Marriage Deal Breakers

Last May, Husband and I celebrated/mourned our 13th anniversary. 

Just kidding.
We 100% celebrated.

Our celebration consisted of Subway sandwiches and having midday sex in the laundry room hoping our kids wouldn't walk in on us.
#truelove

Let's be honest here. Like, I hate my Husband sometimes. HATE.

And also, he hates me sometimes.

You wouldn't believe how pissed off he gets when I let the gas in my car get under 1/4 of a tank (which is 90% of the time) or when I let my cell phone battery run out (which happens all the time too.)

I know I'm awful.

I can self-assess. I can look inside myself.

I accept it.

But more importantly, my husband accepts it. 

Last week I was thinking, what would be some deal breakers for me in regards to my marriage.
I need to start setting rules so I can keep him on his toes. 

For instance, if he lost all his teeth or ever exhibited poor oral hygiene...

DEALBREAKER.

If he ever participated in musical theatre...

DEALBREAKER.

If he ever took longer than me to get ready...

DEALBREAKER.

Refused to have sex with me on my timeline...

Took up a side job in the porn business...

Sold one of our kids on the black market (unless its my 4 year old, then that's totally cool with me)…

Started crying during movies...

Bleached his butthole...

ALL. DEAL. BREAKERS.

Luckily Husband has never committed any of the above atrocities. 

If he ever did though, things would be 100% over, no questions asked.

I totally married for looks and not money. Not sure how fiscally responsible that was on my part.

BUT... He builds stuff and is super sexy when he does, so I'll likely stay just for that.

 I'm a solid 92% sure I will be married to him forever.

Chucky Scratched Tyler's Balls

My 2 year old, T-Bag Tyler, is not a friend to all animals. 

He loves dogs and cats more than anything, but cannot express his love through conventional ways.

(I never claimed to be a good parent.)

One of his favorite hobbies is harassing our little cat, Chucky.

Tail-pulling, picking up by the neck, and laying on top of the cat are among T-Bags favorite moves. 

One time, he put the cat in the garbage can. 

There is a high correlation between treating animals badly during childhood and becoming a serial killer as an adult. 

I don't want to think about that though. 

**Deep Breath**

Tyler is my son and I love him. 

**Exhale**

Our cat is so nice, patient, and docile.

He has never retaliated no matter the amount of abuse he receives. It's very weird. 

I sometimes wish Chucky would hurt Tyler back so Tyler would learn his lesson. 

In early December, Tyler learned a lesson. 

Chucky likes to sit on the edge of the bathtub while the boys take a bath. 

By the way, the green bathwater is from a bath bomb and not because my kids are that dirty.... even though they are that dirty.

T-bag decided to pull the cat into the water. 

The cat freaked out and clawed his way out of the tub, unintentionally scratching Tyler on the way. 

Tyler screamed. His legs were bleeding. 

I was like, WTF is happening in my life. 

Tyler kept crying about his balls, so after I calmed him down I checked out his wounds and HOLY FREAKING CRAP.

There was a slice in the middle of his bean bag. 

I must have stared at it, horrified, for a solid 5 minutes. 

No parenting classes or books ever prepped me for when my kids nuts get mangled. 

A piece of ball-sack skin was dangling off him like tissue paper in the wind. 

Seriously. What do you do?

Bandaid? No. 

Stiches? Double no.

Super Glue? Possibly. 

I ended up putting a ton of antibiotic ointment on it and slapped on his diaper. 

He walked like a cowboy the rest of the night.

His ball sack turned purple with bruising the next day and stayed like that for over a week.

Tyler insisted on wearing an ace bandage over his diaper for a few days. 

I didn't blame him. 

I would want some extra protection around my sliced balls too.

T-bag wouldn't let me take a picture of him in his ace bandage diaper so I had to lie and say I needed a picture of the nutcracker and snowflakes for Christmas.

I didn't realize, until just now, how mean it was to make him pose with a nutcracker while his own nuts were on the mend.

