So this blog has been sitting in my draft file for while now, I just haven't been in the mood to finish it. I finally got the energy to sit down and write. Writing has always been like therapy for me so I figure I might as well work through my sh*t. Like I said, some of this was written weeks and weeks ago, but I have updated where appropriate. So here goes....
I have not been in the best of spirits lately. I am really dreading the holiday without my mom. I wish I could just curl up in a ball and sleep through the next month and a half. Thanksgiving is a few days away, my favorite holiday, and I just don't feel it this year. I have my 25th high school reunion coming up and I don't feel like going. I am just not in a social mood. Then Christmas is right around the corner. Last year, Christmas Eve 2014 was the last time I saw my mom alive outside of a hospital. She was at my house, sitting on the over-sized chair in the living room. Every time I look at it I think of her. I can't imagine looking at it on Christmas Eve this year. I start to panic just thinking about it!
So with all this going on I have been waxing poetic about life....mine in particular. Let's just say it has been less than spectacular lately.
*My older two girls are at that beautiful stage in life where they are embarrassed to be seen with me. Oh, how do I know you ask? Well, I took them to a movie with their buddy and stopped at McDonalds for ice cream on the way home. It was a Friday night...I thought I was the cool mom until they whispered among each other then asked if they could sit by themselves at another table. So there I was sitting alone on a Friday night with my ice-cream and newspaper I borrowed from the manager. Not so cool after all.
*Emily has become fascinated by my tattoo. Of course she spends most of her waking time staring at me in the bathroom...it could be in the shower, she likes to come in and pull the corner back and spy on me, it could be brushing my teeth, or sitting on the toilet. She has seen me in various states of undress a million times. Guess when she notices my tattoo? WHEN WE ARE IN A PUBLIC BATHROOM OF COURSE!! So I have this tiny little flower where the top of my leg meets my hip... Long story short, it is not exactly where I wanted it but that is a story for another time! So she starts asking about it and I explain it is a pretty flower tattoo. Now keep in mind, Emily is two and she believes everything that is covered up by shorts is a bum. She makes no distinction between a hip, lower abdomen, inner thigh...you get the gist. She also doesn't quite get the concept of a permanent tattoo. Her only experience is those crappy rub on ones that she picks off in 2 seconds flat. So I think the conversation is over. I was wrong, my friends. SO. VERY. WRONG! We are now standing in line to pay for our breakfast when she starts talking, very loudly I might add. "Mom why do you have a cutie mark on your gina?" (Cutie Mark for those of you without young children is the tattoo like marks My Little Ponies have) Umm, Em it is on the top of my leg...I try to explain to her several times over and it ends with her crying because I won't say I have a cutie mark on my 'gina. Again, cool mom is no where to be found! (For the record a similar, equally embarrassing situation occurred when she saw a tampon for the first time).
*Since the day Sara was born 8 1/4 years ago our children have become all consuming. This includes during the evening hours. For the past 8 1/4 years it is a rare occasion we actually sleep in the same bed. I think the fates align about as often as the sighting of Halley's Comet. One of the girls inevitably needs us for something. It is completely mind blowing we actually went on the have 2 other children. Recently my husband and I had some free time, the older 2 were in school and Em was off playing...we decided to try and take advantage of some "almost alone" time. I said "try" because instead of being something romantic it turned into one of those cliche Rom-Com movies about the super stressed suburban couple doing their best to raise their children while everything gets wacky and goes haywire. Sadly, we are that couple. We get into our room and no sooner do we lock the door, toddler foot steps come shuffling down the hall calling for Dad. "AND.....CUT!" I swear to God I could hear Nora Ephron's ghost laughing at us from the corner of the room. Again, cool, spontaneous mom was MIA.
*The last straw came during an epic shower adventure. The girls gave me a really hard time getting out the door for school. Emily was having diarrhea and the dog and cats were having a grudge match. I was beyond stressed and needed an escape. I put the dog in the kitchen, locked the cats in separate bedrooms and set Emily up with an ipad and Oreos and went to take a shower. Great! No effing towels left for me. We have plenty of towels and Chuck does laundry every single day. However, more often than not, I have no towel for my shower. So as my faithful readers can predict it was table cloth time. Yup, I had my old stand-byl table cloth by my side as I walked into the bathroom for some peace. I get in the shower and reach for the shampoo. It is gone. Not a drop left. I was in favor of Sara taking showers, I am now reconsidering. She uses an entire bottle of shampoo and about a dozen towels each time out. So I stooped to an even lower low than the table cloth towel...I used Mary-Alice's, our dog's shampoo. Yeah, you read that right, I used her Hartz Extra Gentle Puppy Shampoo. At least it was Jasmine scented. So as I am drying off the wet dog smell from my naked mom body with a flippin table cloth I notice a naked Barbie staring up at me all Judgey-McJudgerton like. She was giving me the stink eye with her perfect blue eyes, her long skinny legs attached to her unrealistic waist and her huge rack. Then I thought for a moment... I bought that f*cking doll! I stood a little taller, looked her dead in the eye and said, out loud, "Hey Barbie, I own you b*tch!"
I decided then and there I was taking back my life! Insert Rachel Platten's Fight Song here!
This is my fight song-take back my life song!
Addendum;
I called the gym I belong to and signed up for personal training. I started at 8 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning. Take that Barbie! I was doing great but Christmas derailed me a bit. I plan to start back soon.
Thanksgiving came and went. My brother and sister-in-law put on a great meal but I just couldn't get into the spirit of the day. I tried, but...meh.
I ended up driving down last minute to my 25th High School reunion. I didn't stay very long, again, just wasn't in the mood. It did end up turning out to be just what I needed. As I was heading out I stopped to say hi to one of my old classmates. Turns out he was in the same boat...his dad had recently died and he wasn't going to come to the reunion but changed his mind last minute also. We cried together, laughed and cried some more. This is someone I knew and kind of hung out with in high school, but most of our conversations were just things like hey, what's up? Do you have any Bartles and James? But this time we were both in the right place and the right time and that talk with him was just what I needed.
Christmas Eve was at least 100 times more difficult than anything I could've imagined. Full on anxiety attack, couldn't even pretend for the kids. I would rather have been in a hole somewhere by myself than let my girls see me like that. Christmas Day was the same misery. I did fake it for the girls but my mind was a million miles away all day. I don't even remember what they got for Christmas and I am friggin Santa Claus!
Oh well, they say the first year is the hardest, though I am not sure it will ever get easier...the holidays just plain sucked.
But, I just keep telling myself...I am better than Barbie....I am better than Barbie!
Here is to a New, Less Stressful Year! In the name of all that is Holy, it HAS to be better than last year.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Friday, November 13, 2015
It is all gone to sh*t!
My life
that is. Literally it has gone to sh*t. Now, we are all adults here,
right? Yeah? OK, so let’s just jump right into it. Everybody poops. I
know this to be true because when I was a preschool teacher we had a
board book in the class named
just that; Everybody Poops. As a side note, every time I
would read that title I would always start singing “everybody
poops…sometimes” in my head in the tune of R.E.M's “everybody hurts…sometimes”.
It is not a glamorous topic of conversation and it
makes people uncomfortable, but, let’s face it…everyone has a daily sit
down in their bathroom. If more people did talk about it I may not be
in the situation I find myself in today. Which is a sh*tty one. Oh,
there are going to be a lot of puns in this
one, sorry, but I tend to go for the cheap laughs.
So I have had this dull pain in my lower, right abdomen for a few
weeks. It wasn’t a big deal and it wasn’t so painful I needed to take
anything for it. I had a doctor’s appointment coming up and was going
to bring it up then. Well, about 4 weeks ago
it started to get worse. I was at work and it was starting to be a bit
more of an annoyance and more of a ‘hmm…that doesn’t feel so good’. I
was kneeling down doing something and when I stood up I felt like I was
going to pass out. So I took a walk downstairs
to the ER and get myself checked in. When the doctor came in I tell him
my story and I also give him my differential diagnosis; appendix (which
is low on my list because I did a jumping jack in the bathroom before
heading down….To my Hasbro peeps, HEY!! (said in a Wendy Williams voice) You can
take the girl out of the ED, but you can’t take the ED out of the
girl!!), ovarian mass or an ectopic pregnancy (the same jackass that
botched my c-section also tied my tubes…so I am certain he messed that
up too). The doctor agreed and said those were the
top 3 of his differential also. Off to the CT Scan I go. When I get
back he comes in with my results….drum roll please, I have an Ovarian
Cyst, which he tells me will continue to feel crappy, but it will most
likely just deflate on its own. Then he adds,
“or there is a chance it could rupture --if it does you will have
intense, excruciating pain and then it will feel better." OK, so I will
either eventually feel better or feel like I am being gutted like a pig
and in my case that will most likely happen at the
most inopportune time, like when I am in the middle of Market
Basket—though I really need not worry about that…I am sure no one there
would notice me writhing on the floor in pain and, if they did, they
would probably just through some sawdust on me and go
about their day. OK, I can live with that. Then he says, there was an
incidental finding on your scan. You have an inflamed bowel. Oh, OK.
