Act 1:

I started this blog as a little journal-esque whatchamacallit for Mason, so he can look back and see what a funny little shit he was. Leave it to the meathead to stop doing funny things. I take it back... he's still doing funny things... but how many times can I write about peeing erraticly. Or taking a dump on the kiddy slide in the backyard. (By the way... Mason took a massive dump on the kiddie slide in the back yard the other day... he quickly called my attention to it. I took a picture.)

So... until he ups the funny factor, and to please those of you who are crazy and read me... I will be posting a series of histories. So now Meathead will also be able to read this and see how he came to be. Without further adu:

The Macbeth Saga:

Act 1: In which Sandee falls madly in love with Adam...

I can't remember the exact day... or what I was wearing. I do know I was with my regular posse of fellow Bulldogs. I would be willing to bet my life I had a scrunchy around my wrist. Probably one in my hair, too... but I had to have one on my wrist otherwise, "O-mi-gawd, I like, totally feel NAKED without it." This was sixth grade... so it's possible that half of us (there were about 8 in our regular little group, I think) were wearing overalls, discussing our up coming volleyball/basketball/softball game, standing in a circle. I was the annoying smart-ass of the group. Making fun of everything and everyone... so cool because of my extra scrunchy and the fact that my mom would pack just a Coke and Doritos as my lunch. Way to go Mom.

My right hand man was prob at my side, let's call her Sticky... cause even though she ate like a pig, she was thinner than any part of my body ever would be. And feisty. And shared my enthusiasm for Ace Ventura. But actually we bonded in kindergarten, when we got in a fight over the twin boys in the class, Jake and Jim.
I don't know how we got in a fight over who got which one, cause A) I don't know which one was which.. and B) They were way more interested in playing cowboys than being our boyfriends. But from those fateful days Sticky and I were inseparable. Always somewhere between laughing hysterically and clawing each others eyes out over boys. I learned early on not to tell Sticky when I thought a boy was cute... cause it was only a matter of time before she turned her attention to my beau. (Sticky if you are reading this, I still maintain that I saw Trevor first and you completely ruined first grade for me by stealing him away). ANYWAY. This story has taken a slight detour... go figure. On we go.

We were all standing on the black top, waiting for P.E. class to start. P.E. was an exciting time for us sixth graders because it contained 6th, 7th AND 8TH GRADERS!!! Rest assured there were extra hair tosses and toe-pointed-hip-out stances from Sticky and myself. (The other girls, though I loved them, were not as boy crazy as us...). Here is where my memory starts:

I remember seeing a cluster of manly-ness walking up the pathway to the P.E. congregating area. Two of which caught my eye.

They were the loudest of the group. Yelling jokes, making farting noises, screaming randomly... you know, sexy stuff. The two were similar in looks... bowl cuts ( a must for any mid 90's junior high-er worth his weight in Devon Sawa Teen Bop pull out posters), taller and thicker then the other boys around them. The second boy had very promising buds of an early beard. The first had braces *drooooool* and a sharp, cute nose. Both held my attention as I flipped my hair and switched pointed toe sides in perfect unison.
Mr. Harrison, the balding P.E. teacher, who was always inexplicably carrying a gallon ziplock bag full of carrots, blew his whistle signaling the start of class.

We were playing soccer that week. I hate soccer. IT's dumb. It makes me want to eat chips and salsa. And yell "EYEYEYEYEYE!!!!" I was walking back and forth across the field, pretending to be following the ball... when I heard the "thwap-thwap-thwap" of helicopter blades. Followed by a deep baritone screaming, "THEY'RE COMING FOR US!!!!"
Followed by my new founded heart throb streaking across the field...
DIVING into the tall brush growing along the side...
And taking my heart with him.

Needless to say, it took only braces and obnoxious-ness to steal my affection. The bowl cut helped too...

Now, for SOME reason... the future MacDaddy did not fall madly and desperately in love with me and my overalls, scrunchies and broken arm. Despite what the Weejee board foretold. This MAY have something to do with the fact that he didn't know I was alive. (I'm sorry, but how many times do I have to call and hang up before you realize, "Hey! I bet its that girl with the broken wrist. I shall make her mine.")

Boys.

School ended a few months later... moving Adam up to high school and throwing me into 7th grade, and an ensemble of new crushes. Luckily, little junior high hearts are fickle and I didn't give Adam another thought... for about 2 years...

To Be Continued...

Don't worry... there are like, 4 more acts or something...
You might not even want to read the rest of the Macbeth Saga, cause I'm pretty sure someone is going to approach us to make a movie out of it soon...
In the mean time...
Cheers to scrunchies and Devon Sawa. (OMG remember when he came walking down the stairs all slow to some Mariah Carey song in Casper??? HOT! "Can I keep you?" Ironic foreshadowing anyone???)

The Great Fake Post

So, Im really flattered that people keep asking me to post... really... I am. But shut up and stop it. You're giving me a complex. I have a bajillion posts started, then for some reason or another *cough*Mason-MacDaddy*cough* get side tracked, have to stop and forget to continue. Or I am writing writing writing and decide my post isnt funny enough, is too long, sounds like a Boys II Men song or will take far too long to spell check/edit. One post I started typing with an English accent.