Oh yeah, If you are reading this just to find out how to make huge snowflakes, I apologize if you had to read about my kid's testicles.

It's super easy and the kids loved helping me make them.
All you do is use huge pieces of butcher paper and cut out a snowflake like you normally would. Duh.

Easy and the results are pretty fancy.

Oh yeah. A little over a month until Baby Girl is born. I can't decide if I'm more excited to hold a newborn or just not be pregnant anymore!!!!
I love newborns but I really love not being pregnant.

I Have Crooked Kids

Ryan was born with a super crooked nose.
It was slightly alarming.

When I first saw him I wondered how hard it would be to switch him with one of the other babies in the nursery with straight noses.

Then I remembered that was a felony.

Just kidding. I was super excited for this little crooked-nosed bundle of joy.

I adored him and even breastfed him! (Even though it hurt worse than a punch to the vadge.)
I worried about him. He had a bit of a hard time breathing, especially when smashed up against my humongous boobs.

I was glad everything else about him was healthy
I asked our doctors about surgery, nose braces, or anything else that would make him "normal" and help him breathe better. 

As a mom you just want your little poop-machine to be perfect.
Thankfully a crooked nose is not that big of a deal compared to other complications.

Ryan's little nose straightened out pretty quickly. After a week it was perfectly straight.

I was relieved.
Mostly because I didn't feel like I would suffocate him with my vein-y post-pregnancy tits.

I thought this would be the only crooked thing in my family.

Then little baby T-Bag came along.
He was crooked too.


But he was crooked in a much more amusing way.

T-Bag was born with a bent line down his bum.
It definitely did not straighten out, since the picture above is from today. 

But who am I to judge his split?
The top of his butt crack is a free spirit.

If his crack wants to bend towards the left I should support and accept it.
I will foster a loving environment for it and constantly reinforce my love and care for it.

At least this crookedness won't be suffocated by my boobs. 

Well played God. Well played.
Very clever.

However, if we are blessed with another child, I'm concerned/excited to find what will be crooked next.

Any guesses?

4th of July Penis Show

Mmmmmkay.
You know how a few post ago I talked some mad trash about people who apologize for not blogging regularly?
Well, let's pretend that didn't happen.

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for my overgrown ombre highlights.
I'm sorry for my knee-short tan lines.
I'm sorry for laughing when my kids swear and,
I'm sorry for being a non-consistent blogger.



Mostly I haven't blog in a few weeks because lazy.
I'm so lazy I can't even correct the "blog" in my last sentence to "blogged."
But also because so many life-changing things have occurred in my vicinity. All of which I will blog about for my children to re-visit in the future.


Look how patriotic I made my fireplace area:

Unfortunately, That's as fancy as it gets here at the Scott residence.

My absolutely inappropriate bother (typo stays), Matthew, celebrated our nations Independence by showing his dick.

Happy Birthday America.

We had a big family farty (this typo also stays) up at my parents house.
The food was amazing, weather was perfect, and we were all bonding so hard.

My little sis, Fegan, who I will now refer to as Megan since we get along now, just had a baby.
She is an ardent breast-feeding rights activist and so is the new baby.

About 16 adults were there and most of the family were seated in the huge living room.

My dad, brothers, and grandpa were just trying to live their lives.

That's when Megan flopped out her huge boob in front of everyone and fed the baby.

While I don't really have a problem with public breastfeeding, I do find it really awkward and weird to do it around men in the family. Actually men in general.


My brothers felt the same uncomfortable-ness that I would be feeling in their shoes.


Megan has busted her tits out a bunch of times. That's why when I arrived and wanted to see the baby I first yelled into everyone, "I want to see the baby... wait, Megan, are your tits out?.... k, never mind."

My brother Matthew is the type of guy who recently told me he loves having diarrhea and also farted in another man's mouth.

Annoyed by Megan's blatant bare boobs, Matthew whipped his dick out for everyone to see.

I'm gonna go ahead and say that again:

Matthew whipped his dick out for everyone to see.

He thought that if she's showing her private parts to everyone, he might as well too.