He tells me it could be nothing, or it could be something big. He
doesn’t go into detail about what that “something
big” could mean he just tells me the GI specialist wants me to have a
rapid follow up in a day or two. Great, because as a working mom of 3
kids and a puppy, a Girl Scout Troop Leader for one group and an assistant leader for another, and on the board
of the PTA I have a ton of free time to pencil
in a “rapid follow up”. I call and they want to see me the next day!
Yikes…what could this “something big” be?
So I run over to the University Campus on my lunch break. I am sitting in the exam room when a med student who looks about 10 comes in and asks me what brings me in today. "Umm, you do". She looks confused so I explain I don't know why I am there-they requested to see me for an incidental finding on the CT scan. So she asks me if I have any GI symptoms. Nope. Then the fellow comes in and asks me what kind of GI issues I have been having. Umm, none. Things are status quo in that department. Finally the attending physician comes in, again with the questions. He asks me more in-depth questions about my daily "bathroom" habits...I fill him in on this very glamorous side of my life. He asks what my poop looks like. I tell him I guess normal and go on to explain I don't really look at for any length of time. I go, wipe and flush. Much like when I blow my nose. I blow then throw the tissue away, wash my hands and call it a day. I don't open the tissue to look at it. As an aside, I don't understand why people blow then open the tissue to look at what comes out. I find that disgusting, just like those that blow their nose while people are eating. Strange lot of people. I try not to judge people, but if there is any group worthy of a protest it is booger peekers. Well back to my story, he thinks I may have Chrons Disease. What the what? I told him, I don't think so...but since he was the doctor I would humor him and fulfill his request for a stool sample. If you are eating while reading this, now would be a great time to take a break, finish eating and resume after a reasonable time to allow for digestion. OK. Now comes the fun stuff!
So I am at home when the "urge" arises. I head into the bathroom with the needed supplies; a toilet hat, sterile cup, tongue depressor and my ass. I take care of business and start the process of getting the sample in the cup. For the love of all that is holy this sh*t is NOT normal!! Maybe I have should have been looking at it all along! I am trying to get this toxic sludge into the cup without vomiting and I am struck with fear. I was terrified of passing this sample in...all I could think was after they received the sample Erin Brockovich would be knocking down my door declaring my house a superfund hazardous waste site. The government would come and cover my house in one of those tent things like in the movie ET and people in space suits would be wandering around examining everything.
I go ahead with the plan and drop the specimen off at the lab. I apologized profusely and told them I would nominate them in the next round of Champion of Excellence awards. If those lab techs were paid 3 million dollars a year, they would still be grossly underpaid for the tasks they are charged with. They are truly doing God's work.
So while I am waiting to hear the results, about 10 days they tell me, I do some investigating. I head straight to the internet and while looking up Chrons I am checking all the boxes. Could this be true? I decide to ask people to talk to me about one of the most taboo topics; their bowel habits. So I know my study wasn't up to international research standards, my sample was not large, about 5 people and there wasn't a standard questionnaire, but I gathered enough data to realize I am an outlyer. Turns out most people don't go to the "bathroom" if you know what I mean 4+ times a day. Most people don't have intense stomach cramps when they do go. Most people don't get a sudden urge to go and go NOW. Most people don't have to stop mid-sentence to run to the bathroom. Most people don't relate to Sh*t brick from American Pie. Most people don't have to drive pretty much standing up for fear of sitting down and having a different kind of car accident. Most people's poop doesn't look like raw brownie batter on a good day, Chinese rice on a bad day. Oh, and I may or may not have something other than the weather in common with Al Roker. Huh, imagine that. I guess my status quo I bragged to the GI fellow isn't something to be proud of.
I finally hear back about 2 weeks later that my poop did not show signs of Chrons. I was stunned, not because it wasn't Chrons, but, I was honestly expecting them to tell me what I gave them wasn't human. So they want me to come back in. I set up another appointment because "things" are getting worse and I am in near constant pain. So now they are thinking I have IBS-D which for the non-medically inclined people is basically a sh*tting disorder. I don't like the idea of them "thinking" it is something. I say bring Hugh Laurie out of retirement, make my case a story line on House and he will have this "sh*t" solved in 60 minutes!! Side note-when they told me this you know what I immediately did? Went to McDonalds for fries and a Coke. I'll show them! I ended up in the bathroom for the better part of the afternoon, but it tasted soooo good!
My GI doc tried me on a med and sadly that made things worse. Yay me!! So now I get to try this awesome new diet called FODMAP. It is pretty much everything free--gluten free, lactose free, soy free and some other free things that I can't pronounce. If I do find something I can eat it also has to be low fat. Oh, and I am a vegetarian and most of the veggies I eat are now out. Beans too. Fear not though, if I am symptom free I can have 2 brussel sprouts or 5 centimeters of a stalk of celery. I went to the grocery store last night looking for some things I can have. I left with a dairy, soy, gluten free ice-cream-ish product and a low fat, dairy, soy, gluten free coffee creamer-like product for caffeine free coffee. At that point why bother? And a GMO, gluten, soy, dairy and something else free butter substitute. I am afraid of trying that one, very afraid! After spending 30 minutes of only finding those 3 things I was so overwhelmed I just left. Chuck and I are going out to dinner tomorrow for our anniversary so I will officially start on Sunday. Chuck did surprise me with some gluten free pasta the other night and today he is going grocery shopping and took time to look at the list of stuff I can eat and will pick some up for me today. He said it doesn't seem that bad, but then when I suggested OK, if you don't think it is that bad you should do it with me. The word "no" could not come out of his mouth fast enough.
So the take away from my whole "crappy" adventure, forget the national conversations on racism, sexism and feminism. Let's start talking sh*t! My new mantra is "Let's break the Taboo--everyone goes Poo!". You never know, one crappy conversation may just make a difference in someone's life and save the planet. Now I am not a tree hugger but imagine how many trees would be saved from the decline in toilet paper being used, the amount of water saved from less and less toilets being flushed. My national dialogue starter may just save the planet!! You are all so very welcome!
Oh, and I apologize to anyone that needs to be around me for the next 6 weeks when I take on this whole new diet. I am going to be one hangry lady!!!
So I run over to the University Campus on my lunch break. I am sitting in the exam room when a med student who looks about 10 comes in and asks me what brings me in today. "Umm, you do". She looks confused so I explain I don't know why I am there-they requested to see me for an incidental finding on the CT scan. So she asks me if I have any GI symptoms. Nope. Then the fellow comes in and asks me what kind of GI issues I have been having. Umm, none. Things are status quo in that department. Finally the attending physician comes in, again with the questions. He asks me more in-depth questions about my daily "bathroom" habits...I fill him in on this very glamorous side of my life. He asks what my poop looks like. I tell him I guess normal and go on to explain I don't really look at for any length of time. I go, wipe and flush. Much like when I blow my nose. I blow then throw the tissue away, wash my hands and call it a day. I don't open the tissue to look at it. As an aside, I don't understand why people blow then open the tissue to look at what comes out. I find that disgusting, just like those that blow their nose while people are eating. Strange lot of people. I try not to judge people, but if there is any group worthy of a protest it is booger peekers. Well back to my story, he thinks I may have Chrons Disease. What the what? I told him, I don't think so...but since he was the doctor I would humor him and fulfill his request for a stool sample. If you are eating while reading this, now would be a great time to take a break, finish eating and resume after a reasonable time to allow for digestion. OK. Now comes the fun stuff!
So I am at home when the "urge" arises. I head into the bathroom with the needed supplies; a toilet hat, sterile cup, tongue depressor and my ass. I take care of business and start the process of getting the sample in the cup. For the love of all that is holy this sh*t is NOT normal!! Maybe I have should have been looking at it all along! I am trying to get this toxic sludge into the cup without vomiting and I am struck with fear. I was terrified of passing this sample in...all I could think was after they received the sample Erin Brockovich would be knocking down my door declaring my house a superfund hazardous waste site. The government would come and cover my house in one of those tent things like in the movie ET and people in space suits would be wandering around examining everything.
I go ahead with the plan and drop the specimen off at the lab. I apologized profusely and told them I would nominate them in the next round of Champion of Excellence awards. If those lab techs were paid 3 million dollars a year, they would still be grossly underpaid for the tasks they are charged with. They are truly doing God's work.
So while I am waiting to hear the results, about 10 days they tell me, I do some investigating. I head straight to the internet and while looking up Chrons I am checking all the boxes. Could this be true? I decide to ask people to talk to me about one of the most taboo topics; their bowel habits. So I know my study wasn't up to international research standards, my sample was not large, about 5 people and there wasn't a standard questionnaire, but I gathered enough data to realize I am an outlyer. Turns out most people don't go to the "bathroom" if you know what I mean 4+ times a day. Most people don't have intense stomach cramps when they do go. Most people don't get a sudden urge to go and go NOW. Most people don't have to stop mid-sentence to run to the bathroom. Most people don't relate to Sh*t brick from American Pie. Most people don't have to drive pretty much standing up for fear of sitting down and having a different kind of car accident. Most people's poop doesn't look like raw brownie batter on a good day, Chinese rice on a bad day. Oh, and I may or may not have something other than the weather in common with Al Roker. Huh, imagine that. I guess my status quo I bragged to the GI fellow isn't something to be proud of.
