tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38504936096551903022024-02-20T09:40:06.542-08:00Tales of a Mini Van MomThe true stories from a middle aged, mostly stay at home mom living in suburbia.Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-66564843589746564442023-01-29T18:01:00.007-08:002023-01-31T06:52:50.366-08:00I am Lindsay Clancy...<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Like everyone else in Massachusetts, I have been shaken to my core by the Lindsay Clancy case, but not for the reasons you might think. For those not from this area, here is the quick backstory; last week a mother of three young children, suffering from post-partum depression/post-partum psychosis, killed her children and tried to end her own life. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>This family's story has been all over the news and social media. I have been glued to the coverage of this case. The comments people who have never met her are making are making me sick to my stomach. Things like, "she is pure evil", "she deserves to rot in hell", "she knew exactly what she was doing", </span><span>"what kind of loving mother would kill her children?" </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>This is an unspeakable tragedy for sure, however, therein lies the problem...</span><b><i>unspeakable</i></b><span>. Post-partum Depression and Post-Partum Psychosis, which I will refer to as PPD/PPP are a taboo subject. No one talks about it, and very few people will ever admit they struggled with it. PPD is the most underdiagnosed obstetrical complication in the United States. Let that sink in for a minute. It is the most underdiagnosed complication, and it is estimated that 66% of cases go undiagnosed. In a country with unquestionably the best and most advanced health care in the world, we are failing our new mothers. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I know exactly what kind of loving mother would kill her children, because </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">I was Lindsay Clancy. </i><span>I had a pretty significant case of PPD/PPP after my first baby was born. I didn't talk about it for several years after she was born, I did start talking about it, but if I am being honest, I would gloss over what it was really like for me. I was too ashamed to tell people what it was really like. This local tragedy brought all of those feelings I kept locked deep down back up to the surface. I feel as though I am right back in the thick of it, reliving the darkest time of my life. I have responded to a few social media posts with glimpses of my story, just barely scratching the surface. I have had several people message me, thanking me for telling my story, that they also struggled after their children were born. A friend suggested that as a way to honor the lives of Cora, Dawson and Callan Clancy people need to share their stories, start a true conversation about PPD/PPP with the hope that getting it out there might just save another family from an unspeakable tragedy.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">If you know me in person or have read my blog in the past, you know that I always try to find the humor in any situation and I love telling a story with the ultimate goal of getting someone to laugh. This is not that post. This is my PPD/PPP story. This time, I am not glossing it over. I am not leaving anything out, this is my story. I am going to be brutally honest, raw and vulnerable. The Clancy children along with their father deserve that. But this blog is for Lindsay Clancy too, she too deserves grace.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Here goes...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had my first baby at 35 years old. It was a typical pregnancy. We were very fortunate and got pregnant right away. My life was everything I had always wanted. I was a newlywed madly in love with my husband, we had a brand new, beautiful apartment, we were financially stable and so excited to be parents!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had a lengthy 36-hour labor. When my baby was born, I was so exhausted. I kept falling asleep, so I didn't really hold her all that much the first day. My plan was to try to breastfeed and if it worked great, if not, we would formula feed. I was working with a lactation consultant, and she was determined to make me a successful breast feeder. Keep in mind, I had a breast reduction 5 years prior so there was a 50/50 chance it wouldn't work. This woman was relentless. Looking back, she was pretty much a bully. She insisted on no formula. Since I was a new mom and delivered at one of the best birthing hospitals around, I figured she knew better than I did. My baby would be screaming, and she would have me try all sorts of ways to get her to latch on. Finally on day 2 or 3 when the baby had crystals in her pitiful little bit of urine she relented, and we were able to supplement with formula feeds. So, things were off to a stressful start. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I ended up having a c-section, so I was in the hospital for 5 days after delivery. About day 3, things shifted for me. It was as if I wasn't me anymore, all of these experiences were somehow happening to someone else, but in my body. Chuck had left for a little bit to feed the cats and run errands. The nurse took the baby to the nursery so I could get some sleep. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I was terrified. The nurse took my baby and hadn't brought her back to me to feed. I got up and ran down to the nurse's station, mind you I was still healing from the c-section. I was yelling at her, asking why she didn't bring my baby back, she needed to give her back to me, she hadn't eaten in hours. The nurse was all confused and told me it had only been 10 minutes; the baby was fine. I would have sworn I was asleep for hours. The nurse got me settled back in my room, though I knew she was lying to me about it only being 10 minutes, no matter what the clock said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The last night of my hospital stay, I was wide awake in the middle of the night just sitting up in bed. The night nurse came in and introduced herself and said, you must be mom. I told her no; I was her aunt. Chuck was on the couch and must have heard what was going on and said, "oh she's just tired, she is so used to being called auntie and not mom". I couldn't understand why they both thought I was the baby's mother. I was just the aunt, why did everyone keep calling me mom?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My OB came to see me the morning of our discharge. She must have known something was not right with me, she sat on the end of my bed and was asking how I was doing. She told me I needed to not only take care of the baby but take care of myself as well. She told me it was important to get up, take a shower and get dressed every day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We get home and settle in as a family of three. I had it drilled into me, that I can breast feed and to use formula sparingly. At this point OCD had ramped up. I became obsessed with breast feeding and pumping. Thing was, I would pump every 2 hours for days on end and would only get a 2 ounce bottle every couple of days. I kept hearing the lactation consultants voice in my head telling me that breastfeeding is natural and with practice and consistency we would figure it out. I was a mess. I was only wearing the mesh underwear and I was constantly hooked up to the pump. The pump was taunting me. The swishing noise from the pump was saying "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you" in an evil voice. I didn't understand how Chuck couldn't hear the pump mocking me, the voice was so clear. Even the mechanical pump knew I was a failure. The LC told me that if I were to use formula I should put it in a syringe, connect the syringe to a tube and tape the tube to my breast, so when the baby would latch, they would be getting a little food and that would encourage her to nurse. So that became part of this improbable endeavor. This lasted for 5 weeks until our amazing pediatrician gave me permission to stop. Normally I am very decisive and free thinking, but I was like a robot and would only do what the medical professionals told me to. He was so generous and told me that even though he was a pediatrician, and his wife was an OB, they went the formula route because nursing wasn't working and that it was not only OK to stop, but it was also what was best for my baby. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It didn't help that the baby was extremely colicky. Turns out she had a milk protein intolerance, but we didn't figure that out until she was almost 3 months old, so we were basically torturing her by giving her basic formula. I kept calling the pediatrician, but the gatekeeper that would answer the phone kept telling me it was fine, babies cry, no need to call every time the baby had a crying fit. I also called because she hadn't pooped in 14 days, and she told me sometimes babies don't poop for long stretches. She must have been right, I mean she works at a pediatrician office, she must know more than I do. Every instinct in me told me something was wrong, but obviously, I was a terrible mother, and my instincts were ridiculous. I called another time because the baby had a small red mark on her head that wasn't there before. Did I mention the gatekeeper was someone I knew from the hospital I was working at during that time? They basically laughed at me and said, Oh Erin, relax, you are a first-time mom, no need to worry so much. It is probably just a scratch from her clothes or your fingernail. I looked at the clothes she had on, and it was a fleece zip-up that didn't go over her head and my nails were short and smooth. Even though I knew something was wrong, I am a terrible mother with shitty instincts, and she knows better than me, so I dropped it and told myself that from now on, when I think something, I was going to change my mind to the opposite because I was stupid, always wrong and didn't deserve to be a mother. By the way, turned out it was the start of a hemangioma forming, so I was right. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was very fortunate to have Chuck home with me for the first couple of weeks because I was failing with this whole mother thing. It was around this same time the intrusive thoughts started. This is the stuff I have only spoken out loud to very few people, which I am sorry I haven't talked about this sooner. Turns out, over half of new mothers report having intrusive thought. This is where things got very dark and scary. Buckle up.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At night, when it was dark, the baby's eyes would glow bright red. Bright red like a character in a horror movie. I couldn't understand why no one else noticed. I figured they had to see it too, but like me, they were afraid if they said it out loud, the baby would become evil. I didn't want to be the one who caused her to become evil, so I never said anything. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was getting up and showering everyday like my OB told me to, taking care of myself, so I thought that I was OK.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was so exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. I was afraid if I fell asleep something bad would happen to her. The day came for Chuck to go back to work. My sister had planned on coming over but called early in the morning to let me know she couldn't make it. There must have been something in my voice because after we got off the phone, she called my parents and said something was wrong with me. My mom called and asked how things were going and I burst into tears saying I can't do this. I can't be a mom. My parents were at my house within an hour and came every weekday for weeks after. It was obvious something was wrong with me. At that point all people knew about PPD was Andrea Yates drowning her children. My mom would follow me if I went into the baby's room, she didn't really let me be alone with the baby. I joked that I wasn't going to pull an Andrea Yates. But deep down I wasn't sure I wouldn't. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I didn't give her a bath by myself. I would have these visions of her in the tub, slipping under the water, staring up at me with her eyes wide open and me doing nothing. Just watching her as she lay underwater. We lived on the North Shore at the time. If I was going to the South Shore, I would go the long way making sure to avoid the Tobin Bridge. I would have visions of her car seat falling off the bridge, hitting the water and me just watching her in the car seat slowly sink to the bottom of the Mystic River. If I was carrying her on the sidewalk, I would wonder what it would sound like if I dropped her on the concrete, or what it would feel like if I smashed her head into the corner of the wall. I didn't think I would do any of these things, but the thoughts were constantly running through my head.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My OCD was in overdrive by now. If I took a diaper out of the stack of diapers in the diaper holder, I immediately had to put on back and they had to be perfectly aligned. The carpets in the house had to have vacuum lines at all times. The sheets in her crib had to be perfectly taut. Her swaddles had to be on point. I had to have everything just so, if not, something bad was going to happen. I didn't know what would happen, but there was always something terrible on the verge of happening and the only way to keep us safe was to make sure everything was perfect.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the things that would make her stop crying, which she did for hours on end, was to lay her on her changing table. I would stand there staring at her for hours. A friend called and asked what I was doing. I told her I was standing at the changing table to keep the baby from crying. She said why don't you take the pad off of the table, put it on the floor so you can sit down next to it. That had never crossed my mind. My mind was so scrambled I couldn't think rationally. I would put the baby in her swing and lock myself in my closet and cry. At 3:45 every weekday I would stand at the back door waiting for Chuck to come home from work at 4:15. Without fail, the baby would stop crying as soon as Chuck would walk through the door. She knew I was a terrible mother and couldn't wait to get away from me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">About a month after the baby was born, we went out to celebrate our wedding anniversary. This should have been such a happy occasion, our one-year anniversary, a beautiful new baby, from the outside, our life looked pretty good. Chuck made dinner reservations and my parents came to babysit. It was the first time we left her without one of us being there. We went to the super swanky Mandarian Oriental in Boston for dinner. Chuck paid a pretty penny for me to sit and sob through the entire dinner. It was a few days later when Chuck told me he missed my smile. That he hadn't seen me smile in weeks. Hearing that broke my heart and that is when I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I needed help.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was educated, had a strong support system, financial resources, had worked in a hospital for almost a decade at that point and knew how to navigate the health care system. None of it mattered. It was nearly impossible to get help. I called my OB's office and was referred to the maternal psych program. When I finally got someone on the phone, she asked if I felt as though I was going to hurt myself or the baby and when I told her no, she gave me an appointment for over a month out. I said OK. Over the next few days things continued to decline. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I came up with a great plan to get things back to the way they should be. I was going to have the baby kidnapped. I drove to the CVS in Peabody. Parked in a spot with heavy foot traffic and rolled the back windows down. My though was, if I left her alone in the car, someone would see her, kidnap her and my life would go back to normal. This was the perfect plan. I ultimately left without following through with my plan, not because I came to my senses. No, only because I didn't know how I was going to tell Chuck his baby was gone. At the time, this plan was so well thought out, rational and made perfect sense. Looking back, I am horrified and ashamed of having come up with such a diabolical plan.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That event made me realize I couldn't wait over a month to be seen. I called back and asked to speak directly to my OB. I told her some of what was going on. I couldn't tell her all of it because even though her devil red eyes were real, and the breast pump would come to life and yell at me when I turned the power on, I was afraid she wouldn't believe me, and my child would be taken away. I didn't feel connected to her in any way. She was well taken care of, always clean clothes, always fed on time, daily tummy time, but it was just the basics. That was all I could do. The name I had loved for so long sounded like nails on a chalkboard to me, and even though she was a beautiful baby, so much so, strangers would comment, I couldn't see what they were talking about. That being said, I knew that I loved her on a primal level and would have clawed anyone's eyes out that tried to harm her. My OB was amazing. She called in meds immediately, called me back letting me know the prescription went through and called an hour later to make sure I had picked them up and started taking them. Now, reading this story you might think she didn't do enough, that she should have had me come in immediately, but keep in mind, I only told her a fraction of what was going on, she didn't know any of the dark stuff.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There were times I would sit on the floor next to her sobbing for hours, telling her how sorry I was, that she deserved a better mother. There was a time I called out of work without telling Chuck and I started driving to New York, so I could leave everything behind and just start over. I only got about 25 miles before I turned back, not that I felt compelled to stay, but it wasn't fair of me to make Chuck be a single dad. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">While on maternity leave, I went to a holiday luncheon at the hospital. It was the first time a lot of my co-workers were meeting the baby. Everyone was fawning all over her and I just wanted to scream I was a fraud. I am an awful person, and she deserves so much better. It was the first time I had a panic attack. I was sitting in the conference room, and I felt like I was going to die. I didn't tell anyone what was happening because I was ok with it if I died that day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I went to a Christmas Party at one of my co-workers homes a few days later. I went without the baby, and it was a nice break. While there, the conversation turned to PPD, I don't remember exactly what it was, but there was something that had happened related to PPD, I don't remember if it was a patient that came in the ER or a mom over in Labor and Delivery, but anyway, they were saying they couldn't understand how a mom could do that, she had a beautiful baby what was she depressed about. I was furious! These were health care professionals. They had no idea they could have interchanged my name for hers and tell the same story. But you know what? I don't blame them. A few months earlier I would have joined right in the conversation because none of it makes sense. None of it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We went to a Christmas party with Chuck's family. I felt like everyone was staring at me. I'm sure they weren't but I felt like everyone could see inside my head and see the awful thoughts ticking by. I overheard someone in another room say they had the baby blues after their baby was born. I wanted to scream I don't have the baby blues! I am going insane. But I didn't say anything because I was embarrassed. I was also so angry at Chuck for saying something about my struggles in the first place. I felt betrayed that he told people. What I didn't realize at the time was he was suffering too. I can't imagine how alone he felt, his wife had lost her mind, he was working full time and then coming home and having to take care of me, the baby and everything else that needed to get done. Of course, he had to have an outlet for his feelings. To his credit, he was unwaveringly supportive during all of this. He never once complained, never once said anything disparaging to me about my behavior, and never balked at all the added responsibilities he had to take on. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">After a few weeks the meds started to take effect. I found a therapist. She was OK, I don't think she really understood PPD/PPP but she did her best. I never did come clean with my intrusive thoughts. I don't think she could have handled it. I did start to feel better, the baby got on the right formula, and I finally started to feel a connection to her.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I did go on to have another baby just over two years later. As the 2nd trimester was starting my OB gave me several options. 1. To start meds during the 3rd trimester. 2. Start meds immediately after delivery or 3. Start meds only if symptoms show up. We decided option 1 was best. I had complications with the pregnancy. A mass was found on my ovary during a routine ultrasound. They referred me to an oncologist because they thought it was ovarian cancer. I needed to have surgery to remove it when I was 18 weeks pregnant. I wasn't on the medication yet and my brain started to get the best of me. I was convinced this was the universe's way of paying me back for being such a terrible person, who thought terrible things with my first child, and I didn't appreciate what I had. I started to go back to that dark place. Fortunately, the surgery went well, it wasn't cancer and I got on meds right after that. At about 4 months post-partum I felt great and took myself off the meds. 3 days later when I was nursing her, I looked down at her and thought, what would it feel like if I punched her in the face. I immediately restarted the meds and got right back on track.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had another baby about 6 years after my first. Maternal mental health was starting to get a little more attention but not nearly what it needed to. I know this, because with my 3rd, Chuck only stayed the first night after she was born and then he was back and forth with the other two. This was right around the time that hospitals were doing away with nurseries and keeping the babies with the mothers the whole time. Not me, they must have had my chart flagged because they did not let me be alone with my baby. They would make sure someone was with me in the room, have a staff member come in or take the baby to the nursery. I get their thinking, but it made me feel like some kind of monster. They even discouraged me attempting to nurse her despite successfully nursing my second baby. Being my 3rd, I felt confident and spoke up for myself. They had a lovely social worker come and we had a long conversation and after that they would let me be alone with the baby. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There are still very few resources for PPD/PPP. It is hard to find anyone who specializes in it. Then if you find someone, they aren't taking new patients, or the waitlist is not realistic. I had several medical professionals tell me I have a beautiful baby what do you have to be depressed about, snap out of it, have a good cry and move on. If this is the advice from the so-called professionals, a mom in crisis doesn't stand a chance. Then the societal pressure to be the perfect mom is overwhelming. If you are already struggling this pressure can seem insurmountable.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This week has been a tough one. The Clancy family tragedy has brought it all back as if it just happened yesterday. I have felt compelled to tell my story so people can see it can and does happen to anyone! I remember hearing Brooke Shields had PPD. I got her book and was so cynical thinking she is rich and famous, what does she know about PPD. This after I went through it myself! I got her book, and it was as if she wrote my story. Famous Actress, Child Life Specialist from the North Shore, Labor and Delivery Nurse from the South Shore, it doesn't discriminate! It doesn't make sense and unless you have lived it you can never truly understand how devastating it really is. This poor mom has been charged with murdering her children. How does the court handle this? When she regains her clarity of mind, there is no punishment that can be handed down worse than what she will do to herself. I know. This week all the shame and guilt came flooding back to the point there have been times it was hard to breathe. The intense guilt of robbing Me, Chuck and our baby the magical fairy tale we all deserved. The guilt of hatching a plan to have my baby kidnapped. The guilt of not bonding with my baby early on because my mind was unbalanced. The guilt that I came very close to destroying the lives of everyone I love. Many of the tears I have shed have been for the mom Lindsay. I was her and by the grace of the universe my story has a happy ending. So yeah, I know what kind of loving mother would kill her children, one that has been to the depths of hell through no fault of her own, simply because her mind betrayed her. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I see any red flags of PPD/PPP I reach out. When I was working in the NICU and thought a mom might be struggling I would bring it up to the medical team. I tell my friends that are pregnant, if you don't have that instant connection with your baby that is portrayed in the movies, you are not a bad mother, it doesn't happen right away for all moms. if I notice a pregnant mom posting a ton on social media but her posts become flat after the baby is born, I have reached out. I usually start with, I may be off base, and you can tell me to mind my own business, but I struggled after my baby was born and I see some of the signs in you. I would rather 100 women tell me to fuck off, then let one woman go through what I went through. It is preventable. We need to take it out of the shadows and talk about it. I have given my number to so many new moms and tell them they can call or text me anytime, I will always be available to listen, never judge and they can tell me their scary shit, because I went through the scary shit and came out the other side. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thank you for reading all the way to the end. This was a lot. This was hard. This was therapeutic for me. This was necessary. If this story makes one person feel less alone, it was worth putting it all on the table. Oh, and I am still madly in love with my husband!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-42077917966375178242020-04-01T11:39:00.001-07:002020-04-01T11:40:34.656-07:00Lord of the FliesSo here we are, sitting at home, isolated due to a global pandemic. That sounds like a funny way I would have started a blog post in the past. Unfortunately as everyone knows that sadly is the truth. About a month ago a few of us were chatting at the bus stop. One of the moms told us a family member told her to stock up on food and essential supplies as we were heading into uncharted waters. I laughed at the idea and thought it was overkill. Joke was on me because here we are, stuck in home, limiting our trips to the store, only going when absolutely necessary.<br />
<br />
Some women are made to be a stay at home mom and I think that is great. I always knew working outside of the home made me a better mom. I love my children fiercely but this home confinement has confirmed what I always knew; if I were an animal of lesser intelligence such as a hamster, I would eat my young.<br />
<br />
