Monday, September 29, 2008

That Feeling Is Back

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About three weeks before my mom died I got a sick feeling in my stomach. It was a nervous churning in my belly coupled with a heavy weight on my chest. I had never experienced anything quite that obvious before, even though I had been dealing with my mother's illness for quite some time, but I still ignored it.

After she died, I regretted not taking heed of the warnings that both her body and my body were trying to send. How could I have missed that? Why didn't I pay more attention? If I learned anything from the shock of her death, it was to pay attention and right now, my antennae are standing straight up and I'm scared.

Ever since my dad went to live in Oklahoma, I've been talking to my aunt in regards to keeping Papi happy and healthy. She's doing a good job but recently her husband got deported and she is having to work full time to support my cousins. This leaves less time to take care of my dad and make no mistake, he is a handful.

First was the battle about his driving. The man is blind from 1 eye and at any moment could slip into a diabetic coma yet refuses to stop driving despite the fact that he nearly killed an elderly woman who was minding her business on the sidewalk. My cousin and I devised a plan to pull the wires from the engine of his truck but that only worked temporarily. I begged social services to intervene but that is a vicious mess of rodeo bull that I was not prepared to ride. I finally had to threaten to take away his social security check if he didn't agree to sell his vehicles. Yes, vehicles as in two (a car and a truck) because apparently one vehicle for a blind, Mexican, diabetic near-cripple is not enough. He reluctantly agreed but pouted for days and threatened to run away to Mexico where we would never hear from or see him again. I called his bluff. He never ran.

Then we had a whole ordeal regarding his refusal to take his medication. When he wasn't refusing to take his pills and insulin he was overdosing. He once nearly OD'd on over-the-counter sleeping pills. Every since my aunt started working more and can't watch him, he takes any opportunity he can get to under or over dose. Then there is the whole business about his falls. He has fallen 3 times, two of those times landed him in the hospital with broken bones and stitches. I considered bringing him here but he steadfastly refuses. We considered putting him in nursing care. He again refused and since a person has to willfully register, there's not much we can do.

He's also been forgetting things. He didn't remember my name the last three times I talked to him and last night he forgot that he had taken his insulin and double medicated himself. This caused his heart to stop and he went into full cardiac arrest. He was rushed to the emergency room where they had to shock him 3 times and pump him full of meds to bring him back to life. He's still having trouble keeping his blood sugars up. His body is weakening, his mind is slowing and his spirit is weaning.

So that feeling, that weight in the chest and tension in my belly that feels like someone is trying to squeeze the life out of me...that feeling is back. While I wouldn't be surprised if my dad passed away, nothing could ever make it okay. His passing would mean the death and finality of everything I ever knew when I was growing up. It would mean that I am officially parent less and that is something that while I acknowledge could happen, I just don't even want to think about.

I guess I would like to ask you for prayers. Pray for my dad. Pray for me. Pray that I may have the strength to endure what I KNOW is awaiting me around the corner. For the decisions that will have to be made and the inevitable pain that will settle into my body and make me feel like I can't breathe. Pray for yourselves and for the blessings of your own mothers and fathers and children. May we all be blessed and may God watch over us all.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Just A Little Dirty Talk

Me: "Are we gonna put the kids to bed early tonight so we can do that thing we like to do so much?"
Howie: "Hell to the yeah."
Me: "Okay, I'll put Bear get Bubba and Birdie"
Howie: "And then we'll meet up in the living room and get it on!"
Me: *raising eyebrows* We're gonna do it so long your fingers are going to ache.
Howie: "Oh, I'm gonna rock your world, baby."

We put the kids to bed in record time and met each other in the living room like we had planned. And then...we played ROCK BAND. I was on the drums and he was on the guitar and we rocked till we got whip lash from all the head "banging".

This is our dirty little secret. We do it when the kids have gone to bed and we are all alone and we're very paranoid that one day our neighbors are going to look through our windows and catch us strumming and drumming at 2 in the morning. Some couples watch TV, others have romantic nights full of raunchy sex. We can't go to sleep in peace until we both get above 90% on a song, unlock new gigs and earn a few extra thousand fans. Cause that's how we roll :-)

Like Kurt Cobain said, "if it's illegal to rock and roll, then throw my ass in jail!"

