Wednesday, October 31, 2018

G-7, P-3...BINGO!!

My NICU/Medical friends will get that reference but thankfully most of you will not.  I have been meaning to write this blog post since May of 2011 but I never got around to it.  I almost ran out of time again this year too.  You see October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month and the “G” stands for Gravida or how many times a woman has been pregnant, and the P stands for Parity (para) or how many live births a woman has.  So if you are connecting the dots I have been pregnant 7 times and have 3 children.  It is the last day of October and 7 years in I finally have the strength to write this post.

I am not writing this post for sympathy.  I don’t want anybody to comment about being sorry for my losses.  If you are tempted to, don’t.  Please, just don’t.

I am writing about this because in a world where people overshare everything- for some reason miscarriage is one of the few things that is still taboo.  For something so prevalent; some statistics put it as high as 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, it is only discussed in hushed tones if at all.  I want to change that.  I was one of those that kept it very quiet too.  In the very beginning it was just too painful to talk about; I felt like I must have done something wrong or there is something wrong with me.  I was racked with guilt.  If miscarriage was more widely discussed I would have realized I was not alone, that so many people I know have gone through it too.

In 2011 I had a really good life.  Things were working out the way I had wanted.  I had 2 beautiful children, overall decent pregnancies-a few bumps in the road but nothing to foreshadow what was coming my way.  I got pregnant with both of my girls the first month of trying.  So when we decided to have a third child I figured it would be the same.  Not so much.  I ended up pregnant somewhat unexpectedly.  But I was so excited.  That excitement didn’t last long.  I ended up having a miscarriage at about 6 weeks.  It was so early I hadn’t even had my first prenatal visit.  I didn’t really know what to expect.  Honestly I had never really given much thought to what a miscarriage was or what it does to one both physically and emotionally.  I honestly thought it was just like a regular period.   I called Chuk at work and told him  what was happening.  We got off the phone and I got ready for work.  Chuck stopped to do grocery shopping on the way home from work.  We touched base, he put the groceries away and I went off to work.  Now I don’t want people to get the wrong idea-Chuck wasn’t being an ass and I wasn’t being cold.  We didn’t know what to do, feel or think.   I have never been so misinformed in my life.  It is not just like a regular period.  Yeah, physically it may be, but emotionally I struggled.  Mostly in silence because I didn’t know what I wanted to say or what I wanted to hear.

I tried to stand up, brush myself off and get one with my life. I figured the miscarriage was a one and done and I just had to forget about it.  Right, like that was going to happen.  I spoke to my OB’s office and they really didn’t say much about what to do or not do. They weren’t overly concerned so I felt like I was supposed to be just as nonchalant.  Now thinking back I am like WTF?  I should have asked more questions, I should have gotten more information and support from them.  A few months later I still wasn’t feeling great and thought it was a combination of being emotionally exhausted from suppressing my feelings, not sleeping well due to ruminating thoughts about “what if…”  Turns out I was pregnant again.  I took a test but thought it was just left over hormones.  I called the OB to ask them what I was supposed to do about leftover hormones, not sure if that is even a thing or not, but that is what I thought was going on.  They told me no because I had a negative pregnancy test after my miscarriage.  They were confident this was a seperate pregnancy and set me up for an ultrasound.  They reassured me on the phone that I had already had 2 successful pregnancies, the miscarriage was just a fluke, relax.  I went in the following week for my ultrasound.  I could see the  baby clearly on the screen.  I was starting to breath a sigh of relief.  This was real, with the last pregnancy I never had an ultrasound so it seemed abstract and not so real, if that makes sense?  The tech excused herself, I didn’t think much of it, I have cardiac issues so I am high risk anyway-they always leave and get the doctor to come in and finish the ultrasound-so that was not out of the ordinary.  The doc comes in, does a few swipes of the scan.  Asks why I am in for such an early ultrasound, I told her I had a recent miscarriage and they wanted a scan done before my appointment.  She puts the wand down, turns the light on and says, “it has happened again, there is no heartbeat’ and basically left the room.  I sat there stunned.  Went across the hall to see my OB-by now I was pretty upset.  She says something along the lines they are going to call this and the previous miscarriage as one event because they happened so close together.  She said this was just a blip and she doesn’t see why I won’t go on to have another successful pregnancy.  Then she commented that I seemed really upset.  What the actual F*ck?!  Yes, I am upset.  I just had a second miscarriage in a few months time.  One that I was promised by you, would not have happened.  Yes, I am upset!  For this second miscarriage I needed to medication to speed along the natural process.  In essence I had to induce labor at home.  I was given no pain medication for this.  Truth be told the contractions I had at home were the same strength of the ones I had in the hospital with Sara for which I received an epidural for pain relief.  I never called my doctor because in some weird twisted way I felt like I deserved this.  That it was my fault somehow this kept happening and this pain was the punishment I deserved.  It is weird the places your brain can go to.  A few days later I had to go back to the hospital for an ultrasound to ensure the procedure was complete.  Now, I am usually seen in the Maternal/Fetal High Risk practice.  In that waiting room no one looks at anyone else, no one speaks.  All of us have precarious pregnancies so we all just mind our business because we don’t really know if that mom has just or is about to receive devastating news.  All eyes forward and no acknowledgement of others is the standard protocol.  For this follow up ultrasound I felt like I was given the “B” team level of service.  Waiting room was standing room only, tons of crying babies and total lack of privacy.  I go in for the ultrasound and am told there may still be “some product of conception left behind”.  Huh?  I ask what that means and to clarify he says “some product of conception was left behind”.  Yup, now it is as clear as mud.  It takes a minute to settle in...I ask, “you mean there is still part of my baby inside?”.  “Yes, there is still some product in there”.  I let loose.  I am yelling, it was a baby, not some product like a bag of rice on a grocery shelf.  That was my child, they were loved.  How dare you refer to a child as a ‘product’.  Somehow I find my way out of there.  I was shaking and had a full blown panic attack on the elevator.  I am clawing at the door for it to open, I needed air.  Fortunately for me, unfortunately for them there was someone from transport on the elevator and they were able to safely get me outside.  Though it was years ago I still remember it like yesterday.

