employees, and don’t pretend that a holiday party during the busiest time of the year, in the middle of the week after a long day of working is a perk. If you want to make your employees feel appreciated, then motivate them, respect them, respect their time, and give them a break from work. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<b></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><b>Assholes, we drink because of you…we don’t want to drink with you.</b></b><br />
<b><b><br /></b></b>
<b><b><br /></b></b></div>
<b>
</b>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-85647568408772910442016-12-08T19:46:00.000-06:002016-12-09T12:23:56.323-06:00"Real Life" Lessons<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8VNvhGQHCE/WEoMNBAVNTI/AAAAAAAAAg8/Krsoz2PCzoABHhFxyLWn4-tI-nvhdGhGgCLcB/s1600/Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8VNvhGQHCE/WEoMNBAVNTI/AAAAAAAAAg8/Krsoz2PCzoABHhFxyLWn4-tI-nvhdGhGgCLcB/s320/Books.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Read, read, read. Teachers are always discussing the importance of reading for young children. All young children love to have their parents read them their favorite stories over and over again. Then, once they enter elementary school, the push increases even more as they begin learning to read on their own. Read, read, read. While I don’t disagree that reading is important and essential, it gets pretty boring reading the same story over and over again…at least it does for me. I’m tired of the usual stories about fluffy dogs who find themselves getting into mischief or superheroes that save the world just in the nick of time. I say we change it up a little bit. Let’s teach our kids some valuable real-world lessons.</div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here are some short book reviews on some “not so typical” children’s books. Let’s keep it real, kids.</div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><u style="box-sizing: border-box;">Dad’s New Wife “Chuck”</u></em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is a lovely little tale about Jimmy’s dad getting re-married to his new “mommy,” Chuck. Follow Jimmy through the disappointment when he learns how judgmental and mean the other kids on the playground are about his new life.</div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><u style="box-sizing: border-box;">Four Letter Words to Share on the Bus</u></em></strong></div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-margin-after: 6px; -webkit-margin-before: 0px; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
D%#n, Sh!t, F&$%…This educational masterpiece teaches your kids to pronounce all these gems correctly and learn to use them all in the right context. Teach them young. Nothing means business like a 5-year-old dropping the F bomb. Kids will listen to that sh*%</div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2b2a; font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 6px;">
<h2>
<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://suburbanmisfitmom.com/real-life-lessons/&source=gmail&ust=1481333281755000&usg=AFQjCNF22cjiYXrU5vP1ML0rqLeGFt_3JQ" href="http://suburbanmisfitmom.com/real-life-lessons/" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Read the rest of the "Book Reviews" HERE!</span></a></h2>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-5408944520490362222016-12-07T20:37:00.001-06:002016-12-09T11:37:42.437-06:00Mom-ageddon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zthFDTKyR0I/WEjCtEeGBTI/AAAAAAAAAgk/_fxl8XZn1KgoioKliQPo3wxTsriz90-fgCLcB/s1600/End%2Bof%2BWorld.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zthFDTKyR0I/WEjCtEeGBTI/AAAAAAAAAgk/_fxl8XZn1KgoioKliQPo3wxTsriz90-fgCLcB/s1600/End%2Bof%2BWorld.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being a perfect mom…is there even such a thing? Pinterest wants us to think so. But I don’t buy it. Not anymore anyway. With my first child, I truly thought things had to be perfect. He was always well-dressed, clean, and had all the latest baby toys and gear. Then, the second baby came along unexpectedly. I had every intention of doing the same things with her, but there was less of me to go around. She was a little less perfectly dressed, maybe a little dirtier, and had all the hand-me-down toys and baby gear. I had to learn to let go of the perfection a little. Then, along came baby number three. That’s when the shit hit the fan. In just about every way possible. Her clothes rarely match, sometimes I completely forget to bathe her, and she plays with garbage and rocks. But guess what? All three of my kids are ok, healthy, and smart. AND the world is still spinning!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Over the years, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t do it all, even though I want to. Nothing is perfect, no matter how bad I want it to be. And guess what? The world didn’t end and I am alive to tell you all about it. The world didn’t end when I used the 6-year-old Pack N’ Play and baby swing instead of buying a new one. Life went on even though the baby didn’t have a “new” Christmas dress but instead wore something from a garage sale. These are some other things, that to my surprise, DIDN’T cause the world to end.