I finally hear back about 2 weeks later that my poop did not show signs of Chrons. I was stunned, not because it wasn't Chrons, but, I was honestly expecting them to tell me what I gave them wasn't human. So they want me to come back in. I set up another appointment because "things" are getting worse and I am in near constant pain. So now they are thinking I have IBS-D which for the non-medically inclined people is basically a sh*tting disorder. I don't like the idea of them "thinking" it is something. I say bring Hugh Laurie out of retirement, make my case a story line on House and he will have this "sh*t" solved in 60 minutes!! Side note-when they told me this you know what I immediately did? Went to McDonalds for fries and a Coke. I'll show them! I ended up in the bathroom for the better part of the afternoon, but it tasted soooo good!
My GI doc tried me on a med and sadly that made things worse. Yay me!! So now I get to try this awesome new diet called FODMAP. It is pretty much everything free--gluten free, lactose free, soy free and some other free things that I can't pronounce. If I do find something I can eat it also has to be low fat. Oh, and I am a vegetarian and most of the veggies I eat are now out. Beans too. Fear not though, if I am symptom free I can have 2 brussel sprouts or 5 centimeters of a stalk of celery. I went to the grocery store last night looking for some things I can have. I left with a dairy, soy, gluten free ice-cream-ish product and a low fat, dairy, soy, gluten free coffee creamer-like product for caffeine free coffee. At that point why bother? And a GMO, gluten, soy, dairy and something else free butter substitute. I am afraid of trying that one, very afraid! After spending 30 minutes of only finding those 3 things I was so overwhelmed I just left. Chuck and I are going out to dinner tomorrow for our anniversary so I will officially start on Sunday. Chuck did surprise me with some gluten free pasta the other night and today he is going grocery shopping and took time to look at the list of stuff I can eat and will pick some up for me today. He said it doesn't seem that bad, but then when I suggested OK, if you don't think it is that bad you should do it with me. The word "no" could not come out of his mouth fast enough.
So the take away from my whole "crappy" adventure, forget the national conversations on racism, sexism and feminism. Let's start talking sh*t! My new mantra is "Let's break the Taboo--everyone goes Poo!". You never know, one crappy conversation may just make a difference in someone's life and save the planet. Now I am not a tree hugger but imagine how many trees would be saved from the decline in toilet paper being used, the amount of water saved from less and less toilets being flushed. My national dialogue starter may just save the planet!! You are all so very welcome!
Oh, and I apologize to anyone that needs to be around me for the next 6 weeks when I take on this whole new diet. I am going to be one hangry lady!!!
Saturday, October 17, 2015
It's all coming back to me now.
I hope you sang that in your head with a Celine Dion voice. Your ear-worm for the evening....you're welcome!
So having a baby is a wonderful thing. All the pain and exhaustion you have is completely forgotten by the time you start thinking about having another. That is why so many people tend to get themselves in this situation several times over. The thing is, they don't stay small forever. They turn one and then two...the TERRIBLE 2's!! Emily just turned two. I know can you believe it? It has been 2 years since you all had to listen to me whine and complain about the flipping hole she left in my belly. Well, technically not her, more like Romeo the craptastic doctor that ruined my body forever. But I digress. Back to Emily and the terrible 2's...if I am being completely honest, and I always am with my faithful readers, Emily hit the terrible 2's at about 9 hours old!! The difference is now she has the words and attitude to go along with it. Here are some of the reasons for her honest to God, full on tantrums;
* The girls were playing the back yard today. They found a salamander and proceed to, in their opinion, play with it...in mine torture it. They had a blast for a few hours making it a home, holding it and trying to make it do tricks in a pie plate on the kitchen table. I was totally grossed out about the whole thing but, my inner pre-school teacher kicked in and I said a prayer on behalf of the poor salamanders life, which, undoubtedly will be lost at some point this weekend and let them have a hands on science lesson. So they are done playing. I tell them they all need to wash their hands before touching anything else. Sara and Anna comply...though Anna kicked Sara off the bathroom stool and Sara retaliated by splashing soapy water in Anna's eye...I don't intervene because that seemed like a fair fight. Now it is Emily's turn to wash her hands. She flat out refuses. She was the one man-handling that little amphibian more than anyone...I pick my battles with her but, this WILL be a mommy victory! I chase her toddler body and wipe her hands with a wet, soapy paper towel. No sooner do I let go and she flops her body down on the kitchen floor and has a full on tantrum. Yeah, that's reasonable. Since Emmie is my 3rd child, I step right over her and finish my conversation with Chuck.
* Being clean really is an issue with Emily. She just doesn't like it. Last night I was at a friend's house and her granddaughter came over. I wanted to take her home. She is so sweet and funny, but you know what got me the most? She was CLEAN! Her clothes were clean. Her face was clean. Her hands were clean. Her hair was clean. My children, Emily especially, look homeless on a daily basis. Emily hates getting her face washed, hates baths and anything generally associated with cleanliness. If I do manage to get a swipe in with a face cloth she freaks out until I "wipe the clean off"...so I have to take my hands and wipe her face. That is the only way to turn her from Cybil back to Emily.
* Emily's love of all things filthy extends to her hair. She has blond curly hair, not sure where that comes from, I swear Dr. Romeo probably gave us the wrong baby, so if you are unable to wash and or brush curly hair guess what happens? Dread locks. My 2 year old daughter has organic dreadlocks. They completely formed on their own. Since I don't know what to do with them I figure I will not fight this one... just embrace my hippie child and dress her in tie-dye shirts and spray her with patchouli. Oh, speaking of clothes, I am so sick of the fight-- she wears her clothes to bed at night, many times she doesn't want to change the following day. My theory of dressing her goes something like this, "is there any chance we could see someone today that we saw yesterday? No, great, dirty clothes it is. Yes, she gets changed. Third child...I have no fight left in me...
* Again, with the hygiene. One time I changed Emily's poop and there was a sticker in there. It was not in her poop. One fell into her diaper. Now, every single diaper change she INSISTS on inspecting her poop over and over and over. If I roll the diaper up without letting her look at her sh*t lovingly and comment on it...the sh*t will literally fly!! She will scream so loud the heavens will open up and thunderbolts will crash! So if you are ever around for a diaper change be prepared to sit and have a half hour dissertation on Emily's excrement. After said dissertation, you will then be treated to her butt shaking show, that again, needs to happen with each and every diaper change or there will be hell to pay. You will then see me trying to quietly and ever so gently sneak the clean diaper back on. Why am I putting it on like a super stealth ninja trying to steal the crown jewels? Oh, that is easy...she DOES NOT want you to put a clean diaper on her. She wants to wear the dirty one again. Em and I have been late to many playgroups/events because I (a 42 year old with degrees in Child Development) can not get my child to cooperate and put a friggin clean diaper on. I have added Wheelock College to my speed dial...there have been so many times as a parent, I felt it my duty to return my degree because I am, in essence a fraud.
* Another fun tantrum was when Emily wanted to pat the dog in the Dr. Jeff Rocky Mountain Vet commercial. She did not care the dog was on TV and not actually in our house. She did not care the commercial was now over. She did not care that our TV screen was hard and you can't reach inside it. She didn't care she had her own, real live dog in front of her she could pat FOR REAL! Nope, she wanted that dog and she wanted it NOW. Thank God our neighbors are elderly and have poor hearing because the way she was screaming, crying and carrying on sounded like I was torturing her....I wouldn't blame them if they called the police on us, or DCF...hell, the thought of calling them crossed my mind at about minute 18 of the tantrum!!
* Proud parenting moment--as we were walking out of Emily's playgroup the other day she grabs hold of my hand, looks at me lovingly and says, "I hate you mom". Lovely! Now in Emily's defense she has 2 older sisters who use that word with each other so often I am sure Emily thinks it is a term of endearment. Now if there is anything slightly distasteful to her sensibilities she just blurts out "I hate it". Here are a few of the things Emmie hates; me, Chuck, her sisters, her dog, lunch, food, naps, the car, Bubble Guppies, me, coloring, tubs, brushes, our cats, me again, the ipad, the sun, the rain, the moon, diapers, night-night, socks, you get the point...
* This tantrum was mind boggling. She was done eating. I asked if I should save it or throw it away. She clearly stated I should throw it away. So like an a$$hole I gave a piece to the dog and I had some...The rage that came over her would be frightening if she weren't so flippin cute. She is screaming those were hers and she wants them back! Now! Well, both Mary and I had swallowed our apple slices...there was no way we could give them back. She was out for blood! I told her I could cut another apple. Nope, she didn't want to eat anymore. She wanted her apples back! Give them back they are mine--she shouted over and over again. Once more I offer her another apple, once again she turns me down. I ask her if she doesn't want another apple to eat why does she insist on getting her old ones back. So I can throw them away she answers. This went on for another few minutes and I just walked away laughing. Now when she says she is done, me and Mare wait for her to leave the kitchen before we sneak her leftovers.