For the next few weeks I walked around in a haze.  I wasn’t a good mom, I wasn’t a good wife, I wasn’t a good human.  I was a shell.  How was it the world was still turning--didn’t people understand my life was falling apart?. Just trying to make sense of why and what was happening to me.  I decided to talk to a therapist.  I had one in place for parenting advice so I reached out.  I was there not 5 minutes, Chuck came with me and this asshat of a therapist tells me and I quote, “have a good snotty cry, and get over it”.  I have never wanted to exert physical violence on someone so badly as I did that man.  How f-ing dare he!  Needless to say I never set foot in his office again.  Like one good cry will get me over losing 2 babies you fucktard.  At this point a few people knew what I was going through and I wish I could say that turd was the only one that said idiotic things.  Unlike him, I think most people were coming from a good place and their words were not intentionally meant to hurt but some of the comments stung;  “at least you have the other 2”, Yes, yes I have 2 other children that I am eternally grateful for and I know how incredibly lucky I am but I wanted these ones too.  “It wasn’t meant to be”, Oh, OK, so my kids were meant to die?  “That is how things were supposed to go”-Great, thanks.  Point taken, I won’t be sad anymore.  “You can always try for another one”, Yes, yes I can, but that doesn’t make me any less sad about the 2 babies that died inside of me.  But thank you for minimizing what I am going through, very helpful.  This was one of my favorites, “at least it happened before you got to know them, or before they had personalities”.  Umm, OK, yes, I would never compare a miscarriage to someone who carried a child full term and lost them later in pregnancy, at birth, in infancy or ever really.  It is apples and oranges.  I can’t even begin to imagine what their pain is and I hope I never have to.  But ask any women that has ever been pregnant and they will tell you they fall in love with their child the second they learn they are pregnant, if not before!  I loved my children when they were just a future fantasy.  I loved my children before I was married. I loved the concept of being a mother.  So don’t make me feel like I shouldn’t be sad.  They were children to me, in my daydreams they did have personalities.  I had hopes and dreams for them.  They were real.  They existed. They were loved.

That is the thing with miscarriage, it is a silent grief.  No one talks about it.  It is a disenfranchised grief.  Not many people knew I was pregnant so not many people knew I was grieving.  How do you bring that up in casual conversation without it being super awkward and having the other person become extremely uncomfortable?  How could I be sad when I had 2 other beautiful children?   Here I was being greedy-I didn’t have the right to be upset.  Other people would kill to have just one child.  Who the hell was I to be upset?

My OB sent me to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist (a fertility specialist).  After many invasive tests it turns out I had secondary infertility with no real cause.  So if I wanted to have a successful pregnancy they suggested IVF would be the best route to go.  I went through all the screenings and appointments.  Again, I felt like a total fraud sitting in the IVF clinic waiting room.  Not that anyone in there knew I already had 2 kids, I knew.  I felt like I shouldn’t be in there.  Those seats/appointments should be reserved for people who hadn’t had a child yet.  For those ladies that were really struggling.  Not for some poor lady who just wanted one more kid.  I mean when is enough enough?  All this testing took months.  During that time I had 2 more miscarriages bringing the total to 4.  Like I said before, your mind can play tricks on you, it can bring you to places you never would normally go.  It makes you think totally off the wall thoughts are completely rationale.  One thought I had over and over at night while trying to sleep was the notion I was a  serial killer.  I mean, after the 2 miscarriages I went on to get pregnant 2 more times, so 4 babies had died.  Does that number now make me a serial killer?  I knew the pregnancies could ultimately lead to the baby dying so was I any better than Charles Manson or Ted Bundy?  I know looking back now that sounds ludacris but at the time it was a real issue I struggled with.  Another thing I struggled with was work.  I worked in a NICU at the time.  It was so hard going through this and seeing babies all day every day at work.  Granted they were sick babies.  Very, very sick babies in many cases.  I didn’t care.  I was jealous.  I was jealous that those moms had their children and I didn’t.  I know that must sound horrible, especially to any mom that has had a child in the NICU or sick child but if nothing else, I have always been honest in my blog and those were my brutally honest feelings at the time.  I think in the end one of the positives that came out of all of this was how it really made me appreciate what many NICU moms go through before their children are born.  The invasive tests, the heartbreak, the longing…

I was on the verge of quitting.  I had actually packed my bag up and was going to just walk out and never look back.  It was just too hard to be there.  I stopped in a pod to do one last thing and one of the nurses asked if I was ok.  I said yeah.  She pressed me and said then why do you look like you are about  to cry?  I made some lame excuse.  But a few minutes later I went back in and thanked her for caring enough to ask twice.  I told her what I was going through, mind you, we were coworkers but not particularly close at all.  She listened to me, really listened to me and she told me of her similar struggles and how it was torture some days coming to work.  It was the first time I felt connected-that someone else knew how I felt.  It made me feel comforted to know that if she were able to come out the other side, so could I.  But it also made me feel so sad because it made me realize how lonely this is for women.  How we have to suffer in silence.  Had she not reached out to me that day I am not sure how things would have turned out for me.  I was not heading down a good path.

We investigated the IVF route.  Fortunately our insurance would cover it.   They would want to implant multiple embryos due to my age, and those do have the possibility of splitting.   I really wanted another child desperately but I was older.  I am short.  I have cardiac issues.  Could my body handle a pregnancy of multiples?  I didn’t know what the right answer was.  When it was time for me to start the fertility meds there was a shortage of them in our state.  So I took that as a sign I shouldn’t do it.  Then, the night before I would need to start the meds I got a call from the pharmacy, someone canceled their prescription and they had now had the meds available for me.  UGH!  Was this the sign I was supposed to be getting?  Was I supposed to do IVF after all?  Chuck and I had a heart to heart and decided against it.  What would happen if I had multiples?  Would I be able to carry them to term?  What if something happened to them?  To me?  Would that be fair to Sara and Anna?  So as difficult as it was I called the pharmacy and told them to offer the meds to the next person in line.

We decided to try on our own until the end of the year.  If it happened great, if not we were done.  It would be time to give up and be happy in the incredible life we already had.  I ended up finding out early in the New Year I was pregnant again.  G-7.  We had an ultrasound and things seemed ok.  On Valentine’s Day we had another and this one was past the point of all my previous miscarriages.  That didn’t make me breath any easier.  I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I started showing super early.  I wore all dark clothes.  I wore bright red lipstick and kind of goth-like makeup to draw attention off of my belly.  I felt like a huge fraud.  Like I wasn’t really pregnant.  I didn’t announce until about halfway through my pregnancy.  Even then I didn't talk about it much.  I tried hard not to focus on it or put too much emotional energy into it.  I knew I was just going to ultimately be disappointed.  Kind of like people convince themselves they are pregnant when they are not, it was like the opposite of that.  I was really pregnant but had myself convinced I was not.  Again, your mind can be a tricky thing.  I was on the phone with my OB almost everyday.  I felt a twinge, phone call.  I had a pain, phone call.  I had an itch, phone call.  By all accounts this was a routine pregnancy.  But to me it was anything but.  I begged my OB to put me on progesterone.  She finally relented,  though documenting in my chart it was not medically necessary but since it wouldn’t hurt anything she did it for my peace of mind.  I was supposed to use it for 12 weeks.  I used it for at least 15 (they came in bulk packs).  I was going to do everything in my power to make this baby stick.

I remember being wheeled into the OR for a c-section at 38 weeks after going into labor and still not truly believing I was really pregnant.  I still felt like so many things could go wrong.  Even after she was born and we were in the hospital I just knew something bad was going to happen.  That somehow I wasn’t supposed to have another child and the Universe was going to come down, swoop in and squish my happiness with a big old F-U.