I was gratefully not there to witness the x-rated show, but I almost peed my pants laughing when I heard it. 

Later, when I was cleaning up I noticed my mom got some fancy new hand soap and lotion.
The brand was incredibly appropriate for the penis-showing incident:

Pecksniffs?



Then we roasted marshmallows and watched fireworks, so it was a pretty good day.

Sidenote:

I semi-apologize for my offensive use of the word, "dick." But given the gravity of the situation, I felt like "dick" was the only variation of the penis that would suffice.

Butt Slime

Having sweat in your butt crack is a humbling experience.

Anytime I get Swass, my brain starts thinking about how everyone around me must have Swass, and how we are all humans and we are all equal because we all have sweaty butts.

Swass. The great equalizer.

After I've inventoried people around me, I then select who must have the worst Swass and I feel sympathetic towards them.
Then, for the rest of the day I think about butts and curse my brain for being so disgusting.

Great. Now I am thinking about butts just cause I typed the word "Swass". There goes my day.


Cryin' Ryan  HATES any moisture between the cheeks. HATES it.

When he was younger and first starting to realize he had a butt, he would get very worried anytime he sweat in it.

He looked at me, horrified that this kind of injustice exists.

He was trying to get my help and explaining what was wrong.

"MOM! I HAVE BUTT SLIME! I'M SERIOUS! THERE IS REALLY SLIME COMING OUT OF MY B-HOLE!"

Then it was my turn to be horrified.

I hurried to the bathroom while he followed me all bow-legged and careful.
I was expecting the worst, as someone should when they are potentially dealing with a kid that says they are harboring butt slime.

I went to clean it up and there was nothing there.
I told him he was fine.
He would not accept my diagnosis and insisted I wipe off the slime.

That's when I realized what I was dealing with. Sweaty butt.

I dutifully wiped his crack like any good mother should.
Ryan appreciated it and felt he could go on living a normal life.

Now, anytime Swass rears is ugly head/butt, Ryan announces to the world he has butt slime. Literally yells it out.
This happens in public all. the. time.

He has no shame.
Soccer games are the worst.

We get a lot of grossed out/judgemental looks from other people.  I wish they were more tolerant of kids with sweaty rear ends.
The way our society discriminates against butt slime have-ers is appalling. 
Butt slime victims are humans too.

Both of my kids suffer from Swass. 

I hope this post brings more awareness to this awful problem.




(In the interest of full disclosure: this post is not sponsored by the Children's Butt Slime/Swass Foundation For Equality and Inclusion.)



P.S. I'm still thinking about butts.

Dinosaur Sex

Like most little boys Ryan is obsessed with Dinosaurs.

So a while ago I found these pictures of Dinosaurs doing it  making sweet dino love.

I saved them on my computer for the next time I'm in a fight with someone and feel like being extra petty.
I will text these pics to their phone and will win the argument by default since the person I'm fighting with will automatically be humbled and wished they had thought of sending dino porn first.

So Ryan and I were looking at some of his baby pictures on my laptop and he saw one of the thumbnails of the dino porn. Of course he wanted to see them, and I forgot that I had them. I assumed they were just normal pictures of Dinosaurs.

I click on the folder.

Ryan tilts his head to the side and studies the 2 Dinos while I hurried to close the window.

Ryan got mad and was like, "Why can't I look at those Dinosaurs? They are just wrestling and giving massages."
I tried to play it cool and just agreed with him.

Yeah.... wrestling and massages......

BTW: Awesome artwork by Jose Antonio Penas

A Thoughtful Post About Farts

It has recently come to my attention that my entire blog is devoid of fart jokes.

I was surprised and disappointed. I didn't purposefully avoid the subject on moral grounds or tactfulness. I am no stranger to gross things.

I began a serious introspection as to why farts have never made an appearance here. I even went on a hike in my backyard to sort my feelings out.

After walking 14 feet I realized it is because I am deeply scarred emotionally by farts and farting.

I grew up with the 3 grossest brothers in the world.