Bubba's Version Of A Blue Tooth

He drank a wee bit too much blue Hawaiian punch. And even though his teeth were blue and his tongue was purple, he didn't quite look as ridiculous as people who wear a blue tooth.

As Political As I'll Get

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The main reason that I've never spoken publicly about politics is that I write this blog for the purposes of entertainment and by nature, politics is not very entertaining.

Case in point: Friday's debate.

I was actually really excited about the debate because I'm a geek that way. Remember, I was a political science major in college. I'm not the only geek in this house. Howie used to work for the governor of Pennsylvania and worked in both the senate and house of representatives. We both know politics and aren't easily swayed or buy into things that other people might. When you know the insides of politics you are privy to the ugliness and can see the forest through the trees. It's a curse really.

You won't ever hear me give specifics about where I stand because I keep that little tidbit of information locked up in a safety deposit box along with the exact number of my weight and those microfiche pictures of who REALLY killed president Kennedy but I just couldn't hold my wad about the debate.

I will say this...I'm frustrated. In a time when it is abundantly clear that we need bi-partisan agreement on a plan to relieve the mounting pressure in the economic double boiler we find ourselves in, it would have been a start to see the candidates actually LOOK at each other.

Is that so much to ask? That they represent their parties and show enough respect to the voters to actually look at each other and debate like real candidates. The only thing I can conclude is that there is so much tension and disagreement going on that they can't even face each other and THAT does not give me the warm and fuzzies regarding their parties ability to work together and find an agreement about some temporary economic relief.

It's sad really, because they both had the opportunity to use that debate as a vehicle with which to catapult their positions within the election. Sadly, nobody was able to make enough of a dent and instead of getting voters on their sides, they confused a lot of people. People who already have no clue what the candidates represent or who don't take the time to do independent research. Ignorant people who collectively have the capacity to sway an election.

At one point, Birdie came into the room, pointed at a candidate and said, "HE is going to be president, I will vote for HIM." I asked why and she said, "because he dresses very interesting." At this point, I can't argue with her logic.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Not Much In The Way Of Patience


Bear and I have really been enjoying our time together since the other two are in school all day. We've been to the playground, the library, to playgroups. We recently went to a children's museum where I showered her with individual attention. She ate it up like a fat boy eats cake.The whole point of the activity pictured was to place the ball on the ramp and watch it go around and around the funnel until it would go faster and faster and finally plop into the black hole at the bottom. She did it one time and was all, "that takes too damn long, lemme just throw it in the hole like this...THUNK."

What Goes On Inside My Brain

The other night Howie and I went out with a friend of mine for her birthday. I had a sangria and Howie drank WAY too many Guinesses. As we were walking to our car and he swayed side to side I said, "you are drunk as a skunk."

The whole car ride home I wondered where that saying came from. Are skunks really known to be the big drinkers of the animal kingdom? Do they have a history of being alcoholics? Do they frequent dive bars and try to pick up on young girls by buying them long island ice teas?

Why did skunks get such a bad rap, man? I have never come across a drunk skunk...walking through the woods with a little bottle of Captain Morgan wrapped in a brown paper bag. I have never heard of a traffic accident caused by a drunk skunk or heard of the cops intercepting a fight between two belligerent skunks!

If it's only because the two words rhyme than I have a few more to suggest:

1. Big as a pig
2. Flat as a cat
3. Stare like a bear
4. Leap like a sheep
5. Jog like a cow

You know, it's really a shame that I spend my time thinking about things like this when I could be coming up with a solution for world peace. An idle mind really is the devil's playground!

Anything Can Be Fixed With Duct Tape

These are Howie's favorite shorts of all time. I can't remember when he bought them, but it was probably over a decade ago. He has a certain kind of attachment to his clothes; t-shirts with sweat stains that are "so soft", shorts that are broken in just right, hats that bring just the right amount of luck during a Steeler game.