I am so grateful to say that didn’t happen.  My rainbow baby, 4 times over, just turned 5 in September.  I love her with all my heart and I can’t imagine a life without her in it.  I do still struggle with the “what ifs”, “who would they be?”, “who would they being dressed up as for Halloween tonight?” , “Would I have had my boy?”.  Yesterday I saw a post in a Mother’s Group on FB.  This mom was struggling with the what if’s yesterday.  I am so glad she posted that.  The amount of supportive responses she got was so overwhelming.  I wish I had had the strength to talk about it 7 years ago when I was in the thick of it.  It sucks and one good, snotty cry is not going to make it OK.  Ever.  Now if I hear someone I know has a miscarriage I immediately connect with them and let them know they are not alone.  They are 1 in 4 so chances are many people around them know this pain-they just don’t talk about it, and I listen.  I really listen to them.

So here we are on October 31st.  The last day of another Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month and I got this post in under the skin of my teeth-I had all intentions of letting another October go by without writing about my experiences but something about that post spoke to me.  I felt compelled to write it.  Believe it or not, that experience is what led me to create my blog in the first place.  The one good thing that asshat therapist did tell me was I needed a creative outlet for my emotions.  I am not creative but I love to write.  I was so sad and I was so tired of everyone posting all over social media how amazing their lives were.  I decided to create a place for me to write about what my life was really like, warts and all.  I think I have stayed true to myself with my blog, never making things seem better or worse than how they are--just how they really are.  I have prided myself on always being honest and I have felt like I have been keeping a huge secret.  Seeing that mama’s post yesterday made me feel like it was time to come clean.  To come out of the shadows and share my story so others won’t ever feel as alone as I did!











Saturday, October 27, 2018

We're Moving On Up!

Not sure if it is the east side and it definitely is not a dee-lux apartment in the sky but we finally bit the bullet and moved! I can’t believe I am even typing those words. It still seems so surreal. Oh, for the record we actually moved one year ago today...I am just getting around to writing about it now.

Here is the back story; about 9 years ago we bought my husband’s grandmother’s home. At the time it was perfect for us however, we outgrew it very quickly. We outgrew it about a year after we moved in. Our plan was to renovate it and move to something bigger. Life happened and kind of got in the way. When we moved in Sara was only 2 and we had 2 small cats so there was plenty of room. We have since added 2 more kids and a big, lazy dog. We were busting at the seams. The girls were all in one room. We made it work; we had a bunk bed for Sara and Anna and there was a trundle on the bottom for Emily. When one of my kiddos told her teacher their baby sister was sleeping in a box I knew we either needed to move ASAP or face the real possibility of DCF coming looking for a toddler in a box.

By some miracle of fate Chuck got on board with my idea to move. It may or may not have had something to do with my declaration that I was moving and the rest of them were welcome to join me, or not, their choice. I think the thought of having to get the house market ready paled in compassion to the thought of having to raise the kids without me. So we called a real estate agent and she said she could come the next day. Now I have wanted to move for years but Holy Sh*t, tomorrow? That was fast! I like to think I keep my house pretty clean but not real estate agent clean! It was the last day of summer vacation and I had plans with the kids, telling them I had to stay home and clean was going to go over like a fart in church. So in between the bouncy pillows and ice cream I was cleaning like a mad woman. I swear that is how I tore my rotator cuff. When we renovated our kitchen we wanted it to be all bright and clean so we went with white cabinets. That whole afternoon I was channeling my inner Julia Roberts every time I would say, "Big mistake, Big. Huge." while scrubbing those damn white cabinets. In my day to day I never noticed how absolutely disgusting they were. I was up around the clock until our appointment with the agent the next day. In all honestly I think I lost 25 pounds of water weight through the sweat that was pouring off of me.

That afternoon she comes to our house and we thought she would give us a list of about 80 things we needed to fix before putting it on the market. In our mind we had a good 6 months worth of work ahead of us. To give a little perspective, our house was not in the best shape; it had good bones as they say but the roof was literally held together with Flex Seal (you know the As Seen on TV stuff). I mean in our defense we did have it in various colors to match the different shades of the roof shingles. We weren't total derelicts for Christ's sake. There may have also been some self leveling concrete filling in some questionable cracks but then again, there may not have been...wink, wink. And while getting the girls closet in order the door may have fallen off the hinges and there may have been super glue involved in fixing it. But that one we should get a pass for since I broke my finger when the door came off the hinges and fell on top of me. Gallons of paint were sacrificed over the years painting over the same water stains in the bedrooms--so you can kind of see why we had months of work cut out for us.


In less than an hour we were signing papers agreeing to put it on the market THAT WEEKEND!! W.T.F. did we just get ourselves into? She would be coming back in a few days to take pictures of the house. So now came the real work; I had to keep the house clean, like really, really clean from now until we sell the house! Ugh, I had a 9, 7 and 4 year old at the time and cleaning is like friggin Kryptonite to them. I think I did more yelling in that 2 weeks than I had in my previous 44 years C.O.M.B.I.N.E.D. I swear I was like a fire breathing dragon. If the kids so much as left a piece of lint behind fire would come out of my mouth and steam was spewing out of my nose and ears.


The house did go on the market just a few days after our initial meeting and had an open house right away with multiple showings. The pictures she took were amazing! Now I'm not saying trick photography was used but when I saw it online I wanted to buy it! I was at work for one of the showings and Chuck was responsible for getting the kids out of the house before it. He calls me and tells me that one of them clogged the toilet and another dumped a bucket of toys out. My first thought is why the hell are you still there, they will be there in less than 20 minutes???!!!


Somehow our real estate agent pulls off the unthinkable and not only sells our house in a week, she gets above asking!! I honestly thought we would have to pay someone to take the house off our hands! After looking at a few houses we find one we really like in the neighborhood we really wanted to be in. We never thought we could make it work but not only does our real estate agent get us the house she gets our first offer accepted, under asking price in 20 minutes!! Most people think of Anne Sullivan when they hear the term "Miracle Worker" but nope, not me, I think of Keri. She was a pit bull. She was determined to sell our house and get us the home of our dreams and she did! From the day she came to meet us until the day we closed was 56 days!! It was a super fast process but it felt like forever when we were going through it!


Moving day came, we were closing on both houses and had everything timed out to the minute and of course our movers show up an hour late. One of them was about 90 pounds soaking wet but man did they move! I couldn't really enjoy the moment because of course I woke up with a migraine and spent the better part of the morning puking and of as luck would have it all the towels and even paper towels were packed away so all I had was the last of the toilet paper roll. But we pulled it off- moved out and in all in the same afternoon!


The neighborhood is a really nice neighborhood. Everyone takes care of their yards, no one has sofas on their front porches, people wave to each other and chat at the bus stop. We move in and bring the white trash factor hard. We were in the house all of 10 minutes when Emily strolls outside in a black t-shirt and diaper. No pants. Come on! For F's sake, we need to at least try to blend in for a few days before we show our true colors.