My young life was filled with rancidity.
All 3 of them practiced the low art form of "butter-cupping".
Do you know what that freaking is?!?!?!
It's when you fart into your hand then release it under someone's nose.

Crop dusting was also routinely practiced.
Where you fart while walking, misting your stench on innocent people.

There was a lot of of the boys simply sitting on top of you and farting in your face or in your lap. Like an unwelcome birthday gift.

Farts were regularly lit on fire, my pet kitten was regularly buttercupped, and if you pissed one of the boys off, they would fart on your pillow and tell you the next morning.

One of my little sisters was dating this total douche bag named TY. They were both 18 years old and in the teenage stage of claiming they were Vegetarian, because that is the trendy thing to do these days.
Our whole family hated this car-less, jobless, college-less, smug little pipsqueak. TY loved telling people that he was going to be a professor of theoretical physics. He didn't really know what that meant, but it sounded good.

My sis and Professor Douche were over for a family dinner at my parents house. My mom had made beef stew, so they sat at the table eating nothing since they were vegetarian and too cool.
TY was a self satisfied little idiot the whole dinner while my family played along.

After TY bragged about not eating the beef stew because he's vegetarian, my little brother Matthew stood up to get more food.
He walked by TY and literally bent over and farted in TY's mouth.
Then Matthew said, "How do you like that beef stew?"
My family loved it.
TY never had dinner with them again.

I guess the moral of the story is if you don't like someone coming to dinner at your house, just fart in their mouth?


Clearly nothing is sacred in the Barlocker house.

Oh yeah, Matthew was like, 27 years old when he farted in that dude's mouth. 

And now you know why my blog isn't littered with fart jokes.
It's too painful.
I wonder if LDS Family Services runs any support groups for this. I could really use the help to overcome these painful memories.

P.S. The beef stew story totally counts as a fart joke.

Bachelorette Party: Part II

Part I  here.

After horrifying Sara and Kama with the What's in Yo' Mouth game, we played a couple nicer games.

Then it was time to open presents!

Sara's friends are way too nice to her and got her some awesome sex outfits.

Who would have guessed that newly returned LDS missionaries would be so adept at picking out lingerie?  NOT ME.

That's why my aggressive cucumber-wielding sister Rachel and I gave her a bunch of super cute undies from Victoria's Secret and an extra special surprise.

Look at how nervous but pleasantly surprised she was opening it.

 She was not grateful that I wrapped up Jared's Lobster Pants along with them. Which I thought was really rude because those lobster underpants are awesome.

Don't worry, I didn't let her keep my family heirloom. I just wanted to gross her out since she gave me used lingerie from Salvation Army when I got married.

Sara paid her friends back by trying all the lingerie on and prancing around in front of everyone like a happy elf.

I felt it was good exchange for both parties.
Plus, I always wanted to know what color my sister's pubes were, and now I know.


Part of me REALLLLLLY wanted to hire a stripper, but a bigger part of me didn't want to clean my carpets again.
And I wasn't about to spend money on a stripper when I happen to be married to a perfectly good specimen of a man.

While I knew it would be awful for Sara to have a stripper, I knew it would be even worse if it was her brother-in-law. Which is why that's exactly what I did.

I brought up the idea with Husband who immediately jumped (or pelvic thrusted) on board.
He said he did this kind of stuff all the time in college and I nodded my head in deep understanding.

He may or may not have had a cop uniform already altered into a stripper's outfit that he surprised me with on our anniversary.....

I told Sara we were going to play a special game and made her sit in the middle. The doorbell rang and this happened:

Sara acted like she hated it, but I know she loved it. 
I am the best sister ever.

And we have the best neighbors ever for watching the kids, even after Jared explained what it was for.

Oh yeah, Sara's BFF Assley, made amazing chili and Megan/Feg brought awesome rolls. It was way better than the candy I bought for dessert. 

Also, yes, you read that right. My sister Megan/Feg was at my house and we had fun and got along. I may even start referring to her as just "Megan" now.

Sorry Sara.
And I'm even more sorry for what we are going to do at your wedding.