Tag Archives: kids

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Weekend Winks – The Fall Edition

So what the fuck has everyone been up to these days? You back at the office (I have been since March and boy, do I miss working from home)? Your kids in school? Or are you still virtual everything? Can you even go back to work if your kids are at home? Are you vaccinated? Do you wear a mask when you’re in large groups even if you are vaxxed? How you doing since the two week “flatten the curve” of 2020?

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!

I mean holy fucking hell. This year went from being a fresh start and then I blinked and it’s fucking October. After working from home nearly a year, I’ve found it rough “wasting” four hours of my day I didn’t realize I was missing out Before Rona. I would leave my house at 7am and get home at 7pm if I worked out, lugging my bags (usually forgetting my lunch on the counter) and sometimes even DOING SOMETHING after all of that in the evening. How did I have the energy?!?! Rona has made me lazier and like most of the world, my hair got washed about once a month during the deep throes of the pandemic.

Me. Trying to acclimate to sort of Post Rona Times but obvies not handling it well.

There hasn’t been much activity to report because my weekends were filled with the pool, Skinny Pirates, Netflix, snacks, wine, repeat. But now that college football is in full swing, you know what that means?! Dada CBXB and my Family Tradition Touchdown Shots are baaaaaaaack!

My Iowa Hawkeyes have been killing it so far this season. This team plays for a win but isn’t “showy or sexy” as one commentator put it last weekend. But ya know what? We are number three in the nation after schooling the Maryland Terps on Friday night 51-14.

It’s been years since we needed two hands for a photo op! Dada CBXB got the number six in our last pic, accompanied by the evening ending shot. Don’t worry, we had very fancy snacks for the game to help soak up the Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire.

A very fucking cool initiative college football is undertaking is creating awareness regarding mental health. An often taboo subject, (which of course it shouldn’t be because just like physical health, we all have mental health) this is helping change the narrative for young athletes and people. I’m so here for this shit.

Because the Hawks played on Friday night, I was able to hang with The Silent Indian on Saturday of whom I hadn’t seen since the night of the Nashville tornado in March of 2020. Hot dayum.

Of course I got to talking at him about the most important element of the football game. The outfits. Which most refer to as uniforms but not me. They’re outfits. And, I’m pretty sure that the Iowa Hawkeyes have the best outfits in all of college football. Of course TSI thinks his team’s blah hunter green and white outfits are better, so I took to the inaccurate IG story polls for reassurance.

WELP……..

Obvies that argument is settled.

After the outfit chit chat, I thought it would be fun to FaceTime everyone we knew because who doesn’t do that on a Saturday night?

All in all a successful round of drunk dial FaceTime.

While I was very busy sitting on my ass, watching football and drinking Skinny Pirates all weekend, my twins had their first soccer game! And yes, I know they look like actual kids instead of little kids. Time please slow down.

In recovery on Sunday, I enjoyed a gluten free chicken pot pie, in which I also add a bag of peas. Therefore, it is called Pea Pie.

By Sunday night I could hardly keep my eyes open due to all of the fucking social time spent with two men in my life that have known me forever and which I didn’t have to make small talk. But it’s the first time since….2019 (?) that I’ve done something two nights in a fucking row. Our night ended early like this….

Happy 3,820 week in Rona hell. Hope you are all keeping your sanity and if you ever think you’re on the brink, just remember I always have been and always will be a walking shit show. So know that you aren’t alone.

Love ya, Mean it!

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

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The Love of Your Own Life

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

I do. I love me.

The day of love so many tend to loathe while others welcome the warm fuzzies with gigantic appetites that rival my admiration for wine.

The feel of Love Day for certain peeps.

As a kid, I carefully crafted a Valentine’s Day mailbox for school every year (you know, back when you could celebrate shit in school without the worry of the teeniest tiniest chance of offending someone). Students weren’t required to participate but I can’t remember when a kid didn’t. Everyone in class gave everyone a Valentine. If a kid didn’t have a Valentine’s Day box, my teacher always had an extra shoebox or two wrapped in red paper. No one was left out.

Will you be mine?

I was always lucky that I had a family who liked to celebrate everything, so no holiday was left out. Not even one that I often hear guys claim is “made up” for women to get gifts. (Well fellas, if you treated your gals “special” all the time, grand gesture days wouldn’t be needed, now would they? You could simply just get a well meaning card or write a note from the heart any day of the year but I digress). We’d wake up to little Valentines on our chairs at the kitchen table, maybe along with a box of chocolates. Always excited for the party to take place that day at school.

Fast forward to high school when the day of admiration became a sport of sorts.

If this high school Glamour Shot doesn’t make you want to be mine, I don’t know what fucking will.