We needed a ton of furniture for the new house. So we get a brand new dining room table, nothing too fancy...IKEA, told you we were bringing the W.T. effect to the hood, but it was new and nice. It was up not more than 24 hours before the friggin dog jumps up on it. We start yelling, she panics and tries to scramble to get off of it all while digging her nails in to the table top. So now we are forced to always have place-mats out. Now we are not fancy folk by any means but now we always have the appearance of an impending dinner party dah-ling.


Today marks a year since the big move and our life has changed in so many ways. Our old house was on a really busy street with no kids close by. This neighborhood is bursting with kids and more often than not they can all be found at my house. I can never pull in the garage when I get home from work, there are always a crap ton of bikes and scooters clogging our driveway and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way! The kids have taken over our basement turning it into a school, they have a classroom set up and have taken over my office, which I set up to write the book I have been threatening to write for a few years, and turned it into the school adjustment counselors office. I love that the girls are still playing and not sitting always clinging to technology to keep them busy and I love that the neighborhood kids are in to it too! We have a perfect sledding hill on the side of the house that doubles as an epic slip and slide hill, our poor neighbors did not sign on for the circus that is our house but they are going to have to deal because we are here to stay! In the past 365 days these neighbors have become so much more than that. They have become surrogate parents to my kids and friends; an early morning SOS text the other day and one of them came over to help me out in an emergency no questions asked. I needed someone to grab one of the girls after school for me and it was done without a second thought. If the girls are out playing and they get hurt one of them will swoop in and check they are ok and they know I would do the same for them. As cliche as that sounds there is no price you can put on that.


Oh, if anyone is looking for a real estate agent I know a good one!












Monday, October 22, 2018

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, turn and face the strange...

One of my kiddos is home sick today.  Nothing serious but enough to keep the both of us home today.  As I am sitting here with the sun shining through the window on this beautiful fall day I can't help but think about how much has changed this past year.

In addition to us moving, Sara starting Middle School and Emily starting preschool I have just finished up the first month of my new job.  For the first time in 18 years I am no longer working as a Child Life Specialist in a hospital setting.  To be honest something I thought would never happen, being a Child Life Specialist wasn't just a job for me, it was a huge part of my identity.  The Child Life field was what I dedicated my adult life to.  I loved it and was good at it.  My new role is the Director of a Pediatric Daycare and Preschool, still working with medically fragile children and their families along with typically developing children.  In a previous life I was a preschool teacher so this is the perfect combination of my skill set.

I always thought my career path would head in a different direction.  I thought I would retire from a hospital.  I am not that touchy-feely, religious or crunchy but I honestly think the universe was trying to tell me it was time for a change.  Giving up the security of my job, the health insurance, the comfort etc. was a bit daunting but the mission of the new project made it so easy get on board with.  The school is named after one of my dear friends and it is an inclusion school for children and families from all walks of life and abilities.  Something Linda was passionate about.  It really is a privilege to have a small part in continuing her legacy.  I truly feel her spirit when I am there everyday.  So though no longer working as a traditional Child Life Specialist I feel this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

I can honestly say that my life is really good right now.  Really good.  It is like everything has fallen into place they way it was always meant to be.  I love working for someone who respects me.  I love being able to help create something new and innovative.  I love how happy Sara is in Middle School.  I love that Anna has so many friends in our new neighborhood.  I love that Emily is making her own set of friends in school.  I love not being so stressed all the time from a toxic work environment.  I love how strong my marriage is.  I love my life right now.  It is a really, really good place to be.

***Trigger warning--Some people may not like the next paragraph--too bad, so sad--my blog, my words, if you want the happy ending I suggest you stop reading here--if you want the truth read at your own risk***

This was not a career change I originally sought out but  one I am so grateful I made.  The past 7 months I have come to realize sometimes things you think you want really aren't always what is best.  While still working at my former job I was asked to step in to a new role.  I did and really gave it my all.  Though I was receiving a lot of positive feedback it quickly became obvious I was just being used as a place holder and completely being taken advantage of by someone I thought I knew.  For future reference; typically when you f*ck someone like that you should at least buy them dinner.  There were others who despite me defending and advocating for,  felt it necessary to screw me over-one while sitting on the board of an organization I helped create.  Hope my coat tails are comfortable sweetie!  For the record; I know who actively supported me, who claim to have supported me but sat back and watched me get screwed while saying nothing and those who stabbed me in the back.  Though I may forgive, my memory is like a steel trap.  Like the saying goes; during trying times you see who your true friends are.  A shitty experience to go through but despite it all I am happier than I have been in years--so for that I am grateful.  Oh, and if you think this paragraph is about you, it probably is.  Muah!

Sunday, August 12, 2018

The Truth Comes Out, I Have Been Having an Affair!

Yes, it's true I have been cheating on my ever faithful life partner.  But, before I get to my trifling ways I want to welcome you all back to my blog!  Thank you for being patient with me for the past 9 months while I was locked out of my blog.  Our old laptop went nuts and we had to reformat it.  So my direct link to my blog was gone.  I forgot my password to get in.  No worries, I can just reset my password through my recovery email, right?  WRONG!  Why you ask?  Oh, because I forgot the password to get into my recovery email as well. Yup, you read that right.  But if you know me in real life you are most likely saying to yourself, yeah, that is about right for her. 

So for the past nine months I have been trying to reset the password to no avail.  I did think of just logging on like a regular blog reader, not as the blogger and cutting and pasting all 180 posts I have written over the years and starting over with a new server but, pure laziness prevented me from doing so.  I would sit at the computer about to start and then it was time for the Wendy Williams show or a rerun of Dr. Phil from 15 years ago would call my name.  I am a very weak person and I would give in to temptation.  Reason #879 I could never home-school my kids.  #1 reason being- No Effing Way!  But I digress...so last night I tried to send a recovery message to my phone, something I have tried no short of 37 times before with no luck. It was more proof I had some wonky lemon of a phone.   For some reason last night I noticed at the bottom of the password reset request page two words; text and call.  Huh, what happens if I click on text?  IT IMMEDIATELY SENT MY PHONE A TEXT RESETTING MY PASSWORD!!  For F*ck's Sake, would you look at that?  I have my new password!!  Who would have thought this whole not being able to get into my blog thing was user error?  Oh wait, Chuck would!  He knew there must have been something on my end I was doing wrong because my track record with technology would lead any sane person to that conclusion.  But now here we are, back in the blogging action!