So the other day when he ripped these he was distraught. I seriously thought he was going to cry. "Shit! These are my favorite shorts, can you sew them back to life?" "I could try but why don't you just get a new pair?" It's not that I'm frivolous about buying new clothes. If there were a slight hole in them I would fix them without pause but these seem like they have seen better days and are ready to go to shorts heaven.

He looked at me like I had just asked him to cut off his own arm with a set of dull hedge trimmers. "Forget it, I'll just duct tape them together."

I wish I could say that he is above using duct tape for his clothes. He has been known for using duct tape for everything from broken windows to our daughter's clothes. Yes, you read correctly. He once used duct tape around the ankles of a pair of Birdie's footsie pajamas that were too big. Apparently because changing her into a different outfit was too much work. It was much more time effective to search through the house for a roll of duct tape and wrap it around her ankles twelve times so that the pajamas wouldn't droop.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A Little Paranoid

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I had a few gals over this morning and right after the last one left, I rushed out of the house and drove to Bubba's school. He's been having trouble peeing at school so I go everyday to help him. It's not like I have to go hold his junk, he just feels more relaxed when I'm there and is able to let things go.

Anyway, when I returned home, I noticed that the front door was WIDE open and I thought, shit, didn't I close that when I left? I know I didn't lock it but I don't remember it being open. Does this mean that someone came in while I was gone? I panicked and started searching the house, room by room (with a paring knife because apparently a butcher knife was too much weapon). I looked in every room, checked the closets, even under the beds but I was a little too paranoid to check the basement.

I was really freaked out because Howie is in Boston all day today and won't be home until midnight. I could be gutted with one of Howie's rusted tools, chopped into a million pieces and my murderer could be half-way to Florida by the time Howie gets home!

I instant messaged him and his advice? "Grab the pipe in my toolbox." Well, it would help me feel safer to search the basement with a weapon except for the pipe is in his toolbox and the toolbox is in THE BASEMENT! I'm pretty sure the intruder wouldn't give me enough time to search his toolbox for a method of defense!

I did eventually go down there and everything seemed in place and nobody jumped out at me wielding an instrument of death. You know, I hate guns and the idea of a gun in the house makes me quiver. I'm terrified of them but do you know what I'm slightly MORE terrified about? Being killed in my kitchen! Maybe a gun wouldn't be such a bad idea after all!

Inspector Beaver

Is it sad that it's only 8:30 in the morning and I am already tired and in dire need of a stiff drink? The morning routine around here is MADNESS. I still try to hit the gym in the morning because I'm way too exhausted at night but the problem is that I have to be home in time to feed, dress and pack 2 kids by 8:15.

Naturally, Birdie doesn't want to wear the clothes I have laid out and she screams when the hair brush comes within 12 feet of her head. You know, she wouldn't have so many damn tangles if she didn't rub snot and toothpaste in there! Then there is the whining the bargaining, the fake cries. The things I have to do, to get these kids to cooperate!

Bubba's a lot easier about the dressing except he wants to play with Minor and while the cat is chasing a swiffer duster, he's chasing the cat through the house and I'm chasing him! Like I need that much cardio at 7 am.

On the food front, they each want something different and I have to make and pack Bubba's lunch plus two snacks and drinks for him and one snack and drink for Birdie, plus his milk money and Birdie's lunch money. And I have to constantly remind her that this money is for LUNCH ONLY, not for buying cookies, as she seems to do everyday! There are so many balls up in the air that at any second they are all going to come crashing down on me. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in the smelly arm pit of life.

On the plus side, this morning after breakfast the kids sat down to watch "Franklin", a cartoon about a turtle and there is something about those kids shows that is so hypnotic. I found myself watching and listening while I cleaned up the play room. On today's episode the gang was trying to solve a mystery and the character of the beaver walked up and said in a voice reminiscent of 70's porn flicks, "Hello, I'm Inspector Beaver". I nearly choked on the half masticated yogurt bar in my mouth.