* Emily doesn't quite understand the meaning of privacy. When I go into the bathroom she follows me in and says, "I give you privacy." Um, yeah, no Emily...if you were outside of the closed door you would give me privacy. But, you are inside of the closed door, staring at me and cheering me on when I pee yelling, "You peed! Good girl Mommy!"...I am not a security expert or anything but I am pretty confident Emily, when I say that is the absolute opposite of privacy. It is an exercise in futility trying to convince her otherwise. It is easier for me to pop a squat with her watching than risk kidney damage trying to get her to understand why her argument is weak. Though every time I am in there on the toilet I can't help but sing Hall & Oates's Private Eyes. Earworm #2 for the night, again, you are more than welcome my friends.
* One of her tantrums that spurred her on to scream she hates me happened when I refused to lock her in the dog's crate, with the dog, so they could take a nap together. Now, I am all for children having the experience of having pets to grow up with, but I draw the line at them sleeping in a locked crate together. Maybe I am just an overly cautious helicopter mom or an a$$hole, I am sure my kids would go with the latter of the two, but that one I am not budging on.
* I could go on and on about her wonderful two year old behavior but I don't want to bore you all to death. So I will leave you with this one, again, I am apparently that hands-off parent not completely dedicated to my children's well being...I mean I never wrapped my babies to me with a colorful looking ace bandage thingy and I supplemented them with formula, oh the horrors! And under no circumstance will I ever, EVER eat one of my children's boogers. Yup, Emily picked her nose and proudly showed me her treasure. She was so proud, so proud in fact that she wanted to share it with me. Placing it in the tissue I was holding was not good enough, oh no, she wanted me to eat it. ABSO-FRIIGIN-LUTELY NOT! The look on her face when I told her no, I would not eat your mucus was what I imagine a child to look like when you told them their puppy just died. She was so hurt that I would not eat it. She looked physically pained. She fell to the floor and sobbed the saddest cry I have ever heard from her. Her dramatics did not sway me in the least. I wiped the booger off her finger and threw that tissue in the trash so fast she didn't even notice. Now I know I am not the perfect parent and I am almost certain I am giving my children's future therapists a lot to work with but, when Emily is in her teen years and I am invited into a counseling session to help her process her traumatic childhood I will punch the therapist in the face if she accuses me of not demonstrating my undying love for my child by not snacking on her snot.
Oh, guess what? In my experience 3 year olds are WAY harder than 2 year olds...
So having a baby is a wonderful thing. All the pain and exhaustion you have is completely forgotten by the time you start thinking about having another. That is why so many people tend to get themselves in this situation several times over. The thing is, they don't stay small forever. They turn one and then two...the TERRIBLE 2's!! Emily just turned two. I know can you believe it? It has been 2 years since you all had to listen to me whine and complain about the flipping hole she left in my belly. Well, technically not her, more like Romeo the craptastic doctor that ruined my body forever. But I digress. Back to Emily and the terrible 2's...if I am being completely honest, and I always am with my faithful readers, Emily hit the terrible 2's at about 9 hours old!! The difference is now she has the words and attitude to go along with it. Here are some of the reasons for her honest to God, full on tantrums;
* The girls were playing the back yard today. They found a salamander and proceed to, in their opinion, play with it...in mine torture it. They had a blast for a few hours making it a home, holding it and trying to make it do tricks in a pie plate on the kitchen table. I was totally grossed out about the whole thing but, my inner pre-school teacher kicked in and I said a prayer on behalf of the poor salamanders life, which, undoubtedly will be lost at some point this weekend and let them have a hands on science lesson. So they are done playing. I tell them they all need to wash their hands before touching anything else. Sara and Anna comply...though Anna kicked Sara off the bathroom stool and Sara retaliated by splashing soapy water in Anna's eye...I don't intervene because that seemed like a fair fight. Now it is Emily's turn to wash her hands. She flat out refuses. She was the one man-handling that little amphibian more than anyone...I pick my battles with her but, this WILL be a mommy victory! I chase her toddler body and wipe her hands with a wet, soapy paper towel. No sooner do I let go and she flops her body down on the kitchen floor and has a full on tantrum. Yeah, that's reasonable. Since Emmie is my 3rd child, I step right over her and finish my conversation with Chuck.
* Being clean really is an issue with Emily. She just doesn't like it. Last night I was at a friend's house and her granddaughter came over. I wanted to take her home. She is so sweet and funny, but you know what got me the most? She was CLEAN! Her clothes were clean. Her face was clean. Her hands were clean. Her hair was clean. My children, Emily especially, look homeless on a daily basis. Emily hates getting her face washed, hates baths and anything generally associated with cleanliness. If I do manage to get a swipe in with a face cloth she freaks out until I "wipe the clean off"...so I have to take my hands and wipe her face. That is the only way to turn her from Cybil back to Emily.
* Emily's love of all things filthy extends to her hair. She has blond curly hair, not sure where that comes from, I swear Dr. Romeo probably gave us the wrong baby, so if you are unable to wash and or brush curly hair guess what happens? Dread locks. My 2 year old daughter has organic dreadlocks. They completely formed on their own. Since I don't know what to do with them I figure I will not fight this one... just embrace my hippie child and dress her in tie-dye shirts and spray her with patchouli. Oh, speaking of clothes, I am so sick of the fight-- she wears her clothes to bed at night, many times she doesn't want to change the following day. My theory of dressing her goes something like this, "is there any chance we could see someone today that we saw yesterday? No, great, dirty clothes it is. Yes, she gets changed. Third child...I have no fight left in me...
* Again, with the hygiene. One time I changed Emily's poop and there was a sticker in there. It was not in her poop. One fell into her diaper. Now, every single diaper change she INSISTS on inspecting her poop over and over and over. If I roll the diaper up without letting her look at her sh*t lovingly and comment on it...the sh*t will literally fly!! She will scream so loud the heavens will open up and thunderbolts will crash! So if you are ever around for a diaper change be prepared to sit and have a half hour dissertation on Emily's excrement. After said dissertation, you will then be treated to her butt shaking show, that again, needs to happen with each and every diaper change or there will be hell to pay. You will then see me trying to quietly and ever so gently sneak the clean diaper back on. Why am I putting it on like a super stealth ninja trying to steal the crown jewels? Oh, that is easy...she DOES NOT want you to put a clean diaper on her. She wants to wear the dirty one again. Em and I have been late to many playgroups/events because I (a 42 year old with degrees in Child Development) can not get my child to cooperate and put a friggin clean diaper on. I have added Wheelock College to my speed dial...there have been so many times as a parent, I felt it my duty to return my degree because I am, in essence a fraud.
* Another fun tantrum was when Emily wanted to pat the dog in the Dr. Jeff Rocky Mountain Vet commercial. She did not care the dog was on TV and not actually in our house. She did not care the commercial was now over. She did not care that our TV screen was hard and you can't reach inside it. She didn't care she had her own, real live dog in front of her she could pat FOR REAL! Nope, she wanted that dog and she wanted it NOW. Thank God our neighbors are elderly and have poor hearing because the way she was screaming, crying and carrying on sounded like I was torturing her....I wouldn't blame them if they called the police on us, or DCF...hell, the thought of calling them crossed my mind at about minute 18 of the tantrum!!
* Proud parenting moment--as we were walking out of Emily's playgroup the other day she grabs hold of my hand, looks at me lovingly and says, "I hate you mom". Lovely! Now in Emily's defense she has 2 older sisters who use that word with each other so often I am sure Emily thinks it is a term of endearment. Now if there is anything slightly distasteful to her sensibilities she just blurts out "I hate it". Here are a few of the things Emmie hates; me, Chuck, her sisters, her dog, lunch, food, naps, the car, Bubble Guppies, me, coloring, tubs, brushes, our cats, me again, the ipad, the sun, the rain, the moon, diapers, night-night, socks, you get the point...
* This tantrum was mind boggling. She was done eating. I asked if I should save it or throw it away. She clearly stated I should throw it away. So like an a$$hole I gave a piece to the dog and I had some...The rage that came over her would be frightening if she weren't so flippin cute. She is screaming those were hers and she wants them back! Now! Well, both Mary and I had swallowed our apple slices...there was no way we could give them back. She was out for blood! I told her I could cut another apple. Nope, she didn't want to eat anymore. She wanted her apples back! Give them back they are mine--she shouted over and over again. Once more I offer her another apple, once again she turns me down. I ask her if she doesn't want another apple to eat why does she insist on getting her old ones back. So I can throw them away she answers. This went on for another few minutes and I just walked away laughing. Now when she says she is done, me and Mare wait for her to leave the kitchen before we sneak her leftovers.