So about that affair I have been engaged in.  I consider myself a very loyal person-sometimes to a fault-but I like to think of it as a character trait and not a character flaw.  So if you have been reading my blog for any length of time you know I have been extremely faithful to my one and only.  My one true, deep and abiding love.  A love that has never, ever let me down.  A love that has been there for me through times of joy and times of sorrow.  A love that has seen me at my best and absolutely hands down at my worst.  A love I never thought I could ever turn my back on, but sadly I have put my own selfish needs ahead of this union and have strayed.  I am ashamed to admit I have a side piece. As Dr. Phil says; you can't fix what you don't acknowledge.  So it is time for me to come clean, time for me to unburden myself of this secret life I have been living;  I have cheated on Market Basket and started using the Walmart Grocery Pick-Up app.  God, it feels good to get that off my chest.  I feel like I can come out of the shadows and breath again. 

Now I know what you are thinking; how could you?  MB has been there for you with the lowest prices around, MB has been there when you needed to go gluten free for 6 months, MB had a God Damned aisle by aisle binder of gluten free products for you in your time of need! MB gave your children countless free bakery cookies so you could finish your shopping without wanting to abandon your children in the soda aisle.  MB was there when you forgot your wallet in a snowstorm and had to wait for Chuck to drive the 20 minutes to bring it to you and let you jump right back into line.  MB was there period.  I know all of that and I get it and I returned the favor by supporting them through the strike and shopping elsewhere, I drove 20 minutes to the Basket despite knowing I would inevitably get massive stomach cramps that would cause me to feel as if I were going to sh*t myself on the drive home. True story-Sara hated going shopping there with me, for some reason every, single time I would go there I would get a stomach ache without fail.  Not sure if their refrigeration system wasn't up to par and I was inhaling Freeon that made me sick, if there is ecoli mixed in with the sawdust they have on the dirty floors or if it was a nervous stomach caused by the anticipation of having to hug it out with Michael after he would bring the groceries to my car for me.  Whatever the reason I took my life and my underwear in my hands every Thursday so I could return the love to MB. 

I don't know exactly when it happened or how I fell out of love with the Basket but you can't help your emotions.  Feelings are feelings, they aren't right or wrong, they just are and right now I am in love with Walmart.  The online grocery shopping/pick up has been a game changer!  Life changing really.  Here is the short version; you go online, order your groceries, set a pick up time, you go to Walmart at said time and they bring the groceries out to your car and load them in for you.  OK, so there is no long version-it is that simple!!  To go to Market Basket I would have to drive 20 minutes, shop for an hour and a half and drive home another 20 minutes.  Now I seriously roll out of bed, drive less than 10 minutes and get my car filled with food-never having to even get out of my car.  I mean Market Basket is like an old love; comfortable, dependable and familiar.  Walmart Pick Up is like an exciting, sexy new love.  One you are drawn to and can't get enough of.  The icing on the cake that makes Walmart so enticing is that Market Basket is in the catchment area for their Savings Catcher so I have the convenience of Walmart Pick Up with the Market Basket Prices!  Can it really be wrong when it feels so right?  We have already earned $70 back through the savings catcher!  We used it last night when we went school supply shopping with the girls.  OK, so that was a treat!  The girls wouldn't stop fighting so I threatened to go without them and I was going to get them Barney and Dora folders-that got them to stop right quick.  Oh and since when did buying school supplies cost $180?  When I was in school we needed  a Trapper Keeper, some loose leaf paper and a pack of #2s.  Now the list is so long and specific; 4 plastic 2 pocket folders with holes to go in a binder.  I found paper ones like that but not plastic.  So I had to buy a 3 hole punch to make holes in the friggin plastic 2 pocket folder to go in the binder.  UGH! 

But back to my tawdry affair...I feel a sense of relief letting the world in on my dirty little secret so there are 2 more things I want to confess; 1.) I have been cheating on my vacuum and 2.) I have been cheating on the true love of my love Anderson Cooper, though that I will delve into in another blog post.  Back to the vacuum.  I love having vacuum lines on my rug!  Last year there was an article about vacuum lines-how if your house is so clean you can see vacuum lines then you aren't spending enough time with your kids and actually living life-something to that effect.  Anyway, I LOVE having vacuum lines.  I like having a clean house.  There I said it.  I think you can have it all-you can have a clean house and spend time with your family.  I don't think it makes me a bad person to want to not live in filth.  Well, sadly for my upright Hoover I have been seeing another on the side too.  Roomba is her name and she is SPECTACULAR!!  I just turn her on with a push of a button and in about 25 minutes my entire downstairs is rid of cat and dog hair, crumbs and the general filth associated with a family of 5.  Do I feel a little dirty going behind the uprights back? Yeah.  But it is amazing to have that time back to do other things I love-like scrolling through Facebook, reading People Magazine or dozing on the couch.  You might think I am taking the easy way out and I might be-it kind of reminds me of the time I bought a belly fat zapper from a 3 a.m. infomercial.  I would hook it up to my belly, sit on the couch eating popcorn while shocking away the fat.  Now, obviously that didn't zap away the fat and all it did was leave me with a first degree burn on my belly, but this, this my friends really works!  I get the vacuum lines I want and don't have to use up any of my precious "me" time! 

So call me a cheater, a hussy, whatever, but guess what?  I am living my best life sitting on the couch eating groceries someone else shopped for while watching Roomba clean for me.  Like Wendy Williams says, "How you doin?"

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

I’ve got something important to say, let me run to my car so I can tell you!

 
So now that we are fully into 2018 I figured it was time to officially say good-bye to a few things that drove me absolutely bat-shit crazy in 2017.  Here they are in no particular order;

 

Kale-  I have tried it.  It is absolutely disgusting.  I think most people pretend to like it because it was the new healthy fad.  It is gross.  And what the hell are Kale chips?  I’m sorry but no matter how hard you try you cannot make them be a legitimate substitute for real chips.  Never going to happen.  I tried making Spinach chips a while back when those were a “thing”.  I sprayed the baking sheet with Pam and they still stuck and broke into a million pieces when I tried to take them off the pan.  If you take a paper thin leafy vegetable, dehydrate it and try to move it from where it lays it will break into tiny slivers.  There is no way around it.  So, I was at the Basket the other day and they had a display with some Kale chips.  I took a walk over to check them out and yup, just as I suspected there was a bag full of green dust.  I swear to God, I could put parsley in a Ziplock and call it Kale chips and no one would know the difference.  I really hope the kale fad dies out in the new year.

 

Unpack-  I am not talking about unpacking from a wonderful, relaxing vacation.  I am talking about all the political pundits on cable TV who when faced with a multi-faceted topic say, “OK, let’s unpack that”, “We need to unpack that idea”, “Let me unpack that for you”.  Drives me f*cking nuts.  I don’t know why, but it is like nails on a chalkboard to me.  I just picture them placing on old timey leather suitcase on the bed, and slowly taking out old, stale clothes one piece at a time and then pulling out an old, yellowed lacy piece of #metoo or #russiancollusion or whatever the daily topic was.  I know it is stupid, but it just annoys me to no end.  Thank the walking upright Gods I have never heard Anderson Cooper speak that word, I swear to God the second it comes out of his mouth our love affair is over.    Another one that grates on my nerves is the phrase “deep dive”.  As in take a closer look.  When they weren’t ‘unpacking” in 2017 they were taking a “deep dive”.  I love listening to Jim Braude and Margery Egan every day but there was one day when Jim said he was taking a deep dive and I screamed at Alexia to turn off.  Poor thing isn’t used to getting yelled at, but I couldn’t listen a second longer.  I didn’t listen to them for a week.  Not that they will ever know about my silent protest, but I know.  So, unpack that Jim and Margery.

