Dear 2014, I have something to say to you…


Watch out.

That’s right. Watch out 2014, because I’m going to make you my bitch. I plan on dominating you this year. I let your buddy 2013 kick my butt, so now I’m coming for you *stank-eye*.

I’m a confirmed procrastinator. It takes dedication to procrastinate as long as I have. Shoving stuff off for later is my calling. Well, it used to be.

Call me Prez Natchy.

Call me Prez Natchy.

Now I’m turning over a new leaf – hell, I’m ripping that dadgum leaf to pieces and stomping on it. I have stuff to do this year 2014. Important stuff. Like crafts.

Yeps, crafts. This is my attempt. I hate you so much lovely Pinterest.

Yeps, crafts. This is my attempt. Think anyone will notice it’s just slightly messed up?

Okay, so maybe my crafts will improve this year (honestly, they can only improve from here on out). My minions are old enough this year to really participate, instead of just adding glue and marker ink to the carpet and walls.

I also plan on couponing and actually doing it. I started out about 2 years ago, but gave up because my minions… ah, hell, tell the truth Natchy: because I was to darn lazy to keep up with it. But no more! I will clip and print and stockpile like a boss this year. I will save enough money to… well, I haven’t decided what I’ll spend it on. Should I be a grown-up and pay off my student loans? Or should I treat Hubs & Minions to a trip? Maybe a couple of cases of wine. Eh, I’ll decide later (No! That’s procrastinating. I will figure it out. Soon).

Swimming in my coupons, cuz paprcuts don't scare me. I'm so gangsta.

Swimming in my coupons, cuz papercuts don’t scare me. I’m so gangsta.

I will work on my writing this year. I will try to post at least once a week (I like adding backdoors to my goals – they make me feel less guilty). Now, my dear readers (all 3 of you), I can’t promise all these posts will be witty, or interesting, or even stay on the original topic. I’m a Mom, a wife, and blah, blah, so my life can be somewhat frantic at times. Thus, my posts may become incomprehensible ramblings at times. I choose to believe that all writings are good writings however.

Doesn't matter. I write for me. Or some happy crappy saying like that.

Doesn’t matter. I write for me. Or some happy crappy saying like that.

So, 2014, are you ready for me? You better prepare yourself. Because my list from 2009 – 2013 will finally be totally crossed out.

What my Resolution List looks like.

What my Resolution List looks like.

~ Prez Natchy ~


I’m dying. WebMD said so.


TMI Alert: I’m about to get real personal.  But, since I don’t actually know any of the 3 people that read my blog, I can comfortably tell you about my hiney.

So I thought I was dying yesterday.  I’m not a hypochondriac, nor do I self-diagnose on a regular basis; but when bright red blood appears in an area it has no business in, your mind immediately panics and your thoughts turn to finding the quickest, most painless answer.  I made the nightmare-inducing mistake of browsing WebMD for the answer. «Stankeye, WebMD»


Inner Monologue:
Sheesh, I really gotta go potty.  I wonder if the Turd (kid 3) is gonna bust open the door on me this time, or will I finally be able to use it peacefully?  Ah, that’s better.  Where’s the damn toilet paper?  Ugh, okay r-e-a-c-h for the tp, got it.  Um… What. The. Fudge?  It’s not time for Aunt Flo and it shouldn’t be that red anyways. Maybe I’m early?  Hold on, it’s not coming from my hooha… why the hell is my ass bleeding?!

I handled the situation poorly by screaming like a banshee like the proper, mature adult that I am, and calmly walked out of the bathroom to access the situation while preparing supper.

Next Inner Monologue:
Okay Natchy, you have blood coming out the wazoo – oh glob, literally out the wazoo.  It doesn’t hurt, but there’s a lot of it and it’s as red as Miley Cyrus’s lips in her hoochie video.  What is it?  No insurance, so doctor’s out.  No money, so nix the ER.  Maybe I can find out on the interwebs?  Okay Google, let’s see what “blood coming from my wazoo” gets me.  Ah, WebMD looks promising *cue horror music*.  Hmm, okay.  So I was wrong, it can be hemorrhoids, or maybe just a bit torn.  Wait…what?  So basically, my liver is failing me?  I’m dying?  What the glob?”

