Sadly, not me. I have waited patiently to receive news that I won "Mother of the Year 2015", alas, it is the end of February, the call never came... time for my concession speech.
In reflecting on my parenting choices this past year there may be a few instances where I may have missed the mark. The following are some examples where I may or may not have been 1) a lazy parent, 2) a tired parent, or 3) an a$$hole parent. You be the judge...
* I have continued my tradition of blaming my laziness on the news. "Oh, girls, the news said it was too -blank- to go outside today. You can fill the blank in with anything really; too hot, too cold, too windy, too snowy, too humid, too dry...you get the picture. I think this trick will no longer be up my sleeve since Sara now has starting watching the news. Victoria R., I may be calling on you to film some "newscasts" for future use.
* There may have been a time or two when I blamed our dog, Mary Alice, for destroying some of the girls school worksheets or those crappy McDonald toys. When you are a parent and you are caught throwing away anything that belongs to your child, no matter how craptastic it is, you have to think FAST! They can never know you were willingly throwing away their sh*t or they will lose theirs! My go to since June has been the dog. Since our dog eats everything she finds (a blog for another day...I promise) it is not out of the realm of possibility. To further my cause I tear the pages up to make them look eaten. If it involves one of my children who is especially sensitive I sometimes make my dog an unwitting accomplice and get her to chew on it before placing it in the trash. That's horrible, I know.
* One of my kids got a new pair of super soft pants for Christmas. She liked them so much she declared she was going to wear them for the rest of the year. I always encourage my girls to set goals and do their best to achieve them. Who am I to discourage ones dream? Plus what is a few days of poor hygiene when you have a lifetime to bathe?
* Emily, my youngest will be 2 1/2 in a few weeks. She still drinks a bottle. Truth be told, lots of bottles. I have a degree in child development. I know it is wrong. Do I care? No! Is it because I am lazy? Yes! Did I lie to her pediatrician at 18 months and say she was bottle free? Yes! If anyone tells my pediatrician I am a fraud will I deny I am the author of this blog? TO THE END OF THE EARTH! Oh, and for any Judgy McJudgertons out there...she still sleeps with me too!
* As a 43 year old woman I still have the sense of humor of a pre-pubescent boy. I wear that badge proudly. Farts are funny. Always have been, always will be. I have made it one of my parenting missions to instill the love of flatulence in my offspring. Picture this, our family is sitting around in cozy jammies, the snow is softly falling outside, the electric fireplace glowing...then the stillness is broken by a long, loud fart. The fart was not by accident, it came from a jar of Flart. A slime like substance that when squeezed makes very, realistic fart noises. We all took turns that snowy day, squeezing the flart and squealing with delight from each new noise we heard. I was never more proud of my 2 year olds vocabulary than I was that day. She used descriptive words well beyond her years; silent, wet, airy, squishy...If that family scene does not make you immediately think of Norman Rockwell, then you, you my friend are un-American!
* My children hold me in high esteem, they have high expectations of what I should do for them.
As their mother I try my best to meet or exceed their expectations. There are times though when I fall short. Emily joins me in the bathroom all the time. She likes to dictate how I pee. A loud pee is when you can hear it tinkle in the water. A quiet one, as you can imagine just silently melts into the toilet water. God help us all if I can not pee on her command. If there is any tinkle when she requests a quiet one, she loses her sh*t same holds true for her request of a loud one and there is no splash back. As her mother it breaks my heart not to make her happy, but there is no way to control the volume of your pee. Now, friends, I know the next time you have the urge to pee you will try to prove me wrong. I have tried many times. Don't waste your time. You're welcome!
In the same vain, you can not make your pets fart on command either. One day Mary Alice farted next to me. Emily wanted Mary to pass gas on her too. Mary was not cooperating. Emmie was ticked off! The must have been out of gas and somehow Emily was mad at me!! Once again, her expectations were not met, and for that my standings in the Mother of the Year contest were lowered.
There is always next year I suppose! So far I am off to a good start!! Chuck on the other hand is already out of the running for Father of the Year 2016. Why you ask? Oh, because last night he was watching TV with Emily when that commercial for cold medicine came on, you know the one with the ball of snot that walks around talking? Well, in Emily's eyes her daddy can do anything. She asked him to take boogers out of her nose and make a boogie guy. Emily threw a fit for about 20 minutes when he tried explaining that he couldn't make a mucous man out of her snot. Turns out her dad is a huge A-hole too! I guess I am good company!
Maybe we can be the Meh- Parents of the Year 2016?!