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Wrinkly Pants</b> – My kids wear them pretty much every day. They just dig them out of the laundry basket where they have been sitting since the week before. Hey, at least they are clean! The world is still spinning. I’m even pretty sure they have friends despite the crumpled clothes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Non-Pinterest-themed Birthday Parties</b> – My kids are perfectly happy with paid for parties at the local movie theater or bowling alley. No handmade invites, cakes, or party favors here! AND they have just as much fun. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mismatched Clothes – It’s just not worth the fight. I let my three-year-old wear pretty much whatever she wants (within reason). A pink floral shirt, black striped pants, and two mismatched socks…why not. Leotard? Sure thing! She may look like a freak, but she is happy an I’m not late for work. Win – Win.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Yellow School Bus</b> – My kids ride the old, yellow school bus to school every day. They also stand OUTSIDE at the bus stop and wait to be picked up. I wish I could drive them to school every day, but it just isn’t realistic for our family. Amazingly, no one has died because of this.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>PB & J </b>– We eat it for dinner. A lot. It’s quick and easy and the kids will actually eat it. It could be worse, right? We are all still here to talk about it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
See? No earth-ending catastrophes or deaths. Everyone has survived the horror of my “less than perfect” parenting. At least so far. All I can do is my best. And I guess my best is subpar…but I can hope that sometimes I might just be perfect in my child’s eyes.
</div>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-40299665857670046152016-12-04T21:56:00.001-06:002016-12-15T12:07:36.342-06:00How Mommy Stole Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Tis the season. I spent most my day today Christmas
shopping for my kids. By the looks of the Target I visited, the rest of the
world had the exact same idea. People were everywhere, in fact, there were
literally no shopping carts available when I entered the store and I had to
grab one from someone who was leaving. This was not a good sign. Nothing gets
me in the Christmas spirit quite like pushing a shopping cart through a jam-packed
Target store filled with oblivious shoppers. There I was roaming the crowded aisles
filling up my cart with unnecessary toys and gadgets and crossing each of them off
my long list one by one. Kitty Surprise…Check. Football… Check. Legos…check. Shopkins…check.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Amid all the chaos, I started reminiscing about Christmases
past. All the childhood memories of shaking my presents under the tree for
weeks and <i>impatiently</i> waiting for the
big day to arrive. The more recent memories of staying up late on Christmas Eve
sorting and getting all the gifts wrapped perfectly for my own children. Thinking
about my children waking up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning and my
husband and I watching their excitement as they open the packages that Santa
left under the tree. And then there is the glorious memory of the year mommy
threw the Christmas tree to the ground in pure frustration. Yep. You read that
right. Mom lost her shit and threw that damn oversized tree straight to the
ground. Fully decorated I might add.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Before you judge, let me tell you the whole story. It
was one of the years that we decided to get a real Christmas tree. The whole
family went up to the local tree lot and we picked out the biggest, fullest Christmas
tree they had. No joke. This thing was massive. We have vaulted ceilings, so a 10-ft.
tree should fit just fine. So, we strapped that bad boy to the top of the car
and headed home for the decorating festivities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">We spent that entire evening setting up the tree and
getting it decorated just so. Well…as perfect as you can get with a
two-year-old. There it was…. the beast stood 10 tall feet into the air. It was
fully decorated with lights, garlands, and ornaments. It was really beautiful. And
then…it fell over. Crashed to the ground with a huge thud, spilling all the
water from the tree stand onto the carpet and ornaments crashed and shattered
everywhere. Great. We cleaned it up and back up it went. Phew. Crisis averted…Nope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Over the next couple days, the damn tree fell over two
or three more times. Each time, we woke
up to find spilled water all over the carpet and broken ornaments everywhere.