 

Slime-  I hate slime.  I hate everything about it.  One of my kids is obsessed with it.  Obsessed to the point I am considering calling TLC and having her featured on an episode of My Strange Addiction.  Now I know a 10-year-old loving slime isn’t as strange as a 38 year old that likes to eat dryer sheets or a 53 year old that lives her life dressed as an infant, diaper and all, but it drives me insane just the same!  I find remnants of it everywhere, it has ruined books, table cloths, a dresser and most of my Tupperware has been sacrificed all in the name of slime.  As a matter of fact, one of my kiddos and I are locked in an epic showdown for the ages; she got yellow slime on the doorknob to the basement.  I refuse to clean it and she can't play with slime until she cleans it.  So far neither one of us has budged.  May the best person (mom) win.  I hope this fad leaves us just as 2017 has.

Eyebrows-  I just don’t get those big, thick, heavy, way over drawn eyebrows.  It is not a good look.  For anyone.  Ever.  My last post told you about someone at the grocery store.  Well, at the cafeteria at work there was a beautiful young girl.  She was stunning; beautiful skin, beautiful hair, perfect body, etc.  But she had these fake eyebrows that looked like the friggin count from Sesame Street.  They had to be a solid inch thick and a good 6 inches in length (not including the sharp, razor thin ends that finished off somewhere behind her ears).   I didn’t want to look or comment because I did not want to encourage this look in any way, shape or form but I couldn’t look away.  You know how they say right before you die you are drawn to the light?  It was like that, there was something magical about these brows you are just drawn to them and no matter how hard you try you can’t look away.  They were that spectacularly ridiculous.  I hope 2018 brings back a subtler brow.

 

Car confessionals-  This I trend I don’t understand at all.  My Facebook feed is filled with people sitting in their cars waxing poetic on whatever the current injustice in the world is.  Racism?  There is a car talker for that.  Sexism, someone sitting in their car telling men how to behave?  You bet.  Bullies? Oh, you can find at least 579, car seat social justice warriors discussing them.  I don’t get it.  When I have something important to say I have never had the urge to go sit in my car and discuss it to an imaginary audience and then post it online.  I just don’t understand this concept at all.  But I think I am in the minority here, when I see people post these videos their comments are full of phrases like, “true story”, “amen” and the ever popular; “this” (with any arrow pointing up), Logistically I have some questions; 1. Do these people have a camera already mounted in their car in case they feel a soliloquy come on?  Or do they have to go get the camera ready?  2.  Do they practice in front of their mirror, so they know what they want to say? —these seem pretty thought out, they angles, the facial expressions...  3.  Do they pull over to a safe place so they don’t put others lives at risk when they are saving the world with their car seat confessional? 4.  Do they clean their cars out in case the camera angle dips down a bit.  If I were ever to make a car seat video and the camera panned around the world would see my car is a sh*t hole. Or is it that their house is such a mess they need to go to their car to film their monologue?  And 5.  Why the hell are you making a video of yourself talking to no one in your car?

I am imagining if you are the type of person that takes to your car to make a video chances are your life is kind of in shambles, so your car is your only safe place.  Case in point.  Poor Tyrese has been making a LOT of car seat videos.  His life is spinning out of control, I watch TMZ, I know these things.  Some people have the Wall Street Journal or NY Times.  I have Harvey Levin.  Seeing his life fall apart in a sequence of these videos has made me think there needs to be some kind of system in place for the makers of said videos.  Like you know how some repeat drunk drivers have to blow into a device before they can drive their car?  I think some of these repeat car video offenders should have to pass some type of standardized psychological test before given free reign of their car mounted camera.  And don’t get me started about the people that make a car seat video AND use that asinine filter that makes their eyes bug out, their mouth super wide and have chipmunk voices.  I hope these videos go the way of the ones where people would stand silently, with somber music playing in the background while they held up page after page of cue cards with some pull at the heartstrings crap while making ridiculously over the top facial expressions, like that God-awful side smirk. 

So here is to 2018!  A new year and a new crop of things to drive me bat-shit crazy!!  Happy New Year!!

Sunday, January 14, 2018

I’m too young to be “too old for this sh&t”

 
So lately I have caught myself muttering under my breath, “I am too old for this sh*t” and after hearing myself say it 4 times in about an hour it got me thinking; Am I too old for this sh*t?  In my mind I feel like I am too young to be too old. 

Back in December I turned 45.  That was a hard number for me to swallow.  The day after you turn 45 you are officially on the downward slope to 50.  50!  How is it that I am now closer to 50 than I am to 40?  I know with every passing day I age but I honestly still see myself as 25.  I don’t see myself as middle-aged.   But the more I think about it, the more reality sets in and I am old enough to be too old for this sh*t. 

We had a big snow storm recently.  Our driveway and sidewalk were full of snow that needed to be removed. Chuck was doing the bulk of the shoveling but has an injured elbow, so I was helping.  He was using the decent shovel since he was doing the lion’s share of the work.  I was left with one of those collapsible ones you keep in your car to dig your tires out.  I liken it to a soup spoon.  So, there we are in sub-zero temps with whipping winds in the dark trying to dig out from a nasty Nor’easter.  The dog is out and wants to play, one of the girls is “helping” shovel by throwing snow in the places I have already cleared and the other 2 are trying to build something in the snow and getting frustrated because we are more focused on clearing the snow than helping them.  The girl helping storms off and pouts when I ask her to shovel another spot. Good times abound.  Finally, after muttering, “I am too old for this sh*t” more times than I can count I head inside to make dinner.  The next few days pass without incident.  On the 3rd day I wake up at 1:18 a.m. in excruciating pain.  I knew instantly what it was.  My mother F-ing Rotator Cuff.   Last spring, I tore my rotator cuff.  Don’t ask me how because I don’t have a clue.  Apparently, it is an injury of overuse.  If you know me at all you know I don’t overuse my body in any way, shape or form.  To this day it remains one of Life’s great mysteries as to how that injury occurred.  I had a cortisone injection some PT and  was good to go.  I haven’t had any problems with it since so I honestly forgot about it.  That is until 1:18 last Sunday morning.  I was able to get back into PT quickly and was looking for some relief.  So, the therapist says he is going to do some cupping on my shoulder.  Sure, I say.  I mean Gwyneth Paltrow is famous for cupping.  That is how I learned of it in the first place.  If it is good enough for Gwyneth it is good enough for Erin.  I mean she is this dainty little celebrity flower, I am not.  How bad can it be?  For the love of God, I am not as tough as Gwyneth at all.  AT. ALL.  That sh*t hurt like a sumabitch!  My shoulder ended up all bruised and battered.  It hurts to wear a bra and this weekend, unlike most weekends, I actually had plans that involved leaving my house and interacting with society, so I had to wear a bra.  I swear to all that is Holy when I go back to PT on Tuesday if he even hints at cupping again I will throat punch him.  So, when it comes to shoveling point goes to “I am too old for this sh*t”.  For the record, as we speak Chuck is at Home Depot picking up our brand-new snow blower.  So, when it goes to that Mother Nature, point goes to us bitch!