In the beginning I was like all the other ambitious parents that printed off a Covid 19 Daily schedule. We were going to stay on top of the kid's school work, stay engaged and really make the most of this extra, bonus family time. Didn't last long. In fact, the other night I sat alone in my car, in a parking lot for over an hour because I was afraid if I stayed in my house one minute longer someone would die. I honestly want to throat punch people posting about all the baking they are doing so their children can use their emerging math skills, going on a nature hike to learn about local flora and fauna or how they are having these cozy family game nights where everyone is getting along and sharing their feelings. I'll let you in on a little secret; it is like the Goddamned Lord of the Flies over here at the Lavallees. The first day or two they were into doing some school work, or so they thought. Sara (12) would spend the first 47 minutes complaining that Emily (6) should be doing more than just coloring sheets, that even though in Kindergarten she should be doing real work. The other 3 minutes she would text me complaining that I liked the other 2 more than her. Emily would happily work on her packet, singing and humming while getting death glares from Anna. The same Anna that claimed to be doing work in Google Classroom, but, since she was sitting on the couch in the living room, with a decorative mirror above her I could clearly see she was watching Youtube videos instead. Once they caught on that these assignments were optional and none of it would be graded I lost all control. The amount of protesting, screaming, crying and carrying on wasn't worth it anymore. Now I know some of you are thinking; For God's Sake Erin, you are the parent. You are in charge. They shouldn't dictate what goes on in the house. Normally I would agree but this time I just gave up. I did, I threw in the towel. It all is too much. All of it. The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks last week. Our amazing school teachers put together a teacher parade. We were all excited for it, I mean it was the only thing we have had to look forward to in a while. We made signs, we got showered and dressed and we went out to wait for them. It was so exciting to hear the parade enter our neighborhood. When the first car came into sight tears starting streaming down my face. It made it all so real. Our kids are not in school. I am not at work. Nothing is the way it is supposed to be. People are getting sick. People are dying. People are losing their jobs. Businesses are closing. I can't see my dad, my family, my friends. My children are missing their teachers, their friends, their routines. It is too much. The tears wouldn't stop. I cried that whole afternoon and have cried at least once a day since. <b><i>It is all too f-ing much.</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>The school work is too much-</b> I am not good with technology baseline. Throw in any amount of stress and I am done. There is way too much information being thrown at me; the class Facebook pages have posts every 3 minutes from the superintendents, principals, vice principals, teaching teams, individual teachers, specialty teachers, the PTA, random school staff members I have never heard of, school clubs all giving activities/assignments that the kids can do. What is required? What is optional? Then on top of the Facebook pages I have apps for all the kid's schools as well pining notifications left and right. I have 3 children at 3 different schools. My head looked like a cartoon character that gets all steamed up and is about to explode. I turned everything off and we have done nothing for several days. Literally no school work. Do I feel guilty about it? Yes. I have started reaching out to the individual teachers asking for a "school work for dummies" list of what they need to be doing. Nothing more, nothing less. I can't friggin stand the people who are posting pictures of their kids doing all these extra projects. Like one of the memes I saw said; they aren't passing out awards for the best homeschool mom. I am literally trying to get through the day without yelling something at my kids that will psychologically scar them for the rest of their lives. This is coming from someone with a degree in child development, someone who has worked with children and families in crisis for over 20 years. I am losing my shit left and right, I really feel for those parents in the same position that don't have a background that involves showing patience with children that are anxious, scared and overwhelmed. This is all just too much.<br />
<br />
<b><i>The social distancing is too much-</i></b> I have congenital heart defects that could potentially put me at greater risk of getting really sick if I contract Coronavirus. I have a child with an autoimmune disorder whose flares are triggered by respiratory infections so she is at greater risk as well. We are taking this very seriously. We have to, not just for our immediate family but for all of the vulnerable people in our community. It sucks staying home. I get it. I would much rather be out and about socializing with friends and families but I am doing what has been asked of us and what is the responsible thing to do. I have had to take a break from Facebook for a few days. I have quickly been losing respect for people and I had to step back before I post or say something that would tick a lot of people off. I get so angry when I see people walking around/hanging out/posting selfies with people that are not in their immediate family. I want to scream WTF are you doing? If I am stuck home with a hormonal, moody, preteen with diagnosed anxiety disorder <b><i>and</i></b> an autoimmune disorder and am financially sacrificing for the greater good of my community stay your ass home!! Why do some people think they are so entitled like the recommendations don't apply to them? I know 3 people that have been hit with this virus. It is no fucking joke. The longer you assholes are still going around like nothing is happening the longer this virus will be around. Why is that so hard to understand? Just because you don't feel sick doesn't mean you aren't a carrier or aren't infected and just not showing symptoms yet. I have heard people say, well we don't have Coronavirus so we can't give it to anyone. These are so called intelligent people, I don't get it. I am learning some people I know are really ignorant idiots. I hope to get back online soon. I was having fun posting silly memes and I know people were looking forward to my daily meme dumps. I just am too sad the past few days. I am just too overwhelmed the past few days. I am just too angry the past few days. It is all too much.<br />
<br />
<b><i>The financial instability is too much-</i></b> I am out of work temporarily. That means I am not getting paid. I am 47 years old and had to file for unemployment for the first time. I finally heard back from them yesterday and the amount I am going to receive is just about half of what I normally bring home each week. I keep hearing about the extra $600 from the federal government to supplement those receiving unemployment but when I finally spoke to a live person from the Unemployment Department they had no idea about it and if and when it is happening how they would even get it out to people, so that was not reassuring in the least. Chuck's work is reliant solely on the economy. If the economy is tanking so is his work. No or limited construction projects mean no great need for electrical engineers. So instead of laying people off his company has decided to temporarily reduce salaries. So between the both of us we are losing close around $2,600 a month. That is just too much. I have been trying to get in touch with our mortgage company to see about a forbearance, but they aren't taking phone calls, everything has to be done online. Same with the banks that hold our car loans, no one to talk to in person, all online. So here we are at the first of the month when our mortgage is due just waiting for something, anything from our mortgage company. Hopefully they are willing to work with us. If not, I hope all of you asshats that aren't taking this social distancing seriously are the first ones to donate when I set up a Go-Fund me to pay our bills. I have been paying attention, I know who you are. For those of you who may be thinking why don't you have any money saved for emergencies? Due to those aforementioned congenital heart defects that decided to rear their ugly heads last fall, combined with several other unforeseen medical issues that resulted in an unplanned surgery, multiple x-rays, scans, doctors visits and procedures any rainy day fund we had was depleted. <br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">The worry is too much- </i>I am worried about staying afloat financially if this shutdown goes longer than April. I am worried that someone I love gets this virus. I am worried that I might get it when I am at the grocery store. I am worried that I will then pass it to my children. I am worried about my children's academic future. One of my kids struggles academically. Will she be able to keep up next year after missing so much work this year? I am worried about the psychological impact this is having on my children. We try not to show stress and fear in front of them but children are perceptive. They can sense it. I am worried about the psychological impact on me. I am worried about my relationships with my girls and my husband. This is A LOT of togetherness, with little opportunities to find time alone. We are getting on each others nerves. A. LOT. I worry about my health. I am a stress eater and I have put on almost all the weight I had lost. I worry about the children at my school. Are we going to have to start over at square one with routines again? Will relationships that have been fractured over how people are handling this virus or where they stand on how the administration is handling the crisis be mended? I am worried that I am missing out on valuable time/memories with extended family. I am worried about my friends that work in the ER that don't have the protective equipment they need, or any of my friends in the medical field whatever department they work in for that matter. I miss working in a hospital a lot, but I am so grateful I am not in a hospital setting right now. I worry the cereal box I take off the grocery shelf was just touched by someone with the virus right before I came along. I worry my kids will look back on this time years from now and only remember me yelling at them to get some school work done and not remember the chalk drawings and afternoon drives we take. I just worry about it all. I am not one that worries about things I can't control but this feels so different and I can't stop worrying. I usually can find the humor in any situation but the past few days have been hard. F-ing hard. I am hopeful this will pass and I know I will find humor in everyday life again soon, but not today. Today it is all too much. I don't want anyone thinking I am going to jump off the deep end. I am not. I am just having a pity party today. I am allowing myself to feel what I feel and not make apologies for it but I know it is not good to wallow for too long and I promise I will be back to my regular fluff filled blog posts soon. In the meantime, wash your hands and stay the F- HOME!!!Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-67558227022319083152020-03-01T15:35:00.000-08:002020-03-01T15:35:50.349-08:00Dear old Uncle MortySo as any parent knows, once you have children nothing is yours anymore. What's yours is your children's and what is your children's is your's. In my house that is a half truth. What's mine is my children's, what's Chuck's is still Chuck's. With 3 girls my things go missing all the time; I have found high heels in Emily's room being used as a bed for Barbie, on a recent cold day I went to reach into my jacket pocket for my gloves only to have my cold hands met by an empty pocket. Lately there is a whole subgroup of missing shit; grooming items. Now I know what you are all thinking; I have free and unlimited access to their bedrooms and bathrooms just go in and get your crap back. 1. Yes, I do have free and unlimited access to their rooms but, 2. Two-thirds of my children live as if they are auditioning for an upcoming episode of Hoarders, I take my life in my hands going into those deathtraps. I have a hunch I know where those U.S. cases of the Coronavirus that are of "unknown origin" originated. Have no fear though, the antidote to the Coronavirus lives within those 4 walls as well. The mold growing in their rooms is so abundant the CDC can cultivate enough penicillin to keep this pandemic in check. Thank Christ, Mike Pence can now stand down.<br />
<br />
So let's take a little inventory of all the missing items, shall we?<br />
<br />
My nail clippers were one of the first to go missing. I don't need them so much for my fingernails-they don't grow anyway but I do need them for my toes. I used to get pedicures on a regular basis but since having kids it is an expense I just can't justify. I did however invest in a decent pair of nail clippers, lest my toenails turn into talons. I know TLC airs a show about crazy addictions and from time to time there is someone with toe nails as long as Rapunzel's hair but, umm, yeah, NO! I personally subscribe to the belief that one's toe nails should never have the opportunity to grow past one's toe tip. Call me crazy but if I am snuggling with someone and they can scratch my head with their little piggies sh*t will go down real fast.<br />
<br />
So back to my fingernails. Again, I used to get bi-weekly manicures before I popped out my kids and again, it is an expense that I just can't justify. So every Sunday while watching America's Funniest Videos I give myself a proper manicure. Well, that hasn't happened in a while. My cuticle tool is missing! I am sure it is being used to dig a wick out of a candle or to stir some concoction I find in their bathroom sink. I had the pleasure of cleaning their bathroom last weekend. I was on strike for about 6 months and refused to clean it. I broke down and finally did it because I was afraid our dog Mary Alice might contract some dreaded third world disease from drinking out of their toilet. The girls get typhoid, serves them right but once you add Mary to the equation all bets are off. I would lay down my life for that dog. It took hours and almost a full can of Comet, yup I use chemicals to clean, no vinegar and water here-I want my house to smell like a pristine operating room not a goddamn douche. I was almost done, I just had to clear the drain on the sink. I worked in an ER, I have seen it all; blood, guts, pus (my favorite-seriously), burnt flesh, brain matter but nothing, nothing could have prepared me for what I pulled out of their bathroom sink drain. The smell coming from the ball of gelatinous slime I pulled out made me dry heave so violently I think I may have broken a rib. I seriously considered sending it off to the CIA. The most hardened terrorist would give up their next plot the second that ball of death entered the room. Yes, it was that bad and mind you, I lived with a rancid, decaying hole in my belly for months after Emily was born. I thought the smell of my own rotting flesh was bad, that, that my friends was a bed of roses compared to this malodorous, noxious, sphere of necrosis. But I digress. Back to my DIY manicures. I bought a new nail polish and of course it just walked away. No one knew what happened to it. Well I knew where to look. I went straight to the Nail Polish Graveyard. Anyone with little girls most likely has such a graveyard. Bottles of once slick polish now look like a washed up queen after partying a little too hard at the Pride Parade. Dried up glitter dripping down the side of the bottle, the handle is crusted half in/half out of the bottle at such an angle to allow enough air inside to dry it out or the more horrifying brush stuck to the table next to the opened bottle. Either way they brush bristles will never be used again, they can't--they are clumped so tightly together that no amount of polish remover can penetrate them. Of course it couldn't be my $1.97 Wet & Wild polish, nope it had to be my $6.87 bottle of Sally Hansen. Doesn't seem like a huge expense but when you are paying for these lacquer funerals on the regular it adds up.<br />
<br />
Another day I went looking for my Nair hair remover and of course it wasn't where it should have been. I set out on a one person search party. I found it in the girl's shower. It was the pump style bottle. Christ's sake that's all I need, one of my kids mistaking it for shampoo or cream rinse. Can you imagine if one of my kids came out of the shower looking like Steve Wilkos? I would try my best to be understanding, supportive and compassionate but you know what would come out instead? "Stand up, you don't deserve a chair" all while doubling over in uncontrollable laughter. Steve Wilkos fans will get that reference.<br />
<br />
While looking for my Nair I found cold wax strips all rolled in a ball under their bathroom sink. It looks as if an attempt was made to use them. I would've paid money to be a fly on the wall when that all went down. To whichever of my girls that experimented with those; be grateful it isn't tank top and shorts season. Your cover would be blown when you show up to the BBQ with super raw legs and armpits that look like they are ready to be thrown on the grill.<br />
<br />
So you can probably gather I was trying to winterize my legs; shaving ones legs is such an arduous chore. I hate it and truth be told, and I can almost guarantee I am not the only female to do this; in the winter I may or may not on more than one occasion shaved only the bottom 3 inches of my legs whilst skipping the rest of my upper leg. You know, shave just enough that will show when wearing pants and add 2 inches to be safe in the event you cross your legs and your pant leg rides up a bit. I am sure half of my readers are nodding their head knowingly. I am not a complete animal and to not run Chuck off completely I will Nair my legs a few times in the winter so I don't turn into a sasquatch, you're welcome Babe. Since the wax and Nair were gone I figured I would just shave but, alas my razor was missing. Well technically I still had the razor, just the set of replacement blades were missing. How the hell can one use just the blades with no handle? You don't need to be Olivia Benson to figure that one out. Whoever comes to dinner with a thousand tiny little slices on their fingertips will be the culprit. Guess I won't be serving finger foods any time soon.<br />
<br />
My deodorant has gone MIA on a few occasions too. Please know I purchase my children their own deodorant and any other age appropriate personal hygiene/grooming tools they need or want so there is no real reason for them to take mine other than to drive me bat shit crazy. So I was at the store the other day and I picked up a new deodorant for myself; Secret Brand Coconut Breeze. Hey I figured, why not? Every time I wear it I will be transported to a deserted island and can have a brief escape from reality. Now, if you know me in real life you know I am not a fan of the heat. If it is over 50 degrees I am physically uncomfortable. I don't believe in much; ghosts, psychics, Bigfoot, Donald Trump is a stable genius, but I wholeheartedly believe in spontaneous human combustion and there may come a day soon that I just burst into flames. So unfortunately I have my sweating working against me. Instead of smelling like an ocean breeze on me, the coconut deodorant smells more like an old, dirty sand bucket you find in your trunk at the end of the summer with dried up snails and starfish in it. Still no drain rot but close to it.<br />
<br />
The one thing missing that really ticked me off was my tweezers. They were missing for about a week and I swear to the walking, upright Gods it was as if I had Miracle Grow on my eyebrows. Everyone has that one crazy uncle with a rogue 3 inch hair sprouting from their brow. That was me. I was Uncle Morty. But that wasn't the half of it. Now that I am a woman of a particular age I have these gross, blond (really grey, but humor me) whiskers growing on my chin. I was without my tweezers for over seven days! I'm over here like Rip Van Winkle and to top it off my magnifying mirror I need because I'm blind as a bat is cracked in 3 places! So now I have 3 reflections, insult to injury when I look in my mirror I look like one of those biker dudes that parts their beard down the middle. For F's sake, leave my sh*t alone!! Tweezers are an important part of my life. I invested in the good ones, no Walmart Equate brand tweezers for me.--I went straight to the man, all the way up the food chain to the Tweezerman! I loved them, it was double ended and had the most perfect point to it. Sadly they never turned up. I had to replace them. They didn't have the ones I wanted and was forced to get the subpar ones they had. I tried them the other day and it was like trying to pull my eyebrows out with salad tongs. No grip, they kept slipping off the hair. So upsetting. I came very close to just shaving them off and buying the Tatbrow micro brow pen that keeps showing up on my Facebook feed. But since my razor blades are still missing I wasn't able to.<br />
<br />
I just wish there was something of Chucks they would take, just so he could understand my frustration. I don't foresee this thievery ending anytime soon. I am thinking of investing in a loss prevention system for my bathroom, you know like the ones they have in stores. I will put little tags on all my stuff and when they try to leave my bathroom with it an alarm will go off. Though, I believe most of the thefts occur when I am not home so that won't work. Maybe I can design a system kind of like the Ring Doorbell system so when someone tries to enter or leave my bathroom it will ring my phone and I can see the culprit. I'm just blue skying here but maybe I can just cut out the middleman and straight up hire Shaq to guard my bathroom. Until then just call me Uncle Morty.<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-52650792315447554572020-02-23T08:37:00.001-08:002020-02-23T08:37:38.432-08:00Rage Against the MachineI know, I know it has been a minute since my last post. It's this whole working full time thing that kind of gets in the way. However, I do have something I want to write about. Something that has been simmering under the surface for some time now and I finally have a free morning to tell you about. I wrote that last statement as if; 1. Someone is going to read this and 2. As if anyone really cares what I have to say. Despite the unknown of my actual readership, I push on. I have to push on you see, because in our society it is becoming abundantly clear that no one will do it for me. Our society is rapidly changing and I am not a huge fan of the changes I see. Bearing witness to what I consider the decline of our society can be heartbreaking. I have seen the strongest of relationships crumble when one person chooses one side and their partner is diametrically opposed. Our country has become so divisive lately and unfortunately we are forced to pick a side. I have picked my side and I dare any of you to convince me otherwise; SELF CHECKOUT LANES ARE WRONG! Hear me out on this one folks;<br />
<br />
The takeover has been gradual; first it was self-serve gas stations. Yeah at first it seemed like a good idea, you jump out fill your tank and you are off. I was a lot younger when this petroleum revolution took place. I was driving a Chevette and could hop in and out of the car with ease. Most stations had a self serve lane and a lane with an attendant. When it was raining or when the frigid New England winters were just too much I could go to the manned side. He would fill the tank, check the oil and wash the windows, remember that? Seriously, they would check the oil and wash your windows while your tank was filling. I swear to Christ I can't remember the last time I cleaned my car windows, I'm sure Chuck has done it from time to time when he borrows my car. It was gradual but full service gas stations are pretty much non existent, though we do have a few in our town but I have had issues at both-one the guy filled it when I clearly said $20 so I had to pay for a full tank and the other one I have been a victim of attempted proselytizing, neither of which I want to fall prey to again so I am forced to purchase my gasoline elsewhere. The majority of stations in proximity to where I live and work are all self-serve. Now that I am a woman of a certain age, I can no longer hop in and out of my car with ease, it takes some effort these days, forget about it when I was pregnant, there is no longer an option of staying in a nice warm car when a Nor'easter is raging or snow is piled high. It's all on me now. In addition to being a wife, mother, daughter, friend, Child Care Director I am also a part time gas station attendant.<br />
<br />
Next up in the revolution came online shopping. Not a fan, yes it comes in handy when I need to purchase items for work, and I was bitten by the Walmart Grocery Pick-Up bug for a while but I am not in the online shopping camp. I like to go into a store and see, feel and try on what I am buying. Yeah, I know free shipping can be enticing, but I find it all impersonal. Plus real people are losing jobs, real brick and mortar stores are closing down and people's online shopping has become so pervasive in their everyday lives that it can now be classified as an addiction. I just read an article about it in Psychology Today. I may or may not know someone who purchased a family members birthday card through Amazon. I have since broken up with the Walmart Grocery Pick-up and went back to my weekly trips to the Basket and all is right in my world again. Which brings me to my next point-self checkouts in stores.<br />
<br />
Yup, we have all seen them. Walmart was the first one I ever encountered. I get why people like them, you just have a few items and you want to get in and out. You feel like you can scan the items quicker than the cashiers. I will admit there are a few cashiers I have come across that look at each individual item, ask about it and take time to bag it with like items. Yes, that can be frustrating- just scan and bag please, scan and bag, no need for conversation-a few pleasantries absolutely-no one is above a "Hi, how are you", a comment on the weather or local sports team sure but when you scan garlic, tomato paste, meatball mix and a box of spaghetti no need to ask what I'm making. Tuna Casserole obviously. Just scan and bag. Shaws, Price Chopper and most of the other grocery stores have self-checkout too. So far my local Market Basket hasn't sold out to the man, but I honestly think I will succumb to broken heart syndrome the day I walk in to the Basket and have to check out my veggie sausage myself. Stop & Shop makes you scan your groceries as you add them to your shopping cart. The f*ck is that about? They want you in and out so fast they don't even want you wasting their time by loitering around their self- check out. Here is something to think about, a way to stick it to the man, if you are so inclined, I am not because I don't like to break the law. If you put your grapes on the self checkout scale who's to say you have to hit the picture of the $.69/pound bananas versus the $2.99/pound green seedless grapes? Or tap regular apples when you in fact are weighing your organic apples? Hmm, just like Ed Sheeran I'm thinking out loud. Oh, so along the lines of me not liking to break the law here is a semi-short digression; on the way to and from work I drive 12 miles down a long, winding somewhat rural road. 9 days out of 10 there is a police car somewhere along those 12 miles watching for speeders. 9 days out of 10 there is always someone who flashes their lights at me to warn me of said police car. The light flasher is making some pretty broad assumptions about me; 1. That I am a scofflaw and I am speeding to my destination, now my kinfolk may be from Southie but I am no means a descendant of the Winter Hill gang and 2. I want to be part of their criminal enterprise. I know most people would love to get the universal police are ahead signal but I do not. If I am speeding that's on me. I should take ownership of my actions, whether right or wrong. Do I look at the speedometer and adjust accordingly when I get flashed. You bet your ass I do, but I am against it on principle. <br />
<br />
Back to my original post. I went to our local CVS recently. I hadn't been for a while and sure as shit they have self checkout now too. Our CVS is on the smaller side and the checkout area is already heavily congested so it makes absolute sense to add a few self-checkouts right in the most obnoxious spot possible. It was like a scene out of Black Friday; a mob of people pushing to get ahead of the others. One more store I can't go to now. Our McDonald's was closed for renovations. Was it to upgrade the 70's looking facade or interior? Nope, it was to add self serve kiosks. McDonald's is a fast food place, do we really need to speed up the ordering? Plus, our McDonalds is the meeting place for every octogenarian within the Blackstone Valley. I wouldn't want to be in line behind them on a Saturday morning. I would be there until the dinner rush.<br />
<br />
The final straw for me happened over Christmas vacation. We took the girls to see Frozen 2. Now, granted it had been a while since we have been to the theater, all 5 of us going to the movies is pretty much the equivalent to a car payment so we don't go often. This may have been in place for a while but it was the first time I saw it. You now are responsible for getting your own drinks. They have a few of those huge Coke kiosks. If you have ever seen one of these behemoths you know there are at least 16 different screens with each screen having at least 20 different drink choices. You now need to add an extra 45 minutes before the movie starts to get your concessions. You have the elderly who don't understand the concept of touch screens, you have young children taking 27 minutes to look through each screen (sometimes more than once) to pick what they want and then the ever annoying teenagers trying to come up with the most ironic drink combos to impress their friends. So yeah, there's that.<br />