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
The sea was angry that day my friends...
A good friend once told me I was her George Costanza. How you doin' Shannon?...it is obligatory to say that like Wendy Williams. We all have a friend like George, you know the one, on the verge of being really cool, but something always comes along at the last minute to swat them back down to reality. I didn't take offense to the moniker when Shannon bestowed it on me. I saw it as a badge of honor. Now, I am not letting Shannon off the hook, she is not any cooler than me...she stands shoulder to shoulder with me in nerdom... I just always have some mishap that tips the scales in her favor. In this case it was a wave, or to be a bit more precise...many, many waves.
I was dreading the anniversary of my mom's death. I wanted to get out of my head and needed a good distraction. Last year we took the girls to Great Wolf Lodge as an escape. Remember that escapade? No? Well here is a recap for those that are new to my blog;
http://talesofaminivanmom.blogspot.com/2015/03/accidental-fecal-release.html
Good, now that you are caught up I decided on something a little less dramatic. I booked a weekend on the Cape in a hotel with a wave pool and 2 small water slides. Not so overwhelming and what I thought would be a little more their speed.
So back to the weekend... Chuck picks up some breakfast items for us to bring. We are a family of 5. We are staying 2 nights. One of my children does not eat. EVER. Our plan is to have one breakfast in and one at a restaurant. Here is what Chuck purchased;
* 12 full sized donuts
* 16 mini-cereal boxes
* 2 boxes of Pop Tarts (each with 8 tarts each)
* There may or may not have been a box of granola bars too
I was not going to be seen carrying 13 Price Chopper bags through the hotel. There is nothing that screams "WHITE TRASH" more than using plastic grocery bags as your luggage. In an effort to not look like hobos, I emptied out the grocery bags into a suitcase. We get situated in the hotel and head down to the wave pool. The kids are having a blast. Well, 2 out of the 3 are. Emily, our 2 year old has a broken leg. Of course, right? We have plans to go to a water park and one of my kids breaks a limb. That is a blog for another day though.
Things are going well, we have a nice dinner and head back to our room. Chuck goes to turn the TV on and it doesn't work. It wasn't working when we checked in, the hotel said they would send someone to fix it. As you can imagine, it can't be fixed. So at 8:45 p.m. they tells us to pack up and they will send someone to bring us to our new room. Yay! We hastily pack everything up, no time to make everything neat and organized so I am forced to throw our belongings in the flippin' grocery bags after all!! The only thing missing from this hobo train were bindlestiffs....apparently that is the proper name of a hobo stick. You are more than welcome for that bit of useless trivia. A housekeeper comes to our hotel door, she is going to assist us in bringing the roll-a-way bed to our new room. Now their are ladies-- and then there are ladies songs are written about! She is of the latter. Forget "Your Body is a Wonderland", forget, "Brick House" she may just be the inspiration for one of the greatest songs ever written...I'm a Little Tea Pot, because man, was she short and stout. That is saying a lot coming from me, because we share the same body type. Now, it may not seem relevant for me to comment on her body type, but it will all make sense in a minute. So as the hobo train starts leaving the station, I am carrying an over tired child with a broken leg and have various totes, etc, wrapped around me, the girls each have 2-3 Price Chopper bags adorning them and Chuck has his hands full with the 2 suitcases, the girls swimmy vests, etc. Herculina (my nickname for the housekeeper) starts pushing the roll-a-way bed out of the room. We need to go to the first floor, we were on the 2nd. I ask Herculina if there is an elevator...she pauses, and then answers "no". So as we take this sh*t show on the road, Herculina turns and makes a beeline for the other end of the hallway. We make it downstairs without killing each other or breaking anymore limbs and wouldn't you know it, Herculina is already in the room with the roll-a-way bed and not a bead of sweat on her! Now, I am not calling her a liar, who knows maybe she had a weight belt on under her uniform and she flung the cot on her back as she navigated her way down a tight stairwell, wait, no, yeah...she is a liar! She took a secret elevator! She had to have.
So this is where I would say we all got a good night's sleep, but I would be lying. It sucked! This new room was so figgin hot and the air conditioner was as loud as a jet engine. I somehow was relegated to the roll-a-way bed which actually, believe it or not was a hammock in disguise. I laid down on it and no word of a lie my ass was about a quarter of an inch off the ground. I thought a sink hole had opened up underneath the hotel just as I got into bed! I was terrified! I thought I was going to be lost forever, but then I remembered Herculina had just started her shift and she would come save me! I started praying to all that was holy she didn't hear me mutter "liar" or "elevator" under my breath earlier in the night.