 

Recently with my kids I feel a sense of urgency to teach them as many life lessons as I can.  I am not sure if that has to do with my birthday and my new-found sense of hurry up and get my life in order before its over, or the shithole that has become our society.  Our president, love him or hate him has given me the freedom to use the salty language I prefer.  I may not be able to say words like science or evidence based but I do get to use words like shithole, pussy, bigly and covfefe.  So, as I try to raise three impressionable young girls into three independent, open minded, compassionate young women I feel like time is running out.  I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel like I have this small window of opportunity to pour as much kindness and good into them as I can.  I want them to be decent and productive members of society long after I am gone.  I am trying so hard not raise a-holes and the more and more time they spend out in the real world it seems to be getting harder and harder.  I have always put thought into how I was raising my children but now I have been consumed with this incredible sense of responsibility to ensure my daughters have a strong sense of self, sense of purpose and sense of doing the right thing even when it is the hard thing to do.  Raising children is a younger woman’s game.  Having my third at just about 41 has made me very tired.  Again, point goes to “I am too old for this sh*t”. 

Since my birthday and my realization that this isn’t a practice run, this is the only shot I get at life I have decided I need to get healthy.  Really get healthy.  Not just lose a few pounds, but transition to a more active lifestyle.  If I want to see my girls grow up into these decent young women I am pouring so much energy into I need to really change some things up.  Right before my birthday I had an appointment with my cardiologist.  Because my heart conditions are congenital, meaning I have had them since birth, I am seen by a doc at Boston Children’s Hospital.  So, I get to sit in the waiting room with little kids.  The way my appointments were set up I had to be there all day with several hours in between visits.  Going to a children’s hospital is always eye opening, despite working in pediatrics for almost two decades it is so different when you are there as a patient and not staff.  Being there and being treated for a heart condition that could have killed me and has killed so many always leaves me with a sense of gratitude for having grown into adulthood a privilege that is denied to so many.  Now, since my last cardiac appointment I have put on a crap ton of weight.  I had Emily, my mom died, and I have not put myself first in a very long time.  I packed on the pounds.  I knew it.  I didn’t need an 85 pound, if that, 24-year-old Cardiac Fellow to tell me.  But she did.  She came in and told me that we all struggle with our weight.  Now I don’t know much about her, who knows maybe she did have a weight problem in the past.  Maybe she has been counting her Weight Watchers Points and working out at Curves.  But my friends listen up, she told me the secret to weight loss; she told me, “when you are hungry for chips and cookies, just eat carrots and celery instead”.  She was completely earnest when she said this, bless her little heart.  I looked right at her and said, “oh my God, are you serious?  That is the secret?  That is all I have to do?  Eat carrots and celery when I want junk food?  Oh man, I have to go home and tell my husband now I know what I have been doing wrong all these years!”.  Yes, I was a snarky a-hole but she was so condescending.  She must have cried to the attending, who is amazing and so down to earth, because came in she said, no need to stock up on carrots and celery, don’t focus on the scale, just try to add in some healthier choices from time to time and make yourself a priority every now and then.  That I can get behind.  Mary Alice, our dog, and I have started going for walks when the weather allows.  Poor thing, she loves going to explore the new neighborhood but if we had to rank every member of our family for their fitness even Mary would come in behind me.  As I trudge up the hills of our neighborhood I may have let a few “I’m too old for this sh*t” slip out.  But in this case, I am taking a point for me.  See that Dr. Valente?  I took the point for myself so technically that is making myself a priority!

 

Things haven’t been all gloom and doom lately.  There are a few times when I was like, OK Erin, you’ve got this.  You might be middle aged, but you aren’t on the Geriatric service just yet.  And then reality rears its ugly head.  I have been finding a crap ton of greys in my eyebrows.  Like a lot.  I have been plucking them out but then I am left with bald spots where I should have eye brows.  Not a good look.  Eye brows are tricky.  I am sure I could get some hair dye and take care of the problem, but I can almost guarantee that would somehow end with me losing my eyesight.  Most likely only in one eye and I would have to wear a pirate patch.  My kids would have a field day with that and I can’t let them win this round.  So, I have taken to filling in my eye brows. This is a skill that is way easier said than done.  Don’t fill in enough and you have these weird, soft brown looking divots peppered throughout your eyebrow line, fill in too much and you look like you took Tom Brady’s black undereye light blocking cream and haphazardly smeared two swaths of sh*t across your eyebrow line.  It is a daily struggle to find the middle ground.  The other day I was at my supermarket of record.  (Not saying the name of the store to protect this girl’s privacy.)  I went to the courtesy booth.  The girl has her back to me and when she ever turned around it took all the strength I had not to burst out laughing and shout “da f*ck happened to your face?”  She had what can only be described as a wooly mammoth drawn above each eye.  They were both perfectly shaped so, 1.  She must have purchased a kit with a stencil, 2. She invested some time in drawing them on and 3.  She did this on purpose (or I am hoping against hope she lost a bet).  I couldn’t stop staring and part of me really wanted to secretly snap a picture but then my sensibilities snapped in and my sense of humor was replaced with a sense of sadness.  I felt so bad for her.  It hit me, and I got really sad, this poor girl has no one in this world that loves and cares about her.  If she did there is no way on God’s green earth they would let her out of the house looking like Bert from Sesame Street.  Now, before anyone gets on me for making fun of someone’s appearance, something I would never do.  This was her choice!  She was not born this way!  These were not her God given eyebrows.  These were those drawn in ones you see all over YouTube makeup tutorials.  I am all for a person’s personal style, making statements through fashion etc.  When my girls are teens if they want to dye their hair purple and shave it into a reverse mohawk, get a nose ring, wear ridiculous clothes-have at it.  But if one of them ever, EVER tries stepping foot outside the house with these ridiculous over drawn in eyebrows I would stage an intervention so fast A&E couldn’t get a camera crew here in time.  But I digress, my eyebrow issues don’t end there.  As if grey eyebrows didn’t scream “I am too old for this sh*t” enough, I found a rogue one you can only see in profile.  You know one of those eyebrows that grow super long and stick out up above the natural eyebrow line.  Yup, that kind.  So now every morning not only do I have to fill in the bald patches I now have to take my mirror and check out my profile to make sure I don’t have any long ones waving at the people.  Oh, and for the record, now that I am teetering on old lady problems I have added checking for stray nose and ear hairs to my daily beauty regimen.   I will take my old lady, crepe papery hands, put on my progressive lenses and just give a big, fat check in the “too old for this sh*t” column.