But what really got a hair across my ass and made me come out against these machines is the buttered popcorn situation. I ordered my popcorn the way I always do, and really the only way a civilized person should, with butter throughout. So back in the day they would fill your popcorn bag half way, drizzle the golden nectar over it, add the rest of the popcorn and give it another drizzle. Well my friends, those days are gone! You now have to add your own butter. So I had to get the full bag of popcorn and take it over to a disgustingly dirty table and add my own butter. I am not employed there, I have not been trained on what popcorn to butter ratio is appropriate and to top it off they would not give me an extra bag to dump some out so I could properly butter my popcorn throughout. Oh the humanity! So I had to butter just the top and take a small plastic condiment cup, without a cover, and fill it with the melted butter to add as I ate. Now 2 things wrong with this, 1. If I am paying almost $10 for a bag of popcorn there should be a butler that comes with it to feed me, short of that I should be able to get my goddamned butter throughout and 2. the condiment cup had no cover so I had to precariously balance it on my armrest and spent the whole time making sure it didn't spill, thereby missing the whole movie. Oh and another thing, so I guess that make 3 things. The "butter" never solidified in any way. Now I am not so naive to think it was real butter but science would lead me to believe that when a warmed liquid cools down it would solidify in some way, shape or form. There wasn't even a skin on top of it. So not sure what kind of scientific voodoo they use to create that stuff but I don't believe there is any edible components to it. That being said, I will still use it to butter my popcorn throughout on the rare occasions I go to the theater. And for the record, I did teach my girls the proper way to eat movie theater popcorn.<br />
<br />
Why am I taking the side I am? That question deserves a multifaceted answer. These machines are supposed to simplify life for us. How many times have you been in a self check out line behind an old person who is figuring out how to scan their hard candy? Or where they can insert their check they just spent 10 minutes writing out? Or the incompetent teenager that is trying to discreetly buy condoms and is so nervous they end up scanning the box so fast it throughs the machine into overdrive. Then we must wait for the pimply faced teenage manager to come over with their key, only to type in 792 buttons to no avail. Or have to wait in the self checkout line for 20 minutes because no real lines are open just to ring up my $.89 roll of paper towels. My favorite is the overly permissive parent that lets their snowflake scan in all of the items in their basket. Drives me nuts! I am all for teachable moments and if there is no one else in line I let my kids do it, but the instant someone else enters the line I take over. I refuse to be that person someone will snarkily blog about later. My biggest reason is due to our hurried lifestyle we are putting real people out of jobs. Walmart used to have multiple lanes open at a time, now you are lucky to see one lane open and an employee or 2 at the self checkouts. What happened to all the others that used to work there? McDonalds used to be a great place for teens to enter the workforce and earn spending money. Those jobs are all being phased out and we are losing out on human connections. There was a cashier at Walmart that used to ring me up when I was buying stuff for my Girl Scout troops, she would give me great activity ideas from when she was a troop leader now I have no idea where she is or what happened to her. Dora from our local McDonalds would always tell me how to order things separately instead of combos so I would get more bang for my buck. Now with my math skills and those computers I am almost certain I will overpay everytime. Take a minute and think back to the way things used to be; I am sure you will realize there was someone along the way that you would connect with on a regular basis and over time they just disappeared and you never even noticed. Do you wonder where they are? Do you think they are happy self checkouts took over so many facets of our daily life? So there is my argument, no convincing me otherwise.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-64463847116059416402019-09-15T19:54:00.001-07:002019-09-15T19:54:18.310-07:00Once I was 7 years old...soon I'll be 60 years old<br />
Not only are those are some lyrics of one of my favorite bands; Lukas Graham but it is how I have been feeling lately. I feel like my life is flying by way too fast and there isn't anything I can do but watch the sands of time slip away.<br />
<br />
Oh, so Lukas Graham is coming to Boston, of course it is at 8 p.m. on a Sunday night in November and no one wants to go with me. UGH!! I just love their music and the lead singer is so stinkin' cute. He is such a great storyteller, he is the only one who truly captured the shit storm of feelings from losing a parent, what true love really feels like and the desire to make your life mean something. The one caveat to my declaration of him being a great storyteller would be the 9th song on their self titled album. Maybe ignore his song 'Strip no More". Not about wanting someone to stop stripping and create a better life for themselves but he missed watching his favorite stripper once she quit. So yeah. Lukas and I were about 2 songs in to our set; Take the World by Storm is the one that really gets the crowd going, L.G. and I put on a pretty intense concert each morning while I drive to work, when my unassuming mini-van smoked a Maserati-completely left it in my dust. A Lays potato chip truck may or may not have pulled in front of the Maserati and technically I may have only been doing about 67 but you know what? My mom mobile didn't disappoint that day!<br />
<br />
But I digress, back to the reality that every day I wake up to my body failing me a little more;<br />
<br />
*My skin has started to betray me. Insert sad emoji face here. I had a tank top on recently and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and sure as the day is long I have bat wings. F-ing bat wings. You know I then spent the next ten minutes staring in the mirror as I flapped them. I may have T-Rex arms but those wings have an impressive wing span.<br />
<br />
I wish the melting skin ended with my arms, which due to my wonky rotator cuff I can't really do too much about it. Halloween is coming and I am thinking slap some black body paint on those bad boys, throw in a pair of plastic white fangs and I got myself a costume! So like I said, the skin melting is working its way down my body. Long time blog readers are familiar with my skin apron, the large flap of skin that hangs off the front of me covering all the important stuff-kind of like an apron. Chuck lovingly came up with that name. I recently decided to get healthy, lost some weight and now the apron could cover an old Russian farm lady's body. The good news is I can just pull it up over me like a blanket and tuck myself in to keep warm when the sweat from my awesome night sweats starts to cool off and make me chilly. I interrupt this regularly scheduled blog post to discuss night sweats. Friggin night sweats suck ass. I wake up drenched and my room smells like the God Damned HHS bus ride after a hockey game. Now back to the the skin apron blog post already in progress. If my family and I went to a sporting event together, which we would most likely never do, but in the event we do and my children are sitting on the bleacher in front of me I can lift it up and throw it over their shoulders to keep them warm during the crisp, fall nights we have in New England. Who needs a plaid, wool blanket when you got momma's built in throw? The melting continues down over my buttocks. My ass has this weird little roll of skin under it now. Kind of reminds me of a window shade. Unfortunately it doesn't roll up into itself when you tug on it like a shade does. I know because I have tried. I am fascinated by this roll and whenever given the chance I pull on it. I would never be called in for a Special K commercial because I can definitely pinch more than an inch. One recent day my betrothed and I were riding in the car when I saw the oddest thing; there was flesh colored crepe paper on my leg just above my knee. Now I don't know how it got there, I hadn't been on a spending spree in Party City but there is was- peach crepe paper on my leg. It disappeared just as soon as I adjusted my legs and I haven't seen any since thank Christ. I tried to recreate it many times and I can't but it is very disconcerting to know my legs have the capability within them to get all dolled up for a party and disguise themselves as crepe paper streamers.<br />
<br />
I am also losing hair at an alarming rate. So much so Chuck has to dig out the shower drain on a weekly basis with some long, barbed, flexible stick that looks like it belongs in Christian Grey's Red Room rather than my suburban en suite. <br />
<br />
*Moving on from my skin issues that would have Vincent Price in awe, we will now discuss my eyes. My beautiful, sky blue eyes-- my physical feature I would say is my favorite if I had to choose. I went for my regular eye exam. My eye doc retired so I was seeing someone new. He was a tiny wisp of a man, almost elfin. He did the exam and we had some easy, breezy conversation. He had such a soft, kind, mellow voice when he was describing I was 'glaucoma suspect'. Knowing only that Tommy Chong of Cheech and Chong fame smokes pot due to glaucoma and not much else I asked the good doctor what glaucoma was exactly. He had a steady, even-keeled voice telling me the optic nerve is involved and is slowly affected. Out of the blue his voice aggressively speeds up, gets louder and with an almost evil tone says, "then it gets completely strangled, dies and you go blind". His voice went back to center and he said I would need an ultrasound of my eyes to see the receptionist and she would schedule it. Da fuck just happened? I stuttered out, "is there anything to treat this?" He calmly and rationally said, "there are eye drops that can slow the process down but there is no cure". Okay then.<br />
<br />
So I have an ultrasound of my eyes book, that sounds fun and super comfortable! In the mean time I have spent a lot of time thinking about the fact I may be blind in about a decade. While it is soul crushingly heartbreaking to think I might not see my girls on their wedding days or see my grand children, the day to day struggles are what have me losing sleep. <br />
<br />
I am not a super model by any means but I like me some eye make up. I will have to trust either Chuck or my children to glam me up. All I envision is Mimi from Drew Carey or Tammy Fay. People of a particular age will know who I am talking about. For the record, neither would be a good look for me.<br />
<br />
I have long suspected Chuck might be color blind and he is not a huge fan of going out of his way. For the love of God I am scared to think about what he might dress me in. I imagine he will just throw on whatever is next in line in the closet. Just thinking out loud here-should I glue gun shapes on my clothing labels? Like tops and pants that match would have different shapes and I would just need to feel the label and match tops to bottoms-glue gun circles match glue gun circles, squares go with squares, etc. Though I have already nixed that idea because I will need to stay the exact same weight for my entire life and that is just way too much of a commitment. <br />
<br />
*I have another fun issue. I go to the bathroom all the time, like all the time. I pee constantly. I swear I love my girls fiercely but man they ruined my body. The girls and I joke about it at work but you know you have a problem when the facilities worker gives you grief for always being in the bathroom when he wants to clean it. I do have a certain sense of guilt taking away from the bottom line of the business, pun intended, for all the toilet paper I use. I feel like I should be bringing in my own toilet paper so as not to take away from the center's profits. I have another ultrasound scheduled to see why I am always visiting the Governor as my Poppy used to say. I am tempted to call our health insurance company to get a 2 for 1 deal. I told my friend Lisa about my ailments and unlike most people that give me a supportive head nod or some words of compassion she said. "Jesus WTH, you're going to need Depends and a service dog to help you navigate around" with a laughing until you cry face emoji. And that right there is why we are friends!!<br />
<br />
*Last but definitely not least my heart has been acting like an asshole lately. I have a congenital heart defect, Bi-Cuspid Aortic Valve. This is separate from the heart surgery I had when I was a toddler. There has always been the potential that I would need a valve replacement in the future. I am hoping that it will be in the distant future. I have been having a lot of palpitations lately, dizziness and what really made me take notice was when I got winded from doing the Hokie Pokie with the kids at work. That was an interesting call to the cardiologist. Them: So what were you doing when you felt short of breath? Me: The Hokie Pokie. Them: Excuse me? Me: No, you heard that right. I was doing the Hokie Pokie and when I went to turn myself around that wasn't what it was all about. Like, seriously, why couldn't it be something glamorous? Like hiking a glacier, swimming with dolphins, climbing Everest. The Hokie Pokie. Come on, for F's sake. That is an embarrassing way to go and if God forbid something does happen to me, you all better do the friggin Hokie Pokie at my graveside service with gusto or I will come back and haunt you all. The failed dance off between me and the toddlers at work bought me a 24 hour cardiac monitor-which I may want to get a replica one made to wear around the house. My kids slightly listened to me that day and slightly listening is way more than their norm. Before any of you get nervous and tell me to get to the hospital stat, I have some tests and appointments tomorrow with my cardiologist and I have a very low threshold as to what I will go to the ER for. I may seem like I joke around and take things lightly but I am all business when it comes to my heart. As per usual with me I can't have a normal medical team. Nope I am followed by the Boston Adult Congenital Heart Clinic which is pretty impressive until you realize they are housed out of Boston Children's Hospital. So I get to sit in the tiny chairs in the waiting room and when they call my name they ask if Erin is in the bathroom. Nope, it's me. I get to look at princesses and fishies on the wall while they man handle my boobs to try and get a clear echo of my heart. If I do end up needing surgery you know I will be an ass and have the unit's Child Life Specialist come in to prep me for the procedure. The surgery is a pretty intense one and the thing that scares me the most isn't being on a vent, it isn't a chest tube or being away from my children-it is when I come home with a fresh surgical scar and our asshat dog Ollie comes zooming through the house and jumps up on me. My neighbors will understand why that is such a real fear. <br />
<br />
Chuck has wondered out loud on several occasions if he is married to an 86 year old instead of 46-but I keep reminding him, hey at least I only look 36.<br />
<br />
I was at my primary care doc the other day. She asked why I thought all of this was going on-what had changed. I looked her dead in the eye and said, "I should have stayed fat. I didn't have any of these symptoms when I was laying around on the couch and eating burrata cheese". <br />
<br />
I have been trying really hard to be present with my children, soak in as many memories as I can. I no longer have time for one sided relationships, I have cut toxic people out of my life, I have even left the Facebook Mom's groups because someone was always getting butt hurt and I can't be bothered. I am eating healthy, lost close to 30 pounds and I am trying really hard not to yell, I am longer swearing like a sailor or Adele but no one has noticed for fuck's sake. The past year all of this has made me realize just how precious our time is and I am trying to make mine count.<br />
<br />
My beloved Freddie sings who wants to live for ever? I do Mr. Mercury. I do.<br />
<br />
Remember life and then your life becomes a better one~ Lukas GrahamTales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-84967477230474606142018-12-31T13:30:00.001-08:002019-01-01T08:25:02.995-08:00Pop Goes the Weasel? More Appropriately, Pop Goes My Back!<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It is fitting that today is the last day of the year as this is most likely the last blog post I will </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ever write. I am sad to report I am about 3 minutes away from death. So on Friday afternoon </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I started with a sore throat, slight cough and cold. Not awful- but enough to be annoying and put</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> a damper on my weekend plans. As if the cold wasn't bad enough I start with vomiting Saturday </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">morning. Great, so now I have the stomach bug and a cold. Bad, but still not the end of the world. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Oh and as I posted on my Facebook page, if you have the stomach bug ditch the weighted blanket </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and go for a regular cotton throw instead. I was in bed when the urge to purge came over me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I try to jump up out of bed but my legs are wrapped up in about 20 pounds of fabric. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Not an easy feat when you are already weak from dehydration, it was like an off Broadway version</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> of Cirque du Soleil gone horribly wrong. I'm trying to leap off the bed, the weight of the </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">blanket has my ankle contorted into some ass backward check mark tied to the bed causing me </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to fall flat on my face with vomit rising up my throat by the second. Good times. Just when I </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">think this GI nightmare is over, since there is nothing left in my belly, in addition to the </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">"throwing" I start "going". So here I am now Sunday morning alternating between throwing and </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">going, even better times! But let's be honest at this point when i "go" the stink is then triggering</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> my "throw" response. It is like a cruel, cruel sadist version of the chicken and egg theory. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">What came first? Was I still throwing with going added in? Was the throwing phase supposed </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to be over and it naturally transitioned into going and if I my super human sense of smell didn't </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">exist would it have just been going and no throwing? It is just an enigmatic moment in time that </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">will most likely never be solved.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-91544c65-7fff-d03d-3118-50cfc33be160" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This being me, long time readers can guess that my travails didn't end there. Oh no my friends, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">it gets much worse. Much, much worse...You see, I am sitting in a chair in my living room but I am </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">not sitting like a normal 46 year old. Nope, I have a few throw pillows propped up behind me like </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a grandmother. Why am I sitting in the dark like a Nana? Oh, that's an easy one to answer; as </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">if they cold/GI bug weren't enough misery for one person the cosmos thought it fit to strike </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">e down with another ailment. So about 22 hours ago I had just finished another round of </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">bathroom roulette, you know spin the wheel and see what end it comes out of. Oh, never played </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that game? It is a fun one, I am thinking of going online and purchasing some Giardia bacteria </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and making a ginger ale/sherbet punch with it, I think it would make an excellent party game. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Anyway, I am out of the bathroom and heading back to my quarantined spot on the couch. I am </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">about 2 steps away from my comfy cloister when I am hit with a coughing fit. I am coughing away</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> as I am clearing my airway I feel AND hear this god awful pop in my lower back. It feels like </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">what I would imagine being struck by lightning to feel like. I get this sharp, shooting, tingling </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">sensation through my whole body. It sounds like there are bees swarming in my head, I instantly </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">feel nauseous and I can't move. I am stuck in this contorted position, yet my whole body feels </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">numb. I swear to God as the lightening bolt coursed through my body I hear Freddie Mercury </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">belting out "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me..." I think I may have technically</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> died from the pain for a few seconds. "Bismillah! We will not let you go, let me go, we will not </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">let you go" On a side note, did any of you see Bohemian Rhapsody? Once you get past the over </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">the top mouth they made for Rami Malek it was amazing! I loved Queen when I was younger and </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I remember sitting watching Live Aid hoping the rumors were true that Queen was reuniting. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Just like every time I watch the movie Selena, even though I already know the ending I was </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">hoping it would turn out differently. Rest in Peace Freddie. But as always, I digress. So after </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">my little cardiac interlude the pain sets in and I am shocked back into life. So there I was stuck</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> in the middle of the room. Then I sense something rising up from my toes, past my knees, over </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">my thighs, belly and into my throat and then the most guttural sound comes out of my mouth. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I can't even describe it. It is almost zombie-like, apocalyptic if you will. It takes a few moments</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> but then my kids come to see what that sound was. Was it one of the animals? Was our house </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">coming off its foundation? Was there an undead coming in through the chimney? The realization </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that it is their mother, the one that gave them life, birthed them was in trouble. Did they come </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">over and help me? No. They gave me such a look of disgust and called into the basement for </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Chuck. So it takes a minute for him to come up. Now he didn't take his time because he is an </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ass. Our kids cry wolf so often he probably thought the major emergency they were summoning</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> him for involved removing a juice box straw from its plastic wrapper or something of similar </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">urgency; not his wife twitching in the middle of the room from some electrical malfunction within</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">her skeletal system. He helps get me back on the couch where I catch my breath. Emily comes </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">over to check in to see that I am OK. Once she has proof of life she then starts in with, I have </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to say a pretty spot on imitation of me the moment whatever it was inside my spinal column popped.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">She said, "mom you were making a weird noise and bent over and I didn't know if you were </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">pooping, farting or having a baby". </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I hang out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon/evening and try everything in my power </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">not to move. The pain was unbelievable! Now, if you remember back a few paragraphs you will </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">remember I had just left the bathroom after a bout of the drizzly trots. I was terrified another </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">round was coming my way. Thankfully after a morning of the McSquirts the shoot was pretty </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">empty but as a precaution I kept my ass cheeks clenched as tight as Fort Knox, afraid a rogue </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">fart might cause a breach of epic proportions, kind of like if the Hoover Dam got a crack it would</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> flood the Grand Canyon, yeah, like that kind of epic proportions. The sounds that were rumbling</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> through my intestinal tract would have made the perfect sound track to a horror movie. Had I </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">been in the right state of mind I could have recorded them, sent them to Universal and profited</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> off of my misery for once. Oh well, opportunity wasted.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Since I had the stomach bug I was loading up on soup water, or as most people call it broth and</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Popsicles so I had a lot of pee that needed to come out. I waited until I couldn't hold it anymore.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> I knew it would be like a when you are out drinking and you "break the seal" then you are </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">committed to the bathroom in 15 minute intervals for the remainder of the evening. So I make it</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> onto the throne, albeit delicately. Well, as is well documented I have T-REX arms, shout out to </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Susan for the amazing T-Rex necklace!! So T-Rex arms and the inability to move more than 2</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> centimeters in any direction had made the traditional female reach around, front to back wipe</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">virtually impossible. So if you are of the betting ilk I am odds on favorite for a UTI when all is</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> said and done. You could make a killing on the over/under of that one, if you do financially gain</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> from my misery can you at least spring for the co-pay on my antibiotics? Hey, with the insider </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">tip it is only fair. So now that wiping my ass is out I have had to resort to drastic measures. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Putting the theory of gravity to the test I have taken to wading up enormous balls of toilet paper</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">, I figure with the sheer volume Charmin placed gingerly in the general area something is bound</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> to be absorbed. I used to think Europeans were so pretentious with their bidets. I mean, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">seriously they can't wipe their own asses? Oh how the mighty have fallen. I wonder if Amazon</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">sells bidets? Let me answer that for you; Prime can have a southern shower here by tomorrow. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Yeah, I checked, I'm not too proud to admit it. This is the first time I have cursed the fact</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> that neither Chuck or I inherited the hoarding gene. Had we not been minimalists I would have </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">no fewer than 3 peri bottles on hand, those are the plastic squirt bottles you get at the hospital</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> to keep your lady bits clean after you deliver a baby; AKA the poor man's bidet. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 45pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I did make my way from the couch to the recliner chair. Once I am up I can shuffle around the</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> house-straight lines are best, stairs and any type of bending are my enemy right now. I have</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">managed to kneel down and get essentials like my slippers. It is a process though. I have to keep</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> my back super straight and do a one knee dip/kneel kind of like a Catholic does when kneeling in</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">reverence in front of the altar. So with each dip I can't help myself, dip to get a slipper and in</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">my head I automatically say, "Body of Christ", kneel/dip to get a sock, "peace be with you"...you</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> get the idea. I am on the chair and Chuck comes home with pizzas. As much as the smell of </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">cheese and sauce is calling my name I am chair bound. I need them to bring the food to me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Now, you might think this is somewhat glamorous like subjects bringing their queen grapes but</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> in all reality it is more like Honey Boo Boo bringing Mama June some 'Sketti'. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Getting out of bed this morning was a difficult task. It took 16 minutes from the time I started</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> until I cleared the side of the bed. I know because I timed it. At times I looked like the Grinch</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> slinking along the sides of the bed using my feet to push me along, other times I looked like</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible trying to navigate under the laser wires. It was not a pretty</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">sight. 16 minutes and in the end I was a sweaty, painful mess.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">My kids have been trying to take advantage of my situation and lobby for things they want. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> "Mom, since you aren't puking anymore can we have the cousins over for New Year's Eve?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> "Mom, can I have my friend over, you don't need to get up from the chair"...they are trying to </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">wear me down. The older 2 have been campaigning hard for the past 24 hours to get another dog. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> They have pulled out all the stops; typed up letter, made a whole marketing package including</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">flyers and a stop motion video. Way to kick me when I'm down. I mean I can't even effectively</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">wipe my own ass and you are barraging me with pictures of pugs? Not fair!! Tears are flowing,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">doors are slamming but as of right now I have held my ground.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It is not only the kids that have been taking advantage. My cat Gracie has been less than</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> supportive this weekend. She will be 17 on Thursday. We are on borrowed time with her. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> She is not well. Lately when I am watching TV she comes and lays on me. The way it usually</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> goes down is she comes and stands on my boobs, kind of like they are a shelf. Now with all my</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">faculties present I can gently nudge her down and she will tuck in and lay down on my belly. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Now with my faculties out the window she stands on me and there is nothing I can do about it. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> I can't gently nudge her down. I have made a conscious decision that her last days will be filled</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> with nothing but love. I could roughly knock her off but that would go against my ideal of her</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">only feeling love from me in her final time. So now as I watch TV I can hear Chip and Jo-Jo</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> talking about the Silos but all I can see is Gracie about 5 centimeters away from my face. If </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I am lucky she stands with her tail end close to my eyes so I can maneuver my face so I can look</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> at the screen under her tail, but then again that may not be so lucky after all. Gracie is a long</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> hair cat and in her old age her grooming habits have not been as fastidious so there may be a</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">dingle berry or 2 hanging from her ass.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Where did my life go so sideways that I am literally faced with a shitty cat ass in front of me</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">on New Year's Eve? I hope this isn't a metaphor for 2019? But then again, if this is how it is</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #666666; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> going to play out maybe this won't be my last blog post after all! Happy New Year Everyone!!</span></div>
</div>
Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-51425438326223994832018-12-21T12:34:00.003-08:002018-12-22T07:50:15.190-08:00Is it just me? Oh, it is? OK then, yeah...<br />
So the other night I was enjoying my nightly bowl of buttered popcorn, some people have a glass of wine or a beer, me, I have my popcorn to help me unwind. For the record I was eating popcorn alone, at night, in the dark way before Olivia Pope was. So there I am with a mouth full of my buttery goodness when I realized I am watching a murder mystery. I swear to all that is Holy I have seen Every. Single. Episode of Dateline ever produced. Including all the ones with Stone Phillips, yeah I'm a super fan. The fact that I am watching a murder mystery show is nothing new. But here I was enjoying my evening snack while watching some families worst nightmare play out for my entertainment. Now I know they sign waivers and have to consent to their story being told but I felt like such a turd eating popcorn. Popcorn is a fun snack, it shouldn't be consumed while learning someones loved one was chopped into bits and thrown into an old mine shaft. It felt so disrespectful. So now the joy I felt eating my popcorn was destroyed. I changed the channel and watched House Hunters and when my popcorn bowl was empty I went back to the episode of 48 Hours I was watching which I had DVR'd in the interim. Then I felt like an asshole for DVR-ing it. The person is dead and I don't even have the compassion or consideration to watch the show in real time. Am I dead inside? Do I have a black soul? My popcorn couldn't wait-my snack was too important to put aside and honor this poor person's life? Then I realized for F*ck's Sake Erin, do you have to overthink everything? Can't you watch a murder mystery and just enjoy it. I mean Keith Morrison makes a decent living off of these people's misfortune, the least I could do was support his employment and keep his ratings up.<br />
<br />
Then I got to thinking; am the only one that does these weird little inner monologue rants? Are there other things I do on a regular basis that might not be practiced by society as a whole? Are my random thoughts odd or do others have them too? Here are a few of the ones that immediately come to mind;<br />
<br />
It has been well established I love all of the murder mystery shows; Dateline, 48 Hours, See No Evil, The First 48 and anything on the ID channel. To be honest I think it makes Chuck a little nervous that I may just be able to pull off the perfect murder, but I digress...so all of these shows make me suspicious of everyone. When I am out in public I always wonder if the person next to me is a murderer. With the sheer volume of these shows it stands to reason that I have, at some point in my life been in close proximity to a serial killer. I am always giving strangers the once over, sizing them up to see if they have it in them to snuff someone out. I bet dollars to donuts I have profiled more people than the FBI.<br />
<br />
Along that same vein every time I see a nondescript box truck I wonder if it is being driven by a human trafficker. I make sure I give them the side eye, letting them know I'm on to them. The other night I was leaving work and there was a small white box truck parked right next to my minivan. There was no one in sight. Now they very well could have been on the up and up maybe they were making a delivery to the dentist office right next to us, or they could have been a driver for Amazon but before I got in my van I looked over my shoulder and back again, knocked on the side of the truck and asked if anyone was in there. Total silence. I felt confident there were not scores of teenage girls packed in there waiting to be sold on the black market. I know I sound crazy but there isn't going to be a trailer full of humans suffocating on my watch.<br />
<br />
Another weird habit I have is turning the news on the second I get up. I have this odd obsession of finding a typo in the scrolling headlines on the bottom of the TV screen. Now if you have been reading my blog for any length of time you know that I am far from being a grammatical scholar. If I don't know the proper punctuation for the situation I just end the sentence with 3 dots and call it a day...but to me there is nothing funnier at 5:36 a.m. than seeing them scroll "a body was found in the Pubic Gardens" across the screen when it clearly is supposed to be "Public Gardens". Then I set an internal timer to see how long it takes them to correct it.<br />
<br />
When I am in the grocery store line I watch what the people in front of my are putting on the belt then I try to guess what recipe they are making. Are they using the fish or hamburger meat with the Old El Paso Taco Kit they are buying? Do they really like kale or are they buying it because they think it is the right thing to do? What is their thought process when buying organic fruits and veggies but have an equal amount of Hostess products in their cart? I put entirely too much thought into other people's grocery purchases but I guarantee you the next time you are in line you will start trying to figure out what they are making with their ingredients. You're welcome!<br />
<br />
Here's another one; every time I see the commercial with the old lady in the walk-in tub with the door on it I always think she looks way too excited to be sitting in the tub. Maybe she is just happy to see another day but I can't help but think she is freezing in the tub as the water drains out. It must take a few minutes and in theory she is sitting there naked as the water level decreases. I am constantly amazed she isn't shivering from hypothermia. I have this incredible urge to buy one just so when one of my family members is happily sitting in the tub I can open the door and run. Yeah, I'm an ass.<br />
<br />
I also spend an exorbitant amount of time wondering if my dog Mary Alice knows my name. She loves me so much. I am her favorite and feet to the fire she may be my favorite family member too. But does she know my name? When I come home does her little dog brain say, "oh Erin is home", or "oh mom is home" or is it more like, "that white blob that pats me a lot and feeds me is back". Science tells me it is the latter but in my heart of hearts I like to think she does know my name.<br />
<br />
Would Forensic Files be as intriguing if they had a different narrator? Yeah, that is another thing I perseverate on. While watching it I always try to imagine the narrator is Sarah Palin-I mean it would be scary for a different reason but I don't think it would be as creepy. Or maybe they have Ozzy Osbourne stand in for an episode. Again, it wouldn't have the same feel to it. How about Sponge Bob? Not so much.<br />
<br />
Lastly there is one other weird thing that happens to me, who we kidding the list is endless but I have to end the post somewhere. Anyway I will be flipping the channels and stop on an idiotic show and kind of watch it ironically. Then without fail 3 weeks later I inevitably find myself up at 3 a.m., 6 DVR'd episodes in, toothpicks in my eyes trying to keep them open to find out if Mia is really a bat shit crazy stalker or just misunderstood. Is Mohammed really marrying Danielle for love or a green card? Somehow it becomes of the utmost urgency to see how it all ends. Before you go and Google it Mia is from the latest episode of Married at First Sight and the jury is still out on her mental health status and Mohammed from 90 Day Fiance did marry Danielle for a green card but you know what? She totally deserved it-there were so many red flags that were pointed out to her but she went through with it anyway. So yeah, she should have known better.<br />
<br />
You would think I have a ton of free time the way I go on about these things. Honestly I have had insomnia for years and these are the ridiculous things I think of a 3:43 a.m. Man, I need to get some stronger sleep meds!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-76762580176538416032018-12-09T10:49:00.003-08:002018-12-10T07:01:09.708-08:00Hey Mustache, what's up?Only a few of you will get the reference in the title. If you are one of the select few then you are my people! So I just had a birthday the other day. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I am now closer to 50 than I am to 40. Or as Chuck so gleefully pointed out I am now closer to 70 than 20. I get the urge to forcefully vomit when I say the actual age so let me just say this past Tuesday was the the 25th anniversary of my 21st birthday. I'll give you a minute to do the math. 46. I'm 46. That is gross. I still can't believe I am 46, it seems like just yesterday Chuck took me away for my 40th. If you are new to my blog and need a refresher scroll back through my blog to December 4, 2012 and read about the 40 year old mom. It was a great weekend and and ended up with the BEST souvenir EVER from that weekend; Emily!<br />
<br />
Anyway, here I am 6 years later somewhat wiser but mostly older. I feel like I am very quickly turning into an old lady. It is as if my body is starting to fail me. So a few years ago Chuck bought me a lighted, magnifying mirror. It has been great for helping me see when I am putting on my eye make-up. My friggin eyes are the first to go. I swear everyday my eyesight gets worse. My t-rex arms are now virtually useless when it comes to helping me move things the proper distance away. The other day I was at work when I realized I forgot my glasses at home. We have this great maintenance guy at work who is incredibly helpful. He needed me to go over some of his paperwork. I sh*t you not he had to hold it for me and had to back up little by little until he was just far enough away for me to actually read the words. I think we may need to put one of those moving sidewalks like they have at the airport on the school's Amazon Wish List, oh, or better yet I could install one of those target movers they have at gun ranges. I could attach the "target" aka the document I am trying to read and I can push a button to have it move back to read it, push the button again and the page will come zooming back to me to take off and file away. Genius! I think I am going to contact Shark Tank about that before one of you steals my idea!<br />
<br />
So back to the title..."Hey mustache, what's up" is a quote from Impractical Jokers, for those of you who didn't Google it to see what the reference was. But this my friends is no joke. My magnifying mirror is so powerful I can see things I would rather not. When I turn the light on it is as if I have a pair of those Blue Blocker/ Amber vision glasses from the early 90's. Or for those of you who really enjoyed the 90's when I look in the mirror my face becomes as crisp and clear as if I were a club kid looking in a mirror after taking Ecstasy. Now, all you women of a particular age that do not have one of these magic mirrors are most likely blissfully unaware of all the facial hair you have. I am doing you all a solid when I tell you DO NOT under any circumstance purchase said mirror E.V.E.R! You're welcome! You see if I look in a regular mirror I look pretty good. But in my magic mirror I look like the old hag married to Billy Crystal's character Miracle Max, from The Princess Bride. My face is covered with this short blond hair, you know the kind elderly ladies get. Yeah, apparently my face has lost the youthful glow it once had and skipped right into the geriatric stage. Oh and I recently noticed that I have a mustache! Now, to the naked eye no one would ever notice it-and I have not done anything to it for fear of it growing back thicker, Freddy Mercury style. You would only notice it if you had very up close contact with me. Currently the only one who fits that bill is Chuck and as I frequently remind him he made a vow 12 years ago in front of all our family and friends that he will love me in sickness and in health. Now, if it came down to it I could get this hairy situation in under the "health" piece of that vow on a technicality- perimenopause is the most likely the culprit and that is related to my health.<br />
<br />
I am not an overly vain person. Yeah, I do like to brush my hair and put a little shadow and mascara on when I go out in the world. I heard a quote once that went something like, 'when you go out to see the world, the world sees you too'. Now, I do have days that I could make it to the top of the "People of Walmart" page but for the most part overall I try to maintain a 'People of Target' look. I'm not totally classless for f*ck's sake. Oh, and as a side note apropos of nothing, Scottsdale, AZ was named the vainest city of 2016, the last year from which statistics are available. Now, my blog may not be the most educational but I am good for throwing in at least one nugget of useless trivia per post. Again, you are welcome.<br />
<br />
So in addition to the mustache I have also become a bearded lady. I remember the first time I saw a chin hair. I was putting make up on I saw what I thought was a piece of lint on my chin. I went to brush it away and it just popped back up into place. I tried again and again it popped back up like one of those flippin blow up smiling clowns that keeps coming back for more every time you knock it down. Holy sh*t! I am growing a beard! What the actual F*ck? OMG, I am super extra. Ugh.<br />
<br />
Again, this not an Abraham Lincoln beard, it is just some blond, or God help me maybe grey wisps along my chin. I am all about female empowerment. I fist pump to P!nk's What About Us, I Roar along with Katy Perry, Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" was my anthem in 2015. I love the Greatest Showman's message as much as the rest. I belt out "This is Me" whenever I get the chance, but I refuse to be the next Lettie Lutz! She was the Bearded Lady from P.T. Barnum's original Traveling Circus. I recently read an article that many women are opting to go au natural and let their mustaches/beards be. The new trend is to just go with what is meant to be. Umm, nope, niet, nein, nahi, non and any other way I can say Hell NO! I am going to pluck those suckers until the cows come home. So if you hear me singing;<br />
<br />
"I am brave, I am bruised.<br />
I am who I'm meant to be, this is me.<br />
Look out 'cause here I come!<br />
And I'm marching on to the beat I drum.<br />
I'm not scared to be seen<br />
I make no apologies, this is me"<br />
<br />
Please know those words are about as hollow as if I sing Madonna's "Like a Virgin". I am fighting that until the day I die and then some; Amy Lee you are on whisker duty! If you see me lying in my casket and I have a stray one you stop the procession and pluck that Mother F*cker. If you don't I swear to all that is Holy I will come back and haunt you!<br />
<br />
Another aging process I am fighting is that super thin crepe paper skin. I have always had old lady wrinkly hands. For the past 30 years my hands have been craggy looking. The fact that my hands look like a farmer's wife's hands is one I have just accepted. I am so thankful my face has stood the test of time. I have my mom to thank for that. Back when I was a freshman in High School my mom took me to a make-up counter at the mall. The Clinique lady told me to moisturize my face everyday so I don't get wrinkles. I have slathered my face night and day since and it has worked like a dream. I am pretty confident in saying my face doesn't look 46, I would conservatively say my face looks 10 years younger. Sadly I can't say the same for the skin that resides under my neck and down to the top of my bra line. That is starting to get crepey. I have started moisturizing that but I think it is an exercise in futility-I think that is going to be like chasing a boulder down the side of a mountain. Oh well, fortunately it is only a swath of skin about 6 inches wide. Thank Christ I had that breast reduction/lift 16 years ago. If not my boobs would be dragging on the floor like a Neanderthal's knuckles. I am just going to have to head to Icing or the Paper Store and stock up on some of those hip old lady scarves/shawls to cover that sh*t up!<br />
<br />
My taste in television has shifted as well. Instead of current shows like the Bachelor or Empire, I find myself gravitating to things like Forensic Files, Family Feud, Chronicle and 60 Minutes. As I realize with each passing day that my life is more than half over I feel this sense of urgency. I feel like I have to teach my girls as many life lessons as I can squeeze in each day. I feel like I have to be conscious of making as many memories with them as I can. I know I should frame it as if I should enjoy each day and I do, but I can't help but feel this impending sense of doom. Now don't get me wrong, I am not a Debbie Downer curled up in some End of Times bunker, I just feel like I have to squeeze as much in as I can. Now, before you all get nervous about my mental state I do have a wonderful therapist and some pretty good meds to help me enjoy the here and now. When all is said and done, even at my age I am not too senile to appreciate the fact I have a pretty great life; I have 3 healthy children who are the most amazing kids around, I have a husband I am so in love with, who by the way is pretty lucky to have me too, a family I can count on when I need them, I have a comfortable home, great friends and a job where I feel valued. So as long as I have a sturdy pair of tweezers and a bottle of Nair, I'm good! So as Murr says, "Bitch, I'm Fabulous!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-31870649867095765692018-10-31T11:39:00.000-07:002018-10-31T18:23:44.565-07:00G-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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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…<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-75566632663263585652018-10-27T19:04:00.000-07:002018-10-28T06:18:56.492-07:00We're Moving On Up!<div id="E45" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E45" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<div>
<span id="E46" is="qowt-word-run" qowt-eid="E46" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">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. </span></div>
<div>
<span is="qowt-word-run" qowt-eid="E46" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span is="qowt-word-run" qowt-eid="E46" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">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. </span></div>
<div>
<span is="qowt-word-run" qowt-eid="E46" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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 </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">compassion</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> 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, </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">tomorrow</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">? 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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">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.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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???!!! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">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. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, if anyone is looking for a real estate agent I know a good one!</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "carlito" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="E49" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E49" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E50" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E50" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E57" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E57" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E65" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E65" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E72" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E72" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E74" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E74" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="E75" is="qowt-word-para" qowt-eid="E75" qowt-entry="undefined" qowt-lvl="undefined" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; list-style-type: none; padding: 0px 0px 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span is="qowt-word-run" qowt-eid="E80" style="display: inline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-29272617590643339792018-10-22T10:47:00.001-07:002018-10-22T18:57:26.348-07:00Ch-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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
***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***<br />
<br />
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!Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-51039987303599473772018-08-12T10:59:00.001-07:002018-08-12T10:59:52.707-07:00The 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. <br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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! <br />
<br />
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! <br />
<br />
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?"Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-59320046148973152012018-01-16T04:33:00.002-08:002018-01-16T04:33:41.743-08:00I’ve got something important to say, let me run to my car so I can tell you!<div class="Normal" style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bold;"></span> </div>
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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;</span><br />
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Kale</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">- 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.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Unpack</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">- 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.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Slime</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">- 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.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Eyebrows</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">- 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.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Car
confessionals</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">- 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 <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>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?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">So here is to
2018! A new year and a new crop of things to drive me bat-shit crazy!! Happy
New Year!!</span></div>
Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-82303365597770516402018-01-14T17:30:00.001-08:002018-01-14T19:16:28.084-08:00I’m too young to be “too old for this sh&t”<div class="Normal" style="line-height: 14pt;">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bold;"></span> </div>
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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.
