So my life is somewhat chaotic. Three young children, a husband, an overweight puppy, two cats, one of which hates me, a job, a position on the PTA Board and two Girl Scout Troops keep me on my toes. All of he demands placed on me and the ones I place on myself were really starting to make me lose my mind. I seriously had one foot placed on the ground and one stepping into the funny farm. Something needed to change and quick. As 2017 was approaching I really started thinking about my life. I am 44 years old. So if I live to be 80 my life is more than half over already. The second anniversary of my mom's death was also looming and I wasn't in a particularly good place. I really started to do some soul searching on what kind of life I wanted to have in my second act...
For the past 17 years I have been working in healthcare. As a Child Life Specialist I have a clinical role, however, it is a position that is not a billable service. Meaning that the hospital can not charge the patient or the insurance company for the services I provide. That translates into 17 years worth of proving the "value added" by Child Life Services. Then it hit me. Am I leading my life in a "value added" way? Am I doing things for everyone else, adding value to their lives and not considering the value added to or taken away from my life? About 6 months ago I decided to live my life in a new way. I decided to live it for me...not for the way I wanted people to think about me. So now I know this whole new Zen way of thinking may be confusing, so let me give some examples of how I am living my "value added" life;
Saying NO more--I love to help out. If there is a committee I join it. If there is a project that needs attention I jump in and help. That was the old me. The new me now takes time to see if the benefits of the project justify time away from my family. Will there actually be value added to me, my children, my marriage, my community or my work? If not, the answer is simple. I say no. Now, please note that if I have said no to any invitation you may have extended, don't read too much into it. Sometimes I really am just too busy.
Saying YES more-- This is new one for me too. I have always been a people pleaser and since having children my life has pretty much revolved around them, and as a general rule it should. However, in the 9 plus years I have been a mom I have kind of lost myself a bit. I decided that in order to be the best Mom possible to my girls I have to take care of my needs too. I have started to take back my life in small ways. My family likes me with longer hair. I like it short. My last hair cut I have gone shorter than I have in a while. Were they thrilled, no. But I like it. I love Anderson Cooper. He is coming to town for a show. It is expensive and the money might be better spent on groceries or a car payment, but I said yes to Anderson. I am going to go and see the Silver Fox and not give it a second thought. I will probably even go out to dinner before the show. Oh, speaking of dinner. I made what I wanted last night! No taco dinner for the umpteenth time. I made Oriecietta pasta with San Marzano tomatoes and burrata cheese and guess what? They ate it! Side note-if you have never tried burrata you need to. It is a game changer. If Emily asks me to play animals for the thousandth time, instead of saying "sure, I will play after Dr. Phil" I play with her. I have re-adopted the whole play-chores-play mantra from my friend Dawn G. Somehow the past year I have gotten away from being the "present" parent I am in my head. Here's a big one. I said yes to going away to a conference! I have been away for a night here and there since I had my kiddos, but not for an extended period. For some reason I always just deleted conference emails or threw the flyers away. This time I just went for it. I went to Florida, by myself for 5 days. My first thought was I had to leave a 20 page manuscript detailing everything that needed to be done while I was gone. In the end I decided Chuck is more than capable and I wasn't going to insult him with a set of instructions. I had a great time at the conference. I learned a ton, relaxed and even read a book! Everything went smoothly at home and Chuck not only kept everything on track he even managed to find time to clean out and organize our kitchen cabinets something I have been saying I was going to do for about a year now! I came home refreshed and with a renewed sense of purpose. The getaway could not have come at a better time. I needed this break more than I had realized.
At the conference one of the presenters was talking about mindfulness. She said something that really stuck with me. When she is faced with adversity or when something goes wrong she will say to herself, "something about this is perfect....I just don't know what it is yet". Meaning that things might not have gone as planned, but it is not the end of the world. There is always something to be learned from every experience. I am going to try and adopt that as my new mantra. To that end one of the things I have been working on is;
Not sweating the small stuff--Working in pediatrics I am constantly reminded of how quickly life can change and I am pretty good about appreciating life and making the most of it. That being said, I am not perfect and I do have times when I get bogged down in the minutia. I like to keep the house clean. Not museum clean, but organized. Sometimes I would let that get the best of me and I would spend more time cleaning than focused on more important things. Like Elsa, I have let that go. Now I know there was an article floating around Facebook a few months back about vacuum lines. How if you have perfect vacuum lines in your carpet you are not actively engaged in your life. I agree to a point, but I think you can have vacuum lines and still have appreciation for the small stuff. My vacuum lines may be a bit zig-zagged these days but I don't regret the extra time I am spending with my kiddos. To that point though, I am not spending any more time worrying about the state of their room. If they want a messy room have at it. I am no longer spending every day cleaning it for them. I will keep the rest of the house in relative order but I am just shutting their door from now on. I have stopped yelling. Ask my kids, I could be a yeller. It might feel good in the moment, but in the long run it is ineffective. My kids respond better to me since I have cut out the yelling. When I get frustrated I say to myself and even out loud sometimes, "oh what are you being 3?" or whatever the age said child is. My friend Sherri taught me this technique years ago and I have gotten away from it. It really works...it gives you a minute to stop and realize yes, they may be annoying and yes they may be frustrating but they are only children developmentally doing what they should. Mary Alice, our dog, is still a puppy. She is not chewing stuff up like she was in the beginning but she does have her moments. Not gonna get all bent out of shape. One of my kiddos colored her own hair while I was at work. Does it look crappy? Yes. Did I get upset? Nope. It is only hair. It will grow out. Another one of my kiddos refuses to poop on the potty. Am I stressed? Nope, I just slap a diaper on her butt at about 11 a.m. everyday and all is right with the world. My 3rd child spends all of her time up on the top bunk bed. It is a disaster up there. I could make a stink about it everyday, but I don't. Instead I am letting her build a good basis for when she will inevitably show up on an episode of Hoarders. I have put on a lot of weight. Am I happy about it? No. Am I beating myself up over it? No. Am I working on it? Trying to. Plus, remember what happened the last time I lost weight? I got pregnant with Emily. I just keep reminding myself I am doing my part to curb the world's over population program. What is the saying? Think Globally, Act Locally. You are welcome world! While I was going through the security check at the airport the other day my jeans ripped. Not just a cute little stylish hole near the pocket. Nope...a huge rip right in the ass cheeks. I had nothing to cover it with. Did I get upset? No. Did I pay a fortune for a "Tampa" Sweatshirt to cover it up? No. I just walked through the airport with my ass and new 'Hanes Her Way' flapping in the breeze.
Does this shift in the way I look at life mean I am a better person? Probably not. Am I going to tick people off because for the first time in 44 years I am going to truly speak my mind and put myself first? Probably. But those people that get upset by me probably are not 'value added' to my life in the first place.
Full disclosure; While in the middle of writing this blog a situation presented itself that made me, how should I put this? Go absolutely Bat-Shit Crazy!!! There were a lot of "for f*ck's sakes", a lot of "crazy-ass bitch" and a whole lot of "people suck" 's thrown around. So apparently I am not as evolved as I had thought. But I am trying....oooommmmm, oooommmm, oooommmm....
Monday, March 6, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
I have gone to Hell and back!
OK, so I am talking about the real Hell, not that cliche fiery pit you think of, not Beelzebub's lair. I am talking about Market Basket, on a Saturday morning, with a blizzard watch for that day. Yes, my friends...true, living hell. Now I know there are 9 circles of Hell, and I believe deep in my core that the 7th Circle (Violent) of Hell is the Salem, MA Basket. Even though the one I go to now is much more rural it is still within the hellish realm.
So why am I here? The typical pre-storm bread and milk run? Loading up on comfort food? Nope. I was running out of dog shampoo. So my faithful blog readers know what that means. For you newbies let me fill you in...at times life gets away from me. The laundry might pile up and on occasion I have been known to use a table cloth or blanket to dry off post shower when no towels were available. Many times both Chuck and I thank our walking upright God we got a dog. Not for the typical reasons; companionship, protection and life lessons for our children. Nope. With a dog comes dog shampoo! You know what that translates to? Buying a few extra days of not having to go to the store when you run out of people shampoo. Yeah, I've done it. I have used Mary Alice's Hartz puppy shampoo. And guess what? I have done it more than once and I make absolutely NO apologizes about it. So I know I am fortunate and only work 3 days a week and I probably could have fit in a Basket run before the predicted blizzard but I haven't really been watching the news too much. Not even my beloved Anderson Cooper, who by the way I will be seeing live in person in 64 days!! I just can't watch the news anymore without screaming obscenities at the TV regarding the state of our country. So needless to say, I was ignorant of the blizzard heading our way when I took full advantage of 2 childless hours and took a much needed nap. I have not been getting much sleep since I found out I was pregnant... With Sara...Ten years ago. Sara has been ending up in my bed a lot lately. She is a small, wiry child. However, when she sleeps she spreads out like friggin' Christ on the cross. I am relegated to about a 1 square foot patch of the bed. Not compatible with sleep. So long story, long....that is how I find myself in hell on this glorious morning.
