From blog to playboy

I knew it would happen - as soon as I told people I had a blog, I would get all kinds of reactions. My mom asks regularly if I have blogged, and if not, why not? Oh the pressure. To be honest, I actually do try to think of something to write about that ISN'T kid related. I am finding this somewhat difficult as I have no life and I won't blog about work or co-workers, so all that leaves is sex, and well, I am married with two very young children. Enough said.

I did find an interesting site a few days ago. Jessica Cutler was a Washington DC mail clerk who used her blog to detail her sexual escapades with six different parters - including a Bush administration official and a Capitol Hill staffer. Not surprisingly, she got busted, got fired, and then took it all off for Playboy. Some people that have been blogging forever will likely have heard of her, but considering I was an Ebay virgin up until a couple of weeks ago it is not surprising that I have never heard of this woman (but I am sure that I do score some points for knowing about Dooce - thanks Kirstin!). I somehow think that if I did decide to blog about work and got fired Playboy would be nowhere near my door with my post baby bod and flabby parts.

Oh, by the way, my first e-bay purchase was this little fella's suit.

Driving with a cell phone? That's nothing...

Today as we were driving to work I saw a woman applying makeup while driving. And not just any makeup, but MASCARA. Yeah that's right - stick a sharp pointy object millimeters from your eyeball while focusing on YOURSELF (hey dumbass - that long black asphalt thing in front of you, aka THE ROAD, needs a modicum of attention too).

Calgon take me far, far away

I spent most of today looking for Ethan's receipt. So I can return him. I didn't find it, BUT I did fill out and send in his warranty card (after a day like today, I know for a fact that there will be a malfunction or two in the near future).

Now don't get me wrong, for the most part he is a good and quite happy kid. When he gets enough sleep. Last night was not one of those nights, and today he was the child from HELL. Tantrums - non stop. Yelling and crying and abusing his younger (and I might add pretty happy) brother at every opportunity ALL DAY. Even Starbucks banana bread couldn't calm him - yeah, yeah I know, bribe with food BAD - but he is skinny and I was fed up. He was absolutely exhausted all day, but refused to nap. OH MY GOD I hope this is not the start of something. Ethan needs his sleep and mommy needs her sanity.

So now both munchkins are fast asleep, and looking mighty angelic. So why the hell is it that I am still up past midnight? Hell maybe I'll be throwing a tantrum or two tomorrow.

Ethan Suave

Yup, you can dress the kid up, it remains to be seen if you can take him out! This is his wedding 'do for his uncle's nuptuals in July.

These are the Days of our Lives

Back when I was in high school, I got addicted to soap operas. A friend and I would bugger off at lunch, go to her place to catch "Days of our Lives" and make it back just in time for science class (back then I was such a nerd, I thought it was "daring" to be LATE for class - but the thought of actually skipping altogether was just not on my radar - man what a geek I was!). That was my first introduction to soap operas. Back then I had to live vicariously though everyone else. Now that I have my own life with kids and almost never get out or get to dress up in big girl clothes I am downright pathetic. If ANYONE has a bit of gossip or juicy tibit to share I am first in line to hear it. It is only because sleep has become a top priority that I don't really watch soaps at all anymore (that and the fact we don't have cable).

I kept up with Days until the latter stages of University. I actually remember scheduling my classes around the show. I got a bit fed up with the soap because it was getting "unrealistic". Imagine an unrealistic soap. One thing that used to get to me was when there was a new baby on a soap, and 5 years later they were 16.

I had a bit of a "real life" experience with that yesterday. I ran into a guy that I hadn't seen for almost 15 or so years. I used to coach his kids in swimming when they were really young. We got to talking, and he was telling me about their university courses and how one of his kids is living overseas. I almost accused him of lying - how in the hell could a 4 year old now be in his 20's???? These small innocent children that I taught how to swim were now old enough to drive, drink and do god only knows what else. Man I felt very very old. Mind you, when he found out that I had kids of my own, he was speechless. HA.

More crap.