</span><br />
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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 3<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: smaller; vertical-align: super;">rd</span>
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!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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”. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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! </span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-size: 12pt;">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?
M<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>aybe I will even write a book about being a Minivan Mom
before I am really “too old for this sh*t”. Stay tuned….</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
</div>
<!-- Copyright (c) 2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. --><!-- OwaPage = ASP.webreadyviewbody_aspx --><!--Copyright (c) 2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.--><br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-69195134760509005172017-12-09T16:07:00.003-08:002017-12-09T16:07:41.817-08:00Saturday Night ScienceI 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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <em><strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">displacement</span></strong></em> method involves putting an object into <em><strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">water</span></strong></em> and carefully recording how much the <em><strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">water</span></strong></em> level rises. The amount that the <em><strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">water</span></strong></em> 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. <br />
<br />
Another scientific lesson I revisited was the theory of buoyancy. "<strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">Boobs</span></strong> are fatty, and fat <em><strong><span style="color: #6a6a6a;">floats</span></strong></em>. 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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-27396419353190724592017-09-10T15:31:00.002-07:002019-07-25T16:12:33.791-07:00You Know I Wish That I Were Dickie's Girl<div>
OK, so I know many of my work friends need a pick me up and any walking upright God knows that I need a good laugh right now too. So for those of you that don’t know me in real life my husband and I made a spur of the moment decision to put our house on the market. ARRRGGGHHH! If I added up all the sleep I have had in the past week since we listed it I think I would come in at a whopping 47 minutes. Not each night. ALL. WEEK. COMBINED. I am sure I will have a blog or two about that coming down the line, you know things like one of my kids clogging up the toilet 20 minutes before a showing…that kind of stuff. But back to today’s post. This is something that happened to me about a month ago. As ridiculous as this sounds it is all true. Here goes;</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
So I was a flip phone hold out. It was a simple phone for a simple girl. My flip phone finally shit the bed and I needed to get a new phone. Chuck got me a smart phone and I have to say, not really a fan of it. I think it causes far too many problems for me than it is worth. So one day about a month ago I was sitting in my kitchen writing my blog about our Disney Trip. I was all alone in the kitchen and my cell phone was on the counter charging. It had been there all day. It rings. I stumble around with it trying to figure out how to answer it. Finally get it and say “Hello”. “Who is this” someone asks. I answer, “Erin, who is this?” “You know who this is, you called me bitch” is the lovely response I get back. “Umm, no my phone rang, I answered it so I think that means you called me”. “Listen you little bitch” is all I let her get out. I told her, “you are not going to call me and start yelling at me, goodbye” and I hung up. Put the phone back down and went back to writing my blog. Not 2 minutes later does the phone ring again. I tapped the ignore button and didn’t give it a second thought. My phone beeped like I got a text message. The following is the texting conversation I had with this girl. I am going to type it as is, typos, grammatical mistakes and all. Enjoy:</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
She sent me a text of a screen shot of her incoming calls that clearly shows my phone number as an incoming call. It was accompanied by the following message;</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b> “You got something to say bitch say it! I can only gas this is one dickies little bitches…WOMAN THE FUCK UP! YOU CALLED ME BITCH. WEAK ASS LOOK AT THE SCREEN SHOT BITCH. PATHETIC AND YES IVE BEEN FUCKING HIM!!!! “ (OK, so I think in a text all caps means she is yelling at me and with 4 exclamation points I think she means business)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> “Ok. I have no idea who you or dickie are. I have not used my phone all day. I am a suburban housewife with 3 small kids. I don’t have time to call someone else’s guy. Though you texting me has brought some excitement to my day. Oh and good for you from getting some from Dickie. You do you girl!”</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b> R u dumb? Did I just magically create a screenshot with your number saying incoming call with the date and time??? You’re a fuckin liar grow up. If u didn’t use uour phone to call me then someone else did. LOOK AT IT” (Ok, she is yelling at me again. I am many things but I am not a liar, how dare she?)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b><b><u> </u></b>Ok, for the 3<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 7.3pt;"><sup>rd</sup></span></span> time I didn’t call you. Not sure why my number is on your phone. I get calls from (town I don’t want to disclose) on this phone all the time. I have no idea who they are from. Not that I care but you seem pretty insecure in your relationship. Maybe it is time to find someone else. Again, I don’t know anyone from (town I don’t want to disclose) or anyone named dickie but I do appreciate the drama this afternoon, it has been a nice break from CNN”S coverage of the health care debate.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b><b><u> </u></b>So mature. Pretty sure how phones work lol a person calls its in your log. I sent it to in BLACK AND WHITE. So grow the fuck up. (again with the all caps and with the level of her anger I don’t think for one second she was doing any laughing out loud)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> I am grown up. I am 44, though I do wish I was younger. Life is going by way to fast. Feel free to call the phone company and ask them how it could happen. It was not me. Don’t take it out on dickie though when he tells you he isn’t banging a middle aged, overweight mom from central MA. In this case he is telling the truth. Shame though he sounds like a hell of a guy. Seriously though, find someone better for yourself. You have too much passion to waste on someone you don’t trust. Again, thanks for making my afternoon exciting but I have to go get dinner ready for my 2.5 kids and our dog.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her: </u></b> I apologize. Just seems way to convienieny with what is going on in my life. 2<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 7.3pt;"><sup>nd</sup></span></span> girl to say I never called u when clearly your phone called me or I wouldn’t have your number or that screen shot. (I do think convienieny means convenient, I do like the ring of convienieny though) </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> Not sure how it happened, if I called I would have admitted it. I am truly sorry you have a lot going on in your life. I was serious when I said you should find someone better. No guy is worth getting so worked up over. Find someone who appreciates you and that you can trust. You shouldn’t have to second guess every number that comes up. You are better than that.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b> Thanks. I don’t kniw how the hell that happened. I apologize again</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> Ok so this whole thing got me curious so I googled if someone can make calls from someone else’s phone number and apparently there are apps you can use for something called phone spoofing. Here is a screen shot of what I found</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> I sent her a screen shot, something I learned how to do while going back and forth with her, about phone spoofing. I guess there is an app people can use to make calls from their phone but it shows up as someone else’s phone. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b> Wtfff omg! I can’t believe that’s even possible. So not right. But you and I both saw the screenshot with the date time and your number. I can’t believe that’s legal. I am SOOOOO SORRY AGAIN! Never thought for a second anyone could or would do that. Seems like a lot of effort especially to call and say nothing. I live in the (geographical region I don’t want to disclose) in (town I don’t want to disclose) if you were closer I would love to buy you a drink lol I’m a mother as well. I have a (#) yr old daughter. I’m so embarrassed. Happened at an extremely toxic moment and I jumped to conclusions. But thanks for sharing that info (again with the all caps yelling but at least this time she was apologizing)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> No worries! We have all been there! Life is tough enough, us ladies need to stick together and not bring each other down. I did live in (town I don’t want to disclose) briefly about 8 years ago so the number might be from when I was living up there. I don’t blame you for jumping to conclusions, I would have done the same (no, I wouldn’t have but I didn’t know what else to say)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Her:</u></b> Thanks for being grown and an understanding compassionate woman about it! God knows u didn’t have to. And I don’t know if I would have addressed it with the class and maturity that you did if u do come back to the (geographical region I don’t want to disclose) I would b estatic if you let me buy u a drink or coffee. My name is (blank). For a stranger you really have affected and enlightened me in such a positive way and for that I thank you. (Ok, if she really read some of my comments I don’t think I was being that mature…)</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><u>Me:</u></b> You are welcome. Nice to meet you (blank). I’m Erin. I do hope you keep in touch and I hope everything works out the way it is supposed to for you.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
OK, for the record I have NO intention of meeting up with her. 1. I don’t want to get beat up and 2. Yeah, I don’t want to get beat up. Now this did have a happy ending but, if you have been following my blog at all or know me in real life you know that deep down inside I wanted to call her back and say, “yeah, just shitting ya, it’s me Erin, is Dickie there?”</div>
Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-40878209958605726522017-08-31T16:54:00.002-07:002017-08-31T19:58:36.775-07:00Good-bye my friendSo my blog is usually good for a few laughs; me relating something funny that happened with me and my kids or just my odd observations on life but tonight I am going in a different direction. Tonight I want to tell you all about someone very special to me. Someone that I had to say goodbye to last night and far too soon. Her name was Linda and she was amazing.<br />
<br />
Linda and I have worked together for almost 8 years now. Now I share a lot in my blog but there is a lot more that I keep private. When I started my blog years ago I put some self imposed guidelines on what I would write about. I don't write about any of my kiddos medical issues, I don't write about my marriage and I don't really write about my work. I have made reference to working in the NICU but that is as far as I have taken it. Tonight I am going to describe a little bit more about what I do in the NICU. I am not a doctor or a nurse, I am something called a Child Life Specialist. In my role in the NICU I spend the majority of my time with babies born dependent on substances their mom's were taking. Or what the news call "drug babies". Linda liked being assigned to those babies too. We would spend hours on end in the nursery rocking those babies. We would spend those hours talking about everything under the sun. In the beginning our talks were more about superficial things like how hot Adam Levine is or stuffed pepper recipes. Over time our talks became so special to me. Linda became something I call a "momtor". It is a silly term I made up for a small group of women, about 4, that I look up to or seek out when I am struggling with being a mom. A mentor for motherhood. They aren't perfect parents, but just women that to me are doing the best they can with what they are faced with with their children. Linda and I talked a lot about our kids. I knew no matter what I was thinking or feeling I could always be 100% honest with her and she would never, ever judge me even on my worst day. And on her worst day she never once forgot to ask me how I was or how my girls were and when she asked she really wanted to know. And boy did my girls love Linda. She would host a bake sale for the March of Dimes every year on Good Friday. There are 2 things my girls look forward to every year, the Labor Day Duck Race and Linda's bake sale. They get so excited. It is the one day of the year they jump out of bed, get dressed up fancy and come and see their friend Linda. This past year Anna my 7 year old made Linda the prettiest picture after the bake sale. Linda teased me that it had swirly letters on it but the one Anna made me for my office had regular run of the mill capitals. When Anna overheard me telling Chuck one night that Linda was having a rough spell Anna made her an activity book with homemade dot to dots, coloring pages and a word search that had the words; Linda, Love, NICU and Babies in it. It instantly brought me to tears because those words described Linda to a T. Having to tell them that their friend Linda had died was second only to telling them my mom had died. It was soul crushing. <br />
<br />
<br />
For the most part we were just work friends. We grabbed breakfast only a handful of times and we did go see a medium together and Linda my friend, don't think for one second I didn't see the sign you sent me right around the time you passed! Please know I am forever grateful for that. Though we were "only" work friends that did not cheapen or diminish my love for her and the sincerity of our friendship. She was one of those rare gems you connect with and forge a deep and sincere friendship. All told I have probably spent more quality hours with her in the nursery the past few years than I have with any of my other friends. I am so grateful to have had her in my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
Linda was in so much pain this past year but would always put a smile on and care for all those around her. If you didn't know that she had a terminal disease you would never have guessed. One of the many, many qualities I loved about Linda is that she treated every single parent that walked through our NICU doors with the same kindness and compassion; it didn't matter if they were millionaires or homeless she always, always did right by her babies and their families. She never let on to the NICU families that she herself needed care. I do believe her NICU babies gave her the strength to go on for as long as she did. One day not too long ago we were having lunch together after a particularly rough few hours with the babies. I just looked over at her and it hit me she really wasn't going to be around much longer. Tears started streaming down my face. As I opened my mouth to say something she cocked her head to the side, gave me a smile and slightly shook her head no. And that was it, she wasn't having it. Linda wasn't one for ever feeling sorry for herself. There was to be no grieving before she died. She lived life to the fullest and appreciated every day she was given.<br />
<br />
I also want to take some time and talk about how special our NICU family is. We have been dealt some tough blows this past year. Time and time again I am amazed at how we all come together and come out the other end stronger. In my role I am very fortunate because when needed I can step out and get myself together. I am very fortunate in that respect. My colleagues aren't that fortunate. They are caring for critically ill babies. They can't always take a step out to gather themselves together. They have to stay with their babies and keep them alive. I am constantly in awe at how they are able to give their all to their NICU babies and families while inside they are grieving. The care they give the patients never falters and no matter the situation the families are none the wiser. They are the most professional group of nurses I have had the privilege to work with. <br />
<br />
Linda was not much older than I am and that fact has not escaped me. She died way too young and had so much life left to live. In thinking how to honor her life I think the best way is to stay true to myself, my beliefs and live each day to the fullest. Just be the best version of myself I can be. I have already started to make some changes to do just that. <br />
<br />
<br />
I am not looking for "so sorry for your loss" responses because even though I am hurting and suffering a loss, it is not my loss, it truly is the world's loss. After people die you always hear things like "the world was a better place because of her", "the world will never be the same" well in Linda's case it is absolutely, hands down, unequivocally true. The world will NEVER be the same without Linda. The world WAS a better place because of her. The one piece of comfort I take in her passing is knowing that a piece of her is inside every single one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of babies she cared for and her presence will literally be felt for generations to come.<br />
<br />
Rest easy my sweet friend. I will miss you more than words could ever do justice to.Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-70967790508137481322017-07-27T08:50:00.003-07:002017-07-27T08:50:56.287-07:00Fire up the family truckster, we are taking this sh*t show on the road!First, I want to apologize in not posting in months. Emily, our 3 year old somehow loaded a virus on the computer. Whenever we would try to use it boxes of Russian text would show up and screw with everything. Damn you Russians! And they keep insisting there wasn't any collusion... my ruined computer begs to differ. Thank you Jared Kushner. When Chuck reformatted it my bookmark to my blog was gone. Me being me, I did not remember how to log in. It has taken me a few months to figure out my password and the email I used when I set it up years ago. But here we are back at it. <br />
<br />
We recently returned from an extended vacation in Florida and it did not disappoint. I had you, my faithful readers in mind the whole time. Now that I have upgraded to a smart phone I was able to type in phrases/notes along the way of things I wanted to blog about. So grab a snack, buckle up and enjoy the ride!<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Disclaimer--if you are one of those dyed in the wool Disney fans you may want to stop reading now. This blog may be a trigger for you. If you chose to continue reading and are offended that is on you.</u></strong><br />
<br />
So one night I come home from work and the girls are super excited to see me. They are squealing, "guess where we are going" so I guess West End (a local ice-cream shop)? Nope. The Dollar Tree? I mean I would be squealing if we were headed to the Promised Land. Nope again. "DISNEY!!!!" "We are going to Disney!!!!". Turns out they spent my 8 hour shift planning a trip to Disney. Note to self; maybe rethink this whole work outside the home thing--they majority of the family is home while I am at work and they tend to make major family decisions while I am toiling away. Long time blog readers will remember that is how we ended up getting a dog! The contract was made while I was at work and man do I love Mary Alice but sometimes I wouldn't mind being part of the discussion. But I digress. Back to Disney. I am the first to admit I am not a perfect parent. There is negotiating, there is yelling, there are bribes and at times there are lies. Yes, I have been known to lie to my children. One doozie I perpetuated was that the law says everyone in your family needs to be 5 to go to Disney. Why do you think I popped out another kiddo when Anna was teetering on the edge of 5? Somehow my offspring found out there really wasn't a law supporting an age requirement for Disney. I have my suspicions on who may have leaked the truth... Anyway, the trip was booked for the day after they were to get out of school. We live in New England and it snows. So in the end they not only got a trip to Disney they also got to miss the last 2 days of school.<br />
<br />
So we pack up the family truckster and head out at 5 a.m. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention We. Were. Driving! So I hate the heat. Chuck hates driving with the kids for longer than a 3 hour stretch and he hates people. So here's an idea; let's drive 1,500 miles to Disney in the summer. I half thought of printing Divorce Papers off of Legal Zoom and have them at the ready in the glove compartment. I also thought it might be a good idea for all of us to make a list of what we love about each other. That way when we are 3 states in and we are all bickering we can read from the list and remind ourselves that deep down we do care about one another. In the end I did neither.<br />
<br />
Everyone is excited and we pull out of the driveway without a hitch. We make it to all the way to the Jersey Turnpike and we stop for breakfast. Let me just say, our first stop did not disappoint! I was waiting in line for my egg sandwich when two guys come running in yelling to the staff that there is a lady passed out in her car with a needle still in her arm. Oh great, an overdose at 9 in the morning. To add to the ambiance of the beautiful food court there are dirty disease infested birds walking all around on the tables. I take the girls to the bathroom and Emily walks in, immediately announces it smells gross in there, gags and pukes. Good times! Now, if you have never been on the Jersey Turnpike before then you have not experienced that glorious smell. There really are no words in the English Language to describe it fully. Anna and I have a good working theory on where the smell comes from; So the rest area on the Jersey Turnpike is usually the first stop for New Englanders when they are on a road trip. Anna and I believe everyone is being polite on the first leg of the trip and holding their farts in. Once they step out of the car into the parking lot they let em all rip. Think about it, the nearby traffic is so loud no one can hear them. It is the perfect solution. <br />
<br />
The first day we make it to North Carolina. Not bad. We only made 3 stops that day, breakfast in Jersey, lunch in Virginia and dinner/hotel in North Carolina. Not bad. Truth be told I didn't have coffee and significantly limited my liquid intake. I did not want to be the reason we needed to stop--didn't want Chuck to get upset and start channeling his inner Clark Griswold. It was great looking at the beautiful scenery along the way. Oh wait, the only thing we saw on 95 were signs for Cracker Barrels, Adult Super Stores and Jesus. What the hell would an alien think of our society if their mother ship landed in America's South Eastern corridor? Perhaps they would think we are all overweight, sexual deviants in need of salvation? Keeping it classy Murica! I did have a revelation along the way one that may cause me to change careers late in the game; the people who come up with road names in this country have the easiest job in the world. A few examples; Dry Bread Road, Virginia. So was the namer sitting around eating a sandwich when he realized he was up against a hard deadline and just types the first thing he sees. His boss sends an email back asking for more details...kind of like when you would get a composition back from your teacher and it was all marked up with a red pen. More details, huh? So the road namer decides to throw in Dry to it? Perfect! Thank God he wasn't on the crapper when he was pressed to come up with something. Then I sh*t you not we saw Blue Balls Road. I am not even going to venture a guess with how that name came to be. Though Chuck and I had some fun coming up with scenarios on that one. After all I am a 12 year old boy at heart. <br />
<br />
So the next day we make it to Florida. How did we know we were there? Simple, the number of walkers and Hurry-canes by the pool outnumbered pool noodles and floaties a good 10 to 1. We settle in and have a good couple of beach days before we head over to, duh, duh dunn...Disney. <br />
<br />