So here I am wandering about amidst the countless number of larks and hoverounds tearing ass down the aisles wondering why I bothered to put clean, matching clothes on. The clientele of Market Basket can be described in many ways but for this piece I am going to go with-- consistent. True Basketeers know that the scooter rider to walking customer ratio is consistently disproportionate. Now I am not an ableist by any stretch of the imagination, one of the main reasons I shop at the Basket is because they hire people with differing abilities and I want to support that, however, many of their able bodied customers take full advantage of the plethora of free scooters they have available and since they are not really scooter users they don't know the rules of the road per say. I have gotten a scooter basket up my ass on more than one occasion from an unruly teen who thinks it would be funny to shop for their munchies while seated. Also, the MB shoppers are consistent in their attire. The official uniform of the citizens of the People's Republic of Market Basket is lounge wear chic. Otherwise known as the clothes one has slept in for a fortnight. For some ungodly reason I actually used up a dollop of puppy shampoo and a clean table cloth for this shopping trip. What a waste of resources.
So I somehow manage to get a full shopping done without committing felony murder and settle into line. Now, I am no merchandising expert, but, with a store as busy as Market Basket and with a clientele so volatile the idea of a fellow shopper shanking you in Aisle 3 as other shoppers step over you as you bleed out, is a thought never far from your mind, I would design the checkout area a bit differently. I would actually leave room for lines to form. The Basket is famous for crowding up the checkout area with bin upon bin of sale items. Truckloads of pilaf and wafer cookies surround you as you try to successfully negotiate the unbelievably process of paying for your groceries. I make it into the inner sanctity of the check out belt area. I load all of my stuff onto the conveyor and just as the girl is finishing up with the person in front of me I realize I forgot my ATM card. Oh for f*ck;s sake! I have to reload my cart with all my groceries and try to back my way out of the line. Let's just say that was as well received as a fart in church by the people in line behind me. I pull over by the customer service area and call home. Thank God that for once I actually had my cell phone with me and miracle upon miracle it was charged! I call home and tell my betrothed my plight. His love for me is so deep he was thrilled to pack up all 3 kids and drive 20 minutes to drop off my card only to turn around and drive 20 minutes right back home. Yeah right. My desperate cries for help were met with a very long, very audible sigh. Turns out the 3 beautiful children that I birthed, the 3 children my every breath I breathe is for, wanted absolutely no part in coming to rescue me. If I understand correctly I think there may have been some bribery involved in getting them to actually agree to come to my rescue.
20 minutes later my knight in a shining minivan shows up, rolls down the window, hands me my card and drives away. You could have cut the "love" with a knife! I head back in, retrieve my carriage and settle in for another round of check-out line Frogger. A lady behind me realizes she forgot a bag of tortellini and asks if I mind holding her space. Forgot some tortellini I snort? Amateur! Try forgetting any and all forms of payment. When I tell my dad this story he causally says, "why didn't the cashier just take you next after Chuck dropped your card off? They usually let you jump right back in line". Oh, bless his little heart! My dad has obviously never been to a Market Basket. If you even think about jumping back in line you are literally asking for a beat down. This isn't Shaw's for Christ's sake!
I kept my head down, did my time in the second round of lines and made it out with my life just as the first flakes were falling. Lessons learned...oh who am I kidding? I could say I learned to be more aware of the forecast, or to always check to make sure my ATM card is in my purse but we all know this is just a typical day for me! Market Basket for life!!
So why am I here? The typical pre-storm bread and milk run? Loading up on comfort food? Nope. I was running out of dog shampoo. So my faithful blog readers know what that means. For you newbies let me fill you in...at times life gets away from me. The laundry might pile up and on occasion I have been known to use a table cloth or blanket to dry off post shower when no towels were available. Many times both Chuck and I thank our walking upright God we got a dog. Not for the typical reasons; companionship, protection and life lessons for our children. Nope. With a dog comes dog shampoo! You know what that translates to? Buying a few extra days of not having to go to the store when you run out of people shampoo. Yeah, I've done it. I have used Mary Alice's Hartz puppy shampoo. And guess what? I have done it more than once and I make absolutely NO apologizes about it. So I know I am fortunate and only work 3 days a week and I probably could have fit in a Basket run before the predicted blizzard but I haven't really been watching the news too much. Not even my beloved Anderson Cooper, who by the way I will be seeing live in person in 64 days!! I just can't watch the news anymore without screaming obscenities at the TV regarding the state of our country. So needless to say, I was ignorant of the blizzard heading our way when I took full advantage of 2 childless hours and took a much needed nap. I have not been getting much sleep since I found out I was pregnant... With Sara...Ten years ago. Sara has been ending up in my bed a lot lately. She is a small, wiry child. However, when she sleeps she spreads out like friggin' Christ on the cross. I am relegated to about a 1 square foot patch of the bed. Not compatible with sleep. So long story, long....that is how I find myself in hell on this glorious morning.
So here I am wandering about amidst the countless number of larks and hoverounds tearing ass down the aisles wondering why I bothered to put clean, matching clothes on. The clientele of Market Basket can be described in many ways but for this piece I am going to go with-- consistent. True Basketeers know that the scooter rider to walking customer ratio is consistently disproportionate. Now I am not an ableist by any stretch of the imagination, one of the main reasons I shop at the Basket is because they hire people with differing abilities and I want to support that, however, many of their able bodied customers take full advantage of the plethora of free scooters they have available and since they are not really scooter users they don't know the rules of the road per say. I have gotten a scooter basket up my ass on more than one occasion from an unruly teen who thinks it would be funny to shop for their munchies while seated. Also, the MB shoppers are consistent in their attire. The official uniform of the citizens of the People's Republic of Market Basket is lounge wear chic. Otherwise known as the clothes one has slept in for a fortnight. For some ungodly reason I actually used up a dollop of puppy shampoo and a clean table cloth for this shopping trip. What a waste of resources.
So I somehow manage to get a full shopping done without committing felony murder and settle into line. Now, I am no merchandising expert, but, with a store as busy as Market Basket and with a clientele so volatile the idea of a fellow shopper shanking you in Aisle 3 as other shoppers step over you as you bleed out, is a thought never far from your mind, I would design the checkout area a bit differently. I would actually leave room for lines to form. The Basket is famous for crowding up the checkout area with bin upon bin of sale items. Truckloads of pilaf and wafer cookies surround you as you try to successfully negotiate the unbelievably process of paying for your groceries. I make it into the inner sanctity of the check out belt area. I load all of my stuff onto the conveyor and just as the girl is finishing up with the person in front of me I realize I forgot my ATM card. Oh for f*ck;s sake! I have to reload my cart with all my groceries and try to back my way out of the line. Let's just say that was as well received as a fart in church by the people in line behind me. I pull over by the customer service area and call home. Thank God that for once I actually had my cell phone with me and miracle upon miracle it was charged! I call home and tell my betrothed my plight. His love for me is so deep he was thrilled to pack up all 3 kids and drive 20 minutes to drop off my card only to turn around and drive 20 minutes right back home. Yeah right. My desperate cries for help were met with a very long, very audible sigh. Turns out the 3 beautiful children that I birthed, the 3 children my every breath I breathe is for, wanted absolutely no part in coming to rescue me. If I understand correctly I think there may have been some bribery involved in getting them to actually agree to come to my rescue.
20 minutes later my knight in a shining minivan shows up, rolls down the window, hands me my card and drives away. You could have cut the "love" with a knife! I head back in, retrieve my carriage and settle in for another round of check-out line Frogger. A lady behind me realizes she forgot a bag of tortellini and asks if I mind holding her space. Forgot some tortellini I snort? Amateur! Try forgetting any and all forms of payment. When I tell my dad this story he causally says, "why didn't the cashier just take you next after Chuck dropped your card off? They usually let you jump right back in line". Oh, bless his little heart! My dad has obviously never been to a Market Basket. If you even think about jumping back in line you are literally asking for a beat down. This isn't Shaw's for Christ's sake!
I kept my head down, did my time in the second round of lines and made it out with my life just as the first flakes were falling. Lessons learned...oh who am I kidding? I could say I learned to be more aware of the forecast, or to always check to make sure my ATM card is in my purse but we all know this is just a typical day for me! Market Basket for life!!
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
#Thankful
I
really hope when you read that in your head you said, “Number-sign
thankful”. If not, I am not sure we could really be friends. Sorry,
but
I never was able to conform to societal norms decades ago when the #
symbol was changed to a pound sign. There is no way in hell I will call
it a G. D. hash tag. It is, was and always will be the number sign to
me.
So
the moral of this blog is; be thankful for the truly important things
in your life; family, friends and health…but know that no matter what
kind of fantasy
life you try to put out there for others to see, we are all just in
this together and when all else fails, be Number-Sign Thankful you are
not getting a call from Daniel Tosh’s production company.