* Emily doesn't quite understand the meaning of privacy. When I go into the bathroom she follows me in and says, "I give you privacy." Um, yeah, no Emily...if you were outside of the closed door you would give me privacy. But, you are inside of the closed door, staring at me and cheering me on when I pee yelling, "You peed! Good girl Mommy!"...I am not a security expert or anything but I am pretty confident Emily, when I say that is the absolute opposite of privacy. It is an exercise in futility trying to convince her otherwise. It is easier for me to pop a squat with her watching than risk kidney damage trying to get her to understand why her argument is weak. Though every time I am in there on the toilet I can't help but sing Hall & Oates's Private Eyes. Earworm #2 for the night, again, you are more than welcome my friends.
* One of her tantrums that spurred her on to scream she hates me happened when I refused to lock her in the dog's crate, with the dog, so they could take a nap together. Now, I am all for children having the experience of having pets to grow up with, but I draw the line at them sleeping in a locked crate together. Maybe I am just an overly cautious helicopter mom or an a$$hole, I am sure my kids would go with the latter of the two, but that one I am not budging on.
* I could go on and on about her wonderful two year old behavior but I don't want to bore you all to death. So I will leave you with this one, again, I am apparently that hands-off parent not completely dedicated to my children's well being...I mean I never wrapped my babies to me with a colorful looking ace bandage thingy and I supplemented them with formula, oh the horrors! And under no circumstance will I ever, EVER eat one of my children's boogers. Yup, Emily picked her nose and proudly showed me her treasure. She was so proud, so proud in fact that she wanted to share it with me. Placing it in the tissue I was holding was not good enough, oh no, she wanted me to eat it. ABSO-FRIIGIN-LUTELY NOT! The look on her face when I told her no, I would not eat your mucus was what I imagine a child to look like when you told them their puppy just died. She was so hurt that I would not eat it. She looked physically pained. She fell to the floor and sobbed the saddest cry I have ever heard from her. Her dramatics did not sway me in the least. I wiped the booger off her finger and threw that tissue in the trash so fast she didn't even notice. Now I know I am not the perfect parent and I am almost certain I am giving my children's future therapists a lot to work with but, when Emily is in her teen years and I am invited into a counseling session to help her process her traumatic childhood I will punch the therapist in the face if she accuses me of not demonstrating my undying love for my child by not snacking on her snot.
Oh, guess what? In my experience 3 year olds are WAY harder than 2 year olds...
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Just keep squeezing!
I really hope you said that in the sing-song voice of Dory from Finding Nemo. If you didn't you might want to go back and have a do-over. I'll give you a minute...OK, so you are probably thinking to yourself, keep squeezing what? You are going to have to wait to find out, but, oh my friends it will be SO worth it!!
I have been under an indescribable amount of stress lately. The intense pressure has been manifesting itself in various ways, one being ocular migraines. For me the migraines have been coming much more frequently, several a week. Now, unlike a traditional migraine, I may or may not get the intense headache...each event is different. What I do get is this strange change in my eyesight. I get this odd shaped spot in my field of vision that makes everything appear to me as if I am looking through a prism or kaleidoscope. It can last anywhere from 5 minutes to half an hour. Most times I get an odd sensation a few minutes before it is going to happen, which is helpful so I can pull over if I am driving or stop doing anything that might not end well with my kaleidoscope eye. No need to worry, I have been worked up by a top-notch Neuro-Opthamologist at the Brigham. They are just text book ocular migraines, for whatever that's worth.
So I get on the shuttle for work the other day. I hate being a shuttle person! I have been at all 3 hospitals I have worked at, maybe someday I will stay somewhere long enough to earn a spot in the employee garage. Until then I am a lowly shuttle person! So back to the story, I take my seat on the shuttle and out of nowhere I get my wanky eye. This one is a doozy! It came on so fast and so strong I was hit by an intense wave of nausea. Awesome! F*cking awesome! Not only am I on the smelly, hot, gross shuttle, but seated next to me are the friggin lovebirds...a couple that drive to work together, sit next to each other and hold hands the entire ride...they also come in later in the day so all three of us get to spend 8 minutes in hell together twice a week. They make me sick. I want to somehow fast forward their life 10 years and 3 kids later. Guaranteed they will not be sitting together on the shuttle at that point. I can, with the utmost certainty, say that one of them will "pretend" to leave something in the car so as to have to take the next shuttle.
But back to my incredible urge to puke. I REFUSE to get sick on the shuttle. That will get me remanded to the shuttle forever. They would never accept me into the employee lot after that. Puking on the shuttle is just bad form, not at all the behavior one would expect from an elite parker. So I hold it in. BAD MOVE. I should have listened to the warning signs. My throat tightening, sweat beading on my temples and the little throw up in my mouth that came up by accident. But, NOOOOO, I ignored all the signs my body was giving me it needed to purge itself. BIG MISTAKE!!! BIG ONE!! My body shot back with a big ol' F- You Erin! It was in that moment I learned a valuable life lesson; listen to your body. My body was pissed at me, in a way I have never seen before. "Well, Erin", it said, "since you aren't doing this the easy way, I''ll show you who is boss". It no sooner got through telling me that when my body attempts a coup d'etat, which is the sudden and forced seizure of a state....in this case my bowels...
So my body was going to purge one way or another. I should have just opened my mouth and let it flow, but, no, I was too good for that. Well, now I am only 1 minute into an 8 minute ride. This is perfect. I am looking through a friggin kaleidoscope, sweating and about to sh*t myself in front of the flippin bobsie twins next to me. At least it would give them something to talk about on the ride home. So as I am squeezing my ass cheeks together (see I told you it would be worth the wait) we hit traffic. Could have predicted that one. So we are creeping along at about negative zero miles an hour my innards are being twisted all about. If I had to draw a picture of it, it would look something like a really long Gogurt twisted in loops and with each squeeze the yogurt is getting that much closer to slipping out. I have no ass to speak of, it is pretty flat, but man even in the throws of this crisis I am pretty impressed with it's ability to hold things in check.
So finally the traffic breaks up and we are cruising along at about 5 miles an hour....for the love of all that is Holy, why is this 8 minute ride turning into a 20 minute test of my ass's endurance? I swear I can never catch a break!! OK, so we are one street away from the hospital. It has to be the most narrow street in all of the city. Cars are parked on both sides of the street so in essence only one can get through at a time. At this point I am doing all I can not to scream out in pain, despair and utter contempt for what the world has been throwing at me lately. So wouldn't you know some country bumpkin decides at this exact moment, at this exact time to perfect her parallel parking skills. For the love of God lady, just let the shuttle bus go by first. Nope...at this point her attempt at parking in a spot that is about 4 feet too short for her station wagon, took a good 6 attempts. Oh and her and the other old bittie in the car were laughing with each bad attempt. I had a good mind to jump off the shuttle, open her car door and lay into her with a primal scream releasing all of the built up stress and then dropping trow and full on sh*t on her face. I guarantee it would wipe that stupid smile off their faces right quick. But, alas, I did not because I knew the second I stood up I would channel my inner Uta Pippig, you know that lady that won the Boston Marathon multiple times, but is only remembered for pooping herself on live TV? That would be me. The big take away from this is; if you don't know how to parallel park, then DON"T!!!! You're welcome!
So after what feels like an eternity we arrive at the hospital. I somehow make it off the shuttle, up the stairs, into the hospital and end up at the elevator bank. I say somehow because I am not entirely sure how I managed to get there. I don't know if my body was shutting down and natural endorphins kicked in while I transitioned, because I was almost certain I was going to die and that is how I made it to the elevators. Or maybe, my primal brain took over and was on a mission to get me to the bathroom. I guess I will never know. So as I am hunched over with intense stomach cramps, sweat now dripping off my face, my ass cheeks clenched and my kaleidoscope eyes an old lady comes over to me with tears in her eyes asking where the ER is. ARE. YOU. F*CKING. KIDDING. ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I scream really loudly in my head). Now I like to consider myself a genuinely nice person and I always, always go out of my way to help lost visitors in the hospital. This one time though I really didn't have it in me, OK, well I did have it in me and it was trying it's best to get out. I did end up taking her because, although I consider myself a nice person there is that small percentage of me that is cynical. Was she really looking for the ER? Or was she sent there by the administration to see how well the employees are with customer service. So I tell her through my clenched teeth that I would take her. So I am hobbling around hunched over, shuffling along so as not to give any leeway in my butt, lest I have an accident right there in the hallway. Oh, and with my wanky eyesight, I have to really try hard to focus my vision on the object I am looking at. So I have to cock my head in weird positions, close each eyelid to differing lengths and get really close to it. So considering that, my posture and the sweat at this point pouring off of me I looked like a crazed heroin addict. Remember all the druggies in the old movie New Jack City? Yeah, I could have been a stand in.
Finally get on the elevator, get to work, avoid all eye contact with anyone in my way and shuffled my clenched ass down to the good bathroom, the single bathroom right before the locker room. I can not thank the walking upright Gods enough for getting me here without an accident. I no sooner sit my ass on the toilet and, drum roll please.....NOTHING!!!! NADA! NYET! The urge to go to the bathroom went away like it was never even there. I sh*t you not!! Pun intended! The ass that got me this far, holding itself together for a good 18 minutes was betraying me? Son of a f-ing bitch!!! I went to hell and back for nothing? No reward. No closure. Not even a nugget. I have never been so disappointed yet so relieved all at the same time. So I guess the take away from this is; my ass really came through in the clench!!