Honestly, I’m surprised that I didn’t lose my shit earlier. But like idiots, we just kept putting it back
up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">One night, we were sitting in the living room relaxing
and watching TV. Then it happened again…the damn thing started tipping. My
husband leaped up and ran over to the tree and caught it before the whole thing
crashed to the ground. Nice save. He asked me to hold it up while he did something
to the tree stand so we could stand it back up. There I was holding the heavy,
fully decorated 10-foot tree. The needles were starting to scratch up my arms,
my back was starting to hurt, and the sap was all over my hands. I don’t know what
exactly my husband was doing, but it was taking WAY too long. I had enough. So, I yelled out in frustration and threw that
massive bitch to the ground. Ornaments shattered, water spilled, husbands
yelled, and children cried. I was done. The Grinch threw the Christmas tree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">After it all happened, and I realized what I had done,
I remember turning around and seeing my two-year-old son just standing there
crying and scared. Poor kid. He didn’t understand what had happened. He just
watched mommy the Grinch smash his beautiful Christmas tree. Sadly, that will
not be the last time he will see mommy lose her shit. I think he is adjusting
well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lesson learned. After four attempts, the Bismark geniuses
determined that the tree stand we had was just too small for the massive tree.
We ended up getting a new tree stand and thankfully, it never happened again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="story-body-text" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, there you have it. That folks, is how the Grinch
stole Christmas. Merry fricking Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-89014531892431128942016-12-02T12:51:00.002-06:002016-12-09T11:54:55.680-06:00Then There Were Three...To My First Child<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LLgVl0GmlP8/WEHCGNokXWI/AAAAAAAAAgA/nXf2C2qZjGoOk6a38xuUW6tO_LwXc2KCgCLcB/s1600/000002881-kxmojbo9k9qnlgx_-6f.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LLgVl0GmlP8/WEHCGNokXWI/AAAAAAAAAgA/nXf2C2qZjGoOk6a38xuUW6tO_LwXc2KCgCLcB/s320/000002881-kxmojbo9k9qnlgx_-6f.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">You are my first. That will never change. The day you were born, was the day that our world changed forever. Then there were three. The beginning of our </span><i style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">family</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> started with </span><b style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">you</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Even though you are no longer my only baby, you will </span><b style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">always</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> be my first baby. That is something special that no one else in our family can ever say. I know you feel forgotten sometimes amidst the chaos of our hectic lives. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I understand that you feel I treat you differently than your two little sisters. It is hard to share the attention. But I need you to know that </span><b style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">you</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> have something very special.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<b style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> have something that your sisters will never, ever have. </span><b style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: "muli" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> are the first. </span><br />
<a href="http://redtri.com/then-there-were-three-to-my-first-child/"><br /></a>
<a href="http://redtri.com/then-there-were-three-to-my-first-child/">FINISH READING HERE</a><br />
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-53444816962114926422016-11-30T12:09:00.003-06:002016-12-07T12:35:15.359-06:00I'm Watching You, Love Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-St3c19RLp0s/WD8StKpfTaI/AAAAAAAAAfw/vxk0OpFCxXY91TBDtlcGELKQYrx9U_MdACLcB/s1600/000002881-kxduz1tdy8eygmr6zfp.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-St3c19RLp0s/WD8StKpfTaI/AAAAAAAAAfw/vxk0OpFCxXY91TBDtlcGELKQYrx9U_MdACLcB/s320/000002881-kxduz1tdy8eygmr6zfp.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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You are my children. You are my life. It’s my job to make sure you are safe and to teach you to make the right decisions and I want the very best for you. I want you to be independent and learn to make your own choices, but please know that I am always here if you need help or direction. </div>
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I trust you, <i>but</i> I know there will be times you try to sneak one past me. Guess what? I will know. Mom’s just know. Like it or not. Mom’s know.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Muli, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I know when you “sneak” three granola bars and stand in the pantry to eat them.</em></strong></div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em></strong></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://redtri.com/i-m-watching-you-love-mom/">Read what else I see HERE!</a></span><br />