That
being said, with Thanksgiving mere hours away I am getting “Number-Sign
Thankful” burnout. It is that time of year again when people’s
Facebook news feed
gets jammed up with their friends and family posting daily what they
are “Number-Sign Thankful” for. Now I am not a complete Scrooge, I
don’t mind seeing people posting they are thankful for their children,
family and friends or their health. I actually
think the “Thankful for Us” frame people are putting around pictures of
their loved ones is cute; it is the ridiculously superficial ones that
make me cringe. You all know the type I am talking about; “Number-Sign
thankful for cozy socks, a mug of steaming
Chai and a warm blanket”. OK, so when posting these things keep in
mind your audience. I actually laugh out loud when I see some of these
Norman Rockwellesque posts. I want to comment back, “Bitch please, I
know you!! That pair of cozy socks is more likely
than not a mismatched set of tube socks and I can almost guarantee one
of them is your husbands. That “mug” (wink-wink) of tea you are sipping
on is really an environment depleting, re-heated, Styrofoam cup you got
through the Dunks drive through 4 hours
ago while chauffeuring your ungrateful offspring to their activities.
Oh, and that good book you claim to be reading, I bet your TV is tuned
to Bravo and you are watching one of the Real Housewives incarnations.
Don’t get me wrong, I watch my fair share of
trashy TV, but I can honestly say I have never watched one of those
deplorable Real Housewife shows. Though, this goes without saying, Much
Love Andy Cohen!! Muah!! See you in April with my boyfriend
Anderson! I am going to see their AC2 show and I can’t
wait. The births of my children, my wedding day and being in the same
room with Anderson Cooper have been the most anticipated events in my
life. Don’t ask me to rank them in order because there may be some hurt
feelings in my house…
But
back to my story… How am I able to read between the lines of a FB post
and real life you ask? Because this is my real-life too! We are all
just a bunch of
hot messes trying to survive the day. So in keeping with that theme
and the spirit of the season I am going to let you in on some of the
things that I am truly “Number-Sign Thankful” for;
Number-Sign Thankful the Presidential Election is over.
Now, it is not for the reasons you are guessing. Though, as a
registered Independent I am Number-Sign Thankful I am not getting a call
from each candidate every two minutes. But now, hopefully Anderson
Cooper can go back to his regular, tried and true format
with him sitting at his anchor desk filling me in on the news of the
day. I am sick of the bat-shit crazies, from both sides, that have made
up the panel discussions for the past 18 months. Please bring back the
best 5 minutes in television each day, The
Ridiculist. I mean if not for the Ridiculist would the world have ever
learned of Prancercizing? Would we have heard The Coop giggle
uncontrollably when saying the name Gerard Depardieu? Would I have ever
heard the death metal song, “Wolf Blitzer?” Probably
not. So Anderson, you have until April to get back in the swing of
things or you and I will have a little talk.
Number-Sign Thankful for the Internet.
The
internet is one of the most prolific game changers to come along in my
life-time. Not only can we connect with people around the world we
would never otherwise come
in contact with, we can learn anything and everything on infinite
topics with just a click of the mouse, but more than that I can see what
every Real World Cast has been up to for the last 20 years. I can
follow Kanye’s meltdown in real time. I can binge
watch Dr. Pimple Popper videos on You Tube—an oddly relaxing pastime
Sara and I have spent endless hours bonding over. Without the internet I
would have never known there is a whole subculture dedicated to making
slow motion videos of things being flattened
in a compressor. When I am faced with household chores or spending
time going down the rabbit hole that is the world wide web I will pick
random Buzz Feed Top 10 lists Every. Single. Time. Forget it when I get
on a Joe Santagato kick. Who knew there were
so many Idiots of the Internet? I did. You know why? Because I have
watched every one of Santagato’s Idiots of the Internet Videos multiple
times over. So, rhetorical question here…does that make me one?
Number-Sign Thankful the girls’ pediatrician is not my Facebook friend.
He
is wonderful and I have the utmost respect for his knowledge and
skills, however, I have been lying to him for years. Well, OK, I lied
to his face once, but since then
it has been more of a lie of omission. Two years ago at Emily’s one
year appointment he asked if we transitioned her from bottle to cup and I
kind of tilted my head, rubbed the sweat off the back of my neck and in
a high-pitched voice made a noise that resembled;
mm-hmm. So technically I never truly verbalized a real definitive
answer. I just made a guttural vocalization that when put under cross
examination could go either way. Since it was never brought up
subsequent to that conversation I have never offered additional
information on the subject. If he were my Facebook friend I would be
Number-Sign Screwed! Somehow Emily has turned 3 and still uses a bottle
at night to fall asleep…I know, right? The WORST kind of bottle!! So
thank Christ he has never brought it up during
an appointment because Emily sees no shame in still using a bottle and
would proudly pound one in front of anyone as if it were a pint of
Guinness.
Number-Sign Thankful for Emily’s honesty.
So
during a recent outing to Bass Pro Shop, or as I like to call it; the
poor man’s zoo, Emily made an observation. She stopped what she was
doing, looked me up and down
then stared right into my soul and declared to all who would listen,
“Mom, you’re fat!” Sara and Anna stopped in their tracks and looked as
if a nuclear bomb was about to go off. Hmm, I guess you are right
Emily, I am fat… I responded. Thank God she brought
it to my attention. I knew something was off, all my clothes were way
too tight, and my double chin is about a double chin and a half at this
point, the numbers on the scale for some reason keep climbing in an
upward pattern. Something was up but I just
couldn’t put my finger on it. I am so glad she decided, while out in
public mind you, to put all the pieces together for me and announce to
the world what she discovered. That child has impeccable timing.
Number-Sign Thankful for Tosh.0.
Whenever life or one
of my children gets me down there is nothing like watching an episode
of Tosh.0 to pick me up. It’s like the saying goes; “No matter what,
there is always, always something to be grateful for.” Sometimes not
being on an episode with Daniel Tosh is the one
something to be grateful for that day. After watching the complete
white-trash, sh$t show that is Tosh.0 makes me not feel so bad about
myself. Speaking of white trash, after our trip to Bass Pro Shop I did
come home and watch Tosh On Demand. I may be going
to hell being one of his biggest fans, but hey, at least I will have a
smile on my face when I get there.
Number-Sign Thankful for 8 easily accessible toilets in the NICU.
If
you have been following my blog for any length of time you know that I
have some rather effed up, to put it mildly, GI issues. I am supposed
to be on this ridiculously
crazy diet to help control flare-ups but I would be less than honest if
I said I followed the diet. I do religiously follow 2 Low FODMAP
Facebook pages so that has to count for something, right? Now, the
thing with my GI issue is that it is completely unpredictable.
I could eat a trigger food and not have an acute reaction to it…I might
not get symptoms from the offending food for several days. That makes
for an interesting life. I could be having a great day and out of the
blue, literally from one second to the next,
I have to go to the bathroom. Doesn’t matter if I am driving, talking
on the phone or holding a baby at work…I need to go and I need to go
now. There are no second chances to get this right. If I miss my
window of opportunity of making it to the restroom,
and let me tell you, I will not be doing any “resting” in there, I will
need to move out of the country and join some type of program akin to a
Witness Protection Program. A Shitness Protection Program if you
will. Fortunately at work there are 8 toilets
strategically placed around the unit. From any given spot in the NICU I
know how many ass-clenched, speed walking steps I need to take to get
to every last one of those toilets. I have been in the NICU for 7 years
now and I have yet to join the Shitness
Protection Program and for that I am truly Number-Sign Thankful.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
There's a Mole in our house...
Seriously, there was a mole in our house. I am not talking about the saboteur kind of mole portrayed on the TV show hosted by my imaginary boyfriend in his younger years. What, you didn't have faith in me I could work Anderson Cooper into a blog about a rodent? Oh ye of little faith...Google it! My little Andy was the host of the reality show called "The Mole" back in the day. But back to my story...
So about 2 weeks ago I was sitting on the couch watching TV. Chuck walks in with a clear plastic box and says, "look what I found". I look over and I see what looks like a cat turd in the box. I asked why he brought it in and he said because it was crying, I couldn't just leave it there. Crying? What? Turns out it wasn't a cat turd, it was a newborn rodent, less than an inch long! I need to get my glasses fixed. Mary Alice, our dog ate my glasses. Chewed through the lens and everything! I swear to God my eye doctor thought I was making up a lame excuse as to why I wasn't wearing my glasses, that was until I pulled the eyeglass carcass out of the case...
So Chuck takes the little creature into the kitchen to show the girls. The 3 of them start "oh-ing" and "aw-ing". Great, I think. Now I'm in for it. They want to keep! For Christ's sake... So five minutes in they have it in a plastic little critter cage and are You-Tubing how to feed newborn mice. So here is my husband, who if he found this little animal a few weeks later when it was full grown would have set a trap to kill it, is now hand feeding it milk from a paintbrush. Keep in mind, Chuck is NOT a fan of the dog or cats or companion pets in general, yet he has told the girls we can keep this little, fetal looking rodent. I am thinking, OK, so we keep it but to what end? Are we going to keep it forever? Are we going to let it go after we nurture it back to health only to be set free and later eaten by Mary Alice. She does not have a refined palette by any means. She has been known to snack on field mice, multiple moles, a baby bunny and oh yeah-sh*t. Actual sh*t! She pulled one of Emily's poopy diapers out of the trash and ate a fist sized lump of crap before I could get over to her. You think for one second she would hesitate before devouring a fellow "pet"? Plus, by the time the creature, who now has been named Penny-Cookie is able to be released it will be domesticated...even if he escaped Mary Alice's wrath, it wouldn't survive. There isn't going to be milk soaked paint brushes in the wild for her to suck on. So I guess we (meaning me) is in it for the long haul. Yay!! (said in mockingly triumphant voice, with my arms half-heartedly raised).