I have been under an indescribable amount of stress lately. The intense pressure has been manifesting itself in various ways, one being ocular migraines. For me the migraines have been coming much more frequently, several a week. Now, unlike a traditional migraine, I may or may not get the intense headache...each event is different. What I do get is this strange change in my eyesight. I get this odd shaped spot in my field of vision that makes everything appear to me as if I am looking through a prism or kaleidoscope. It can last anywhere from 5 minutes to half an hour. Most times I get an odd sensation a few minutes before it is going to happen, which is helpful so I can pull over if I am driving or stop doing anything that might not end well with my kaleidoscope eye. No need to worry, I have been worked up by a top-notch Neuro-Opthamologist at the Brigham. They are just text book ocular migraines, for whatever that's worth.
So I get on the shuttle for work the other day. I hate being a shuttle person! I have been at all 3 hospitals I have worked at, maybe someday I will stay somewhere long enough to earn a spot in the employee garage. Until then I am a lowly shuttle person! So back to the story, I take my seat on the shuttle and out of nowhere I get my wanky eye. This one is a doozy! It came on so fast and so strong I was hit by an intense wave of nausea. Awesome! F*cking awesome! Not only am I on the smelly, hot, gross shuttle, but seated next to me are the friggin lovebirds...a couple that drive to work together, sit next to each other and hold hands the entire ride...they also come in later in the day so all three of us get to spend 8 minutes in hell together twice a week. They make me sick. I want to somehow fast forward their life 10 years and 3 kids later. Guaranteed they will not be sitting together on the shuttle at that point. I can, with the utmost certainty, say that one of them will "pretend" to leave something in the car so as to have to take the next shuttle.
But back to my incredible urge to puke. I REFUSE to get sick on the shuttle. That will get me remanded to the shuttle forever. They would never accept me into the employee lot after that. Puking on the shuttle is just bad form, not at all the behavior one would expect from an elite parker. So I hold it in. BAD MOVE. I should have listened to the warning signs. My throat tightening, sweat beading on my temples and the little throw up in my mouth that came up by accident. But, NOOOOO, I ignored all the signs my body was giving me it needed to purge itself. BIG MISTAKE!!! BIG ONE!! My body shot back with a big ol' F- You Erin! It was in that moment I learned a valuable life lesson; listen to your body. My body was pissed at me, in a way I have never seen before. "Well, Erin", it said, "since you aren't doing this the easy way, I''ll show you who is boss". It no sooner got through telling me that when my body attempts a coup d'etat, which is the sudden and forced seizure of a state....in this case my bowels...
So my body was going to purge one way or another. I should have just opened my mouth and let it flow, but, no, I was too good for that. Well, now I am only 1 minute into an 8 minute ride. This is perfect. I am looking through a friggin kaleidoscope, sweating and about to sh*t myself in front of the flippin bobsie twins next to me. At least it would give them something to talk about on the ride home. So as I am squeezing my ass cheeks together (see I told you it would be worth the wait) we hit traffic. Could have predicted that one. So we are creeping along at about negative zero miles an hour my innards are being twisted all about. If I had to draw a picture of it, it would look something like a really long Gogurt twisted in loops and with each squeeze the yogurt is getting that much closer to slipping out. I have no ass to speak of, it is pretty flat, but man even in the throws of this crisis I am pretty impressed with it's ability to hold things in check.
So finally the traffic breaks up and we are cruising along at about 5 miles an hour....for the love of all that is Holy, why is this 8 minute ride turning into a 20 minute test of my ass's endurance? I swear I can never catch a break!! OK, so we are one street away from the hospital. It has to be the most narrow street in all of the city. Cars are parked on both sides of the street so in essence only one can get through at a time. At this point I am doing all I can not to scream out in pain, despair and utter contempt for what the world has been throwing at me lately. So wouldn't you know some country bumpkin decides at this exact moment, at this exact time to perfect her parallel parking skills. For the love of God lady, just let the shuttle bus go by first. Nope...at this point her attempt at parking in a spot that is about 4 feet too short for her station wagon, took a good 6 attempts. Oh and her and the other old bittie in the car were laughing with each bad attempt. I had a good mind to jump off the shuttle, open her car door and lay into her with a primal scream releasing all of the built up stress and then dropping trow and full on sh*t on her face. I guarantee it would wipe that stupid smile off their faces right quick. But, alas, I did not because I knew the second I stood up I would channel my inner Uta Pippig, you know that lady that won the Boston Marathon multiple times, but is only remembered for pooping herself on live TV? That would be me. The big take away from this is; if you don't know how to parallel park, then DON"T!!!! You're welcome!
So after what feels like an eternity we arrive at the hospital. I somehow make it off the shuttle, up the stairs, into the hospital and end up at the elevator bank. I say somehow because I am not entirely sure how I managed to get there. I don't know if my body was shutting down and natural endorphins kicked in while I transitioned, because I was almost certain I was going to die and that is how I made it to the elevators. Or maybe, my primal brain took over and was on a mission to get me to the bathroom. I guess I will never know. So as I am hunched over with intense stomach cramps, sweat now dripping off my face, my ass cheeks clenched and my kaleidoscope eyes an old lady comes over to me with tears in her eyes asking where the ER is. ARE. YOU. F*CKING. KIDDING. ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I scream really loudly in my head). Now I like to consider myself a genuinely nice person and I always, always go out of my way to help lost visitors in the hospital. This one time though I really didn't have it in me, OK, well I did have it in me and it was trying it's best to get out. I did end up taking her because, although I consider myself a nice person there is that small percentage of me that is cynical. Was she really looking for the ER? Or was she sent there by the administration to see how well the employees are with customer service. So I tell her through my clenched teeth that I would take her. So I am hobbling around hunched over, shuffling along so as not to give any leeway in my butt, lest I have an accident right there in the hallway. Oh, and with my wanky eyesight, I have to really try hard to focus my vision on the object I am looking at. So I have to cock my head in weird positions, close each eyelid to differing lengths and get really close to it. So considering that, my posture and the sweat at this point pouring off of me I looked like a crazed heroin addict. Remember all the druggies in the old movie New Jack City? Yeah, I could have been a stand in.
Finally get on the elevator, get to work, avoid all eye contact with anyone in my way and shuffled my clenched ass down to the good bathroom, the single bathroom right before the locker room. I can not thank the walking upright Gods enough for getting me here without an accident. I no sooner sit my ass on the toilet and, drum roll please.....NOTHING!!!! NADA! NYET! The urge to go to the bathroom went away like it was never even there. I sh*t you not!! Pun intended! The ass that got me this far, holding itself together for a good 18 minutes was betraying me? Son of a f-ing bitch!!! I went to hell and back for nothing? No reward. No closure. Not even a nugget. I have never been so disappointed yet so relieved all at the same time. So I guess the take away from this is; my ass really came through in the clench!!
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Meet Mee-Ree Asses...
So have been neglecting my blog lately. Life has been pretty hectic.
The girls were really busy with their year end school activities, work, I
signed on for another year as the assistant Troop Leader for Sara's
Girl Scout troop, oh, and I have joined the board of the PTA as the
secretary. Couple all of that with the fact two out of our three
children believe the concept of sleeping through the night is junk
science and you have two completely exhausted parents. So in talking
with Chuck we thought, you know what's missing in this equation? A
dog!! More specifically a puppy! It's not like things could get
worse...
We were kind of on track to get one early next year. Remember that whole fiasco? In a fit of desperation Chuck promised Sara a dog if she could go one year without crying. She was about 117 days in when a situation presented itself. Turns out it wasn't the dog for us, but now the girls were not going to back down. Sara is oh so amenable to life lessons. You really think she was going to let this go? So a few days later we were at the shelter picking out a dog. We were hoping to get one with a few years under its belt, I know it sounds awful when said out loud, but I really wasn't into the whole crate/potty training crap. Oh, and we didn't want a big dog. So long story short, we ended up with an 11 week old lab/retriever mix. Her name is Mary Alice, she is a Southern Belle all the way from Georgia. She had been dumped with her siblings in a ditch at a construction site. The poor little bugga was all skin and bones until she was rescued. She was nursed back to health and made her way to the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem, MA. A wonderful place to adopt a pet by the way.
Oh, and Emily, my almost 2 year old can not say Mary Alice. She calls her Mee-Ree Asses. I can NOT get enough of it. If I ask her once a day, I ask her 100 times a day to say it. I am a 12 year old boy at heart because I giggle every time she says Mee-Ree Asses! Doesn't get old!