At this point, I hold myself together long enough to serve supper, then run to the bedroom to call my Mom, freak out and beg her to tell me she has had hemorrhoids before.  She promptly replied that I’m a weirdo and hangs up on me.  There went my chance at getting advice.  Chick (husband) comes home shortly after to see that his normally calm, easy-going, sarcastic wife has turned into a blubbering idiot.  After telling him what was wrong (Jeez, it’s embarrassing to talk about your hiney to someone’s face), his reply was, “You’ll be okay”.

Okay? OKAY?! I’m sitting on my bleeding wazoo and I’m DYING!  How will I be OKAY?!  My lovely husband then gave me a pat on the back and went off to get his plate of supper.  Thanks for the pep talk, honey. 

I wander around like a bleeding zombie (but you know, without any visible blood, because, ew!), going through the motions of the next couple of days, procrastinating about getting “my affairs” in order – really, I’m broke, in debt, under 30, and all I have in my name is a van held together with duct tape, my iron will and my legendary Stank-eye; what affairs do I have to worry about?  I try to psych myself up to research more on liver failure, but I’m a pansy of the highest order and can’t bring myself to do it.  Three days of this goes by.  On the fourth day, I go to the potty, and lo and behold, no blood. No blood!  I’m cured!

Momma celebrated that night with a strawberry margarita, and just to prevent future catastrophe, added WebMD to the list of blocked websites.  Life is good, my awesome-ones. Life is good.

An Example of True Love


I just saw an infomercial about a turkey fryer as we (Chick and I) were flipping channels.  As the guy was getting ready to drop the turkey in the fryer, I yell out “Please tell me that turkey’s frozen, let it be frozen, let it be frozen, frozen!”. Oh the bitter disappointment.

I look over at hubby to see if he’s laughing at me, and he had the saddest expression on his face, “I wanted to see the fryer and Turkey blow up.”

Ah, it must be true love.  I know that we will soon be entertained by this year’s new crop of Thanksgiving day disaster videos.  These simple pleasures are sometimes the most important.


Vomit vomit on the wall, who’s the sickest of us all? The Battle of Regurgitation.


On the floor, on the bed, against the wall. Sweating, trembling and groaning.

Unfortunately, I’m not talking about sex, perv, because let’s be honest, what parents of young’uns have the time or privacy for that? I’m talking about the scene of the largest battle to date in the War on Demon Germs: The Battle of Regurgitation.

The Battle of Regurgitation was epic. Colonel Puke-Bucket was our first line of defense and though his small self fought bravely, trying to contain the situation, he was eventually ran over. Sergeant HairTie being defeated was a surprise to many (f’n cheap hair ties that break are the bane of my existence). He snapped at the most inopportune moment, allowing the enemy to pass Hair Snarled Swamp and onto the Unswept Sacred Floor and up the Marker Stained Pristine Wall.  The enemy then released their secret weapon: they had triple the forces we thought they had! (Translation: My father and both daughters were sick AT THE SAME.  In a house with only one bathroom.  ONE BATHROOM!).

It seemed as though the battle was lost, and the enemy Vomits were gaining ground by the minute.  We were outnumbered 3:1 and couldn’t keep up (everyone was fighting for space around the toilet bowl).  Then I thought of the idea that would save the day.  I ordered 3 of Colonel Puke-Bucket’s largest soldiers to cover the holes in our lines, also known as the spew-holes.  I set up a rotation for our soldiers to use the Flushing Waters as back up when they started to become a bit overwhelmed.  Using this technique, we finally won the Battle of Regurgitation, claiming victory against the War on Demon Germs.

I cried tears of relief had a quick victory dance with Sir Bleach of Lavender-Scented, then had to make a night-long report to King Washer and Queen Dryer.  In the morning, after I catch mayhap an hour of sleep, we will focus on preemptive strategies.  My new army will be Major Pepto-Bismal and Captain Drammamine.

I think these germs are driving me bonkers…


Natchy Awesome


So I have discovered that I am naturally awesome. 

My genes have granted me the ability to never appear ridiculous, always appear fabulous, and to know exactly what to say to gain the admiration of people everywhere. 

My natural awesomeness allows for me to be a champion of mothers, to be the perfect wife and friend, to be a fantastic chef, and to always know what exactly to have for supper.

These superior genes have passed down to my children.  My children never whine, cry or fight.  They are always perfectly groomed, are never rude, and have genius level I.Q.’s.

I have discovered that I am delusional, a liar, and that life and motherhood is utter hell at times. 

I wouldn’t change a thing.