OK, so if you know me at all you know I don't do anything half-assed. Well, maybe exercising. That I mail in. I think I told you all about the time I was trying to get into shape for my wedding and I really wasn't feeling it one day so I changed into my gym clothes in a liquor store parking lot and drove around with my face leaning towards the vents with the heat on full blast. By the time I got home I was all red and sweaty giving the appearance of a solid workout. That may or may not have happened more than once. But I digress....when it comes to taking care of my pets that is a different story. I remember years ago one of my friends told me when she died she wanted to come back as one of my pets. What up Shannon?!! So it was now on me to keep this thing alive.
I ask for advice and I am told I need to keep it warm so I fill a little water bottle with warm water and replace it every few hours. I also find out I need to "help" it pee and poop. So as I am wiping it's tiny ass with a warm paper towel I start to contemplate my life and where did it go so wrong that I am sitting alone in my kitchen at 2 in the morning wiping some rodents ass trying to get it to sh*t on me? Hmm. Really? Who was I or what did I do in a past life to deserve this? Was I Genghis Khan for f*ck's sake?
So we are one day into running our animal rescue center. I go to Target to get something and I inexplicably find myself at Petco purchasing a teeny, tiny bottle and cat formula. I know full well it is not a cat, but I am thinking it is closer to a cat than a cow. So maybe cat milk is better for it than cow milk? That decision would of course come back to bite me in the ass. Oh and I decided it was a mole and not a mouse. It's eyes were funky and when I did a google image search of baby moles it looked just like one, plus, we have a crap ton of moles living in our yard.
So we are on about day three of the rescue mission and my time in the NICU is really starting to show. I am feeding this thing every two hours....I am diligent about maintaining its temperature even providing modified kangaroo, or skin to skin care....I would hold it between my hands trying to keep it warm but there is no way in hell I would put it on my chest!! The thing was so tiny it would get lost in there and probably crushed by one of my boobs and how would I explain that to the girls? Then I notice Penny's belly and I don't like the looks of it. It looks distended, dusky and then eventually you can see a black blob under the transparent skin. Great! I gave the baby mole NEC. I tuck Penny-Cookie back into her blanket, warm up her water bottle and put her back in the cabinet. Oh yeah, so we have to keep her in a safe spot away from the cats and dog so Chuck puts her in the cabinet with our drinking glasses. So while we are saving one beings life I may just be endangering all of ours by exposing my family to the hantavirus. At one point Anna spiked a fever with no other symptoms...I was prepared to tell the ER to call Dan Riskin from Monsters Inside of Me, that we have an episode for him...
So we get home from picking the girls up at school they want to feed Penny. I tell them sure. Poor Anna gets the critter tank down and makes the discovery. Poor Penny is dead. Great! I didn't even want this thing to begin with and now I am the one home that has to help them process the death and listen to them sob. I get accused of killing it--why did you give it cat milk and not mole milk? Yeah, like that was the deciding factor in it's demise. Anna decorates a jewelry box to bury Penny in. Sara goes on and on about how this is the worst day ever and instead of validating her feelings I remind her the day Grandma died was maybe a little worse. That went over like a friggin fart in church! While sitting in the midst of this chaos I go off into my little happy place in my mind...sitting at Cafe Zurich at the top of the Ramblas in Barcelona, drinking una clarita without a care in the world. That is short lived because now we have to have a funeral and bury Penny. Chuck comes home, digs a hole next to our dead cat and bury the rodent. The irony is not lost on me and I have to stifle a laugh.
So we all settle in and sit down for dinner. Our nightly tradition is to go around the table and talk about the best part of our day. I remind them that even on the saddest days there is always something to be thankful for. Sara and Anna pass, Chuck and I mutter something corny and then Emily proudly announces her favorite part of the day was when Penny died. Serial killer in the making? Perhaps. Sh*t stirrer? Absolutely!!
I know my kids were upset that Penny died, but, I feel like there were some great life lessons--they learned about responsibility, if you take something on you see it through, that all living creatures, no matter how small, deserve a chance and that sometimes, no matter how badly you want something to work out it just might not work out the way you plan.
So it has been about 2 weeks and Sara and Anna have adjusted and have used this experience as a positive. But just last night Emily asked me if I was still sad that Penny died and I said yes. I asked if she was and she gave a resounding "NO"! I guess two out of three ain't bad.
So about 2 weeks ago I was sitting on the couch watching TV. Chuck walks in with a clear plastic box and says, "look what I found". I look over and I see what looks like a cat turd in the box. I asked why he brought it in and he said because it was crying, I couldn't just leave it there. Crying? What? Turns out it wasn't a cat turd, it was a newborn rodent, less than an inch long! I need to get my glasses fixed. Mary Alice, our dog ate my glasses. Chewed through the lens and everything! I swear to God my eye doctor thought I was making up a lame excuse as to why I wasn't wearing my glasses, that was until I pulled the eyeglass carcass out of the case...
So Chuck takes the little creature into the kitchen to show the girls. The 3 of them start "oh-ing" and "aw-ing". Great, I think. Now I'm in for it. They want to keep! For Christ's sake... So five minutes in they have it in a plastic little critter cage and are You-Tubing how to feed newborn mice. So here is my husband, who if he found this little animal a few weeks later when it was full grown would have set a trap to kill it, is now hand feeding it milk from a paintbrush. Keep in mind, Chuck is NOT a fan of the dog or cats or companion pets in general, yet he has told the girls we can keep this little, fetal looking rodent. I am thinking, OK, so we keep it but to what end? Are we going to keep it forever? Are we going to let it go after we nurture it back to health only to be set free and later eaten by Mary Alice. She does not have a refined palette by any means. She has been known to snack on field mice, multiple moles, a baby bunny and oh yeah-sh*t. Actual sh*t! She pulled one of Emily's poopy diapers out of the trash and ate a fist sized lump of crap before I could get over to her. You think for one second she would hesitate before devouring a fellow "pet"? Plus, by the time the creature, who now has been named Penny-Cookie is able to be released it will be domesticated...even if he escaped Mary Alice's wrath, it wouldn't survive. There isn't going to be milk soaked paint brushes in the wild for her to suck on. So I guess we (meaning me) is in it for the long haul. Yay!! (said in mockingly triumphant voice, with my arms half-heartedly raised).
OK, so if you know me at all you know I don't do anything half-assed. Well, maybe exercising. That I mail in. I think I told you all about the time I was trying to get into shape for my wedding and I really wasn't feeling it one day so I changed into my gym clothes in a liquor store parking lot and drove around with my face leaning towards the vents with the heat on full blast. By the time I got home I was all red and sweaty giving the appearance of a solid workout. That may or may not have happened more than once. But I digress....when it comes to taking care of my pets that is a different story. I remember years ago one of my friends told me when she died she wanted to come back as one of my pets. What up Shannon?!! So it was now on me to keep this thing alive.
I ask for advice and I am told I need to keep it warm so I fill a little water bottle with warm water and replace it every few hours. I also find out I need to "help" it pee and poop. So as I am wiping it's tiny ass with a warm paper towel I start to contemplate my life and where did it go so wrong that I am sitting alone in my kitchen at 2 in the morning wiping some rodents ass trying to get it to sh*t on me? Hmm. Really? Who was I or what did I do in a past life to deserve this? Was I Genghis Khan for f*ck's sake?
So we are one day into running our animal rescue center. I go to Target to get something and I inexplicably find myself at Petco purchasing a teeny, tiny bottle and cat formula. I know full well it is not a cat, but I am thinking it is closer to a cat than a cow. So maybe cat milk is better for it than cow milk? That decision would of course come back to bite me in the ass. Oh and I decided it was a mole and not a mouse. It's eyes were funky and when I did a google image search of baby moles it looked just like one, plus, we have a crap ton of moles living in our yard.
So we are on about day three of the rescue mission and my time in the NICU is really starting to show. I am feeding this thing every two hours....I am diligent about maintaining its temperature even providing modified kangaroo, or skin to skin care....I would hold it between my hands trying to keep it warm but there is no way in hell I would put it on my chest!! The thing was so tiny it would get lost in there and probably crushed by one of my boobs and how would I explain that to the girls? Then I notice Penny's belly and I don't like the looks of it. It looks distended, dusky and then eventually you can see a black blob under the transparent skin. Great! I gave the baby mole NEC. I tuck Penny-Cookie back into her blanket, warm up her water bottle and put her back in the cabinet. Oh yeah, so we have to keep her in a safe spot away from the cats and dog so Chuck puts her in the cabinet with our drinking glasses. So while we are saving one beings life I may just be endangering all of ours by exposing my family to the hantavirus. At one point Anna spiked a fever with no other symptoms...I was prepared to tell the ER to call Dan Riskin from Monsters Inside of Me, that we have an episode for him...