So leading up to the big day Sara and Anna were so excited! They couldn't stop talking about it, counting down the hours until we were going to the shelter. They were making plans on how they were going to divide the labor. They were so on board and thought that we were the BEST. PARENTS. EVER! We could have asked them to scrub the toilets with their toothbrushes....they were doing anything we asked of them. They promised up and down they were going to take care of the dog. Shockingly, that lasted about 3 days. 1.5 days longer than I had expected. The one child to really take ownership of Miss Mary Alice is Emily, our 20 month old! She is forever playing with her, taking her for walks and is a superstar when it comes to potty training the dog. She will take her out, tell her, "A business" (we use the phrase 'do your business' to prompt her to use the bathroom) and she praises her, "a good girl doggie" when she does her business. It is the cutest thing ever. Emily is an awesome potty trainer for the dog, yet, she will walk around in a diaper filled with her own excrement for hours on end because she hates to be changed. Every time we are out there I hear Alanis Morrisette singing in my head, "isn't it ironic, don't you think". Fortunately Anna has come around and spends a lot of time patting and play with the puppy. Poor thing was either being neglect by the older two or tormented by the baby.
Emily's involvement doesn't end there, oh no my friends...she is gung-ho about training her. Sadly, she is not very good at this. I have been taking Mary to puppy training classes and she was doing great! That is until Emily decided she was a full time dog trainer herself. She has totally undone all our progress. She will say, "MaryAlicesitgoodgirl" all one word and hand her a treat at the same time. There is no sitting being done. She does this with "paw", "take it", "drop it", leave it" etc. So now Mare just refuses to train with me because in her eyes I am the jerk that makes her earn her treats. She just waits for Em to come in the room and cozies up to her. Oh, and Emmie has taken to training our cat Lucy. She will say, "MaryalicesitgoodgirlLucy". The cat just stares up at her with utter contempt.
One day the dog was in the living room and really fussy and just walking in a tiny circle. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong. We have an electric fence, it is a wi-fi kind that you can set the perimeter. We keep her fence collar on during the day so we can just let her in and out. Well, turns out, Emily got her hands on the fence base and dialed in the perimeter so Mary Alice was confined to about a 3 foot circle in our living room. Poor baby!!! Now before someone calls PETA on us, we have industrial strength tape covering the dials so Emily has no access to it anymore.
I have to say we are so lucky, Mary Alice is a really good puppy. It took her one night to be crate trained and she hasn't had an accident in the house after the 3rd day. She sleeps all night without making a peep. Truth be told she is way easier than the kids. I am so in love with her already! That being said, I will never be one of those people that lets their dog tongue kiss them. In the span of no longer than 5 minutes I witnessed Mary licking her ass, eat some animal's poop she found outside. I instantly puked after seeing that, she came right over and licked up my puke took off in the brush and came back with a freshly dead mouse. There is NO WAY dogs mouths are cleaner than humans!! I don't buy it for a second!! Oh and I will love with all my heart, but, if she ever comes around with a snake in her mouth the love dies right then and there! The other day she was hanging around a snake hot bed (hot bed meaning I saw one snake there a few years ago) she turned around and had this long dark thing in her mouth...I was already formulating in my head what to tell the girls about why Mary Alice is no longer allowed in the house! Thank God it was just a stick!!
The thing I like the best about her is that Mary Alice loves me. Really, she does. She is so happy to see me, she follows me around and I swear she looks like she is smiling when she looks at me. This is in sharp contrast to the attitudes I have been encountering around here lately.
We were kind of on track to get one early next year. Remember that whole fiasco? In a fit of desperation Chuck promised Sara a dog if she could go one year without crying. She was about 117 days in when a situation presented itself. Turns out it wasn't the dog for us, but now the girls were not going to back down. Sara is oh so amenable to life lessons. You really think she was going to let this go? So a few days later we were at the shelter picking out a dog. We were hoping to get one with a few years under its belt, I know it sounds awful when said out loud, but I really wasn't into the whole crate/potty training crap. Oh, and we didn't want a big dog. So long story short, we ended up with an 11 week old lab/retriever mix. Her name is Mary Alice, she is a Southern Belle all the way from Georgia. She had been dumped with her siblings in a ditch at a construction site. The poor little bugga was all skin and bones until she was rescued. She was nursed back to health and made her way to the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem, MA. A wonderful place to adopt a pet by the way.
Oh, and Emily, my almost 2 year old can not say Mary Alice. She calls her Mee-Ree Asses. I can NOT get enough of it. If I ask her once a day, I ask her 100 times a day to say it. I am a 12 year old boy at heart because I giggle every time she says Mee-Ree Asses! Doesn't get old!
So leading up to the big day Sara and Anna were so excited! They couldn't stop talking about it, counting down the hours until we were going to the shelter. They were making plans on how they were going to divide the labor. They were so on board and thought that we were the BEST. PARENTS. EVER! We could have asked them to scrub the toilets with their toothbrushes....they were doing anything we asked of them. They promised up and down they were going to take care of the dog. Shockingly, that lasted about 3 days. 1.5 days longer than I had expected. The one child to really take ownership of Miss Mary Alice is Emily, our 20 month old! She is forever playing with her, taking her for walks and is a superstar when it comes to potty training the dog. She will take her out, tell her, "A business" (we use the phrase 'do your business' to prompt her to use the bathroom) and she praises her, "a good girl doggie" when she does her business. It is the cutest thing ever. Emily is an awesome potty trainer for the dog, yet, she will walk around in a diaper filled with her own excrement for hours on end because she hates to be changed. Every time we are out there I hear Alanis Morrisette singing in my head, "isn't it ironic, don't you think". Fortunately Anna has come around and spends a lot of time patting and play with the puppy. Poor thing was either being neglect by the older two or tormented by the baby.
Emily's involvement doesn't end there, oh no my friends...she is gung-ho about training her. Sadly, she is not very good at this. I have been taking Mary to puppy training classes and she was doing great! That is until Emily decided she was a full time dog trainer herself. She has totally undone all our progress. She will say, "MaryAlicesitgoodgirl" all one word and hand her a treat at the same time. There is no sitting being done. She does this with "paw", "take it", "drop it", leave it" etc. So now Mare just refuses to train with me because in her eyes I am the jerk that makes her earn her treats. She just waits for Em to come in the room and cozies up to her. Oh, and Emmie has taken to training our cat Lucy. She will say, "MaryalicesitgoodgirlLucy". The cat just stares up at her with utter contempt.
One day the dog was in the living room and really fussy and just walking in a tiny circle. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong. We have an electric fence, it is a wi-fi kind that you can set the perimeter. We keep her fence collar on during the day so we can just let her in and out. Well, turns out, Emily got her hands on the fence base and dialed in the perimeter so Mary Alice was confined to about a 3 foot circle in our living room. Poor baby!!! Now before someone calls PETA on us, we have industrial strength tape covering the dials so Emily has no access to it anymore.
I have to say we are so lucky, Mary Alice is a really good puppy. It took her one night to be crate trained and she hasn't had an accident in the house after the 3rd day. She sleeps all night without making a peep. Truth be told she is way easier than the kids. I am so in love with her already! That being said, I will never be one of those people that lets their dog tongue kiss them. In the span of no longer than 5 minutes I witnessed Mary licking her ass, eat some animal's poop she found outside. I instantly puked after seeing that, she came right over and licked up my puke took off in the brush and came back with a freshly dead mouse. There is NO WAY dogs mouths are cleaner than humans!! I don't buy it for a second!! Oh and I will love with all my heart, but, if she ever comes around with a snake in her mouth the love dies right then and there! The other day she was hanging around a snake hot bed (hot bed meaning I saw one snake there a few years ago) she turned around and had this long dark thing in her mouth...I was already formulating in my head what to tell the girls about why Mary Alice is no longer allowed in the house! Thank God it was just a stick!!
The thing I like the best about her is that Mary Alice loves me. Really, she does. She is so happy to see me, she follows me around and I swear she looks like she is smiling when she looks at me. This is in sharp contrast to the attitudes I have been encountering around here lately.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
My children...a constant source of embarrassment!
So as
any parent of young children knows, your children will embarrass you
like it is their job!! Here are just a few recent situations where my
children have made me want to curl up in the fetal position and just
ignore the world.
- I was at the store recently and was asking the manager where a certain item was located. I was holding Emily and not really paying that much attention to her. Mistake #1! She was kind of fiddling with my shirt. Anyway, when I walked away and put her back in the shopping cart I noticed she had managed to pull my shirt down and get it lodged under my bra strap. ON THE BOTTOM!! So a whole boob was out on display for the world to see. Thankfully I was in Wal-Mart and since that is kind of the Wal-Mart shoppers uniform no one seemed to notice.
- Again, this one takes place at a store. Shaws to be exact. I was just running to the store to grab a few things. I had a list with everything I needed. Anna asked to be in charge of the list. Sure I said. So we were in the frozen food aisle trying to decide on ice-cream. Sara and I are down at one end and Anna and Emmie are in the cart at the other end. Anna starts reading items from the list. “Mom, do have paper towels?” Yep. “Mom, did you get Crystal Light yet?” Yeah. “Hey mom, what does T-A-M-P-O-N-S spell?” Of course she asks this when a guy walks into the aisle. He immediately turns around and walks away. I walk over to her and tell her it spells tampons. She asks what they are. I tell her…they already know because as a mother I never get a second to myself…not even in the bathroom. They know all there is to know about being a girl. So I walk back to the ice-creams and they she says in her Irish Whisper…”So mom, did you get the tampons yet?” Yes Anna. “Where are the tampons? What box are they in?”. I wanted to die. So Anna has also recently started using air quotes. So as we turn into the really crowded bread aisle she asks me if I got my “tampons” with air quotes. I told her yes, I already told you I did. She says “Oh, OK…you got your ‘tampons’” in air quotes again. I am getting the oddest looks from people. They are probably thinking I used the word tampon as a cover for what I was really purchasing. Like I wrote tampons on the list but I was really buying Jiff Peanut Butter or something. Like I would use that as my code word! I will stick to having Chuck do the grocery shopping.