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http://dailydumpshitshow.blogspot.com/2016/12/how-mommy-stole-christmas.htmlBarrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-78026148595321522562016-11-27T23:06:00.002-06:002016-12-02T11:37:37.716-06:00How Having A Toddler Is Like Having The WORST Boss Ever <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0rnjvsGFxY/WDu61fqPUVI/AAAAAAAAAfc/CyZTLF144LoRl7zORwYrXT-46mddyNbLwCLcB/s1600/Boss%2BBaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0rnjvsGFxY/WDu61fqPUVI/AAAAAAAAAfc/CyZTLF144LoRl7zORwYrXT-46mddyNbLwCLcB/s320/Boss%2BBaby.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think it is safe to say that we have all had really terrible, asinine, and arrogant bosses at one time or another. You know, the total assholes that suck the life out of you pretty much every day. I know I have. I’ve had bosses that would bring me to tears multiple times during the day. And that got me thinking as I sat on my own couch in tears of frustration courtesy of my very own little three-year-old “boss”. She is an awful lot like the unpleasant bosses I have encountered throughout my career.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><b><u>Here are the top reasons my toddler is like my worst boss ever…And there happen to be 10 of them:</u></b></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>10. The micro-managing</b>. Seriously, there are rules for everything. Toddler rules: Watch out if you put the cereal in the wrong colored bowl for that day, cut the sandwich incorrectly, or give her the "spicy" binkie. Asshole boss rules: Don't you dare get them in the wrong seat on an airplane, order lunch from the wrong place for a meeting, or schedule a meeting over the three-hour workout window. The wrath will be felt. IDIOT. </div>
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<b>9. You cannot reason with them.</b> You can try until you are blue in the face. It is their way or the highway. Sound familiar? </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>8. Always wrong.</b> You can never do anything right or be good enough. No matter what. Hmmmm….sounds a lot like my toddler; AND my old boss. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>7. Mind reading.</b> Toddlers and bosses expect you to know what they are thinking at all times. You better learn to anticipate what they might want before they have to ask. Better yet? Just read their minds. Got it? </div>
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<b>6. Punching a clock.</b> Bad bosses watch you constantly or make you account for every second of your day. Take a little too much time making your lunch in the break room or check your phone too often? You’re done. Toddlers…they can’t even go two seconds without wanting to know where you are and what you are doing. Don’t go to the bathroom for longer than a minute. Don’t go into the other room to take a phone call. They will hunt you down. They <b><u>will</u></b> find you. </div>
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<b>5. Demanding</b>. Bosses and toddlers alike are very demanding people. They want everything now, now, now. Is it done yet? Hurry up.</div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>4. Performance reviews.</b> Toddlers, like asshole bosses, never give good performance reviews. No constructive criticism here. Do you even do anything right? Nope.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>3. Approval.</b> We are constantly seeking the approval of our employers. We want to make them happy and succeed in our jobs. Much like our little toddler dictators. We want their approval and love.</div>
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<b>2. Belittlement.</b> I’ve had bosses that made me feel like a complete failure. Most often, they do this in public or in front of other employees in a condescending way. My toddler, she does the same thing …usually in public. </div>
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<b>And...the #1 reason MY toddler is just like MY worst boss ever...</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>1. Wiping ass</b>. Boss babies, much like toddlers, need their hands held and their asses wiped. They like to think they are “big kids” and can do everything by themselves…but when that fails, mommy is there to clean up the shit show.</div>
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There is one BIG difference. I love my baby dearly. She can be as awful as she wants, and I will never “quit” this job. </div>
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Bosses, do better. Do, better.</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-16478195501282379592016-11-24T21:46:00.001-06:002016-11-24T21:46:23.020-06:00On Demand Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yh2l7LJJE64/WDezzPLVIJI/AAAAAAAAAe8/GubyBAG_gGwkK8625cBLWuhNR6XL1kuXACLcB/s1600/Remote%2BControl%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yh2l7LJJE64/WDezzPLVIJI/AAAAAAAAAe8/GubyBAG_gGwkK8625cBLWuhNR6XL1kuXACLcB/s320/Remote%2BControl%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We all live in the age of instant gratification. These days, kids really don’t know any different. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t want things when they want them. On their terms. My kids…they have no patience for waiting. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Why? Because they don’t have to. Everything is on demand. They have known nothing else. From movies, games, and TV shows to shopping, food and social media. All readily available with just the click of a button. Easy. Even my three-year-old knows how to select on demand movies.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