So we get home from picking the girls up at school they want to feed Penny. I tell them sure. Poor Anna gets the critter tank down and makes the discovery. Poor Penny is dead. Great! I didn't even want this thing to begin with and now I am the one home that has to help them process the death and listen to them sob. I get accused of killing it--why did you give it cat milk and not mole milk? Yeah, like that was the deciding factor in it's demise. Anna decorates a jewelry box to bury Penny in. Sara goes on and on about how this is the worst day ever and instead of validating her feelings I remind her the day Grandma died was maybe a little worse. That went over like a friggin fart in church! While sitting in the midst of this chaos I go off into my little happy place in my mind...sitting at Cafe Zurich at the top of the Ramblas in Barcelona, drinking una clarita without a care in the world. That is short lived because now we have to have a funeral and bury Penny. Chuck comes home, digs a hole next to our dead cat and bury the rodent. The irony is not lost on me and I have to stifle a laugh.
So we all settle in and sit down for dinner. Our nightly tradition is to go around the table and talk about the best part of our day. I remind them that even on the saddest days there is always something to be thankful for. Sara and Anna pass, Chuck and I mutter something corny and then Emily proudly announces her favorite part of the day was when Penny died. Serial killer in the making? Perhaps. Sh*t stirrer? Absolutely!!
I know my kids were upset that Penny died, but, I feel like there were some great life lessons--they learned about responsibility, if you take something on you see it through, that all living creatures, no matter how small, deserve a chance and that sometimes, no matter how badly you want something to work out it just might not work out the way you plan.
So it has been about 2 weeks and Sara and Anna have adjusted and have used this experience as a positive. But just last night Emily asked me if I was still sad that Penny died and I said yes. I asked if she was and she gave a resounding "NO"! I guess two out of three ain't bad.
Friday, July 1, 2016
Public Service Announcement for Beach Season....
So we have the week off and decided to take the girls to the beach for the day. We had a great time collecting shells, playing in the waves, constructing "Anna Island"--a family engineering project that consisted of a moat with a channel to the water that was supposed to fill up around an artfully created island complete with seaweed trees. All in all it was a great day. However, I am ALWAYS looking out for my blog reading friends....I have come up with a few simple rules to keep in mind when heading to the shore...
#1. You will get older. Your skin will get older. Ladies, no matter how fit you are there will come a point in your life that you have old lady crepe paper skin. It just happens. There is nothing more bizarre, I guess I will go with that word because after several minutes of thinking I can't come up with anything else, than seeing a 70-ish year old lady with saggy crepe paper skin over her entire body with rock hard, taut skinned boobs the size of cantaloupes standing at attention. God as my witness, I tried to look away, I really did, but I couldn't help but stare. It didn't help that she had a tiny bikini on putting them on full display. Maybe disturbing is the word I should have gone with, yeah, it was disturbing. So young girls if you are contemplating getting breast implants please keep this in mind when choosing what size to get...you too will someday be an old lady trapped in an old lady body with the boobs of a twenty something and it just ain't right!!!
#2 Along those same lines are tattoos. They seem so cool when you are younger. Don't get me wrong. I love tattoos and when done by a really good artist they can be so beautiful. I have one myself. But ladies, please for the love of Psamathe (the God of beach sand...I do my research) make sure your choice will fit your lifestyle for LIFE. For example, a tribal tramp stamp really seems out of place 20 years later when playing in the sand with your kids and digging their PB & J out of your Vera Bradley beach bag. Or. if you choose to have yourself inked with a cute little rose on your hip it WILL become a rose bush if you have children down the road. Just a few things to ponder while you are in line at the tattoo parlor.
#3 This is a big one. If you have an asshole kid at home, I have no doubt they will continue to be an asshole while out in public. If you have one of these said A-holes, please, please, PLEASE do not, under any circumstance, let them bring a God Damn water squirter to the beach!! They will be the ISIS of the waterfront, wreaking havoc and leaving destruction in their wake. One little sh*t ran right through the sand castle we were making and another kept squirting people NOT WITH HIS GROUP with his friggin squirter! Seriously, if you are going to take your little terrorist to the beach please keep an eye on them and don't give them a weapon.
#4 No body shaming here. I have put on a good 40 pounds since my mom died a year and a half ago (yes, I did...I have a scale and a mirror, its true). I ate my feelings, yet, I still wear a bathing suit and participate in life for my kids. However, as I gained weight I purchased appropriate sized bathing suits to go with my new chubby body. I am not telling anyone not to go to the beach or not to wear a bathing suit or even to wear a cover up. Not at all...I think everyone should go and enjoy life just as they are... I just implore you to wear a bathing suit that fits properly! There were a bunch of bigger girls rocking bikinis yesterday and they looked GREAT!! You know why? Because they bought a suit in THEIR SIZE!!! Sorry, but if you are a size 18, buy a size 18 suit and wear it with pride. Do not try to stuff it into a size 8. Some people were just asking way too much of their swimsuits. A triangle of fabric on just a nipple with everything else hanging loose looks ridiculous. Sorry, it just does. Also, try to be age appropriate in your swim suit choices. If you are a woman of a particular age, keep it simple. A tiger striped, string bikini should be left for ladies born oh, I don't know, maybe after George Washington left the White House.
#5 Know when to say when. The girls and I were in the bathroom and I sh*t you not, Magda from Something About Mary came sashaying out of a stall. The girls couldn't stop staring. I have never seen a person resemble an old, worn leather couch so much in all my life. She had bright white hair to boot. Soaking wet she probably weighed all of 80 pounds. The color of her skin was not normal, the consistency of her skin seemed alien. She looked to be around 78 years old...but who knows maybe she was just a 32 year old sun worshiper. Whatever the case she needs a new religion...
# 6 I am white. I am very white. Once a child told me I was so white I was see through. My whiteness is on par with the love of my life....Anderson Cooper. I believe in sunscreen. I use it faithfully. I bring an umbrella to the beach and sit in the shade when I am not playing with the girls. Again, sunscreen is a must, rash guard shirts are fine, my girls are into them now. Anyone know why they are called rash guards? Just curious. But there are some people that just take it to the extreme. These are the people who wear pretty much a space suit to the beach. Again, umbrellas I get, toddlers in a tent? Sure. But what I don't get is a sun hat as big as a beach umbrella with Urkel like flaps, sun glasses, long sleeve shirt and long pants. Why? Just why? Stay home and put a picture of the beach on the TV with the soundscapes channel on....same experience for your poor kid.
#7 Teenage boys with teenage girls...public service announcement...get a bathing suit that has a little more strength in the fabric to hold "things" in place. That's it.
#8 This is a huge pet peeve of mine. People on phones...more specifically parents on phones when they should be watching their kids. I am NOT a helicopter parent by any stretch of the imagination. I don't hover over my kids making sure they never have a negative experience. However, and this is a BIG however, when there is the potential my child could lose their life I kinda keep an eye on them. Yesterday I was at the edge of the water collecting shells with my girls. There was a family next to us. Both parents were on their phones, texting/playing a game/working/ who knows, but the 3 year old had their 18 month old on a boogie board and was towing her out to sea. Part of me was like, "serves them right if they go home with one less kid"...but I am not a total jerk and I said loudly "oh, hey you little boy, you might not want to pull your little sister out to far...she could fall off and go under water"...the parents glanced up and brought the kids back to shore. Then they gave me the stink eye!! Oh, OK, sorry I interrupted you to save your kids life...so next time do you want me to let your kiddos drown and not interrupt your Candy Crush? So parents, put your frigging phones down and enjoy/watch your kids...it might just save their life!
#9 Don't go to the beach during shark week! Big mistake!!! Every odd shaped wave, large piece of seaweed etc. was a flipping shark. If I had to guess I would say my heart rate was close to 200 every time I stepped in the water.
So there you have it. 9 simple steps to having a fun, safe and enjoyable day at the beach. You're Welcome!!
#1. You will get older. Your skin will get older. Ladies, no matter how fit you are there will come a point in your life that you have old lady crepe paper skin. It just happens. There is nothing more bizarre, I guess I will go with that word because after several minutes of thinking I can't come up with anything else, than seeing a 70-ish year old lady with saggy crepe paper skin over her entire body with rock hard, taut skinned boobs the size of cantaloupes standing at attention. God as my witness, I tried to look away, I really did, but I couldn't help but stare. It didn't help that she had a tiny bikini on putting them on full display. Maybe disturbing is the word I should have gone with, yeah, it was disturbing. So young girls if you are contemplating getting breast implants please keep this in mind when choosing what size to get...you too will someday be an old lady trapped in an old lady body with the boobs of a twenty something and it just ain't right!!!
#2 Along those same lines are tattoos. They seem so cool when you are younger. Don't get me wrong. I love tattoos and when done by a really good artist they can be so beautiful. I have one myself. But ladies, please for the love of Psamathe (the God of beach sand...I do my research) make sure your choice will fit your lifestyle for LIFE. For example, a tribal tramp stamp really seems out of place 20 years later when playing in the sand with your kids and digging their PB & J out of your Vera Bradley beach bag. Or. if you choose to have yourself inked with a cute little rose on your hip it WILL become a rose bush if you have children down the road. Just a few things to ponder while you are in line at the tattoo parlor.