The Honor Society sold carnations for a dollar and the members would drop the carnation off to your designated Valentine anonymously. Some peeps had armloads. Some had none. I just wanted a pink one.

Some girls got called to the office and paraded delivered – delivered in a vase and everything – flowers around school. It didn’t matter if it was from their dad, grandparents or boyfriend. I was one jealous bitch. Then, in an instant, that all changed.

Because I became that girl.

Oh hi. I got the flowers…and then some.

The Honor Society members delivered carnations during first period. I was in concert band every morning with my sweet silver Doc Severinsen trumpet at my side. Open flung the doors and our band instructor stopped our warm-up. A group of kids came in hauling carnations in large buckets for their soon-to-be owners. While I was hoping to get a flower or two, my eyes laid sight on the mother of all Valentine’s day hauls. A gigantic, white stuffed teddy bear with a red bow around its neck, holding a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. So enormous, you couldn’t see the person transporting it.

About as big as this dog I gifted Princess B a few years back.

I think I literally turned green with envy at whomever was going to be the recipient of this stuffed animal. I mean, I thought I would get a flower or two because my girlfriends and I always sent them back and forth. But this, this shit was different. This was the stuff that warm and fuzzy, cheesy as fuck Valentine’s memories were crafted.

Being in the brass of the band, I sat in the last row of the room. And I’ll be damned if that fucking bear didn’t inch its way closer and closer. I kept thinking…which girl had a boyfriend that sat near me. I couldn’t wait to see who was going to get the pristine bear.

As the hidden stuffed animal transporter walked behind me, I almost gave myself whiplash looking to my left. But to my unabashed chagrin, that motherfucker was lifted over my head and sat into my lap. Hershey’s fucking kisses and all. To this day, that is one of my best Valentine’s Days (which may seem a little sad since my day of love peaked in high school but I mean, it’s true).

And it didn’t come from a love interest. Or the non-existent boyfriend I had at the time. It came from a friend. From a best friend who (although didn’t take me to his senior prom and I will never, ever let him forget it) remains a bestie to this day.

Oh the bangs. On both of us.

The teddy bear came from Scooby.

We share a love of stuffed animals. Obvies.

Relationship game still on point today.

This gesture seemed like the grandest of all gestures in the universe at the time. All of these years later, it still does. My gay best friend gave me the best Valentine’s Day memory. Why? Because he didn’t have to do anything. But he loved me and wanted me to know. Isn’t that just a simple thing to do?

Grand gestures aren’t needed (but if any of you have a Louis Vuitton en route for delivery today, professing your love for me, I am not going to turn it down). A single flower is nice. A card will do. A simple text message. A smile, a hug, a thank you. Whether it’s love or like in today’s climate, bringing happiness to any and all of those around us isn’t really that hard. We just have to be kind to let one another know that we like – or even love – them.

If force dancing with your head taller than you female cousin at your uncle’s wedding isn’t a grand gesture of love, what is?

More importantly, regardless of whether we are madly in love with our kids…

I mean…

COME ON.

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our romantic partner…

Thank you boyfriends of yesteryears.

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our friends…

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our careers, jobs, co-workers….

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with extended family…

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our fur babies (which you all know I’m bat shit about)…

Regardless of what it is in your life that you love, be madly in love with your own authentic self first.

Yep. This about sums it up for me.

If you don’t love – let alone like – yourself as your own #1, no one will love the you who is meant to be loved.

Bitch, I’m a Queen. A Queen Bitch Supreme. And I know it.

Be your own damn Valentine.

Make some snacks.

Toast to yourself.

Appropriately colored libations required.

I’m taking myself out with First Mate tonight – same as we did last year – to not only toast to our love of one another but also to how bad ass we both are in our own right.

Now treat yourself to your version of a stuffed teddy bear this Valentine’s Day. You deserve it.

Be the love of your own damn life.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

 

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Weekend Winks- Tidbits

It’s been a minute since I have been able to post about my weekend shenanigans as I’ve had my head in the proverbial sand, trying to get my own shit together and love myself.

Loving myself fives hundred times over.

Thanks to my kick ass friends, family and followers, you’ve showered me with enough kindness and love to last a lifetime. And it’s meant the world.

Thank you from the bottom of my butt because it’s a helluva lot bigger than my heart.

Speaking of friends, an old pal from Iowa, Buffalo, blew in from Phoenix a few weeks ago and could not have come at a better time. The belly laughs, peeing of pants and long afternoon pass out naps were severely needed by this chick.

No straws left in Music City.

Dumpy, Buffalo and an Ass Clown.

You guess which one is which.

Honky tonkin’ in Nashvegas is literally like Vegas only you don’t win any money. There isn’t a chance. But you can sure blow your wad…just as Buffalo.