My own little angels seem to think that just because they can get just about everything else instantaneously, mom can do the same. I’ve become the “on demand mom.” At the drop of a hat, they expect me to get them whatever it is they need…just like clicking the remote button. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i>Mommmmmmmmm...Can you…?</i></b> (fill in the blank with just about anything you want)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. Absolutely…let me get off the toilet and get you another granola bar. No need to wait until I am finished. I won’t even wipe.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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2. I would love to get up off the couch 13 times and get you assorted beverages in assorted colored cups. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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3. Your favorite clean socks aren’t clean? I’d be happy to stay up until midnight getting the laundry done to ensure you have them ready for the morning. </div>
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4. Sure. Let me hang up the phone with my boss and get you popcorn. Right now. No worries at all. </div>
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5. The first outfit I picked out for you isn’t right? Well by all means, let me run upstairs and get a different one. I am sure I can read your mind this time. The bus can wait.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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6. You want ice cream? Dishes and homework don’t need to get done first. Let’s go to Dairy Queen right now. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
7. Sure honey, let me get out of the shower with soap on my hair immediately to get your stuffed animal back from your brother. I won’t even waste time and grab a towel.</div>
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8. Of course, I will carry your backpack and jacket to the car. I am only carrying your sister, artwork, two lunch boxes, and my purse. You just walk to the car completely empty handed so you can find the perfect rock outside on the way.</div>
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9. You want me to enter in the password for you to play Pokémon online? I will be there immediately. Thanksgiving dinner can wait.</div>
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I do my best to get you everything you need as quickly as I can. But there are three of you and only ONE of me. Sorry kids. Like it or not… mom is not “on demand”.</div>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-79744912579005631532016-11-20T22:34:00.000-06:002016-11-20T22:34:00.028-06:00Dear Random Chin Hair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ekD2jUFGsXo/WDJ35pRvnfI/AAAAAAAAAeM/dX-6BM0QzQoPvw0dWVacluebk6twO2MSACLcB/s1600/Chin%2BHair%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ekD2jUFGsXo/WDJ35pRvnfI/AAAAAAAAAeM/dX-6BM0QzQoPvw0dWVacluebk6twO2MSACLcB/s320/Chin%2BHair%2B3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; text-align: justify;">Dear random chin hair,</span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I first noticed you several years ago when I looked in
the mirror to put on my make-up one morning. There it was...something black poking out of my
chin. At first, I thought maybe you were just a stray hair, one that I could just brush you
away. But then you didn’t brush. That is when I had the horrifying realization that
you were attached. To my chin. My 20-something year old chin. There you were in all your
coarse, black glory sprouting your prickly head out of the bottom of my chin.
Of course I immediately plucked you away and just assumed you were a rogue,
one-time visitor. But you were not. You kept coming back, for years...and now, I’ve
had enough. I want you to know that I truly hate your guts. Really. I fricking hate you with every fiber of my being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Where do you come from? Why do you think that my chin
is a good place to call your home? Everyone knows that women are not supposed
to have facial hair. Perhaps you are seriously confused. I’m not a man. Let me
prove it to you. I can’t do any of the things that men can do…like I can’t pee standing
up; I don’t adjust myself in public; I don’t greet people by looking at their
chests; and I didn’t have a beard…at least until you started showing up
unannounced and unwelcome on my chin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Now, I know that one measly black chin hair every now
and again is not the end of the world. Maybe not to you anyway. But I
don’t want you. I never wanted you. All you are is a terrible reminder that I am
slowly turning into a masculine old hag. A reminder that things just steadily
go downhill as we age. A reminder that I will just get fatter, sweatier, and
hairier with each passing day. It’s only a matter of time. What’s next, a mustache? Don't get any ideas for your little friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">So, despicable, nasty black chin hair. I loathe you. Take the hint and GO AWAY. </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">You are not welcome to take residence on my chin. Take this
letter as a warning…</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">If
I see you again, I’ll pluck you immediately and possibly consider laser-removal.