Ethan has just turned three. As a birthday present to me, Ethan is FINALLY toilet trained. Actually, looking back it hasn’t been too bad. Oh he had his share of nasty, nasty accidents. And I had my share of nasty, nasty accidents to clean up. Now all he has to do is learn to wipe his own ass and we are set.

Last week while Ethan was on the can he had a revalation. He realized that his shit stank. He actually CRIED when he finished doing his business and was so upset because the bathroom stunk. Quite ironic really, as this kiddo, up until a few months ago would poop his pants on a daily basis and not seem to be bothered by it. The fact that his rear end eminated smells that would peel paint did not phase him in the least. He seemed to marvel in the fact that he could, when he wanted, clear everyone out of a room (except for his younger brother who could rival any smell that Ethan could produce). The two of them running around with shitty bums would force Ken and I to plug our noses while negotiating who was going to take care of what mess (a negotiation b/c Ethan’s dirty butt would singe your nose hairs, but Nicky refuses to sit still for more than two seconds, so you usually wind up wiping more than a dirty ass when you change him).

So I explained to Ethan that poo stinks and it is OK. All this after trying to convince my husband that MY poo in fact does not smell at all. Holy crap the secret is out.

Sorry, I don't undertand you.

When Ken and I got married I decided that I would keep my maiden name. The ONLY time I use my married name is on our telephone listing in the phone book. I did that because I have learned that if you piss enough of the public off, it isn't that hard to track you down and get back at you outside of regular office hours. And I pissed the public off. Alot.

Even though I changed my name, some people still manage to track me down. We get the almost monthly call from our cable and/or telephone provider looking to upgrade our service to a more expensive pile of crap. A few times a year the Alumni association of the University will call asking us to donate to help the poor students on campus. Yeah, I'll do that - as soon as I pay off my student loan. In about 20 years (and that unfortunately is no joke). But what is the worst is the telemarketers - but I am lucky because I don't understand a word of what they are saying - they are all Chinese.

Canada hasn't yet embraced the US idea of the "do not call list" for telemarketers. That is no biggie for me, all I had to do was use my married name (which came with my Chinese husband) and no telemarketer that speaks english will touch me with a 10 foot pole. The Chinese telemarketers are just as persistant, but I have a great "out" - I can't understand them and tell them right away that I don't speak a word of Chinese - and THEY hang up on ME. What a novelty!!! I do get the odd one that instantly switches to English, and that is when I pinch whatever child is closest to me and the loud squeals of protest are equally as effective. I am sure that trying to get a sales pitch passed a screaming child is not worth the minimum wage they are getting paid.

My kids though won't have it as easy. They are picking up alot of Chinese from their Grandparents - and I am sure one day they will be able to tell any telemarketer where they can stick it, in a variety of foreign languages. Hell, I am sure they have already told their mom to piss off and I don't even know it yet.

And here I was worried I'd have nothing to blog about.

Today I got home from a lovely day with my parents and other family members on the small little island that my parents call home. It was a great father's day - except my husband wasn't there. He was paddling in the Alcan Dragon Boat Festival here in Vancouver. When I got home late tonight with two very tired and grumpy boys, my husband asked me if I would like to see his cock. He said it with a straight face. He said it in front of MY MOM. I hadn't even got a chance to tell him what I nice day we had, and how the kids' grandparents are so creative that they made the boys belive that the dog dish they were cooling off in was a great big swimming pool. OH NO. All my hubby could think about was his cock and how incredibly proud of it he was. He told me it was a fine specimen. He was SO proud that he wanted me to post a picture on my "bloggy thing". So here it is, my husband's cock.



In the Chinese calander this year is the year of the rooster. My huband's team received this rooster as an award for their fundraising activites. Ken tells me that the gay members on his team (and there are a few) were particularly excited to be getting some cock.

My husband is so proud of his cock. And his is only the small one. The "big cock" award went to his company. You should have seen the size of that fella.

And here I was worried that I would have nothing to blog about.

Oh he is so lucky he is cute.

My second born is very lucky. Very, very lucky indeed. Today was garbage day, and his ass was just about out there on the curb along with diaper genie contents and other assorted crap we discarded through the week. He is lucky that he is just too darned adoreable to hurt one little hair on his head.