Cowboys and cowgirls out on the town.

What weekend of mine would be complete without jazz hands?

This man could be my soul mate.

After all of the shenanigans, this chick needed a low-key soak in a bubble bath. Since I lack a large lip around my tub, I resort to putting Precious on the shitter. She doesn’t seem to mind, since we’re still together.

Chug a dub dub while mom’s in the tub.

My other four fur babies can’t be bothered to join in any bathing fun because naturally, they sleep 22.6 hours per day.

Why did you have to use the flash, you bitch?!

Oh and those Iowa twins of mine? I’m waiting by the phone for a modeling agency to call me, as I’m dying to be their auntager. I will give Kris Jenner a run for all of her millions with these two natural beauties.

Yes, these are the two cutest kids on the fucking planet.

If the modeling doesn’t work out, there is always basketball. Especially if it’s a super girly league and Princess B is able to wear whatever the hell she wants and use a purple basketball.

Future Hall of Famers.

Speaking of kids, I’d be remiss not to speak to the horrendous mass shooting in Florida. The ongoing heartbreak of losing innocent lives, is beyond measure. And, I’ve had to question my own ideas, opinions and thoughts over the days since it’s happened.

Of course, I don’t know the answer. But I sure as shit don’t think that any kind of military grade rifle should be allowed in the hands of regular folks. Do you really need this sort of firearm to hunt? To protect your house? To shoot clay pigeons? I am no gun expert, believe me. I own a revolver and I have exactly five bullets in my mini manse and they are in my gun (for those of you who stay over at the mini, my gun gets unloaded and the bullets are housed in a separate drawer when guests arrive, so calm down). When I see people freaking the fuck out over the phrase “gun control” and being insulted by second amendment rights being taken away, I think that’s extreme. You want a gun to protect your house, fine. You want a rifle to hunt, fine. But do you need a military grade rifle to do so?

I have been reading all points of view – and yes, if someone is bananas enough, they will find away to kill people. Folks think the FBI could have done something, as they have admitted they missed two tips. I wonder though, what could they do? The kid had no record. His mother, when she was alive, notified the police of his behavior. He’d been expelled from school. He was having mental problems that were being treated. How many empty threats are made on a daily basis? Or, would this be like when you take a restraining order out to protect yourself but it does nothing?

Is this the answer? I don’t know what is – I wish I could look to those in politics who can enforce change but it’s beyond evident that I can’t. In my opinion, it’s not a Republican vs. Democrat problem. It’s an American problem that rings through every single state. I can’t imagine being a parent – let alone a fucking kid that has to practice gun shooting drills – today. It’s insane and it has to stop.

While the domination of news was focused on the Florida mass shooting (as it should be), the Olympics have also been underway and Dada CBXB and myself entered in our favorite sport. Drinking.

We trained all football season for this moment.

Speaking of moments, I still have my Christmas tree up (aka Celebration tree) and since it was pouring down on Saturday, I sat my ass on my leopard couch and got sucked into TV movies.

Redneck? White Trash? I don’t give a fuck.

Cuddled up butt to butt with my favorite snuggle pants.

A chug with a chugger.

Watching horrendously cheesy Hallmark movies (side note – it’s a dream of mine to star in one, no shit) full of you-already-know-what-the-character-is-going-to-say-before-they-say-it while falling in love and getting engaged within a week pulled at my cold, dead heart for once. I immediately called in all reinforcement.

Divorce court here I come. Crisis averted.

While I peruse Facebook as often as the next person, I have a serious love/hate relationship with the fucking memories that pop up from forever ago. Yesterday, my Aunt Crazy Pants and I celebrated nine years of social media friendship. Which was fitting because her birthday would have been this upcoming Friday, so she’s been on my mind constantly (not that she isn’t always).

Taking solace in my wine glass was quite easy because it was national drink wine day yesterday (which is every day for me but since it was a nationally recognized holiday, who am I not to overly partake?!).

OH. MY. GOD. BECKY. It’s an every day for us.

Good thing I have wine glasses that hold entire bottles of wine while I plot how to take over the universe.

Cheers to all of the tidbits in your life. Now go pour a heart healthy glass of vino.

Captain’s orders.

CBXB

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How to Pass the Sparkle On

I’ve never met anything gaudy that I didn’t immediately love and it’s of utmost importance (to me) that my love of sparkle make its way to the next generation.

Recital

Wishing this little giddy up still fit to parade around in daily, minus the heinous hair cut.

You can imagine my delight when I became the proud aunt of twins – one being a little girl. I knew she was going to fill my high heels in no time flat when I saw the camera hogging abilities with which she was born.

