I am the proud, and usually un-showered, mommy of one little boy, with another little guy on the way.

Two boys.

Thank God.

Because I sure as hell don’t want one of me. Or, rather, one of me as a teenager.

Payback’s a bitch.

Right, mom?

When I sat down to write this post it took much longer than it should have to narrow down which acts I was going to fess up to. Yes, there were that many.

So, I decided to go with two that are particularly unforgettable.

Let’s get this out of the way and start with the most embarrassing, shall we?

When I was in my late teens, because it sounds better, I snuck my steady boyfriend into my house in the middle of the night. And not to watch movies or talk. After we had done the awkward teenage deed, you want to put what where?

I put the leftover condom (hooray for safe sex!) in a half empty coke can that sat on my bedside table. I snuck my boyfriend back out, crept back in my house and fell asleep. Romantic, I know. The next morning, I sat in the kitchen chatting on the phone, on three-way, with two of my girlfriends. As I tried to soak up all the Boone’s Strawberry Hill from the night before with a greasy taco, my mother, her back turned to me, washed dishes at the sink.

Honey, I’ve decided to start recycling! It’s supposed to be great for the environment. Why not, right? (This was in the 90′s)

Sure, Mom, whatever you say. Sounds cool. *rolls complicated teenage eyes*

It was at that moment it struck me. My mom had collected every coke can from around the house and was preparing them for the recycle bin.

By emptying them all out in the sink.

I threw my taco and ran over to her, but not before she reached for the remaining can and began pouring the warm coke down the drain.

In excruciatingly slow motion, the condom came out with it.

*Splat*

The used condom landed square in the sink.

I ran to my room and locked myself in there for the rest of the day. The next morning, my mother drove me to the lady doctor for the first time. I left with a prescription for little pills that would prevent her from becoming a grandmother before I graduated from high school.

(Please let’s never speak of this again.)

Now that we’ve gotten that story out of the way, let’s move on to the time I was a huge jerk to my mom.

One Saturday night, my sophomore year in high school, I stayed out all night.

To be precise, it was 4:30 in the morning when one of my friends delivered me back to my house. We had been at a friend’s party and had lost track of time. Or something like that.

“Oh my God, What the *bleep* am I going to say? I am so dead. And? I don’t have a key.”

I stood outside my front door for some time. Searching for the nerve to ring the doorbell. When I found it, I took a deep breath and pushed the little round button that was sure to be the death of me.

*Ding-Dong*

Allison? Is that you? What in the world?

Mom, of course it’s me, I have been standing out here four hours ringing the doorbell!

Oh no, honey, I must have been so asleep that I didn’t hear you! I feel so terrible! Are you cold? Is it cold? Are you OK?

Annnnnnnd scene.

I ended up sleeping the remainder of the day and I’m pretty sure she brought me breakfast in bed.

Yes. I know I am going to hell.

Now it’s time for you to make me feel better.

What is your most scandalous teenage confession?

I surprised my husband and kid this morning with a very special present.

Behold The Daddle.

For some reason my husband wasn’t nearly as excited when he saw it. I think visions of emergency room visits were dancing in his head.

Obviously, I can’t participate because I am knocked up.

My kid was pretty stoked, though.

He immediately said, “Ride daddy?”

I told him he could ride daddy after school.

After all, someone in this family should be riding poor daddy.

A few weeks ago, yes I am running way behind, I was invited to check out the annual Houston Auto Show.

My initial reaction was very similar to Long Duck Dong’s “Automobile?”

But I wasn’t drunk, just confused.

“Auto Show?”

I had never been to one, nor did I think it would be at all up my alley.

But, having an excuse to shower and wear a bra and actually leave the house was all too tempting to pass up. So, I thought I’d give it a go.

You guys, it did not disappoint. And I am not being paid to say that. Even though I totally think they should have given me free soft pretzels and nachos.

I told my kid we were going to the auto show and he pretty much did a fist pump.  He is a sucker for cars.

We left my husband at home to watch some dumb basketball game catch up on some very important work and headed over to Reliant Park to check out some cars, yo.

This was an awesome opportunity to get a sneak peak at all the cool, upcoming models.

There were so many cars. I wish I had gotten more pictures, but I have a very fast and sneaky two year old to keep up with.

What really stood out to me was all the new Hybrids. Most every manufacturer had some variation of one. Looks like it’s becoming more and more the norm and I expect to see many more on the streets next year. This makes the environment very happy. It told me so.

My kid, “Sticky Fingers Zapata”, wanted to get in every single car we came across – and they were crazy gracious enough to let him.

And if all this wasn’t cool enough, they had a kid’s fun zone!

Next year -oh yes, there will be a next year -I am going to sign up for one of the many test drives they offer.

On the way 0ut, I came across the new Jaguar Convertible.

My inner Veruca Salt came out immediately.

I want that car now, daddy!

But, alas, I had to settle for a soft pretzel and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Life is so hard, and refreshing.

We had so much fun at the Houston Auto Show that I had to drag my kid out kicking and screaming, assuring everyone around us that he really was my child and I was totally not kidnapping him.

Thankfully, the parking was a breeze and the car was close enough to the building that I didn’t have to drag him very far.

All in all?

A great time!

I appreciate so much the opportunity to check it out and highly suggest you do the same next year.

See y’all there in 2012!

Beep! Beep!

How much time do I waste obsessing over the things I don’t like about my body?

Things neither my husband, nor anyone else, even notices.