- I took the girls to go see the new movie Inside Out…AWESOME by the way. Towards the end they get a new control panel. One of the buttons says “PUBERTY” on it. Anna blurts out kind of loud, “what is puberty?” I try to explain quickly and quietly because I didn’t want to miss the movie. So Sara hears me and she chimes in asking what puberty is. There was a dad in front of me with his 2 small daughters, younger than mine. He kind of chuckles at my expense. I just wanted to tell him to wait…just wait…they are cute and innocent now, but once they are a little older they are going to ask you the most embarrassing stuff at the absolute worst time. But you know what? I didn’t warn him. I decided that for his little laugh I am going to let him figure it out the hard way. Hey dad, check back in with me in say 3 years. Then we’ll talk!
- Another shopping anecdote... Anna (I am starting to see a trend here) and I were out shopping. I needed a good sports bra. So we head to Dick’s Sporting Goods to get one. I find the sales girl and enlist her help. She tells me they don’t sell my size here but I should try the biggest one they have…it should work. OK I say. I mean she is a teenager making minimum wage at the local mall. She is probably an expert when it comes to properly fitting women for sports bras. Right, what could go wrong? So I try the first one on…it is a super cute pink one that zips up the front. I put it on and there is a good 5 inch gap from side to side. The teenager told me it should work despite being about 4 sizes too small. I go for it. Anna looks at me and says, “Are you sure you want to do that?” Oh, and keep in mind, it is a single dressing room right in the middle of the store. It is open on the top so anyone walking by can hear you. I should have taken heed when a 5 year has a look of concern on her face. I zip it up, I may or may not have cracked a rib or two in the process…my boobs are pushed so far up my torso my head is resting right on them. I could barely breathe. I feel like I look like a zit about to pop. Anna is laughing hysterically. “Mommy, you have no neck anymore…can you even move your head?” she asks between laughing fits. So I take that one off and try another one. This one is a simple black racer back one that you pull over your head. It was a cluster f*ck from the get go. I get stuck in it. Literally stuck. One boob is stuck up over my shoulder and the other one has some managed to get stuck under my arm and around to my back. Anna is in tears now. I am trying to stay calm…I don’t want to start sweating…then I would have to buy this $68 sports bra that clearly does not fit. I am now convinced the sales girl is a jack ass and probably bored out of her mind so she takes advantage of poor overweight suburban moms like me and convinces us to shove ourselves into these spandex human torture devices so she can get a cheap laugh. Ha-f*cking-Ha-Ha bitch! So Anna starts walking over to the door, she is laughing so hard and saying she is going to get the girl to help me get it off. Oh sweet Jesus! NO!!! I would rather be hauled out of here in a body bag than ask the Dick’s staff for help. I make Anna help me. She is trying her best but she is laughing so hard she is no use. It takes me, no word of a lie, 3 full minutes to get out of it. It felt more like 30! I didn’t bother trying the 3rd bra on. Oh, and I left all three of them in the dressing room, inside out, not on their hangers. Also, as I was walking out of the sports bra section I mixed up a bunch of the sizes/styles as I passed by. Take that you ass-clown! Two can play that game!
I wish I could say these are infrequent occurrences. But I can’t.
They happen all the time. Thankfully I have a good sense of humor and
laugh them off. I do however keep a mental note of each and every one
of them. There is going to come a time, really
soon, when my children will be embarrassed just to be seen with me, and
when that time comes I am ready…and all I can say to my children is;
Payback is a Bitch!!
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
The 30 inch Terrorist
It is next to impossible to turn on the TV and not hear anything about terrorism these days. It is seemingly everywhere; several workers at the TSA are thought to have ties to terrorism, rouge terrorists tried to take out security guards at a controversial art exhibit down south, just last week a lot closer to home, a suspected terrorist was hanging around outside of a CVS...but for me it is much, much closer to home...I believe I may be living with a 30 inch terrorist...
I know in the past I may have mentioned I believe Emily has declared a fatwa on us and that she may or may not have forged a jihad against us. Emily is forever getting into mischief, always blaming her older sisters for her misdeeds and always looks like the cat that swallowed the canary when you enter the room. Well my friends, lately the evidence has become too compelling to ignore.
Though she is only 20 months old she is a smart little bugga. Against my wishes she spends far too much time using the ipad. She is kind of a wiz on it, I say that not to brag-- as I find it embarrassing that she spends so much time on it when the Academy of Pediatrics clearly states "no screen time under 2 years of age"...I will be returning my Child Development Degree to Wheelock...I no longer deserve it, but more to prove my point that she may be a terrorist in the making. Somehow she found this cartoon she loves. It is 2 young boys that look to be of Middle Eastern descent. No problem with that...I want my children to be open to other cultures. I can't understand most of what they say. Again, no problem with that, however, at the start of their show they do say one word that I can make out...they say in unison, "Infidels", at least that is what I think they say...Sara and Anna think it is something more along the lines of, "kick the bells". Just take that little nugget and sit with it a minute while I describe more...
Yesterday I caught her watching a Youtube video of the Philippine National Army practicing drills. How the hell did she find that video? Also, she is quite the little expert when it comes to climbing on the backyard jungle gym...I have seen the Al Qaeda training videos...there are ALWAYS monkey bars involved!! Oh, I just remembered while she was "playing" on the play-gym she slammed into me nearly breaking my nose...coincidence? Maybe...or she may just be perfecting her Krav maga skills. My sweet, darling Anderson Cooper has been reporting lately that ISIS has been recruiting young people, targeting women especially, through the use of social media...she may just be the youngest member indoctrinated so far.
Speaking of ISIS, the other day she walks into the TV room talking to herself. She spots me and yells, "ISIS, ISIS, ISIS!" Could she have been talking about my glass full of ice? Possibly. But I am still going to sleep with one eye open as I can not definitively prove otherwise.
Recently my blog has been viewed from Indonesia, Palestine, Iran and Iraq. I am grateful for all page views regardless of their origin, but again, is it a coincidence that since Emily has been fiddling around with the computer my page views have jumped in places that are considered "hot beds" of terrorist activity? There are a few too many "coincidences" to ignore. To quote Ian Fleming;
I know in the past I may have mentioned I believe Emily has declared a fatwa on us and that she may or may not have forged a jihad against us. Emily is forever getting into mischief, always blaming her older sisters for her misdeeds and always looks like the cat that swallowed the canary when you enter the room. Well my friends, lately the evidence has become too compelling to ignore.
Though she is only 20 months old she is a smart little bugga. Against my wishes she spends far too much time using the ipad. She is kind of a wiz on it, I say that not to brag-- as I find it embarrassing that she spends so much time on it when the Academy of Pediatrics clearly states "no screen time under 2 years of age"...I will be returning my Child Development Degree to Wheelock...I no longer deserve it, but more to prove my point that she may be a terrorist in the making. Somehow she found this cartoon she loves. It is 2 young boys that look to be of Middle Eastern descent. No problem with that...I want my children to be open to other cultures. I can't understand most of what they say. Again, no problem with that, however, at the start of their show they do say one word that I can make out...they say in unison, "Infidels", at least that is what I think they say...Sara and Anna think it is something more along the lines of, "kick the bells". Just take that little nugget and sit with it a minute while I describe more...
Yesterday I caught her watching a Youtube video of the Philippine National Army practicing drills. How the hell did she find that video? Also, she is quite the little expert when it comes to climbing on the backyard jungle gym...I have seen the Al Qaeda training videos...there are ALWAYS monkey bars involved!! Oh, I just remembered while she was "playing" on the play-gym she slammed into me nearly breaking my nose...coincidence? Maybe...or she may just be perfecting her Krav maga skills. My sweet, darling Anderson Cooper has been reporting lately that ISIS has been recruiting young people, targeting women especially, through the use of social media...she may just be the youngest member indoctrinated so far.
Speaking of ISIS, the other day she walks into the TV room talking to herself. She spots me and yells, "ISIS, ISIS, ISIS!" Could she have been talking about my glass full of ice? Possibly. But I am still going to sleep with one eye open as I can not definitively prove otherwise.
Recently my blog has been viewed from Indonesia, Palestine, Iran and Iraq. I am grateful for all page views regardless of their origin, but again, is it a coincidence that since Emily has been fiddling around with the computer my page views have jumped in places that are considered "hot beds" of terrorist activity? There are a few too many "coincidences" to ignore. To quote Ian Fleming;
“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action"
And there you have it my friends...apparently I am the mother of a mini terrorist.
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