Scene stealer

A natural scene stealer.

While my amorous relationship with glitter and glitz began with a turquoise sequins top, I thought for certain this raccoon-like trait would be passed along to my niece.

love

Please put this on me and never take it off. Ever.

Turns out my Princess B wasn’t a natural-born lover of all things ostentatious.

It's my party...

An underwhelmed, sparkly Super Girl.

Seems that the only time I showed disdain in an outfit is when it lacked sparkle.

First Mate

Seriously, this First Mate shit is the best we could do?

Thinking Princess B may need to be eased into the gaudiness of Auntie CBXB, I hoped a bright pink, star adorned puffer vest might do the trick.

On and on and on

Flamboyancy fail.

To me, the only thing worse than wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt combo is the thought of anything neutral finding its way into my wardrobe. Even as a kid, the horror of me being in anything close to the color khaki threw me into fits of tears…

Nope.

Dad might as well have thrown the brown sack over my head.

So you can imagine my utter delight when I purchased the most non-subtle dress for a toddler in the world (you bet your ass I’d have a matching one if it came in my size) and Princess B showed great interest.

Be still my beating heart...

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Seeing the look on my niece’s face as she took her first few steps into the mini prom dress, I felt the taste of victory creeping over my fuchsia stained lips.

Yep....

Sparkle lover being born…

But in .00187 seconds affection turned to disgust and the gaudy sky turned gray.

Dress fail.

An all out bawl baby breakdown.

Sniffled

Followed by deep sighs and sniffles.

But suddenly the attitude was adjusted the moment Princess B stopped to smell the glittery roses and evaluated just how this ornate outfit made her feel.

But wait...

But wait…feeling fancy doesn’t suck.

And then…

TA-DAH!

Success!

Dressed for extravagant success!

Turns out Princess B will be taking over the glaringly bright, gaudy baton I will be handing her one day after all.

hi

Hopefully as a grown woman, she’ll be sneaking into famous people’s closets to play dress up, making Auntie CBXB proud.

I’m so glad she finally saw the light.

One can hope.

My shimmering heart bursts with pride.

I mean, someone needs to carry on my sparkly shenanigans, ya dig?

Sparkle On.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

 

 

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Give Her the F’ing Nuts You SOB!

WARNING! Excessive profanity contained in the paragraphs below (spewed from a four-year-old’s mouth). Read at your own risk.

My foul mouthed sister in her earlier days. Don’t let this sweet face fool you.

My entire family (yes, I can say that proudly) has a knack for our fabulous trashiness (see White Trash Wednesday or anything in the Grizzies category).  After previous posts divulging of family classiness, I could not resist sharing “The Great McDonald’s Ice Cream Incident” once again. I first divulged this jewel a year ago when I had all of nine readers, therefore none of you who aren’t relation will be laying eyes on this for the first time (lucky you).

Growing up in a small (population 1,200) Iowa farming community, our Saturday nights were spent 20 minutes away at the nearest Pizza Hut (I thought was so fancy – I used to be easily impressed. USED to be).  Often times my grandma and grandpa would join us for our family date night and we would head to McDonald’s for ice cream afterward.

One Saturday we were on our journey through the drive thru, Dad chauffeuring us in the front seat with Grandpa.  My mom, sister, grandma and myself were all in the back and giving our orders (sounds like a dream of a Saturday night, huh?).  As Dad was receiving and passing the treats out, my sister got her sundae.

My four-year-old sibling looked my dad square in the face and said (without hesitation or skipping a beat), “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch I wanted nuts on my sundae.”

Immediate silence followed (although I was instantly delighted that I wasn’t the sister in trouble this time).

I assume my reaction was something like this one captured above (you’re loving the classy outfit with hair clips, aren’t you?).

Moments later, reactions set in. Grandpa busted out laughing. Grandma’s jaw hit the floor.  My mom leaned up over the seat to hiss in my dad’s ear,  “MICHAEL!” and my dad replied, “What? I don’t say those words,” (which I instantaneously knew was a lie because anytime he had his head under a sink being the ‘plumber,’ I never remembered him saying shoot, gosh darn it or duck).

Little did Grandpa know how his heart would burst with secret pride over my sister’s nut rant a few years after this photo was snapped.

So, my toddler sister just put the phrase together all in her own right? Well, being classy, a little trashy and quickly having my sister’s back, my grandma said, “I bet she learned it from all of those John Wayne movies.”  Um, yeah, since we had a three channel cable line up in our metropolis.

Being white trash is knowing better but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks. My sister just got a head start – you gotta love her spunkiness!

All guts and glory for this kid.

So fabulously trashy…I can’t wait to see how her kids carry on the tradition.

CBXB

CBXB!