#3 This is a big one. If you have an asshole kid at home, I have no doubt they will continue to be an asshole while out in public. If you have one of these said A-holes, please, please, PLEASE do not, under any circumstance, let them bring a God Damn water squirter to the beach!! They will be the ISIS of the waterfront, wreaking havoc and leaving destruction in their wake. One little sh*t ran right through the sand castle we were making and another kept squirting people NOT WITH HIS GROUP with his friggin squirter! Seriously, if you are going to take your little terrorist to the beach please keep an eye on them and don't give them a weapon.
#4 No body shaming here. I have put on a good 40 pounds since my mom died a year and a half ago (yes, I did...I have a scale and a mirror, its true). I ate my feelings, yet, I still wear a bathing suit and participate in life for my kids. However, as I gained weight I purchased appropriate sized bathing suits to go with my new chubby body. I am not telling anyone not to go to the beach or not to wear a bathing suit or even to wear a cover up. Not at all...I think everyone should go and enjoy life just as they are... I just implore you to wear a bathing suit that fits properly! There were a bunch of bigger girls rocking bikinis yesterday and they looked GREAT!! You know why? Because they bought a suit in THEIR SIZE!!! Sorry, but if you are a size 18, buy a size 18 suit and wear it with pride. Do not try to stuff it into a size 8. Some people were just asking way too much of their swimsuits. A triangle of fabric on just a nipple with everything else hanging loose looks ridiculous. Sorry, it just does. Also, try to be age appropriate in your swim suit choices. If you are a woman of a particular age, keep it simple. A tiger striped, string bikini should be left for ladies born oh, I don't know, maybe after George Washington left the White House.
#5 Know when to say when. The girls and I were in the bathroom and I sh*t you not, Magda from Something About Mary came sashaying out of a stall. The girls couldn't stop staring. I have never seen a person resemble an old, worn leather couch so much in all my life. She had bright white hair to boot. Soaking wet she probably weighed all of 80 pounds. The color of her skin was not normal, the consistency of her skin seemed alien. She looked to be around 78 years old...but who knows maybe she was just a 32 year old sun worshiper. Whatever the case she needs a new religion...
# 6 I am white. I am very white. Once a child told me I was so white I was see through. My whiteness is on par with the love of my life....Anderson Cooper. I believe in sunscreen. I use it faithfully. I bring an umbrella to the beach and sit in the shade when I am not playing with the girls. Again, sunscreen is a must, rash guard shirts are fine, my girls are into them now. Anyone know why they are called rash guards? Just curious. But there are some people that just take it to the extreme. These are the people who wear pretty much a space suit to the beach. Again, umbrellas I get, toddlers in a tent? Sure. But what I don't get is a sun hat as big as a beach umbrella with Urkel like flaps, sun glasses, long sleeve shirt and long pants. Why? Just why? Stay home and put a picture of the beach on the TV with the soundscapes channel on....same experience for your poor kid.
#7 Teenage boys with teenage girls...public service announcement...get a bathing suit that has a little more strength in the fabric to hold "things" in place. That's it.
#8 This is a huge pet peeve of mine. People on phones...more specifically parents on phones when they should be watching their kids. I am NOT a helicopter parent by any stretch of the imagination. I don't hover over my kids making sure they never have a negative experience. However, and this is a BIG however, when there is the potential my child could lose their life I kinda keep an eye on them. Yesterday I was at the edge of the water collecting shells with my girls. There was a family next to us. Both parents were on their phones, texting/playing a game/working/ who knows, but the 3 year old had their 18 month old on a boogie board and was towing her out to sea. Part of me was like, "serves them right if they go home with one less kid"...but I am not a total jerk and I said loudly "oh, hey you little boy, you might not want to pull your little sister out to far...she could fall off and go under water"...the parents glanced up and brought the kids back to shore. Then they gave me the stink eye!! Oh, OK, sorry I interrupted you to save your kids life...so next time do you want me to let your kiddos drown and not interrupt your Candy Crush? So parents, put your frigging phones down and enjoy/watch your kids...it might just save their life!
#9 Don't go to the beach during shark week! Big mistake!!! Every odd shaped wave, large piece of seaweed etc. was a flipping shark. If I had to guess I would say my heart rate was close to 200 every time I stepped in the water.
So there you have it. 9 simple steps to having a fun, safe and enjoyable day at the beach. You're Welcome!!
Friday, June 17, 2016
"In the future everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes.".
Everyone knows Andy Warhol's famous quote. Well my friends, I came this close to finally having MY 15 minutes of fame, but, like everything else in my life, it turns out to be nothing more than fodder for my blog.
So I call home from work one evening to check on the girls. Chuck tells me I have a message on the answering machine from a reporter from the Washington Post. She would like to speak with me about a story she is writing. I didn't give it much thought. I get home and listen to the message. Sure enough there is a message, from someone claiming to be from the Washington Post. I automatically think, great, another scam! I had recently received an urgent call from the IRS informing me I owe them money and if I didn't pay up marshals would show up my door to arrest me. Bring it-- I tell them. I would LOVE a night in jail...I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a good 8 years. Surprisingly the guy hung up on me. I also received word via my AOL account (which I finally just parted with) that an African Prince wanted to share his fortune with me! With me!! Again, when I called the number and inquired about how many people I could hire for my royal staff I was met with a quick dial tone. So though I was kind of impressed with the effort in coming up with a new and unique scam, a reporter calling to gather my info, I didn't give it too much thought....at first.
So I give a status update on my FB page about the message I received from a "reporter"... More to see if anyone else had gotten the same call and to do my civic duty and warn the community about the latest scam. Well, I guess my Facebook friends are way less cynical. Someone responded saying I was being contacted because of my blog. No way I thought...until a few more people made similar comments. I started to investigate. Thank God for Google, I mean seriously what did we do before Google? Jessica Contrera is a real reporter for the Washington Post. The phone number on caller ID was a Washington, DC based number and her actual name was on caller ID also. Wow, that is total commitment on the scammers part. Or was it? Yes my friends, a let myself go there. In no time flat I could hear Whitney Houston singing "One Moment in Time" in my head... I was watching myself, in slow motion, walk out onto the ELLEN stage...my blog had blown up and I was the new Erma Bombeck...Ellen was so impressed with me she gave me a brand new Honda Odyssey mini-van with the built in vacuum. THE BUILT IN VACUUM!!! So I decide to call her back immediately to get my new found fame rolling. I leave her a message and now I wait....
While waiting for her return call I start to plan what I will say to Ellen and it hits me, OH MY GOD!!! What if the Silver Fox wants me on his show???!!!! I have to get it right this time! I can't make a fool of myself again. I kind of blew my other chances at fame. You see I have been on TV a few times before. The first was years and years ago when I first became a Child Life Specialist. I was working in an Emergency Department. Well, the TV show ER introduced a Child Life Specialist in one of its episodes so the local NBC affiliate asked if I would be willing to film a segment to run on the 11 o'clock news following that episode. OK, sure. So they come to the ER and film me. Mind you, I was really, really new to the field and I didn't give it the justice it deserved, but that is not the worst of it. They asked me about why I chose the field or something like that. I had a note in my hand from a former patient and I said, "this...(insert extremely long dramatic pause here), this is what makes it all worthwhile"....UGH! I just threw up in my mouth a little bit just remembering it. It was so L.A.M.E. Thank God the internet wasn't what it is now back then....I can just imagine what the trolls would say about my performance. My second TV appearance came years later. It was about 5 years ago. I had just reconnected with my friend from Japan. It had been about 20 years since we saw each other, but found each other on Facebook. Not 2 weeks later did the earthquake/tsunami hit Japan. I left her a message letting her know she was welcome to come stay with us or support her in anyway. I didn't hear anything back. Well the next day I checked my email 10 minutes before I was going to work and I got word from her. She was safe, thank God!! and she was taking us up on our offer. Her and her daughter would be arriving on March 16th. Holy crap!! That was the next morning! With the time difference they were already up in the airplane! So I have to call Chuck and tell him that my friend I just reconnected with a few days ago was on her way to stay with us indefinitely. He didn't care, he is such a good guy he went online to research where to buy Japanese food for them. So how does this relate to my blog about being famous? Well you see, my brother works for one of the local TV channels. I am forever pitching stories to him. Not once has he ever taken me up on them. I guess while I was at work my dad called and told him Miho was coming and it would make a nice news story. He agreed. So I get home from work around 8 that evening with the intention of getting my house kind of "house guest ready" in the hour I have before bed. Well, FOX 25 calls and asks if they can meet us at the airport tomorrow. They would like to film our reunion. OK, I guess. Now on top of getting my house ready I have to find clean clothes (that will look nice on TV for me and the girls...stores are closed at this point so we have to work with what we got)....OK, I think I find something. The house is somewhat clean, my house may not be immaculate but I have to believe it was a step up from the earthquake and tsunami they were fleeing. At about 10 p.m. I get a call back from the TV station saying they would also like to film us back at our house after they arrive so they can see where they will be staying. Oh for Christ sake...now I have to get my house TV ready? The internet was much more of a factor this go around but I made sure not to read the comments from our story...I can just see them now...family flees natural disaster to stay with them?
So like I said, I was going to get it right this time. I was already planning in my head what I would wear, what I would say and how I would react when I got my new souped up mini-van. Hey, a girl can dream!