Chuck and Emmie head out to explore the Cape. I take the girls back to the wave pool. Sara is in all her glory...Anna, not so much. She would wait for the waves to stop and then take a turn swimming. I was hanging with her on the side of the pool and would occasionally go in with Sara. I was kind of avoiding the water a little bit this morning too. My regular bathing suit was still soaked so I threw on the extra one I brought. It is one I have from just after I had Emily. It was a little loose when I put it on, but it would do. I was so WRONG! Once it was introduced to water it took on a life of its own. The ass part was hanging down to about my knees, whenever I would get in the water all the air trapped in it would bubble up and all the kids in the pool would look at me as if I were a farting machine...the rouching (to help hide my post baby body) was floating around me like those booms they put in the water after a massive oil spill. I was a mess. Hence the reason I was avoiding the water too. Anyway, I had to be a mom and divide my time equally so Sara and I were frolicking in the waves having a great time. She wanted to sit down in the surf with her. Sure, that would be fun. So you know how the Victoria's Secret Models frolic in the surf having their pictures taken? OK, forget that image completely! I was the total opposite. The sea was angry that day my friends! The waves were no joke. I got knocked over and could not get up! Sara thought I was being funny, granted I was laughing, it would be my luck to drown in the undertow at an indoor wave pool. So there I was all tangled up in my bathing suit...because it was an old maternity suit it had about as much material as a bedspread. So there I was rolling ass over tea kettle in the surf, over and over and over again. My kids are in hysterics because they think I am trying to be funny. My bathing suit is floating away and not covering the parts it really needs to. I am trying to put all my lady bits back in the suit but sure enough when I get one part covered a wave would come and knock it loose kind of like when you finally think you have a fitted sheet figured out and that one corner keeps popping up? Yeah, kind of like that! I am flashing the entire wave pool, with each wave it is a different peep show, moon, stars, another wave--another round of the moon and stars coming out for all the world to see. My only shot at survival was trying to save myself. My kids were useless, I had no faith in the lifeguard. Why you ask? Oh, because he was slouched in a chair, with his sweat pants AND sneakers on, listening to music on those over-sized headphones...I know he was listening to music and not just noise canceling headphones because his head was bobbing along to a beat...and chewing on a straw to boot. So yeah, my confidence level in him was about zero.
I did finally manage to drag myself out of the man-made surf and I guess I an no worse for the wear. I guess Shannon was right all those years ago. I am George Costanza.
I was dreading the anniversary of my mom's death. I wanted to get out of my head and needed a good distraction. Last year we took the girls to Great Wolf Lodge as an escape. Remember that escapade? No? Well here is a recap for those that are new to my blog;
http://talesofaminivanmom.blogspot.com/2015/03/accidental-fecal-release.html
Good, now that you are caught up I decided on something a little less dramatic. I booked a weekend on the Cape in a hotel with a wave pool and 2 small water slides. Not so overwhelming and what I thought would be a little more their speed.
So back to the weekend... Chuck picks up some breakfast items for us to bring. We are a family of 5. We are staying 2 nights. One of my children does not eat. EVER. Our plan is to have one breakfast in and one at a restaurant. Here is what Chuck purchased;
* 12 full sized donuts
* 16 mini-cereal boxes
* 2 boxes of Pop Tarts (each with 8 tarts each)
* There may or may not have been a box of granola bars too
I was not going to be seen carrying 13 Price Chopper bags through the hotel. There is nothing that screams "WHITE TRASH" more than using plastic grocery bags as your luggage. In an effort to not look like hobos, I emptied out the grocery bags into a suitcase. We get situated in the hotel and head down to the wave pool. The kids are having a blast. Well, 2 out of the 3 are. Emily, our 2 year old has a broken leg. Of course, right? We have plans to go to a water park and one of my kids breaks a limb. That is a blog for another day though.