The answer to that question, is that I don’t even want to know.

Because, I look back to my teens and twenties, and all the time I wasted worrying about similar body image issues, and I want to kick my own butt. I would kill for that body now. I’m pretty sure that twenty years from now, I’ll look back to this very moment and feel the same way.

I like to pretend I am confident. That I don’t spend time wishing this was thinner or that was perkier. But, at the end of the day, I do.

I’ve got my fair share of insecurities, but here are a few that take the cake (mmmmm…cake).

Stretch marks. More specifically, boob stretch marks.  I’ve had them for as long as I’ve had my boobs.  I think it has something to do with the fact that when puberty hit, it hit hard. And big. My skin must have been all whoa at how fast they came in.  The stretch marks are in my cleavage area. They are flesh colored and not extremely noticeable. Or so I thought. Until one day, I was wearing a low cut shirt and another chick said to me, “Oh, I have stretch marks on my boobs, too.” Really? Thanks. Because after that comment it was all I could think about for quite some time.

Armpit Fat. Or as I like to call it, pitty fat. P-fat has always haunted me. No matter how big or little I am, it never goes away. In high school, I refused to wear sleeveless tops or tanks of any kind, because I was so concerned about it.  I lost weight and had a breast reduction after high school and became more secure about my body in general. I began wearing tanks and everything I never felt comfortable in. But, the armpit fat? Still there and still on my mind. On my wedding day, I used tape to try and stick it down under my strapless dress. All night long, I did lots of worrying and fidgeting. Such a waste. I could have spent that time worrying about something else.

Stomach after Baby. I really love my son. And lucky for him, because if I didn’t I would totally take him down for what he did to my stomach. I had a C-section and now I am left with this weird little bulge right over the scar.  C-section belly fat has changed what was once a flat stomach, one of the few body parts I embraced. And it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. I’ll be having another C-section in about six months.  Will I get double the bulge? Meh.

Scars. I have plenty. I am one of those lucky people that scars very easily. I have a long one on my stomach, from which my baby boy made his debut. It’s still thick and swollen, almost three years later. I have a scar under each one of my breasts, from when I had them reduced fourteen years ago.  They have definitely faded with age and have become much thinner. They are under my boobs, so you really can’t see them. And who really sees them, anyway? Just my husband and he loves them. And it’s not like I’m gonna make any money off these puppies (unless we are really broke), so who cares right? I do. Ironically, the scars on my face, the visible ones, don’t bother me. Issues.

Why do I fixate on all these things so much? I mean, I have a husband who loves me and doesn’t even notice these things. He also tells me I’m crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

And I’m pretty sure my friends don’t mind me and my armpit fat.

So, why does stuff like this continue to bother me?

What bothers you?

The first night we asked Levi to crash in the doggy co-sleeper, he was all like….

My other kids weren’t nearly as apprehensive…

But, a couple of weeks after the co-sleeper arrived, I think someone is warming to the idea….

I still can’t get my husband to sleep in it.

So, I’m sick.

And not just in the head.

I’m also sick in the nose. As in, it’s not working.  Did I mention I was pregnant and can’t take any meth-type cold medicines? And man do I  love those. Not only can you breath so much better, you can also pick a car up and throw it.

(Oh, pseudoephedrine! You!!)

So, instead of being able to get hopped up on cold meds, and getting dressed and stuff, I am laid out on the couch, mouth breathing like a motherfucker, and throwing stuff across the room for my kid to eat. All while rubbing Aquaphor on my chapped, peeling nose like it’s my job.

(Does anyone else feel anxious when they get sick or is it just me?)

My kid was sick all last week and the little jerk gave it to me. But, my mom was here, which helped him get his mind off the fact that he was a coughing, little hot potato for five days.

Sidenote: my mom made chicken and dumplings.

And I’ve decided I want a bumper sticker that says…

I eat chicken and dumplings for the dumplings.

Or

Dumplings make the world go round.

Or…

I care more about dumplings than if my kid is on the honor roll.

Maybe…

My dumplings are smarter than your dumplings.

Or something like that. Because oh my god, I could eat all my feelings, all day long, in the form of delicious little dumplings.  But, I should be careful, dumplings equal dimples….on my butt.

Later in the week, all the weathermen got boners and said we were going to get 1-3 inches of snow. So, I promised my kid if he went to bed at 6:30 pm he could wake up and build a baby snowman. And by baby, I meant, like, three inches.  He told me he was going to build a huge snowman, with a button nose and two eyes made out of corn.

Sure, sweetie. Ni ni.

So, the next morning, I awoke to find a couple of icicles and a frozen rat my cat had killed outside.

No snow.

Good thing chocolate for breakfast makes a two and a half year old forget everything.

***

I’ve decided I am going to start blogging a lot more of the everyday, seemingly insignificant, things in our lives.

I started this blog as a place to stash all my memories. Because stashing actual things in my house is risky. They’ll either be torn, lost, or peed on. They are safer here, in this space.

Lately I have been thinking too much before I post, fixated on entertaining people. I am caring too much about things I shouldn’t care about. I’ve gotten way off track and am missing the point of all this.

I need to find a new groove.

***

So, in review….

We’ve all been sick.

My kid thinks Frosty’s eyes are made of corn and not coal.

Dumplings rule.

And I don’t care if you guys like me anymore.

Except I totally do. Obviously.

Stay tuned for loads of mundane shit.

xo

Really?

Really?

*The children’s movie selection at Target.