So the phone rings and it was her! Yes, her name really was Jessica! Yes, she really was a reporter for the Washington Post! Yes, she really is doing a story for the paper! Yes, she really does want to talk to me! That is until she didn't. Turns out she was looking for someone with the same last name as mine. She somehow found my name during her search and thought I was this girl's mother. I swear to God I felt like a balloon that suddenly had all its air come rushing out. Think Erin, Think God Damn It! I tell her that I don't know her, but since she was only a few towns away I can ask around to see if anyone knows them. Maybe she would let me be her junior reporter? No such luck. She apologizes, thanks me for my time and says good-bye. Just like that my dream of a vacuum in my mini-van was dashed.
The next day we don't feel like cooking dinner so we tell the girls we are taking them out to eat. Most kids would be psyched. I know I was whenever my parent's would take us out to eat. I used to love York Steakhouse...you got to push your own tray down the line and pick whatever dessert you wanted! Not my kids. 45 minutes of them fighting over where we should go. One wanted Papa Ginos, one wanted Red Robin. The Red Robin girl said "fine if we go to get pizza it will be really quick because one of us won't be eating". We are yelling at the kids to get in the car damn it--we ARE going out to eat and WE are picking the place! Now, normally if my kids behaved that way we would not reward them by going out, but, we really had no food in the house and Chuck and I needed to eat. So there we were, I am sweating from all the drama, the kids are screaming at us, each other and just in general. Chuck is moody because he is hungry and I start to really reflect on my life. I mean more often than not I use a table cloth to dry off after a shower, I even saw Chuck use a receiving blanket the other day, in a pinch I have used dog shampoo. I wear Spanx to smooth out my belly not caring about the back fat rolls it creates, I mean if I can't see it does it really even exist? We have a farmers gate drilled into our kitchen for the dog. I have a pooping disease that makes wearing white pants a bold, daring move. I have a dog that ate the Easter Bunny. I have 3 beautiful girls that often look homeless and my youngest is one step away from being feral. A family of four could live off the crumbs in my car for a solid year. I walked out of a public bathroom with toilet paper trailing from my underwear, not my shoe, my friggin underwear...I am almost certain Spanx were involved... and it hits me and I say to Chuck, "why in the name of all that is Holy would we EVER, EVER think someone would want to write a story about this sh*t show?" and we both burst out laughing!!
So not this time Mr. Warhol. The world still needs to wait for my 15 minutes!
So I call home from work one evening to check on the girls. Chuck tells me I have a message on the answering machine from a reporter from the Washington Post. She would like to speak with me about a story she is writing. I didn't give it much thought. I get home and listen to the message. Sure enough there is a message, from someone claiming to be from the Washington Post. I automatically think, great, another scam! I had recently received an urgent call from the IRS informing me I owe them money and if I didn't pay up marshals would show up my door to arrest me. Bring it-- I tell them. I would LOVE a night in jail...I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a good 8 years. Surprisingly the guy hung up on me. I also received word via my AOL account (which I finally just parted with) that an African Prince wanted to share his fortune with me! With me!! Again, when I called the number and inquired about how many people I could hire for my royal staff I was met with a quick dial tone. So though I was kind of impressed with the effort in coming up with a new and unique scam, a reporter calling to gather my info, I didn't give it too much thought....at first.
So I give a status update on my FB page about the message I received from a "reporter"... More to see if anyone else had gotten the same call and to do my civic duty and warn the community about the latest scam. Well, I guess my Facebook friends are way less cynical. Someone responded saying I was being contacted because of my blog. No way I thought...until a few more people made similar comments. I started to investigate. Thank God for Google, I mean seriously what did we do before Google? Jessica Contrera is a real reporter for the Washington Post. The phone number on caller ID was a Washington, DC based number and her actual name was on caller ID also. Wow, that is total commitment on the scammers part. Or was it? Yes my friends, a let myself go there. In no time flat I could hear Whitney Houston singing "One Moment in Time" in my head... I was watching myself, in slow motion, walk out onto the ELLEN stage...my blog had blown up and I was the new Erma Bombeck...Ellen was so impressed with me she gave me a brand new Honda Odyssey mini-van with the built in vacuum. THE BUILT IN VACUUM!!! So I decide to call her back immediately to get my new found fame rolling. I leave her a message and now I wait....
While waiting for her return call I start to plan what I will say to Ellen and it hits me, OH MY GOD!!! What if the Silver Fox wants me on his show???!!!! I have to get it right this time! I can't make a fool of myself again. I kind of blew my other chances at fame. You see I have been on TV a few times before. The first was years and years ago when I first became a Child Life Specialist. I was working in an Emergency Department. Well, the TV show ER introduced a Child Life Specialist in one of its episodes so the local NBC affiliate asked if I would be willing to film a segment to run on the 11 o'clock news following that episode. OK, sure. So they come to the ER and film me. Mind you, I was really, really new to the field and I didn't give it the justice it deserved, but that is not the worst of it. They asked me about why I chose the field or something like that. I had a note in my hand from a former patient and I said, "this...(insert extremely long dramatic pause here), this is what makes it all worthwhile"....UGH! I just threw up in my mouth a little bit just remembering it. It was so L.A.M.E. Thank God the internet wasn't what it is now back then....I can just imagine what the trolls would say about my performance. My second TV appearance came years later. It was about 5 years ago. I had just reconnected with my friend from Japan. It had been about 20 years since we saw each other, but found each other on Facebook. Not 2 weeks later did the earthquake/tsunami hit Japan. I left her a message letting her know she was welcome to come stay with us or support her in anyway. I didn't hear anything back. Well the next day I checked my email 10 minutes before I was going to work and I got word from her. She was safe, thank God!! and she was taking us up on our offer. Her and her daughter would be arriving on March 16th. Holy crap!! That was the next morning! With the time difference they were already up in the airplane! So I have to call Chuck and tell him that my friend I just reconnected with a few days ago was on her way to stay with us indefinitely. He didn't care, he is such a good guy he went online to research where to buy Japanese food for them. So how does this relate to my blog about being famous? Well you see, my brother works for one of the local TV channels. I am forever pitching stories to him. Not once has he ever taken me up on them. I guess while I was at work my dad called and told him Miho was coming and it would make a nice news story. He agreed. So I get home from work around 8 that evening with the intention of getting my house kind of "house guest ready" in the hour I have before bed. Well, FOX 25 calls and asks if they can meet us at the airport tomorrow. They would like to film our reunion. OK, I guess. Now on top of getting my house ready I have to find clean clothes (that will look nice on TV for me and the girls...stores are closed at this point so we have to work with what we got)....OK, I think I find something. The house is somewhat clean, my house may not be immaculate but I have to believe it was a step up from the earthquake and tsunami they were fleeing. At about 10 p.m. I get a call back from the TV station saying they would also like to film us back at our house after they arrive so they can see where they will be staying. Oh for Christ sake...now I have to get my house TV ready? The internet was much more of a factor this go around but I made sure not to read the comments from our story...I can just see them now...family flees natural disaster to stay with them?
So like I said, I was going to get it right this time. I was already planning in my head what I would wear, what I would say and how I would react when I got my new souped up mini-van. Hey, a girl can dream!
So the phone rings and it was her! Yes, her name really was Jessica! Yes, she really was a reporter for the Washington Post! Yes, she really is doing a story for the paper! Yes, she really does want to talk to me! That is until she didn't. Turns out she was looking for someone with the same last name as mine. She somehow found my name during her search and thought I was this girl's mother. I swear to God I felt like a balloon that suddenly had all its air come rushing out. Think Erin, Think God Damn It! I tell her that I don't know her, but since she was only a few towns away I can ask around to see if anyone knows them. Maybe she would let me be her junior reporter? No such luck. She apologizes, thanks me for my time and says good-bye. Just like that my dream of a vacuum in my mini-van was dashed.
The next day we don't feel like cooking dinner so we tell the girls we are taking them out to eat. Most kids would be psyched. I know I was whenever my parent's would take us out to eat. I used to love York Steakhouse...you got to push your own tray down the line and pick whatever dessert you wanted! Not my kids. 45 minutes of them fighting over where we should go. One wanted Papa Ginos, one wanted Red Robin. The Red Robin girl said "fine if we go to get pizza it will be really quick because one of us won't be eating". We are yelling at the kids to get in the car damn it--we ARE going out to eat and WE are picking the place! Now, normally if my kids behaved that way we would not reward them by going out, but, we really had no food in the house and Chuck and I needed to eat. So there we were, I am sweating from all the drama, the kids are screaming at us, each other and just in general. Chuck is moody because he is hungry and I start to really reflect on my life. I mean more often than not I use a table cloth to dry off after a shower, I even saw Chuck use a receiving blanket the other day, in a pinch I have used dog shampoo. I wear Spanx to smooth out my belly not caring about the back fat rolls it creates, I mean if I can't see it does it really even exist? We have a farmers gate drilled into our kitchen for the dog. I have a pooping disease that makes wearing white pants a bold, daring move. I have a dog that ate the Easter Bunny. I have 3 beautiful girls that often look homeless and my youngest is one step away from being feral. A family of four could live off the crumbs in my car for a solid year. I walked out of a public bathroom with toilet paper trailing from my underwear, not my shoe, my friggin underwear...I am almost certain Spanx were involved... and it hits me and I say to Chuck, "why in the name of all that is Holy would we EVER, EVER think someone would want to write a story about this sh*t show?" and we both burst out laughing!!