SO... I will post more. I promise. Honestly I like being reminded... I just dont like it when I get an email saying, "Post or I will commit suicide." I don't do sob stories. I will literally not post to see how much of a backbone you have. If you don't, then, commit suicide I will lose all respect for you. How about a nice, "Hey Sandee... I know you spend the majority of your days on the toilet, since Beaver is sitting on your bladder, but maybe you can take your laptop with you while you're peeing. Thank you!"
Something like that...
Except EW! No I will not take my laptop in the bathroom. Sicko. I know you can hack into the little built in web cam. Jeez.


A real post will follow soon... I promise. Probably. Mad respect, yo.

A Look Behind the Scenes...

Dear Mason-
Mommy can't play with you right now... I have to write about you on my blog... Thanks! You're a doll. Love, Mommy


THIS is why I shouldnt have a blog... I have written like, 10 posts since my last... I just havent posted them cause, you know, they arent finished. What can I say... I get sidetracked easily. SQUIRREL! I have been READING quite a few blogs. Which should really count somewhere on the blogger totem pole. One of my faves?

http://www.accidentalolympian.com/the-accidental-olympian/2010/04/windupgirl-give-away.html

Check it out... leave a comment and possibly win some amazing earings! (Is the link not working? Ive been trying to get it to work for like, 10 min. But I cant. SQUIRREL!!! Copy and paste it. Go on! You can do it. It's well worth the added effort of 2 mouse clicks).

I have noticed through my perusing of other blogs that most writers have code names for everyone in their lives. This, along with being sexy and mysterious, allows a certain level of annonymity so you can write even more in detail without people getting mad at you. Or your in-laws knowing exactly whats going on. God forbid they find out I have a blog in the first place. But thats a blog in itself. (Hmmmm a few prospective titles if I start a blog going THAT route: "Living With Lady Macbeth"... "Out Damn Spot! You too Daughter In-law"... "Smile Or I'll Kill You"... "Can I Just Speak To You in the Other Room: and other ways to Manipulate Your Daughter In-Law").
What do you know... I've gotten off subject. SO anyway. Code names. Here's a little key to help you keep track so far.

Mason's alias': Meathead, Kid, Luitenant Head, Mase-Face, Bacon, Rooster.
Marlee's alias': Beaver, Lil Bitch, Hey You, pokey-mcpokester
Adam: MacDaddy, Handsome, Captain Sexypants, All-That-Is-Man, Husband Unit.

Other helpful hints for reading my blog:

1) I don't like most people. As such, most people are collectively refered to as "undesirables."
2) Undesireables 1-3 refer to inlaws.
3) Should also clarify Adam recently met his birth mother, who technically is an in-law but does not fit in the undesireable catagory. If memory serves we were making blowjob jokes with-in 5 min of meeting each other. Cleary she is in the awesome catagory.

That should help for now...
Also, have found myself sensoring my writing which feels really gross. Will hence forth write as I speak which is how I think. Which will probably include things squirting, leaking, oozing etc.

You've been warned... or intrigued. One of the two.

Mason vs. Wildfires

Dear Mason- Your wiener is not a pirate sword... the toilet is not someone to take captive with fancy sword play... Keep it in the toilet. Thanks! You're a doll... Love Mommy. P.S. Thanks for the incentive to mop the bathroom floor... again.


Mason is learning to use the potty. A lesson that seems to go hand-in-hand (aha! Pun intended) with learning to use his wiener. Mason and his wee-wee have been friends since... well... since he could reach it. It’s just been recently that he has found that particular appendage has a PURPOSE.
We are going the “no diapers... he’ll figure it out” route to potty training. And m&m rewards. It’s working so far... he has accidents but for the most part will use the potty if we remind him. However, he has just recently found that he has control over the stream of things. Like, if he wiggles his butt, then (OMG!) the pee wiggles too! FIREFIGHTER!!!!!!!! I shared a bathroom with my little bro growing up. I know how nasty it can be to use the potty after a little boy tries to put out a wildfire. So, Im trying to put a stop to the pee-n-play time quickly. BUT! All of a sudden Mason does not want me in the bathroom with him! He will stand at the Jon, with a determined look on his face, throw his hand out and sternly order, “Go! Go!”
Don’t worry, Mom... I got this.
Godspeed little man.
So now to pick the lesser of two evils. Completely disregard his wishes or deal with rebel pee on the floor. So far I’ve picked the pee on the floor, cause honestly? If there is one thing that I can wish for my kid... it is that he is independent. I LOVE (LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE) having an independent kid. Thank goodness for Shark Steam Mops.
Mason also asks me to leave during bath time when it’s time for him to scrub himself up. Daddy is allowed to stay... Mommy isn’t. Somehow I don’t think he will be able to wait till his Junior high years for THE TALK. Especially if he is anything like Mommy and Daddy. I may have 3 more years, before that little jewel comes along. And what about when the Beaver is born? He’s gonna notice something is up pretty quickly...
It’s not my fault kid... that was Daddy’s department.