Moms are people too....

            So my husband, Mr. Wonderful, recently told me I should start a blog. His main reason was that I am not funny in "real life", but I get a lot of compliments on my Facebook status updates, so I must at least be funny in the written word. He's a gem. I took a lot of time to decide on a name for my blog, and I always kept in the back of my mind, "Moms are people too", because we are, damn it. I am not only a magnet for spit up, temper tantrums, and the endless embarrassing situations my children put me in, I am also a person. With real grown up interests and shit to say. I couldn't put my finger on where exactly I came up with the name, and then I had a flashback to my childhood; there was a small orange magnet on my fridge that said, Kids Are People Too. Kids ARE people too... how insightful. My thought process then led me to wonder why the hell this magnet would be on my fridge, so I asked my best friend Google. Kids Are People Too was apparantly a children's variety show on in the late 70's and early 80's (before I was born), celebrating children as people, with celebrities, news, etc. If you have seen this show, please give me a rating on it's awesomeness.

If you are in the mood for some nostalgia, click here for a super-high quality/creepy clip of Kids Are People Too.

             Before I tackle the challenge of describing who I am, I felt it best to describe the people who share my house and make me this way. Mr. Wonderful and I have been together for almost eight years. He is probably the only person on Earth who not only tolerates my endless bullshit and shenanigans, but may actually find them amusing. He is a fan of craft beer, video games, and he is also a compulsive cleaner. His current obsession is our brand-y new hardwood floors, in our new house, The Money Pit (more on that later). I have never seen a man's eyes light up quite like the day the steam cleaner he meticulously researched finally arrived at our house. I am not allowed to touch it. I spend my Saturday mornings moving from room to room, "cleaning", mostly avoiding Mr. Wonderful and his steamy ritual. I know what you are thinking- "Your husband LIKES to clean? You shut your whore mouth for complaining!" I'm not complaining- exactly. What you don't understand is the steam cleaning takes 4 hours, and you're not allowed to walk anywhere.. and I have to keep a 5 year old and a 6 month old occupied this entire time.. without touching the ground.

               Princess Particular is 5 (and 3/4 thank you very much). She is actually about 45 years old. She values safety, staying clean and getting her way. This is mainly because she was an only child until she was 5, and mostly around adults... or she's just extremely particular. She loves to put on makeup, and is the most creative person I know. She is also an amazing artist, and killed many trees in her hours and hours of creating masterpieces, that she insists on taping all over my freshly painted walls. She is also smarter than me by far, because I once looked at her lovingly, and told her she was my best friend. She looked me dead in the eyes and said, "No Mom. You are my MOM. You can't be my best friend AND my Mom." - Oh how right you are... and no, you can't watch TV. Brat.

              Squeakers was born of a wild trip to Chicago with Mr. Wonderful. She is adorable, six months old, and oh-so-perfect in every way. She has big blue eyes, thanks to Mr. Wonderful, and had I not given birth to her myself, I would never believe she is actually my child. She looks nothing like me. She is the happiest kid alive. I'm keeping her until we get the phone call from the hospital that we took home the wrong oh-so-perfect baby, and then I will choose who will play me in my own Lifetime movie. Squeakers was born on the hottest day of 2011, July 22. I went in for a nice routine C-Section. (I had one with Princess Particular and decided I would do my Queen Victoria a favor and opt for a second) The OR was peaceful; the was music playing, the doctors were chatting about the weather, Mr. Wonderful was there to hold my hand, and the drugs were supreme. The only indication that I had actually had a baby was the most curious, guinea pig squeal that was rang out in the OR. I was so confused. "What IS that noise?" says the Mother of the Year... "That's your BABY", says Nurse Babycatcher. My baby? My baby? This was the sound of a baby alright...a baby animal. A guinea pig, hamster.. not a human child. But there she was, perfect in every way, and continued to squeak for months.

              I am also pregnant with my third child.. That's right people. Six month old baby, and I'm knocked right up again. Fortunately, Mr. Wonderful reminds me all the time that since we will be having this little angel around August 13th, this baby and Squeakers won't technically be Irish twins. They will be 12 1/2 months apart. Like its ANY less crazy because they aren't actually Irish Twins. I keep reminding HIM that he will soon be moving into the spare bedroom. Although I am certainly happy to be having another baby, I didn't enjoy my free time nearly enough in between pregnancies; stay tuned for Fall 2012, when I acquire a drinking problem.