The little bugger has decided over the past couple of nights to forgo the ritual that keeps his mother just on the edge of sanity - SLEEP. For two nights now, he has woken from his slumber at about 2 a.m. and decided it is just not fair that he be the only one wide awake and wanting to play. Oh no. Lets have a big 'ol party and wake up the house. Hell, while we are at it we may as well piss off the neighbours. Of course my hubby and first born are immune to the night-time festivities and could sleep through just about anything (Ken has even slept through our house alarm going off while someone was breaking in - thank goodness whoever it was figured out that a house that doesn't even have cable TV likely didn't have anything he could fence for more than $5).

I have just returned to work part time and this whole lack of sleep thing is just not a great thing to be dealing with at the ripe old age of 34. When I was young (and stupid - but having oh so much fun) I would on a regular basis actually CHOOSE to stay up all night long doing whatever (you can use your imagination) - sleep deprivation was a thing to be proud of, pulling all nighters writing papers or studying for exams not a big deal at all. At 34 however, it is a whole new ball game. Sleep is good. Very, very good. Not getting it sucks big time. Oh he is lucky he is cute.

What goes in...might not always come out....

Well, I was going to write about Ethan, and a funny situation concerning a certain bodily function which, in my mind was utterly hilarious. However, once I read this, I have totally re-thought the whole thing and decided that I just cannot compete with Heather. Who would have thought sticking a foreign object up your toddler's ass could be so funny? So I will save my poop story for later...much much later.

An easy million bucks...

The other day there was an article in the Vancouver Sun newspaper about the new millionaires – just average folk who lucked out buying homes that are now worth a small fortune. Just as a side note, my husband and I don’t live in one of those homes. Not even close. It is a booming market, and while I can rub my hands in glee thinking of what we could make selling this place (ha ha ha), we would be forced to buy something the equivalent of a garden shed if we ever did move from where we are now. So we stay put.

We were fortutnate enough to attend a wedding last year at one of these Gazillion dollar homes. The bride had essentially thrown this wedding together in five days and it was one of the best weddings I have been to – great location, great food and I got some great photos (I have a knack of not getting the best shots at weddings – if I want to actually make money one day doing this photography thing I had better get my act together). This poor bride had been screwed over royally by the location where she had originally planned to have the wedding, and so she decided to take the situation by the balls and tell the former caterers they could stick it and she would find somewhere else to be married. FIVE days before the wedding date. I am sure they thought that she would be begging them to forgive her a day or two later when she realized she was talking about a wedding and not a hot-dog party in the backyard with a couple of friends. But no. She did it, and did it amazingly well. I wonder if the people at the initial wedding location actually had stuff prepared thinking that she was just bluffing the whole time. Oh I would have loved to have seen that.

So Ken and I are drooling at this home, and sadly, the first thing I thought of was “man, it would take days to clean this place”. Ken told me later that he would have a heart attack even THINKING about mowing the lawn, considering we can’t even keep up with our 70+ year old neighbour who mows his lawn twice a week at least, and sometimes, if ours gets to the point where we might lose children if we let them play outside, he will mow ours too. How freaking embarrassing. It didn’t even dawn on us that IF we could afford a house like that we sure as hell won’t be doing any cleaning or mowing of lawns. Isn't that why we had kids?

Food tastes better - off the floor.

I never thought that food would be a particular challenge for me. I love it, never shy away from a good meal - or a bad one - and am first in line when I know someone else (my mom or mother in law in particular) are cooking. You would think that I passed on the "I love food genes" to my kids. Well, I got it half right. My oldest son Ethan is a pretty good eater. Really likes most things, will try stuff at least once - if he doesn't like it he just spits it out on his plate (yes, he is about as subtle as a fart in a car). My other son, Nicholas is a bit of an anomaly. He is a challenge when it comes to food. A big, pain in the ass challenge that has found me threatening his cute little butt to feed him bread and butter for the rest of his life. He loves bread and butter. It must be the feel of it in his chubby little paws. If it "feels" right, whatever the hell that is - he will put it in his mouth. If it doesn't feel right it goes on the floor, without ever getting anywhere near his mouth. Must be an unusual talent. One that makes me crazy. The only way we have figured out what he likes so far is to just leave the previously discarded food on the floor and wait for him to sample it later - must be something in the "Mr. Clean" that makes the food taste better. Oh the joys of parenting.