Watch it, you asshole.</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Love,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Me and my chin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3u-qyufh8IQ/WDJ38P8Y71I/AAAAAAAAAeQ/YElS2yySwQccvYSWcdkwfoP2BVOolByHwCEw/s1600/Chin%2Bhair%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3u-qyufh8IQ/WDJ38P8Y71I/AAAAAAAAAeQ/YElS2yySwQccvYSWcdkwfoP2BVOolByHwCEw/s1600/Chin%2Bhair%2B2.jpg" /></a><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><b><i>Is this my future? Is this what I have to look forward to? </i></b> </span></h3>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><i>Oh Lord, I hope not!</i></b></span></span></h3>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-8035483860164430282016-11-19T19:06:00.001-06:002016-11-19T19:46:24.600-06:00Guess Who is NOT Getting Mom of the Year?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vcjS82t8SA/WDD2n9rBomI/AAAAAAAAAdc/_NHL13q01EY_mxAfyPZBYMP07DR_zoqXACLcB/s1600/shutterstock_126761042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vcjS82t8SA/WDD2n9rBomI/AAAAAAAAAdc/_NHL13q01EY_mxAfyPZBYMP07DR_zoqXACLcB/s320/shutterstock_126761042.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Well friends, if there was ever going to be a two way tie for crap-tastic mother of the year, it will be going to the <b>Midwestern Misfit Mom Team Barrie Bismark and Kristin McCarthy</b>. Between the two ranty, snarky moms there are seven kids, 8 million grey hairs (or more), several nervous breakdowns and countless parenting blunders. </div>
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In fact, there are so many parenting fails between the two suburban goddesses that it has taken a good couple of months to narrow down the Four Greatest Parenting Fails between the two of them. No really. It ended up being a very long and depressing list.</div>
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Without further adieu Barrie and Kristin bring you the top five stories which make them the world’s WORST mothers…at least in their self- judging eyes.</div>
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<b><u>Barrie Lights Granny on Fire!</u></b></div>
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We lost my mother-in-law earlier this year. It was a tough time for everyone as she was very ill for a long time. She had decided that she wanted to be cremated and since her battle was quite long, we had many conversations with the kids about death and what happens after you die.</div>
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One day, my oldest (7 at the time) asked what cremation meant since he heard us talking about it. How do you explain that to a 7 year-old? Everything I read said to be as simple and direct as possible, so, I simply said “cremation is when you burn a body after someone dies instead of burying them at a cemetery. Grandma is in heaven now so she doesn’t need it anymore.” He seemed ok with that answer and didn’t really say much, so I thought I was in the clear. Well, what I neglected to explain was that there are people that do this at the funeral home when family is not present. This, I learned, was a very important detail for a seven-year-old. After the funeral was over and we all started packing up our things to leave, he said, “when do we go to the fire?” I was confused. What fire is he talking about? He proceeded to say “I thought we had a fire to burn grandma.” Well, shit. FAIL. Poor kid thought we had a bonfire in the backyard and threw grandma in. MOM FAIL. He spent days thinking about the “grandma bonfire”. I just hope he isn’t traumatized forever!</div>
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“Quick Shout out to BaKakee in Heaven…we miss you more than you know. I know you are laughing at this horrendous, morbid blunder! “</blockquote>
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<a href="http://suburbanmisfitmom.com/guess-who-is-not-getting-mom-of-the-year/"> Continue Reading Here</a></h2>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-1474408799231551532016-11-17T18:50:00.001-06:002016-11-19T19:48:20.569-06:00The A+ Toddler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LCJaPIlErkI/WC5O4E56GTI/AAAAAAAAAdE/BYFwS8FUK4w9Wge4hw2YKyPHMNKjAkNBQCLcB/s1600/bossy-pouty-child-girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LCJaPIlErkI/WC5O4E56GTI/AAAAAAAAAdE/BYFwS8FUK4w9Wge4hw2YKyPHMNKjAkNBQCLcB/s320/bossy-pouty-child-girl.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Everyone knows that toddlers can be difficult, unpredictable and even rotten at times. It’s just the way we are at this age. All the learning, discovery, and growing is sometimes just too much for our little brains and bodies to handle. As for me, I’m a go-getter toddler and I strive to be the best at everything I do. Quite frankly, I have nailed this toddler thing. So as a gift to all you B or C level toddlers aspiring to reach A+ status, let me fill you in on my secrets.</div>