Things are going well, we have a nice dinner and head back to our room. Chuck goes to turn the TV on and it doesn't work. It wasn't working when we checked in, the hotel said they would send someone to fix it. As you can imagine, it can't be fixed. So at 8:45 p.m. they tells us to pack up and they will send someone to bring us to our new room. Yay! We hastily pack everything up, no time to make everything neat and organized so I am forced to throw our belongings in the flippin' grocery bags after all!! The only thing missing from this hobo train were bindlestiffs....apparently that is the proper name of a hobo stick. You are more than welcome for that bit of useless trivia. A housekeeper comes to our hotel door, she is going to assist us in bringing the roll-a-way bed to our new room. Now their are ladies-- and then there are ladies songs are written about! She is of the latter. Forget "Your Body is a Wonderland", forget, "Brick House" she may just be the inspiration for one of the greatest songs ever written...I'm a Little Tea Pot, because man, was she short and stout. That is saying a lot coming from me, because we share the same body type. Now, it may not seem relevant for me to comment on her body type, but it will all make sense in a minute. So as the hobo train starts leaving the station, I am carrying an over tired child with a broken leg and have various totes, etc, wrapped around me, the girls each have 2-3 Price Chopper bags adorning them and Chuck has his hands full with the 2 suitcases, the girls swimmy vests, etc. Herculina (my nickname for the housekeeper) starts pushing the roll-a-way bed out of the room. We need to go to the first floor, we were on the 2nd. I ask Herculina if there is an elevator...she pauses, and then answers "no". So as we take this sh*t show on the road, Herculina turns and makes a beeline for the other end of the hallway. We make it downstairs without killing each other or breaking anymore limbs and wouldn't you know it, Herculina is already in the room with the roll-a-way bed and not a bead of sweat on her! Now, I am not calling her a liar, who knows maybe she had a weight belt on under her uniform and she flung the cot on her back as she navigated her way down a tight stairwell, wait, no, yeah...she is a liar! She took a secret elevator! She had to have.
So this is where I would say we all got a good night's sleep, but I would be lying. It sucked! This new room was so figgin hot and the air conditioner was as loud as a jet engine. I somehow was relegated to the roll-a-way bed which actually, believe it or not was a hammock in disguise. I laid down on it and no word of a lie my ass was about a quarter of an inch off the ground. I thought a sink hole had opened up underneath the hotel just as I got into bed! I was terrified! I thought I was going to be lost forever, but then I remembered Herculina had just started her shift and she would come save me! I started praying to all that was holy she didn't hear me mutter "liar" or "elevator" under my breath earlier in the night.
Chuck and Emmie head out to explore the Cape. I take the girls back to the wave pool. Sara is in all her glory...Anna, not so much. She would wait for the waves to stop and then take a turn swimming. I was hanging with her on the side of the pool and would occasionally go in with Sara. I was kind of avoiding the water a little bit this morning too. My regular bathing suit was still soaked so I threw on the extra one I brought. It is one I have from just after I had Emily. It was a little loose when I put it on, but it would do. I was so WRONG! Once it was introduced to water it took on a life of its own. The ass part was hanging down to about my knees, whenever I would get in the water all the air trapped in it would bubble up and all the kids in the pool would look at me as if I were a farting machine...the rouching (to help hide my post baby body) was floating around me like those booms they put in the water after a massive oil spill. I was a mess. Hence the reason I was avoiding the water too. Anyway, I had to be a mom and divide my time equally so Sara and I were frolicking in the waves having a great time. She wanted to sit down in the surf with her. Sure, that would be fun. So you know how the Victoria's Secret Models frolic in the surf having their pictures taken? OK, forget that image completely! I was the total opposite. The sea was angry that day my friends! The waves were no joke. I got knocked over and could not get up! Sara thought I was being funny, granted I was laughing, it would be my luck to drown in the undertow at an indoor wave pool. So there I was all tangled up in my bathing suit...because it was an old maternity suit it had about as much material as a bedspread. So there I was rolling ass over tea kettle in the surf, over and over and over again. My kids are in hysterics because they think I am trying to be funny. My bathing suit is floating away and not covering the parts it really needs to. I am trying to put all my lady bits back in the suit but sure enough when I get one part covered a wave would come and knock it loose kind of like when you finally think you have a fitted sheet figured out and that one corner keeps popping up? Yeah, kind of like that! I am flashing the entire wave pool, with each wave it is a different peep show, moon, stars, another wave--another round of the moon and stars coming out for all the world to see. My only shot at survival was trying to save myself. My kids were useless, I had no faith in the lifeguard. Why you ask? Oh, because he was slouched in a chair, with his sweat pants AND sneakers on, listening to music on those over-sized headphones...I know he was listening to music and not just noise canceling headphones because his head was bobbing along to a beat...and chewing on a straw to boot. So yeah, my confidence level in him was about zero.
I did finally manage to drag myself out of the man-made surf and I guess I an no worse for the wear. I guess Shannon was right all those years ago. I am George Costanza.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Hey Barbie, I own you b*tch!
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)