Before we get to Disney lets talk about the beach for a minute. Way different than our New England beaches. For one you can drive on them. A concept I love, you don't have to drag all your crap through parking lots and across miles of beach. You pull up, park and that is it. Lovely. The ice-cream man drives his truck right to you! AMAZING! That is until you try and get out. Now as the title of my blog suggests, we have a mini-van. We saw other mini vans on the beach with Florida plates so they must be fine, right? Wrong. We had successfully parked and exited a few times. But on one of our trips we got stuck in the sand. Being drive-on beach novices we didn't have a tow rope, board or shovels. We had a teeny, tiny plastic toy shovel smaller than my flip flop. We are all in the car, I am pushing the gas and Emmie is yelling for Chuck to push harder and the rest of us are laughing and laughing. Chuck wasn't quite as amused as the rest of us. But we did finally get out. Needless to say we parked at a parking lot the next time we went to the beach. Oh about the beach; so we are sitting on the beach and I am looking out into the water and no word of a lie I see a fin glide by. Has to be a dolphin right? So I am thinking about it and I swear it was a shark fin, it seemed too angular to be a dolphin fin. I get on my new smart phone and google "are there sharks at Ormond Beach?" Oh yeah there are! Turns out the county we are staying in, Volusia County, is the Shark Bite Capital of America. Turns out there was a shark attack on the very beach I was sitting on just two months earlier. I made Chuck stay in the water with the girls after that. For the record I never told the girls what I saw and I intend on keeping that a secret in case we go to that beach again. I figure if they ever find out I knew it will give them something to talk to their future therapists about. I mean can you imagine that is a therapists dream, a patient telling them their mom allowed them to swim in shark infested waters. <br />
<br />
We make it to Disney, check into our hotel and hit the pool. It was really, really crowded in the pool. All the people in there skeeved me out. It was like human soup. Warm, hairy human soup. It was the one and only time I went into the pool. We head to dinner the first night and Emily sleeps through it. Missed the whole thing from appetizers to dessert. Sound asleep in Chuck's arms. Little did we know that was a start of a trend for Emily. Emily slept her way through Florida, this is a kiddo who gave up her naps 2 years ago and here she was sleeping a good 18 hours a day. We took lots of pictures to prove she was, in fact on vacation with us. She is a lot like me with the heat. We hate it. It isn't that I just hate being hot and sweaty, I got really hot on the inside. I truly feel like my blood is boiling through my veins. I think we have had this conversation before, that I whole heartedly believe that at some point I will become a victim of spontaneous human combustion. Emily turns into a furnace in the heat as well. The poor bugga was so flippin hot. I was giving her Motrin in case she had a fever brewing but I am pretty sure she was just reacting to the heat. Had I taken her to Urgent Care and had blood work done I am pretty confident she was straddling the fence between consciousness and unconsciousness. The two of us spent a lot of time hanging out in our hotel room. With all the heat and oppressive humidity I broke out like I flippin teenager. So not only was I hot and sweaty you had Zitty McGee over here giving myself NICU baths with baby wipes every hour on the hour...NICU ladies you know the one...clean to dirty!<br />
<br />
The next day we finally enter The Magic Kingdom! The kids are excited, Chuck and I are excited to finally take our children to the happiest place on earth!! Fast forward to 10 minutes in and we were biting each others heads off. I swear to all that is Holy I heard every 3rd parent go by muttering "Happiest Place on earth my ass" under their breath. I had to laugh at the hypocrisy of parents yelling at their kids to 'smile for the damn picture'. I do have an ingenious idea for some of my retired and soon to be retired ED nurses; retire to Disney and charge $10 for every nurse maids elbow you need to reduce from parents pulling on their kids arms as the kids try to run away. You would live a luxurious retirement from one week's pay! Fast Pass that Disney! No, seriously Disney, put a fast pass on your app to go to the Medical Tent and get your kid's elbow put back in its socket. It would be such a value added feature. <br />
<br />
In the 4 days we spent in the Disney Parks I have come to realize good old Walt was a sadist. Why for the love of God would you build an outdoor theme park in a tropical swamp? It was hotter than an old man's balls in a steam room! I saw a wild bunny and the poor thing was so skinny and pathetic looking. He was just casually walking along, no hopping, no spring in that poor beasts steps. Though the heat did lend itself quite nicely to the Disney diet--in a nutshell it is too f@cking hot to eat. OK so on second thought, maybe Walt was ahead of his time and predicted Americas obesity problem. He was being proactive. He saw a problem coming down the pipeline and he came up with a solution--make overweight Americans walk for miles in this God awful heat, they will be too overheated to eat and they will sweat away the pounds. I am a people watcher and one thing I noticed was that there were a ton of fat moms with wicked in shape dads. I am not judging...Chuck and I are one such pair. Why is that? Why are the moms of this country heavier than the dads. Is it because the moms are focused on everyone else in the family and they always come last? Is it because they are making the crappy food for the kids all day and it is easier to just eat mac and cheese with them instead of making a separate meal? I have nothing funny to say about this or any answers, it was just a curious observation. <br />
<br />
Oh, here is another observation I made. There was a disproportionate number of people using electric scooters at Disney. I know many people need them to improve their mobility. However, I am going to go out on a limb and say the multiple groups of teens I saw all piled onto a single scooter, think 5 teens to a scooter, didn't really need them for improving their mobility, at least not medically anyway. Or the scores of inebriated looking twenty something's racing each other through the park. Again, I am not in a position to medically assess them, but I don't believe every single scooter rider was legit. As sure as the day is long, I can absolutely, 100% guarantee the rest of us poor schleps don't think it as funny as you do when you slam into our ankles because you don't know how to stop your scooter. For whatever reason you find yourself on a hover-round in Disney for Christ's sake do not make your maiden voyage in Disney! Do society a solid and take a test run in a Wal-Mart, preferably one in Florida. I had the pleasure (and when I say "pleasure" it is of the sadomasochistic kind of way--you know when pain in some sort of twisted way causes pleasure, yeah, that kind of way) of visiting Wal-Mart a few times while on vacation in Florida. A Floridian Wal-Mart is a beast unto itself and also a blog unto itself....Apropos of nothing, but I got 3 Amber Alerts on my phone while in Florida.<br />
<br />
<br />
So back to Disney. Disney is a freakin cult. There, I said it. It is a cult. Walt Disney is like the David Koresh and the millions of middle class Americans that make a pilgrimage to Mecca, uh-uhm, I mean Disney World every year are his followers. They all dress alike with the mouse ears, pay a hefty portion of their income to the Church of Mickey, not much different than Scientologists. They walk through the park blankly staring at their phones or so I thought. They aren't blankly staring at their phones, they are frantically trying to secure their next fast pass. Turns out you need to have a fast pass for the rides if you have any expectation of actually getting on a ride. If not you will spend literal hours waiting in line for a ride. One ride had a wait time of over 3 hours and no fast passes. 3 hours! And people were waiting in line for it. It was a ride from the movie Avatar so I guess the people waiting for 3 hours really had nothing else to do with their time. Nerds of the World Unite!! So instead of parents watching their children's reactions to the happiest place on earth they are staring at their phone looking for fast passes then screaming at their kids to haul ass to the other side of the park--they just scored a pass for the Mine Train and they aren't going to miss their time slot God Damn It! I saw a crap ton of couples with Bride and Groom mouse ears on. So this lead me to conclude they either A.) had their wedding at Disney or 2.) are honeymooning there. I can assure you sure as shit, if somewhere in the proposal/wedding planning my betrothed floated the idea of a wedding or honeymoon at Disney that wedding would be called off so fast it would literally make dear old Walt D. spin in his grave. There is nothing as unromantic as Disney. The crowds, the smells, the sweat, the kids, ugh! The one good thing I guess is a honeymoon at Disney may be good for population control. What better birth control than seeing 4,000 screaming kids having tantrums because you won't let them get a $56 Lilo and Stitch stuffed animal. Minnie Mouse sure, Dumbo, perhaps, but Stitch? No F-ing way kid.<br />
<br />
<br />
The best part of being at Disney was the E.P.I.C people watching I was able to do! So there is someone I will call "Tattoo Lady" at Epcot. Now, I don't want all the tattoo folks to get in a tizzy. I like tattoos and I even have one myself. That being said, I believe tattoo artists should have some type of magical, crystal ball customers are obligated to look in before getting inked. That way they can see if this body modification will stand the test of time. Case in point, Tattoo Lady. She had Cinderella's Castle tramp stamped above her ass crack. How do I know? She had a tank top on that had an open back. Above the Castle she had Tinkerbelle and other princesses floating around. There was also a quote higher up on her back. Something about life is tragic/life is magic. I didn't get a perfect look because the shirt, though open in the back had flaps on it. I tried discreetly to blow it open with my menopause fan. Yes, I brought my menopause fan and proudly wore it around my neck. I also wanted to take a picture but I am not that savvy with my phone so there was no way I could take it without asking Tattoo Lady to pose for it. I wasn't in the mood to get beat up so I made a note of it in my phone instead. So maybe when she was in her teens she thought this would be a good look for her, but it looks like she may have put some weight on after having her kids, hey, it happens to the best of us. The castle now looked as if it could house the entire cast of Disney characters and not just Cindy-relly. Next to her was another lady with a gem of a tat. This woman had a portrait tattoo on her shoulder. It was of a man. Based on her age and the age of the guy in the portrait I am guessing it is her dad. It had birth/death dates on it. I am all for memorial tattoos. I have one I have wanted for about 5 years now and I will get it at some point. However, this is where her and I digress. I have put a TON of thought into where I am getting mine. Hers may not have been as well thought out. This tattoo was very realistic. It looked like a crystal clear photograph. It was beautiful. But stick with me here, you know I have the sense of humor of an adolescent boy, right? Well, and I sh*t you not, this is exactly what I was thinking while strolling through Disney with my beautiful, sweet little girls; what the f*ck must her husband be thinking when he is doing her from behind? Instead of lingerie does he buy her flannel housecoats? Does he purposely place his hand over dear old dad's face? I was fascinated with the mechanics of all of this. So as a general rule, if you are out with me and I have a far-away look on my face, do not, I repeat, DO NOT ask me what I am thinking about! Do I feel bad about mocking these ladies life choices? No, why you ask? Because when you go out to see the world, the world sees you too!<br />
<br />
Then there was someone I like to call the "Good Morning Lady" from Epcot. I hated her at first but then I realized her and I could be best friends! So I am walking into Epcot and wanted to know where the stroller rental was. I see a lady in Epcot, we make eye contact and she says "good morning". I say "Hi". I then ask her where the stroller rental was. She repeats "good morning". I say hi again and ask where the stroller rental is. I get another "good morning" back. Oh, I get it now...Epcot hires people from around the world to work there. I try again but much slower, making sure I annunciate Ev-er-ee worrrr-duh. I get another mother f-ing "good morning" back in my face. Then it hits me. She is playing with me. She is just as miserable in this heat, probably not too happy with how her life is going at the moment, throw in some daddy issue and this is how she has her fun. She is going to get me to say good morning even if it is her last act on earth. She is not going to tell me where that stroller rental is until I give her a cheery ole good morning back. For a spilt second I hated her for playing me but then I had mad respect for her. She is a girl after my own heart! I gave her the biggest God damned Good Morning I could muster and she gave me the keys to the kingdom and told me where I could rent a stroller. You do you girl!<br />
<br />
<br />
Another gripe I have about Disney is how everyone that works there calls everyone prince or princess. Here is my take on it; call me princess one more time so help me God...I am not a princess. We all know at this point in the trip I am looking less than regal. Again, he heat has made my face break out like a teenager. So here I am, all sweaty and gross and but for me coloring my gray hairs before we left I would be a dead ringer for Ursula from Little Mermaid. Oh and I have photographic proof that I am, in fact not royal looking. After getting admonished from one of my children for actually having fun and interacting on the Buzz Lightyear ride, which you are encouraged to do, I sat with my arms folded all while contemplating where and how my parenting skills went so horribly wrong and at that exact moment the ride took my picture. It. Was. Priceless. When I came off the ride and saw the puss on my face I almost peed my pants laughing. My Disney experience was captured and frozen in time forever! If I had a nickel for every time I said "for f*cks sake" in my head, wait I take that back, if I had a half-pence for every time I said, for f*cks sake in my head I could buy Disney World, Disney Land, Euro Disney the Disney Cruise line and hell even Disney Asia and still have money left over for a souvenir!<br />
<br />
<br />
So I got to thinking, Is Disney really magical or is it like Kale? People say they love it but really just suffer through because it is what society dictates. Give me an old fashioned Himalayan or tilt a whirl at the Marshfield Fair, some toothless carnies, a book of paper tickets, Journey on a boom box and I am good.<br />
<br />
<br />
Over 2,800 miles, 14 days of togetherness, ridiculous humidity, a preteen and her attitude a 3 year old going on 93 with the amount of napping she did and I only yelled once. ONCE! I deserve the Nobel Frickin Peace Prize, don't cha think?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-3964784768300617932017-03-20T07:01:00.001-07:002017-03-20T09:32:34.514-07:00You can take the girl out of the Basket, but you can't take the Basket out of the girl!So the other day I stopped at Wegmans on the way home from work. I needed some Buratta cheese, remember I told you it was a game changer for me and I needed some of my fake sausages. Now don't get your mind all in the gutter...by "fake sausages" I mean vegetarian sausages not something one would buy at Amazing Superstore. Yes, I am a vegetarian and yes, I am a little overweight and yes, I know that an overweight vegetarian is somewhat like a unicorn...you have heard about them but actually seeing one is damn near impossible. So again world, you are welcome! Just doing my part for humanity. Oh, as a side note for the first time in 17 years I actually ate a piece of meat over the weekend. It was St. Patrick's Day, the Corned Beef smelled sooooo goooood that something came over me and I ate a slice of it. OK, 2 slices. Vegetarians take note; if you have not had meat in 17 years--DON'T!! It tasted OK, but the texture of it was hard to swallow, literally, and the stomach pains I got about 20 minutes later were totally not worth it! In my defense, before I took my first bite I did make sure I had the next couple of days off from work and that the bathroom was well stocked with toilet paper. Fortunately for me and my darling family, I didn't need the extra TP, but the pain in my belly confirmed my lifestyle choice for at least another 17 years! But once again, I am way off topic, back to Wegmans...<br />
<br />
Now the reason I chose Wegmans over Market Basket was one of convenience. It was closer to work and it does carry the sausages I like whereas Market Basket does not. As you all know, I have a love/hate relationship with the Basket (as does every Basketeer). Before I had kids I was a Whole Foods aficionado. Once kids came into the picture Whole Foods was out. There is no way I can afford to buy groceries for a family of 5 there without putting us into financial ruin. So the Basket became my go-to store. Plus, deep down the clientele at the Basket are my people, my kin folk if you will.<br />
<br />
So I pulled into the only available parking spot, so maybe it wasn't the <i><b>only </b></i>spot available but the others were way over by another store and it was about 8 degrees out and the winds were whipping. I get out of the car and as I start to walk away I notice there was a sign at the head of the parking space. It read; "Parking for Expectant Mothers or Parents with small children". Hmm, for a second I thought I should move my car but then my inner Market Basketeer came through and I started to play the game of semantics in my head. <i><b> Technically</b></i> I am an expectant mother. No, seriously, hear me out...I am. I am expecting my children will clean their room. I am expecting my children will complete their homework. I am expecting my children will grow up to be respectful, productive members of society. See, what I did there? I just made a good legal case as to why I can be classified as an expectant mother. Parent with a small child was another qualifier for the spot and yes, again, I can make a solid case as to why I fit into that category as well. Here it is; I am a parent with small children. Simple as that. Nowhere on the sign did it say I had to <i><b>currently have</b></i> the small children with me. But for good measure and so as not to be crowd shamed I may have protruded my belly out slightly to give the appearance of a pregnancy. I may have kept this charade up for an aisle or two on the off chance a lookie lou was keep track of me and my belly. So as I was perusing the cheese aisle I got to thinking; have I completely gone to the dark side and crossed over from a suburban mom who shops at the Basket to a stereotypical, rathced-ass Basketeer? I have assembled some scenarios and I will let you, the court of public opinion, decide if I am more a part of the main stream or if I am more likely than not to find myself on the People of Market Basket website with my eyes covered over with a black band...<br />
<br />
I was recently at a conference. There were a crap ton of vendors there and to entice you to their table they had little giveaways. I am a firm believer in one per customer, but....this one table had the pens that anyone in health care has gotten from a conference, you know the ones that look like little syringes filled with blood. Now, as a Child Life Specialist I am against medical personnel using them in front of children, but, as a mom they are cool "souvenirs" for my kiddos. So I took one. Then I started to hear the inevitable fight in my head; why does she get that pen and I get a plain purple one that says Medela? Not fair that she gets the cool one! So in all my ratched glory I watched the table from afar and whenever it was super crowded I would stroll by and nonchalantly take another one. I did this until I had a pen for all 3 of them. <br />
<br />
Another sketchy thing I do happens at Home Depot. Whenever I am there I go to the flooring section. I pretend to be looking at all the flooring choices and then head over to where the sample carpet and hard wood squares are. I pick them up and carefully exam them before placing a few in my cart. Now, these are free samples so I am <i><b>technically</b></i> not doing anything wrong. However, the belief on the part of Home Depot is that you are taking these home to see how they would work in your house and then potentially spend a lot of money purchasing them for your home. I take them home so the girls can use them for flooring in their Calico Critter and doll houses. Brilliant, right?! I can almost guarantee at least on of my readers is going to start doing this and for that you are welcome!<br />
<br />
I may not always be honest when it comes to coupons and store rewards cards. I have learned if you are at Kohls and they ask if you have any coupons ALWAYS say yes! Even if you don't have any! I tell them I got one for 30% off emailed to me but I didn't have any ink in my printer, or it is in my other bag--- and I have never been denied!! I am new to this whole smart phone world so this may be old news to most of you but the Savings Catcher on the Wal-Mart app is great! You scan your receipt and it searches surrounding stores and if an item is found elsewhere for a lower price they give you the difference back. I have had my phone 3 weeks and I am already up to $32 back. My plan is to keep growing it all year and use it for Christmas shopping. So what's my angle? I have told some people that don't care to use the app to give me their receipt info so I can use it. Scandalous? Not really. A receipt can only be used once so you can't double dip but in some small way I feel like I am sticking it to the man.<br />
<br />
Someone I know, and I swear to God it is not me, would take the extra Box Top coupons off of items at the grocery store. Now for those of you without children in the public schools, Box Tops are like gold. They are small little coupons on select items that when turned into the school is worth 10 cents. They add up quick and the schools can get several thousand dollars a year from them. I have never done this but, for the record, I would look the other way if I saw someone swiping them off of some Progresso Soup.<br />
<br />
Anyone that works in health care knows about the tedious annual education we have to complete. Not the specific things that are actually instrumental in saving another person's life, but the online learning modules teaching us not to share our computer password or not to talk about a patient in the elevator. It is the same mind numbing videos year after year. So every fall we need to watch a video/power point and then complete a test assessing our understanding. Truth be told, 17 years in I hit "next" without reading a damn slide until I reach the test page. Shockingly I get 100% on all of the tests. **As a disclaimer I do read the slides/watch the videos for things like CPR and safety standards.** Also, as I complete the tests each year I do wonder if they added a new slide saying "Yes, please share your password-we actually encourage it " to see how many people just breeze through straight to the test portion. Someday it might come back to bite me in the ass but until then I am hitting "next".<br />
<br />
When I sign up for something online and it has a microscopic list of terms 16 pages long I just click "agree". Am I signing my first born grandchild away? Perhaps, but I am not busting out a magnifying glass to read the terms to connect to the internet at McDonalds or to let Emily play a round of Star Stable. <br />
<br />
Another example of me bucking the system happened when I gave birth to Anna. Sara, my first born was an emergent c-section I had been in labor literally for days. Then at hour 36 she was having some trouble so they decided to take me to the OR. I was already numb and could not move easily when they gave me some medicine to clear out my stomach or something like that. I took it and immediately vomited. It was the most foul tasting liquid on earth and with my movements constricted I puked all over myself. It was awful. Fast forward 2 years and I was waiting to go to the OR for a scheduled section. This time I had not had anything to eat or drink after midnight and my table time was pushed back 5 hours so my stomach was free and clear. The nurse handed me the medicine. I asked if I had to take it since I hadn't had anything to eat or drink and she said yes, you may have taken something and not remembered. She then left the room. I put it up to my mouth and the smell was too much to handle. I threw it away. She came back and asked if I took it. I gave an honest answer of "Yes, I took it"--as in I took it from your hand. Perhaps a better questions would have been did you ingest it? Now, shame on her for giving me a medication and not staying to see if it was taken properly. Fortunately, by the time Emily came around the medicine had been improved and tasted like a grape Jolly Rancher. So I can honestly say, that unlike Anna's birth, Emily's life did not start out with a lie.<br />
<br />
The last example of my questionable ratchedness is an oldie but goodie. My long time readers may have heard this one before but it deserves to be told again. Before Chuck and I got married I wanted to lose some weight for my wedding day. I joined Curves..hey it was over 10 years ago--Curves was legit back then. I would go after work. Well, one day I just didn't have it in me. Instead of going home and owning up to my laziness, not that Chuck would even care, I devised a plan to give the appearance of having gone to the gym. I drove around for a while to kill the amount of time I should have been doing my 30 minute workout. I pulled into a parking lot, turned out to be a liquor store, pulled around the back and changed into my workout clothes in the car. Way to keep it classy! In an effort to make it look like an authentic workout I drove home with the windows up and the heat on full blast as I leaned my face towards the blower. I arrived home all red-faced and sweaty. Chuck was none the wiser.<br />