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<b><u>THE TODDLER CODE</u></b></div>
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1. Never, ever eat your dinner. If you liked it yesterday, don’t touch it today. If it is an emergency because you are starving, only eat 3 bites and then ask for a snack 10 minutes later. Parents love that.</div>
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2. Make sure you do EVERYTHING yourself. This includes getting dressed, brushing your teeth, putting on your shoes, feeding the animals, even pouring your own glass of milk. If you really want to be top-notch, move at a snail’s pace when your mommy is trying to leave the house.</div>
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3. Take out every single puzzle and game in the closet at the same time. Mix up all the pieces and then lose your shit when the wrong puzzle pieces don’t fit together.</div>
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<a href="http://www.sammichespsychmeds.com/a-toddler-code/">Read the rest on Sammiches and Psych Meds! Really, do it. This is funny shit.</a></h2>
Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659372835822041151.post-42498382387051224982016-11-16T21:27:00.001-06:002016-11-16T21:27:41.393-06:00Sounds a Mom NEVER Wants to Hear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pn4PkOeylEA/WC0jN_JS-nI/AAAAAAAAAck/Y-V0dAgSzVMqDyYagpKBPc-ZgP5C_NgyACLcB/s1600/Scared%2BMom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pn4PkOeylEA/WC0jN_JS-nI/AAAAAAAAAck/Y-V0dAgSzVMqDyYagpKBPc-ZgP5C_NgyACLcB/s1600/Scared%2BMom.jpg" /></a></div>
There are so many things I love to hear as a mom. It’s amazing when you hear your child tell you that they love you, the contagious laughter of your toddler, or all your kids playing quietly together in the next room. But on the flip side, there are also those things that a mom NEVER wants to hear. These are the sounds that strike fear in every mother’s heart, send you into a state of panic, or bring you to the brink of insanity. Something bad usually happens when you hear these things. <br /><br /><b>The sound of your child whimpering and saying “my tummy hurts”</b>. In a panic I say, “do you have to poop, are you hungry, are you gassy, are you nervous?” Anything but the stomach flu. Anything. Please. <br /><br /><b>The sound of your bedroom door opening at 4:00 a.m</b>. Mommy, can I get up now? Noooooooooo! Go back to bed. It’s even worse if they are coughing, sniffling, or whimpering when they come in. Sick kids…ugh.<br /><b><br />The sound of your child dragging a chair across your wood floor.</b> If they are not supposed to have it, that’s when you hear the chair. Usually just when you sit down for the first time that night. Then you hear the slide…turn around and find them standing on the counter grabbing for scissors or knives.<br /><br /><b>Being startled awake by the sound of your dog yakking and/or dry heaving</b>. Nothing gets you out of bed faster than a puking dog at 2:00 a.m. If it is not the kids, it's the damn dog.<br /><br /><b>“Mommmmmmmmmm! Where are you?”</b> I hate this pretty much any time, but especially just as you close the door to go to the bathroom. They know. They have a radar to know when you are in another room and unavailable. They WILL find you. <br /><br /><b>A loud crash.</b> RUN! Nothing gets your butt off the couch like the ear piercing crash followed by silence…or screaming. Both are terrifying.<div>
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<b>The splashing sound of any liquid.</b> Could be pee, water, milk, OJ, toilet water…Surprise! It is never a good thing. <br /><br /><b>Silence.</b> Although at first you may think it is heavenly...Silence is NOT GOLDEN when you have young kids. If it is quiet, something is going down. Most likely something bad. <br /><b><br />It’s ok…I’ll fix it.</b> What are you going to fix? Why does something need fixing? What did you break? I’m 99.9% sure you won’t fix it.</div>
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Ugh....the feelings. I'm annoyed, terrified, and stressed just writing this.<br /> <div>
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Barrie Bismarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00643377338962024634noreply@blogger.com8