So, foods that feel right are bananas, granola, grapes, garlic sausage, apple, bread and butter, avocado....those are the main ones. Oh the variety. Try making different meals out of that mix. Hmmm. How does a banana slathered in avocado sound to you? To my son it is the equivalent of culinary perfection. Go figure.

Big Melon

For all the single guys out there who have stumbled across this blog (and I say "stumbled" because I am positive that no single guy is actively looking for a "mommy blog") big melon is not refering to someone's boob size. However, if that is what you want, just google "big melon" and you will have an abundant array of choices of big tits. Scary really.

Big melon is what my three year old calls his new bicycle helmet. I kid you not. Actually, I am totally to blame. He heard me talking about his large head and refering to it as a "big melon"...

It was recently his birthday, and so Ken and I decided to get him a bike. Now anyone who knows me knows I am the biggest safety geek around, so I bought a helmet for my three year old (who, by the way will only ride his bike for about three feet before dismouting and going to his sandbox. In his helmet - he won't take it off). Of course, I didn't have Ethan with me when I bought the helmet so I guessed at his head size. BADLY. Somehow I didn't think that my son had such a big head. I suppose one look at his father in conjunction with the memories of GIVING BIRTH should have twigged something in my brain that in fact my son's head is huge for his age.

So Ethan opens his gift on the big day and loves his new helmet. He tried to put it on and it didn't fit. Couldn't even get it on his head at all. How embarrasing for the idiot (me) who bought it. So back to the store we go. Ethan is just fascinated with all the different helmets. He picks one out (ugly, ugly, ugly and very expensive - go figure - he's three and he already has it all figured out). We try it on and it is a tad too big. The very helpful sales guy tells me that it is an adult small. ADULT???? Holy crap. Thank goodness it was too big, because in my mind, a helmet that cost $60 is just too much for a three year old.

So after much looking and trying on of various child helmets we get a kids medium. A great helmet (although still ugly, but at this point I couldn't give a rat's ass). Ethan has hardly taken the damned thing off. I guess he figures he has alot to protect up there (and as his mom I would totally agree!).

I guess this stems from the fact that when Ethan was a baby he wore an orthotic helmet for a condition called plagiocephaly. Long story short, he had a flat spot on his head when he was a baby and the helmet helped round it out (with the added bonus of acting as a crash helmet when he was learning to walk!). His flat spot was caused by torticollis that was pretty much undiagnosed. My dealings with the medical community over my son was my indoctrination into learning to be really assertive and bitchy (to people other than my family and friends) - but that is for another post!

Well holy crap...

I have been thinking for awhile about setting up a blog. Wondering what kind of a person would actually spend time reading what I have to say. According to the title of this blog, one would think that I don't have much to say at all. That would be because my two munchkins have reduced what is left of my brain to mush.

So I go to set up my blog. I thought coming up with a URL would be easy. HA. About 20 minutes later I finally get a URL address that hasn't already been taken. At one point I was getting so frustrated that I actually typed in "this address is not available", and believe it or not, it was taken! I guess "mommy's empty head" is a great name for this blog because apparently I can't come up with a good enough URL.

So, the dirt on me. I am a 34 year old, married to Ken, with two boys (Ethan just turned three, and Nicholas is one). I work part time (I am not going to say where, I know people who have been FIRED for blogging about their work and people they work with). I will tell you that I work for the government. Yes, I work for the government and I AM HERE TO HELP YOU.

I have yet to tell anyone about this blog. So if you have stumbled across it - congrats. You are more in the loop than my friends or family. I guess I will eventually tell them, but I want to be sure that this is something that I can actually keep up - if it all goes well then I will spill the beans. Until then it is me and you. Whoever you are.