<br />
Yes, I know I was only cheating myself and I have long since come clean to him. So after careful examination of the sum of my parts prompted by my attempt of shopping in a bit more upscale store like Wegmans I have realized; You can take the girl out of the Basket, but you can't take the Basket our of the girl!Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-86173712405571257292017-03-14T12:05:00.002-07:002017-03-14T12:05:39.409-07:00If a Tree Falls in a Forest and Nobody is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?We have all heard that expression at least once. It is an age old question posed to make you wax all philosophical about what is reality. From that quote there have been other incarnations; If a bear sh*ts in the woods and no one is around to smell it does it still stink?...If a man is talking in the forest and there is no woman around to hear him is he still wrong?...Is a frog's ass watertight?...the list goes on and on. Now I am not trying to go all Friedrich Nietzsche on you, but I have a philosophical question for you to ponder. It is one I bet you have never heard; If a bin full of craft supplies falls on a mom's head and no one comes to see if she is OK does it still hurt? YES! Yes, it does!!<br />
<br />
This happened to me the other day. We have so much craft stuff we needed to buy a 5 foot pantry cabinet to hold it all. I noticed something was hanging out of the bottom of the cabinet so I innocently opened it to remove the scrap paper hanging out. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was not simply opening the craft cabinet door, no, it was much more sinister...I was opening the gates to HELL! As soon as I opened the door to the cabinet a rain of arts and crafts crap that would make Martha Stewart proud fell down upon me culminating with a heavy bin of colored pencils whacking me on the head before spilling all over the kitchen floor. It was a loud crash. Very loud. Now, our house is on the smaller side. It is small enough for us to hear each other's thoughts. There is no way on God's green earth that my family did not hear the crash. Surely one of them would come running to make sure their matriarch is still alive. Nope, OK, they would at least call out from their rooms to see if everything was alright. Negative. Not one person, or pet for that matter came to my rescue. I sat on the floor for a bit amidst all the recyclable egg cartons, cray-pas, Mod-Podge and glue sticks and realized no one gave a sh*t. It was a sad, sobering thought...<br />
<br />
This little incident was quite enlightening. I am not going to lump Chuck in this whole equation, he does care about me and we make a good team together. But my children don't really give me a second thought. Once they have what they need from me I become useless. I don't think this is unique to my kids, I think this is generally how it is with children and their moms. Sara is 9 and starting to hit that age where she thinks she knows everything and assumes I know nothing. This becomes even more apparent when one of her friends is around. It is as if she can't admit she likes me to anyone. I remember years ago when my niece was around this age my sister saying when she is with her friends she acts all queer. At the time I had no children and I thought calling your kid queer was kind of harsh. Now, going through it myself it is spot on. She becomes queer with a CAPITAL Q!! She rolls her eyes at whatever I say, she tries to make me look like super nerdy and like an idiot in front of them and that I am just all around uncool. It is so annoying and I want to scream out, "oh was I uncool last night when you were begging to sleep in my bed because you were afraid of the wind?" But I don't. It is just a phase that all mothers and daughters go through. Lucky me gets to go through it 3 times and between them I get to be ridiculed and mocked for the next 15 years. YAY ME!!<br />
<br />
We went to buy new furniture for our TV room the other day. We are actually buying real, grown up furniture!! I told Chuck the day it gets delivered we should ship the girls off somewhere for the night so we can say we actually had something nice for a few hours before they destroy it. But I digress, Sara came with us and she was making suggestions about what we should get. I told her that ultimately Chuck and I had final say and she said without missing a beat, "oh so it will be something ugly then". It is that kind of stuff I am dealing with. <br />
<br />
The other day Sara was getting ready for school and her hair wasn't just the way she wanted it. It looked fine by the way. I offered to help and was very politely told in a voice reminiscent of the Exorcist, "no I don't want your help...you are terrible at doing hair". Now, as a general rule I do suck at doing hair but all she wanted was a simple pony tail. I CAN handle that. I didn't get upset or flustered by the wonderful vote of confidence from my own flesh and blood. I actually had to chuckle. I remember doing the exact same thing to my mom when I was about that age. Thankfully nowadays the girls were their hair long and straight. I was in school from the late 70's until 1990. My poor mom had to deal with the Dorothy Hamil bowl cut of the 70's, the straight down the middle with feathered sides of the early 80's and the huge Aqua Net hair of the late 80's. She didn't stand a chance! There was so much yelling, throwing of brushes and slamming of doors every morning it was a wonder DCF didn't come and take me away. Being taken away by the state wasn't the only hazard I had to overcome. My mom would do my hair every morning with a cigarette in her mouth, hey, it was the 80's. With the amount of hairspray being dispensed each morning I am lucky to have not been blown up. Oh and world, I am so sorry about the ozone. I think I may have single handedly depleted it with my Aussie Sprunch Spray. I wish I could talk to my mom again and offer her a mea culpa, Lo siento, Je suis desolee, Scusa, Ich bitte Sie, Sumimasen and I'm sorry in as many languages as I can. I know I can't say those things to her anymore...but I feel as though she is somewhere looking down on me and laughing and laughing about me getting my comeuppance. As a side note, I just had to take a 15 minute break from writing my blog to deal with a meltdown due to the fact a certain someone can't find a hat that doesn't make her look stupid. Mind you we are in the middle of a blizzard and all of our immediate neighbors are in their 80's so I don't think they will be making any fashion commentaries. But hey, what do I know? I'm just the mom.<br />
<br />
Sara isn't the only guilt party. The other two chime in with their little digs too but they are just that much younger so they aren't nearly as bad...yet. I did tell Chuck years ago that he had my permission to move out when Sara hit 11 returning when Emily turned 18. I figure that would give him enough time to avoid the majority of the drama, hormonal instability and all around shit showiness of the female pre and teenage years. I will stay home, not because I am a martyr, more of penance for my own teenage angst I put my parents through. <br />
<br />
When I was talking about the subject of my blog with Chuck, Emily said if a craft bin fell on my head she would come to see if I am OK. I reminded her that the other night when that happened she ignored me. She thought for a minute and told me, "well, if it happens today I will see if you are OK". The sentiment is nice and I think she really believed what she was saying but somehow coming from the girl who yells, "don't talk to me" when asked if she has poop in her diaper...I somehow don't trust her to come rushing to my aid.<br />
<br />
This is going to be a long ride....I guess I better buckle up! Thank God for Prozac an awesome therapist and wine.<br />
<br /><br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-7037995453930198402017-03-06T09:26:00.002-08:002017-03-06T09:26:26.186-08:00Grab some patchouli...I think I have gone Zen!So my life is somewhat chaotic. Three young children, a husband, an overweight puppy, two cats, one of which hates me, a job, a position on the PTA Board and two Girl Scout Troops keep me on my toes. All of he demands placed on me and the ones I place on myself were really starting to make me lose my mind. I seriously had one foot placed on the ground and one stepping into the funny farm. Something needed to change and quick. As 2017 was approaching I really started thinking about my life. I am 44 years old. So if I live to be 80 my life is more than half over already. The second anniversary of my mom's death was also looming and I wasn't in a particularly good place. I really started to do some soul searching on what kind of life I wanted to have in my second act...<br />
<br />
For the past 17 years I have been working in healthcare. As a Child Life Specialist I have a clinical role, however, it is a position that is not a billable service. Meaning that the hospital can not charge the patient or the insurance company for the services I provide. That translates into 17 years worth of proving the "value added" by Child Life Services. Then it hit me. Am I leading my life in a "value added" way? Am I doing things for everyone else, adding value to their lives and not considering the value added to or taken away from my life? About 6 months ago I decided to live my life in a new way. I decided to live it for me...not for the way I wanted people to <u><i><b>think</b></i></u> about me. So now I know this whole new Zen way of thinking may be confusing, so let me give some examples of how I am living my "value added" life;<br />
<br />
<b>Saying NO more--</b>I love to help out. If there is a committee I join it. If there is a project that needs attention I jump in and help. That was the old me. The new me now takes time to see if the benefits of the project justify time away from my family. Will there actually be value added to me, my children, my marriage, my community or my work? If not, the answer is simple. I say no. Now, please note that if I have said no to any invitation you may have extended, don't read too much into it. Sometimes I really am just too busy. <br />
<br />
<b>Saying YES more--</b> This is new one for me too. I have always been a people pleaser and since having children my life has pretty much revolved around them, and as a general rule it should. However, in the 9 plus years I have been a mom I have kind of lost myself a bit. I decided that in order to be the best Mom possible to my girls I have to take care of my needs too. I have started to take back my life in small ways. My family likes me with longer hair. I like it short. My last hair cut I have gone shorter than I have in a while. Were they thrilled, no. But I like it. I love Anderson Cooper. He is coming to town for a show. It is expensive and the money might be better spent on groceries or a car payment, but I said yes to Anderson. I am going to go and see the Silver Fox and not give it a second thought. I will probably even go out to dinner before the show. Oh, speaking of dinner. I made what I wanted last night! No taco dinner for the umpteenth time. I made Oriecietta pasta with San Marzano tomatoes and burrata cheese and guess what? They ate it! Side note-if you have never tried burrata you need to. It is a game changer. If Emily asks me to play animals for the thousandth time, instead of saying "sure, I will play after Dr. Phil" I play with her. I have re-adopted the whole play-chores-play mantra from my friend Dawn G. Somehow the past year I have gotten away from being the "present" parent I am in my head. Here's a big one. I said yes to going away to a conference! I have been away for a night here and there since I had my kiddos, but not for an extended period. For some reason I always just deleted conference emails or threw the flyers away. This time I just went for it. I went to Florida, by myself for 5 days. My first thought was I had to leave a 20 page manuscript detailing everything that needed to be done while I was gone. In the end I decided Chuck is more than capable and I wasn't going to insult him with a set of instructions. I had a great time at the conference. I learned a ton, relaxed and even read a book! Everything went smoothly at home and Chuck not only kept everything on track he even managed to find time to clean out and organize our kitchen cabinets something I have been saying I was going to do for about a year now! I came home refreshed and with a renewed sense of purpose. The getaway could not have come at a better time. I needed this break more than I had realized.<br />
<br />
At the conference one of the presenters was talking about mindfulness. She said something that really stuck with me. When she is faced with adversity or when something goes wrong she will say to herself, "something about this is perfect....I just don't know what it is yet". Meaning that things might not have gone as planned, but it is not the end of the world. There is always something to be learned from every experience. I am going to try and adopt that as my new mantra. To that end one of the things I have been working on is;<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Not sweating the small stuff--</b>Working in pediatrics I am constantly reminded of how quickly life can change and I am pretty good about appreciating life and making the most of it. That being said, I am not perfect and I do have times when I get bogged down in the minutia. I like to keep the house clean. Not museum clean, but organized. Sometimes I would let that get the best of me and I would spend more time cleaning than focused on more important things. Like Elsa, I have let that go. Now I know there was an article floating around Facebook a few months back about vacuum lines. How if you have perfect vacuum lines in your carpet you are not actively engaged in your life. I agree to a point, but I think you can have vacuum lines and still have appreciation for the small stuff. My vacuum lines may be a bit zig-zagged these days but I don't regret the extra time I am spending with my kiddos. To that point though, I am not spending any more time worrying about the state of their room. If they want a messy room have at it. I am no longer spending every day cleaning it for them. I will keep the rest of the house in relative order but I am just shutting their door from now on. I have stopped yelling. Ask my kids, I could be a yeller. It might feel good in the moment, but in the long run it is ineffective. My kids respond better to me since I have cut out the yelling. When I get frustrated I say to myself and even out loud sometimes, "oh what are you being 3?" or whatever the age said child is. My friend Sherri taught me this technique years ago and I have gotten away from it. It really works...it gives you a minute to stop and realize yes, they may be annoying and yes they may be frustrating but they are only children developmentally doing what they should. Mary Alice, our dog, is still a puppy. She is not chewing stuff up like she was in the beginning but she does have her moments. Not gonna get all bent out of shape. One of my kiddos colored her own hair while I was at work. Does it look crappy? Yes. Did I get upset? Nope. It is only hair. It will grow out. Another one of my kiddos refuses to poop on the potty. Am I stressed? Nope, I just slap a diaper on her butt at about 11 a.m. everyday and all is right with the world. My 3rd child spends all of her time up on the top bunk bed. It is a disaster up there. I could make a stink about it everyday, but I don't. Instead I am letting her build a good basis for when she will inevitably show up on an episode of Hoarders. I have put on a lot of weight. Am I happy about it? No. Am I beating myself up over it? No. Am I working on it? Trying to. Plus, remember what happened the last time I lost weight? I got pregnant with Emily. I just keep reminding myself I am doing my part to curb the world's over population program. What is the saying? Think Globally, Act Locally. You are welcome world! While I was going through the security check at the airport the other day my jeans ripped. Not just a cute little stylish hole near the pocket. Nope...a huge rip right in the ass cheeks. I had nothing to cover it with. Did I get upset? No. Did I pay a fortune for a "Tampa" Sweatshirt to cover it up? No. I just walked through the airport with my ass and new 'Hanes Her Way' flapping in the breeze. <br />
<br />
Does this shift in the way I look at life mean I am a better person? Probably not. Am I going to tick people off because for the first time in 44 years I am going to truly speak my mind and put myself first? Probably. But those people that get upset by me probably are not 'value added' to my life in the first place. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Full disclosure;</b></u> While in the middle of writing this blog a situation presented itself that made me, how should I put this? Go absolutely Bat-Shit Crazy!!! There were a lot of "for f*ck's sakes", a lot of "crazy-ass bitch" and a whole lot of "people suck" 's thrown around. So apparently I am not as evolved as I had thought. But I am trying....oooommmmm, oooommmm, oooommmm....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-40956146782365924272017-02-24T08:53:00.002-08:002017-02-24T08:53:45.354-08:00I have gone to Hell and back!OK, so I am talking about the real Hell, not that cliche fiery pit you think of, not Beelzebub's lair. I am talking about Market Basket, on a Saturday morning, with a blizzard watch for that day. Yes, my friends...true, living hell. Now I know there are 9 circles of Hell, and I believe deep in my core that the 7th Circle (Violent) of Hell is the Salem, MA Basket. Even though the one I go to now is much more rural it is still within the hellish realm. <br />
<br />
So why am I here? The typical pre-storm bread and milk run? Loading up on comfort food? Nope. I was running out of dog shampoo. So my faithful blog readers know what that means. For you newbies let me fill you in...at times life gets away from me. The laundry might pile up and on occasion I have been known to use a table cloth or blanket to dry off post shower when no towels were available. Many times both Chuck and I thank our walking upright God we got a dog. Not for the typical reasons; companionship, protection and life lessons for our children. Nope. With a dog comes dog shampoo! You know what that translates to? Buying a few extra days of not having to go to the store when you run out of people shampoo. Yeah, I've done it. I have used Mary Alice's Hartz puppy shampoo. And guess what? I have done it more than once and I make absolutely NO apologizes about it. So I know I am fortunate and only work 3 days a week and I probably could have fit in a Basket run before the predicted blizzard but I haven't really been watching the news too much. Not even my beloved Anderson Cooper, who by the way I will be seeing live in person in 64 days!! I just can't watch the news anymore without screaming obscenities at the TV regarding the state of our country. So needless to say, I was ignorant of the blizzard heading our way when I took full advantage of 2 childless hours and took a much needed nap. I have not been getting much sleep since I found out I was pregnant... With Sara...Ten years ago. Sara has been ending up in my bed a lot lately. She is a small, wiry child. However, when she sleeps she spreads out like friggin' Christ on the cross. I am relegated to about a 1 square foot patch of the bed. Not compatible with sleep. So long story, long....that is how I find myself in hell on this glorious morning.<br />
<br />
So here I am wandering about amidst the countless number of larks and hoverounds tearing ass down the aisles wondering why I bothered to put clean, matching clothes on. The clientele of Market Basket can be described in many ways but for this piece I am going to go with-- consistent. True Basketeers know that the scooter rider to walking customer ratio is consistently disproportionate. Now I am not an ableist by any stretch of the imagination, one of the main reasons I shop at the Basket is because they hire people with differing abilities and I want to support that, however, many of their able bodied customers take full advantage of the plethora of free scooters they have available and since they are not really scooter users they don't know the rules of the road per say. I have gotten a scooter basket up my ass on more than one occasion from an unruly teen who thinks it would be funny to shop for their munchies while seated. Also, the MB shoppers are consistent in their attire. The official uniform of the citizens of the People's Republic of Market Basket is lounge wear chic. Otherwise known as the clothes one has slept in for a fortnight. For some ungodly reason I actually used up a dollop of puppy shampoo and a clean table cloth for this shopping trip. What a waste of resources.<br />
<br />
So I somehow manage to get a full shopping done without committing felony murder and settle into line. Now, I am no merchandising expert, but, with a store as busy as Market Basket and with a clientele so volatile the idea of a fellow shopper shanking you in Aisle 3 as other shoppers step over you as you bleed out, is a thought never far from your mind, I would design the checkout area a bit differently. I would actually leave room for lines to form. The Basket is famous for crowding up the checkout area with bin upon bin of sale items. Truckloads of pilaf and wafer cookies surround you as you try to successfully negotiate the unbelievably process of paying for your groceries. I make it into the inner sanctity of the check out belt area. I load all of my stuff onto the conveyor and just as the girl is finishing up with the person in front of me I realize I forgot my ATM card. Oh for f*ck;s sake! I have to reload my cart with all my groceries and try to back my way out of the line. Let's just say that was as well received as a fart in church by the people in line behind me. I pull over by the customer service area and call home. Thank God that for once I actually had my cell phone with me and miracle upon miracle it was charged! I call home and tell my betrothed my plight. His love for me is so deep he was thrilled to pack up all 3 kids and drive 20 minutes to drop off my card only to turn around and drive 20 minutes right back home. Yeah right. My desperate cries for help were met with a very long, very audible sigh. Turns out the 3 beautiful children that I birthed, the 3 children my every breath I breathe is for, wanted absolutely no part in coming to rescue me. If I understand correctly I think there may have been some bribery involved in getting them to actually agree to come to my rescue. <br />
<br />
20 minutes later my knight in a shining minivan shows up, rolls down the window, hands me my card and drives away. You could have cut the "love" with a knife! I head back in, retrieve my carriage and settle in for another round of check-out line Frogger. A lady behind me realizes she forgot a bag of tortellini and asks if I mind holding her space. Forgot some tortellini I snort? Amateur! Try forgetting any and all forms of payment. When I tell my dad this story he causally says, "why didn't the cashier just take you next after Chuck dropped your card off? They usually let you jump right back in line". Oh, bless his little heart! My dad has obviously never been to a Market Basket. If you even <i><b>think</b></i> about jumping back in line you are literally asking for a beat down. This isn't Shaw's for Christ's sake! <br />
<br />
I kept my head down, did my time in the second round of lines and made it out with my life just as the first flakes were falling. Lessons learned...oh who am I kidding? I could say I learned to be more aware of the forecast, or to always check to make sure my ATM card is in my purse but we all know this is just a typical day for me! Market Basket for life!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-83296802278450842142016-11-22T17:52:00.000-08:002016-11-22T17:52:01.654-08:00#Thankful<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">I
really hope when you read that in your head you said, “Number-sign
thankful”. If not, I am not sure we could really be friends. Sorry,
but
I never was able to conform to societal norms decades ago when the #
symbol was changed to a pound sign. There is no way in hell I will call
it a G. D. hash tag. It is, was and always will be the number sign to
me.</span><br />
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;"> </span>
<br />
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">That
being said, with Thanksgiving mere hours away I am getting “Number-Sign
Thankful” burnout. It is that time of year again when people’s
Facebook news feed
gets jammed up with their friends and family posting daily what they
are “Number-Sign Thankful” for. Now I am not a complete Scrooge, I
don’t mind seeing people posting they are thankful for their children,
family and friends or their health. I actually
think the “Thankful for Us” frame people are putting around pictures of
their loved ones is cute; it is the ridiculously superficial ones that
make me cringe. You all know the type I am talking about; “Number-Sign
thankful for cozy socks, a mug of steaming
Chai and a warm blanket”. OK, so when posting these things keep in
mind your audience. I actually laugh out loud when I see some of these
Norman Rockwellesque posts. I want to comment back, “Bitch please, I
know you!! That pair of cozy socks is more likely
than not a mismatched set of tube socks and I can almost guarantee one
of them is your husbands. That “mug” (wink-wink) of tea you are sipping
on is really an environment depleting, re-heated, Styrofoam cup you got
through the Dunks drive through 4 hours
ago while chauffeuring your ungrateful offspring to their activities.