So not this time Mr. Warhol. The world still needs to wait for my 15 minutes!
Monday, June 6, 2016
Just three hairs and some air!
Who said that? Anyone? Anyone? I bet Kristy McG. knows who I am talking about! Why it is Bob Ross. Yes, THE Bob Ross from the Joy of Painting. I have been re-watching The Joy of Painting for a few months now. I would watch it when I was like 12-13 years old or so. My friend Cathy would come over and we would use poster paints and cardboard canvases and try to follow along. Sadly, our happy little trees never came out as good as his.
So why after all these years have I decided I needed some happy little trees back in my life? I have insomnia. I have had it for years. I decided I didn't want to take meds to help me sleep anymore. They made me feel like I was in a fog. My therapist told me I should find a good meditation CD to listen to at night. Wait? What? You thought I was able to get through this crazy life on my own? Oh, Bless your heart! I have the best therapist. It took me a while to find her. I had some doozies in the past. One guy was really good. I liked him a lot but he always used sports analogies I didn't understand. I would have to try to remember them and in what context he used it then go home and Google it to find out what exactly he was telling me. Too much work. One of my first therapists years ago had a lobster hand. I sh*t you not! Her hand was shaped like a lobster claw. It is a hand condition called Ectrodactyly. Now, if you know me I have no issues with differences or different abilities in people. But this was a tough situation. So instead of focusing on getting my mental health needs met, all I could do throughout each session was to make sure I wasn't looking at her hand and focusing on making sure I was not making HER feel uncomfortable. It was exhausting and instead of working out my issues I was only creating more for myself AND paying big bucks for it. I only lasted a few sessions with her....
Anyway, I digress...back to my post. So I tried a few of those relaxation apps with middle aged British ladies describing a babbling brook or long meadow grass blowing gently in the breeze. I tried I did, but it is not my thing. So I decided to give Bob Ross a try. I always found his voice soothing. Turns out Bob Ross is not as sweet and innocent as I remember. The fact is, he is a dirty, dirty man.
Now I know mostly stoners watch his show and maybe he caters to them. I mean if you took a drink every time he said "When God made Alaska he was having a good day" you would be tanked in no time. In one episode he said it 7 times in 27 minutes!! If you just kind of watch his show you won't notice it. But, me being me I really listened and oh man, the things he says!! He is filthy!! Do I think he does it on purpose? ABSOLUTELY!!! With over 30 seasons of his show there have to be hundreds of inappropriate things he has said over the years. Here are just a few examples of what I have heard this week alone!
* "Alaska has some of the prettiest little bushes I have ever seen" Yes, I know he lived in Alaska for 12 years. He reminds me all the time. And yes, he may be talking about actually topiaries or is he? Hmmm....
* "One day I was in the woods and ran into two happy little bushes...it was a great day" Come on!!! He said that, gave a little chuckle and moved on. Very subtle but Bob, this is me, Erin...I don't miss subtle! Subtle nuances are my thing!!!...Jane, did you know about this? (Jane is his wife) What are your thoughts on all the happy little bushes he runs into?
* "Beat the dickens out of it....sometimes I just beat it 'till it's dry" When he cleans his brush he beats it against the side of his easel to get the excess water/paint off and he always comments on it...beat the dickens out of it...beat the devil out of it....but sometimes he takes it a step further...as shown in my example above.
In addition to his wife Jane, Bob also has a son Steve. He appears in episodes from time to time. If you think Bob Ross is a tall drink of water, wait until you see Steve. He is a sweet, sweet looking man...in that 70's/80's long hair, pornstache kind of way. His painting technique is a bit more flashy and he is a bit more reckless in his art but, he has his dad's smooth moves when it comes to turning an art tutorial into a soft core porn. Brown chicken, brown cow....
* "Sometimes you need to be rough on it...real rough" He came out with this gem in the very first episode of his I watched.
* "If your wrist is worn out when you are done you know you were doing something right" Yeah, I got nothing for this one!!
* "I like to use a big one, big ones get the job done...a good 2 inches should do the trick" I know he was talking about the kind of brush he likes to use, but when you have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy, this is funny stuff!
So, once again I am caught up in the insomnia trap, but at least I have something to entertain me while I am awake all night. I don't care that he has already started painting before the list of paint colors comes across the screen, I am not going to try and paint one of his masterpieces. I don't care that all of his paintings are basically a variation on the same damn scene. I don't care that his paintings will never hang in a real art museum someday. All I care is that he makes me giggle like a school girl at 3 in the morning. So it may not have the desired effect my therapist wanted, but tonight I am going to grab a patchouli candle, my ipad and my sense of humor and laugh until the sun comes up!! Happy Painting my friends!!
So why after all these years have I decided I needed some happy little trees back in my life? I have insomnia. I have had it for years. I decided I didn't want to take meds to help me sleep anymore. They made me feel like I was in a fog. My therapist told me I should find a good meditation CD to listen to at night. Wait? What? You thought I was able to get through this crazy life on my own? Oh, Bless your heart! I have the best therapist. It took me a while to find her. I had some doozies in the past. One guy was really good. I liked him a lot but he always used sports analogies I didn't understand. I would have to try to remember them and in what context he used it then go home and Google it to find out what exactly he was telling me. Too much work. One of my first therapists years ago had a lobster hand. I sh*t you not! Her hand was shaped like a lobster claw. It is a hand condition called Ectrodactyly. Now, if you know me I have no issues with differences or different abilities in people. But this was a tough situation. So instead of focusing on getting my mental health needs met, all I could do throughout each session was to make sure I wasn't looking at her hand and focusing on making sure I was not making HER feel uncomfortable. It was exhausting and instead of working out my issues I was only creating more for myself AND paying big bucks for it. I only lasted a few sessions with her....
Anyway, I digress...back to my post. So I tried a few of those relaxation apps with middle aged British ladies describing a babbling brook or long meadow grass blowing gently in the breeze. I tried I did, but it is not my thing. So I decided to give Bob Ross a try. I always found his voice soothing. Turns out Bob Ross is not as sweet and innocent as I remember. The fact is, he is a dirty, dirty man.
Now I know mostly stoners watch his show and maybe he caters to them. I mean if you took a drink every time he said "When God made Alaska he was having a good day" you would be tanked in no time. In one episode he said it 7 times in 27 minutes!! If you just kind of watch his show you won't notice it. But, me being me I really listened and oh man, the things he says!! He is filthy!! Do I think he does it on purpose? ABSOLUTELY!!! With over 30 seasons of his show there have to be hundreds of inappropriate things he has said over the years. Here are just a few examples of what I have heard this week alone!
* "it is slick, wet and ready...I hope you are too" OK, so maybe he was talking about pre-painting the background on his canvas but come on...that is just pre pubescent comedic gold right there!!!
* "Alaska has some of the prettiest little bushes I have ever seen" Yes, I know he lived in Alaska for 12 years. He reminds me all the time. And yes, he may be talking about actually topiaries or is he? Hmmm....
* "One day I was in the woods and ran into two happy little bushes...it was a great day" Come on!!! He said that, gave a little chuckle and moved on. Very subtle but Bob, this is me, Erin...I don't miss subtle! Subtle nuances are my thing!!!...Jane, did you know about this? (Jane is his wife) What are your thoughts on all the happy little bushes he runs into?
* "Beat the dickens out of it....sometimes I just beat it 'till it's dry" When he cleans his brush he beats it against the side of his easel to get the excess water/paint off and he always comments on it...beat the dickens out of it...beat the devil out of it....but sometimes he takes it a step further...as shown in my example above.
In addition to his wife Jane, Bob also has a son Steve. He appears in episodes from time to time. If you think Bob Ross is a tall drink of water, wait until you see Steve. He is a sweet, sweet looking man...in that 70's/80's long hair, pornstache kind of way. His painting technique is a bit more flashy and he is a bit more reckless in his art but, he has his dad's smooth moves when it comes to turning an art tutorial into a soft core porn. Brown chicken, brown cow....
* "Sometimes you need to be rough on it...real rough" He came out with this gem in the very first episode of his I watched.
* "If your wrist is worn out when you are done you know you were doing something right" Yeah, I got nothing for this one!!
* "I like to use a big one, big ones get the job done...a good 2 inches should do the trick" I know he was talking about the kind of brush he likes to use, but when you have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy, this is funny stuff!
So, once again I am caught up in the insomnia trap, but at least I have something to entertain me while I am awake all night. I don't care that he has already started painting before the list of paint colors comes across the screen, I am not going to try and paint one of his masterpieces. I don't care that all of his paintings are basically a variation on the same damn scene. I don't care that his paintings will never hang in a real art museum someday. All I care is that he makes me giggle like a school girl at 3 in the morning. So it may not have the desired effect my therapist wanted, but tonight I am going to grab a patchouli candle, my ipad and my sense of humor and laugh until the sun comes up!! Happy Painting my friends!!
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