Since my birthday I have really been taking inventory of my life.  It is like I have been slapped into reality; this isn’t a practice run.  I only get one shot at this and I need to make sure I am getting it done on my terms.  After focusing so much on being a mom for the past 10 years I am slowly learning to put myself first every now and then.  Being a mother makes it impossible to put myself first all the time, by virtue of being a mom your children should and deserve to come first the majority of the time.  But little by little I am taking back some of my life.  I love to write, it is like therapy for me.  I have started to clean out a storage room in our basement and I am working on turning it into an office, so I will have my own quiet, private space to go and write.  Who knows? Maybe I will even write a book about being a Minivan Mom before I am really “too old for this sh*t”.  Stay tuned….

 

 

 

 

Saturday, December 9, 2017

Saturday Night Science

I know lately I start a lot of my posts with, "I am sorry I haven't written in a while blah, blah, blah..."  The blah, blah, blah is usually something that has kept me away from the computer.  Well this blah, blah, blah is a big one!  We moved!  I have a whole blog post I am working on about the move, but in the meantime here is a quick one to hold you over.

So we moved in very short order and we have been super busy with Halloween, the girls birthdays, a broken bone, Thanksgiving, pneumonia and getting ready for Christmas.  In the 6 weeks since we moved in this is the first weekend I have had off from work that I have absolutely nothing planned.  I left work yesterday and decided I was going to stay in my pjs all weekend and binge watch some mindless show. For the record I found a really good one called 'Catastrophe' on Amazon, oh and after seeing Amazon's logo over and over again today I am not entirely convinced it is a Smile.  I think it is a penis.  Yup, there, I said it.  It is a penis and now every time you look at the Amazon logo you will see it too.  You're welcome.   So far it hasn't strayed too far from that but my binge watching has been interrupted by the kids bugging me every 4 minutes for a snack, a new, dry pair of gloves (first snow fall of the season today), the dog wanting to go out etc.  Well, the kids went back out to play in the snow, Chuck was watching TV so I figured it was a good time to take advantage of one of the perks of our new house.  Our huge Jacuzzi soaking tub.  Yup, I was going to take some time for me.  It has been a stressful week with sick kids, an insane calendar full of extra stuff to get done, you mamas know what I am talking about.  So I was ready to relax...

I scrub out and bleach down the tub.  Then set the relaxing mood; battery operated Christmas lights draped over the sinks and toilet paper holder.   Nothing screams "RELAX" like illuminated T.P.  Our old house  was so small if the lights went out in the bathroom all we had to do was light a match and it lit it up like the Goddamn halogen lights coming on in the bar after last call.  The new house not so much.  I had to scrounge for a candle to add a little more light.  I found a Holly Berry scented one to do the job.

I fill the tub, turn on the jets and go to get in.  Then faster than a Kardashian around an NBA player, I was brought back to Mr. Guenard's science class and Archimedes' theory of water displacement. The displacement method involves putting an object into water and carefully recording how much the water level rises. The amount that the water volume rises is equal to the volume of the object.  Well, I wish I had remembered this theory before I went to sit my fat ass down in the tub.  I was about half ass deep when I realized any lower and we are going to have a flippin tidal wave.  So I quickly let some water out. 

Another scientific lesson I revisited was the theory of buoyancy.  "Boobs are fatty, and fat floats. So  the more fatty, the more floaty."  I found that quote on the internet.  You can literally Google anything!  But it is true.  I was curious as to why if my whole body is soft and squishy why were only my boobs floating in the water like two of those buoys you see floating in the ocean and the rest sank like the Titanic to the bottom of my tub?  Buoyancy is the answer.  See my faithful blog readers you are guaranteed to always learn something new when you read one of my posts. 

Ok, so I settle in.  My boobs are floating, I have Enya playing on Pandora and I am good.  Then suddenly I notice the water is draining.  Turns out our fancy tub is very sensitive.  The drain stopper is the kind that is attached and you push it down to fill the tub.  It is right at the same spot my heel was touching so every time my heel brushed it, up it would pop and start draining.  So the tub and I played this vicious game of fill and empty, fill and empty.  Finally I decided to just keep my feet resting on the edge of the tub. 

I decide to keep my princess fantasy going and pamper myself.  I decide to do a full leg shave.  I admit it, even though Winter doesn't officially begin until December 21st I have already begun my winter shaving protocol...ladies you know what I mean; only shave the bottom 2 inches of your legs or only as much that might possibly show if crossing your legs when wearing pants.  I thought, hey it's Saturday night wink, wink.  But I am almost 100% sure this Saturday night will go like almost every other Saturday night we have had since welcoming  children into in our lives.  Chuck and I both delude ourselves into thinking we will have some alone, adult time and without fail by 9 o'clock one of the kids is in our bed and one of us ends up on the couch or in one of the kids beds.  I eventually come to the realization that our children are the ultimate c-blockers, I take some ZZQuil and fall asleep watching an old Dateline on Investigation Discovery.  So in keeping with this charade I even use actual pretty smelling shaving cream!  I am about 4 strokes in and I take off about 3 layers of skin from my ankle.  We're talking epidermis gone, maybe even the dermis layer.  I am bleeding so bad if I were doing this in the open ocean I would have been eaten by a shark in no time.  Yet I charge on.  I move to the other leg and made the move a little too quickly I might add...at 45 I am no longer as nimble as I used to be.  A rogue wave that would have knocked a fishing vessel over flies over the side of the tub.  Sadly, that is not the end of the impromptu water park I currently have in my bathroom.  I stood up for a second to grab a washcloth to try to stop the blood letting on my ankle and the whole water displacement theory comes back in a big way.  You see while I was fighting with the drain, I never filled the tub back up as high as it was when I started out.  So when I stood my fat ass up, the water level significantly went down, down below the Jacuzzi jets so the water that was left in them when shooting across the bathroom.  I sat back down and decided a little blood on my ankle wasn't worth a flooded bathroom.  I close my eyes for a minute and listen to Pandora that is now playing the operatic song "Time to say Goodbye"  I listen to Andrea Bocelli and I totally get into the Sarah Brightman part.  The song is over and I open my eyes.  Holy Crap!!!  When the whole water displacement/Jacuzzi jet spraying debacle happened a shampoo bottle must have fallen into the tub.  The tub was now overflowing with shampoo bubbles.  It was a scene out of flippin I Love Lucy episode. 

I gave up.  I was not born to be a princess.  I turn the jets off, turn Pandora from my relaxation station and get back to my roots and turn on my Daniel Tosh station and after about 2 more minutes I give up and just get out.  So lessons learned tonight; tubs are for kids, one and done for taking a Jacuzzi tub and who knew a scientific theory I learned in school over 30 years ago would one day be so relevant?