Oh, and that good book you claim to be reading, I bet your TV is tuned
to Bravo and you are watching one of the Real Housewives incarnations.
Don’t get me wrong, I watch my fair share of
trashy TV, but I can honestly say I have never watched one of those
deplorable Real Housewife shows. Though, this goes without saying, Much
Love Andy Cohen!! Muah!! See you in April with my boyfriend
Anderson! I am going to see their AC2 show and I can’t
wait. The births of my children, my wedding day and being in the same
room with Anderson Cooper have been the most anticipated events in my
life. Don’t ask me to rank them in order because there may be some hurt
feelings in my house…</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">But
back to my story… How am I able to read between the lines of a FB post
and real life you ask? Because this is my real-life too! We are all
just a bunch of
hot messes trying to survive the day. So in keeping with that theme
and the spirit of the season I am going to let you in on some of the
things that I am truly “Number-Sign Thankful” for;</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful the Presidential Election is over.</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">
Now, it is not for the reasons you are guessing. Though, as a
registered Independent I am Number-Sign Thankful I am not getting a call
from each candidate every two minutes. But now, hopefully Anderson
Cooper can go back to his regular, tried and true format
with him sitting at his anchor desk filling me in on the news of the
day. I am sick of the bat-shit crazies, from both sides, that have made
up the panel discussions for the past 18 months. Please bring back the
best 5 minutes in television each day, The
Ridiculist. I mean if not for the Ridiculist would the world have ever
learned of Prancercizing? Would we have heard The Coop giggle
uncontrollably when saying the name Gerard Depardieu? Would I have ever
heard the death metal song, “Wolf Blitzer?” Probably
not. So Anderson, you have until April to get back in the swing of
things or you and I will have a little talk.</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful for the Internet.
</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">The
internet is one of the most prolific game changers to come along in my
life-time. Not only can we connect with people around the world we
would never otherwise come
in contact with, we can learn anything and everything on infinite
topics with just a click of the mouse, but more than that I can see what
every Real World Cast has been up to for the last 20 years. I can
follow Kanye’s meltdown in real time. I can binge
watch Dr. Pimple Popper videos on You Tube—an oddly relaxing pastime
Sara and I have spent endless hours bonding over. Without the internet I
would have never known there is a whole subculture dedicated to making
slow motion videos of things being flattened
in a compressor. When I am faced with household chores or spending
time going down the rabbit hole that is the world wide web I will pick
random Buzz Feed Top 10 lists Every. Single. Time. Forget it when I get
on a Joe Santagato kick. Who knew there were
so many Idiots of the Internet? I did. You know why? Because I have
watched every one of Santagato’s Idiots of the Internet Videos multiple
times over. So, rhetorical question here…does that make me one?</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful the girls’ pediatrician is not my Facebook friend.
</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">He
is wonderful and I have the utmost respect for his knowledge and
skills, however, I have been lying to him for years. Well, OK, I lied
to his face once, but since then
it has been more of a lie of omission. Two years ago at Emily’s one
year appointment he asked if we transitioned her from bottle to cup and I
kind of tilted my head, rubbed the sweat off the back of my neck and in
a high-pitched voice made a noise that resembled;
mm-hmm. So technically I never truly verbalized a real definitive
answer. I just made a guttural vocalization that when put under cross
examination could go either way. Since it was never brought up
subsequent to that conversation I have never offered additional
information on the subject. If he were my Facebook friend I would be
Number-Sign Screwed! Somehow Emily has turned 3 and still uses a bottle
at night to fall asleep…I know, right? The WORST kind of bottle!! So
thank Christ he has never brought it up during
an appointment because Emily sees no shame in still using a bottle and
would proudly pound one in front of anyone as if it were a pint of
Guinness.
</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful for Emily’s honesty.
</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">So
during a recent outing to Bass Pro Shop, or as I like to call it; the
poor man’s zoo, Emily made an observation. She stopped what she was
doing, looked me up and down
then stared right into my soul and declared to all who would listen,
“Mom, you’re fat!” Sara and Anna stopped in their tracks and looked as
if a nuclear bomb was about to go off. Hmm, I guess you are right
Emily, I am fat… I responded. Thank God she brought
it to my attention. I knew something was off, all my clothes were way
too tight, and my double chin is about a double chin and a half at this
point, the numbers on the scale for some reason keep climbing in an
upward pattern. Something was up but I just
couldn’t put my finger on it. I am so glad she decided, while out in
public mind you, to put all the pieces together for me and announce to
the world what she discovered. That child has impeccable timing.</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful for Tosh.0.</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">
Whenever life or one
of my children gets me down there is nothing like watching an episode
of Tosh.0 to pick me up. It’s like the saying goes; “No matter what,
there is always, always something to be grateful for.” Sometimes not
being on an episode with Daniel Tosh is the one
something to be grateful for that day. After watching the complete
white-trash, sh$t show that is Tosh.0 makes me not feel so bad about
myself. Speaking of white trash, after our trip to Bass Pro Shop I did
come home and watch Tosh On Demand. I may be going
to hell being one of his biggest fans, but hey, at least I will have a
smile on my face when I get there.</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Normal">
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Number-Sign Thankful for 8 easily accessible toilets in the NICU.
</span><span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">If
you have been following my blog for any length of time you know that I
have some rather effed up, to put it mildly, GI issues. I am supposed
to be on this ridiculously
crazy diet to help control flare-ups but I would be less than honest if
I said I followed the diet. I do religiously follow 2 Low FODMAP
Facebook pages so that has to count for something, right? Now, the
thing with my GI issue is that it is completely unpredictable.
I could eat a trigger food and not have an acute reaction to it…I might
not get symptoms from the offending food for several days. That makes
for an interesting life. I could be having a great day and out of the
blue, literally from one second to the next,
I have to go to the bathroom. Doesn’t matter if I am driving, talking
on the phone or holding a baby at work…I need to go and I need to go
now. There are no second chances to get this right. If I miss my
window of opportunity of making it to the restroom,
and let me tell you, I will not be doing any “resting” in there, I will
need to move out of the country and join some type of program akin to a
Witness Protection Program. A Shitness Protection Program if you
will. Fortunately at work there are 8 toilets
strategically placed around the unit. From any given spot in the NICU I
know how many ass-clenched, speed walking steps I need to take to get
to every last one of those toilets. I have been in the NICU for 7 years
now and I have yet to join the Shitness
Protection Program and for that I am truly Number-Sign Thankful.</span></div>
<div class="Normal">
<br /></div>
<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt;">So
the moral of this blog is; be thankful for the truly important things
in your life; family, friends and health…but know that no matter what
kind of fantasy
life you try to put out there for others to see, we are all just in
this together and when all else fails, be Number-Sign Thankful you are
not getting a call from Daniel Tosh’s production company.<span class="Normal__Char" style="font-family: 'Tahoma','Arial'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;"><br />
<br />
<br />
</span></span>Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-29334462310553949972016-10-09T15:54:00.002-07:002016-10-09T15:54:31.982-07:00There's a Mole in our house...Seriously, there was a mole in our house. I am not talking about the saboteur kind of mole portrayed on the TV show hosted by my imaginary boyfriend in his younger years. What, you didn't have faith in me I could work Anderson Cooper into a blog about a rodent? Oh ye of little faith...Google it! My little Andy was the host of the reality show called "The Mole" back in the day. But back to my story...<br />
<br />
So about 2 weeks ago I was sitting on the couch watching TV. Chuck walks in with a clear plastic box and says, "look what I found". I look over and I see what looks like a cat turd in the box. I asked why he brought it in and he said because it was crying, I couldn't just leave it there. Crying? What? Turns out it wasn't a cat turd, it was a newborn rodent, less than an inch long! I need to get my glasses fixed. Mary Alice, our dog ate my glasses. Chewed through the lens and everything! I swear to God my eye doctor thought I was making up a lame excuse as to why I wasn't wearing my glasses, that was until I pulled the eyeglass carcass out of the case...<br />
<br />
So Chuck takes the little creature into the kitchen to show the girls. The 3 of them start "oh-ing" and "aw-ing". Great, I think. Now I'm in for it. They want to keep! For Christ's sake... So five minutes in they have it in a plastic little critter cage and are You-Tubing how to feed newborn mice. So here is my husband, who if he found this little animal a few weeks later when it was full grown would have set a trap to kill it, is now hand feeding it milk from a paintbrush. Keep in mind, Chuck is NOT a fan of the dog or cats or companion pets in general, yet he has told the girls we can keep this little, fetal looking rodent. I am thinking, OK, so we keep it but to what end? Are we going to keep it forever? Are we going to let it go after we nurture it back to health only to be set free and later eaten by Mary Alice. She does not have a refined palette by any means. She has been known to snack on field mice, multiple moles, a baby bunny and oh yeah-sh*t. Actual sh*t! She pulled one of Emily's poopy diapers out of the trash and ate a fist sized lump of crap before I could get over to her. You think for one second she would hesitate before devouring a fellow "pet"? Plus, by the time the creature, who now has been named Penny-Cookie is able to be released it will be domesticated...even if he escaped Mary Alice's wrath, it wouldn't survive. There isn't going to be milk soaked paint brushes in the wild for her to suck on. So I guess we (meaning me) is in it for the long haul. Yay!! (said in mockingly triumphant voice, with my arms half-heartedly raised). <br />
<br />
OK, so if you know me at all you know I don't do anything half-assed. Well, maybe exercising. That I mail in. I think I told you all about the time I was trying to get into shape for my wedding and I really wasn't feeling it one day so I changed into my gym clothes in a liquor store parking lot and drove around with my face leaning towards the vents with the heat on full blast. By the time I got home I was all red and sweaty giving the appearance of a solid workout. That may or may not have happened more than once. But I digress....when it comes to taking care of my pets that is a different story. I remember years ago one of my friends told me when she died she wanted to come back as one of my pets. What up Shannon?!! So it was now on me to keep this thing alive.<br />
<br />
I ask for advice and I am told I need to keep it warm so I fill a little water bottle with warm water and replace it every few hours. I also find out I need to "help" it pee and poop. So as I am wiping it's tiny ass with a warm paper towel I start to contemplate my life and where did it go so wrong that I am sitting alone in my kitchen at 2 in the morning wiping some rodents ass trying to get it to sh*t on me? Hmm. Really? Who was I or what did I do in a past life to deserve this? Was I Genghis Khan for f*ck's sake? <br />
<br />
So we are one day into running our animal rescue center. I go to Target to get something and I inexplicably find myself at Petco purchasing a teeny, tiny bottle and cat formula. I know full well it is not a cat, but I am thinking it is closer to a cat than a cow. So maybe cat milk is better for it than cow milk? That decision would of course come back to bite me in the ass. Oh and I decided it was a mole and not a mouse. It's eyes were funky and when I did a google image search of baby moles
it looked just like one, plus, we have a crap ton of moles living in
our yard. <br />
<br />
So we are on about day three of the rescue mission and my time in the NICU is really starting to show. I am feeding this thing every two hours....I am diligent about maintaining its temperature even providing modified kangaroo, or skin to skin care....I would hold it between my hands trying to keep it warm but there is no way in hell I would put it on my chest!! The thing was so tiny it would get lost in there and probably crushed by one of my boobs and how would I explain that to the girls? Then I notice Penny's belly and I don't like the looks of it. It looks distended, dusky and then eventually you can see a black blob under the transparent skin. Great! I gave the baby mole NEC. I tuck Penny-Cookie back into her blanket, warm up her water bottle and put her back in the cabinet. Oh yeah, so we have to keep her in a safe spot away from the cats and dog so Chuck puts her in the cabinet with our drinking glasses. So while we are saving one beings life I may just be endangering all of ours by exposing my family to the hantavirus. At one point Anna spiked a fever with no other symptoms...I was prepared to tell the ER to call Dan Riskin from Monsters Inside of Me, that we have an episode for him...<br />
<br />
So we get home from picking the girls up at school they want to feed Penny. I tell them sure. Poor Anna gets the critter tank down and makes the discovery. Poor Penny is dead. Great! I didn't even want this thing to begin with and now I am the one home that has to help them process the death and listen to them sob. I get accused of killing it--why did you give it cat milk and not mole milk? Yeah, like that was the deciding factor in it's demise. Anna decorates a jewelry box to bury Penny in. Sara goes on and on about how this is the worst day ever and instead of validating her feelings I remind her the day Grandma died was maybe a little worse. That went over like a friggin fart in church! While sitting in the midst of this chaos I go off into my little happy place in my mind...sitting at Cafe Zurich at the top of the Ramblas in Barcelona, drinking una clarita without a care in the world. That is short lived because now we have to have a funeral and bury Penny. Chuck comes home, digs a hole next to our dead cat and bury the rodent. The irony is not lost on me and I have to stifle a laugh. <br />
<br />
So we all settle in and sit down for dinner. Our nightly tradition is to go around the table and talk about the best part of our day. I remind them that even on the saddest days there is always something to be thankful for. Sara and Anna pass, Chuck and I mutter something corny and then Emily proudly announces her favorite part of the day was when Penny died. Serial killer in the making? Perhaps. Sh*t stirrer? Absolutely!! <br />
<br />
I know my kids were upset that Penny died, but, I feel like there were some great life lessons--they learned about responsibility, if you take something on you see it through, that all living creatures, no matter how small, deserve a chance and that sometimes, no matter how badly you want something to work out it just might not work out the way you plan. <br />
<br />
So it has been about 2 weeks and Sara and Anna have adjusted and have used this experience as a positive. But just last night Emily asked me if I was still sad that Penny died and I said yes. I asked if she was and she gave a resounding "NO"! I guess two out of three ain't bad. Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850493609655190302.post-16065978622487237452016-07-01T08:35:00.001-07:002016-07-01T08:35:14.900-07:00Public Service Announcement for Beach Season....So we have the week off and decided to take the girls to the beach for the day. We had a great time collecting shells, playing in the waves, constructing "Anna Island"--a family engineering project that consisted of a moat with a channel to the water that was supposed to fill up around an artfully created island complete with seaweed trees. All in all it was a great day. However, I am ALWAYS looking out for my blog reading friends....I have come up with a few simple rules to keep in mind when heading to the shore...<br />
<br />
#1. You will get older. Your skin will get older. Ladies, no matter how fit you are there will come a point in your life that you have old lady crepe paper skin. It just happens. There is nothing more bizarre, I guess I will go with that word because after several minutes of thinking I can't come up with anything else, than seeing a 70-ish year old lady with saggy crepe paper skin over her entire body with rock hard, taut skinned boobs the size of cantaloupes standing at attention. God as my witness, I tried to look away, I really did, but I couldn't help but stare. It didn't help that she had a tiny bikini on putting them on full display. Maybe disturbing is the word I should have gone with, yeah, it was disturbing. So young girls if you are contemplating getting breast implants please keep this in mind when choosing what size to get...you too will someday be an old lady trapped in an old lady body with the boobs of a twenty something and it just ain't right!!!<br />
<br /><br />
#2 Along those same lines are tattoos. They seem so cool when you are younger. Don't get me wrong. I love tattoos and when done by a really good artist they can be so beautiful. I have one myself. But ladies, please for the love of Psamathe (the God of beach sand...I do my research) make sure your choice will fit your lifestyle for <u><b><i>LIFE.</i></b></u> For example, a tribal tramp stamp really seems out of place 20 years later when playing in the sand with your kids and digging their PB & J out of your Vera Bradley beach bag. Or. if you choose to have yourself inked with a cute little rose on your hip it WILL become a rose bush if you have children down the road. Just a few things to ponder while you are in line at the tattoo parlor.<br />
<br />
<br />
#3 This is a big one. If you have an asshole kid at home, I have no doubt they will continue to be an asshole while out in public. If you have one of these said A-holes, please, please, PLEASE do not, under any circumstance, let them bring a God Damn water squirter to the beach!! They will be the ISIS of the waterfront, wreaking havoc and leaving destruction in their wake. One little sh*t ran right through the sand castle we were making and another kept squirting people NOT WITH HIS GROUP with his friggin squirter! Seriously, if you are going to take your little terrorist to the beach please keep an eye on them and don't give them a weapon.<br />
<br />
<br />
#4 No body shaming here. I have put on a good 40 pounds since my mom died a year and a half ago (yes, I did...I have a scale and a mirror, its true). I ate my feelings, yet, I still wear a bathing suit and participate in life for my kids. However, as I gained weight I purchased <b>appropriate sized</b> bathing suits to go with my new chubby body. I am not telling anyone not to go to the beach or not to wear a bathing suit or even to wear a cover up. Not at all...I think everyone should go and enjoy life just as they are... I just implore you to wear a bathing suit that fits properly! There were a bunch of bigger girls rocking bikinis yesterday and they looked GREAT!! You know why? Because they bought a suit in THEIR SIZE!!! Sorry, but if you are a size 18, buy a size 18 suit and wear it with pride. Do not try to stuff it into a size 8. Some people were just asking way too much of their swimsuits. A triangle of fabric on just a nipple with everything else hanging loose looks ridiculous. Sorry, it just does. Also, try to be age appropriate in your swim suit choices. If you are a woman of a particular age, keep it simple. A tiger striped, string bikini should be left for ladies born oh, I don't know, maybe after George Washington left the White House. <br />
<br />
#5 Know when to say when. The girls and I were in the bathroom and I sh*t you not, Magda from Something About Mary came sashaying out of a stall. The girls couldn't stop staring. I have never seen a person resemble an old, worn leather couch so much in all my life. She had bright white hair to boot. Soaking wet she probably weighed all of 80 pounds. The color of her skin was not normal, the consistency of her skin seemed alien. She looked to be around 78 years old...but who knows maybe she was just a 32 year old sun worshiper. Whatever the case she needs a new religion...<br />
<br />
# 6 I am white. I am very white. Once a child told me I was so white I was see through. My whiteness is on par with the love of my life....Anderson Cooper. I believe in sunscreen. I use it faithfully. I bring an umbrella to the beach and sit in the shade when I am not playing with the girls. Again, sunscreen is a must, rash guard shirts are fine, my girls are into them now. Anyone know why they are called rash guards? Just curious. But there are some people that just take it to the extreme. These are the people who wear pretty much a space suit to the beach. Again, umbrellas I get, toddlers in a tent? Sure. But what I don't get is a sun hat as big as a beach umbrella with Urkel like flaps, sun glasses, long sleeve shirt and long pants. Why? Just why? Stay home and put a picture of the beach on the TV with the soundscapes channel on....same experience for your poor kid.<br />
<br />
#7 Teenage boys with teenage girls...public service announcement...get a bathing suit that has a little more strength in the fabric to hold "things" in place. That's it.<br />
<br />
#8 This is a huge pet peeve of mine. People on phones...more specifically parents on phones when they should be watching their kids. I am NOT a helicopter parent by any stretch of the imagination. I don't hover over my kids making sure they never have a negative experience. However, and this is a BIG however, when there is the potential my child could lose their life I kinda keep an eye on them. Yesterday I was at the edge of the water collecting shells with my girls. There was a family next to us. Both parents were on their phones, texting/playing a game/working/ who knows, but the 3 year old had their 18 month old on a boogie board and was towing her out to sea. Part of me was like, "serves them right if they go home with one less kid"...but I am not a total jerk and I said loudly "oh, hey you little boy, you might not want to pull your little sister out to far...she could fall off and go under water"...the parents glanced up and brought the kids back to shore. Then they gave me the stink eye!! Oh, OK, sorry I interrupted you to save your kids life...so next time do you want me to let your kiddos drown and not interrupt your Candy Crush? So parents, put your frigging phones down and enjoy/watch your kids...it might just save their life!<br />
<br />
#9 Don't go to the beach during shark week! Big mistake!!! Every odd shaped wave, large piece of seaweed etc. was a flipping shark. If I had to guess I would say my heart rate was close to 200 every time I stepped in the water.<br />
<br />
So there you have it. 9 simple steps to having a fun, safe and enjoyable day at the beach. You're Welcome!! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tales of a Minivan Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04792130975857201597noreply@blogger.com0