You just KNOW that the writers put that in for the parents. Because they know we are just one tantrum away from blowing our heads off and something like that might lighten the mood. Thank you to the "Franklin" writers. I really needed that this morning and you made today worth living.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Paybacks Are A Bitch

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I took the kids to a petting zoo one day after school last week. They had all these goats, chickens and pigs wandering around the yard begging for food like crack addicts looking for their next fix. I stepped in goat shit what I hope was mud and while I wouldn't exactly call these goats "dangerous" they did stomp on my toes a few times and tried to nibble on my arm fat.

I bought the kids some cones filled with pellets so that they could feed the animals and these goats followed Birdie around the entire time. They chewed on her clothes, they scratched at her legs, they made annoying grunting and bleating sounds and she was all, "can't they just wait for two seconds while I get them their food."

Now she knows how it feels because every night she and her brother and sister do the EXACT same thing to me when I'm trying to make dinner!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A Eulogy For Tyson

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Tyson Steeler passed away on Tuesday September 16, 2008 in her home in Connecticut due to complications from Lyme Disease. She was born in July of 2001 in Naugatuck, Connecticut.

When she was 6 weeks old she was adopted by Howie and Licha Steeler. She was named Tyson because she loved to hold her hands together in a boxers pose. She loved to play outside, eat mice and lay in the sun. She was known well around town because she was always out and about. People loved her and would feed her scraps, treats and food.

She had a mischievous side and would taunt neighborhood dogs, sneak into garages, pilfer food and leave dead mice in driveways. In her formative years, she enjoyed climbing trees, hiking through the woods and having adventures. Later in life, she enjoyed more family time and stayed indoors more often. She loved playing with the kids, sleeping on an over-sized cushion in the basement of her home or basking in the sun on a cool day.

She will be greatly missed. She is preceeded in death by her dog brother, Buddy Steeler who passed away in April 2007 of old age. She is survived by Spencer, Minor, Howie, Licha, Birdie, Bubba and Bear. Funeral services and burial will take place on Wednesday, September 17th at 6 pm at the family home.

Tyson wasn't the most loving or affectionate of cats but she was Howie and I's first baby together and was a big part of our family. I feel terrible. As with any time you lose someone, there is a time when you wonder whether you could have done something more. I wonder if she knew how much we loved her and how much she will be missed. The kids are now old enough to understand death and that's why we are having an official funeral ceremony, to let them give a respectful farewell t our sweet Tyson.

A Life Of Leisure

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Yesterday was Bubba's first day of ALL DAY school. We met with the school at the recommendation of his developmental pediatrician and we all agreed that a full day would be the best option for Bubba. The only problem is that the boy is only 3 years old! Birdie, who is 6, just started full day as well and by the time she hops off the bus after school, she is a blink away from her head spinning 360 degrees and vomiting pea soup!

I worried about him but ultimately decided that it's the best course of action. It's not like he naps in the afternoons so yes, he will be tired but he will adjust. I missed him. A LOT. But mostly, I was so excited to have time alone. I was like a prisoner who had been unshackled from her concrete cell and allowed a taste of freedom after a 50 year sentence. Seriously, I didn't know what to do with myself. After my morning at the Y, I came home and put Bear down for a nap and when I did, the house was quiet and I stood there in the hallway, unsure of what move to make next. I imagine that's what it would be like for someone who has been incarcerated for a long time. They dream of the day they are released but when that day happens they don't know what to do because it's been so long since they've known a world without shackles and bars. In my case, I can't remember what it's like to not have someone hanging off of me or asking for something to eat.

I thought about doing some laundry. Nah. I needed to sweep and mop the kitchen. Meh. I felt like I needed to celebrate my freedom in style! Like by making myself a pitcher of highly flammable margaritas and laying on a chair on the back deck and doing nothing. Screw cleaning, I needed a break! There were so many options: take a long bath, polish my toe nails, give myself a facial, read a book for more than 4 seconds at a time, watch TV, call a friend, sit in the massage chair and eat chocolate covered cherries while I soak my feet! So many options, so little time!

I ended up doing something I haven't' done since I was 6 months pregnant with Birdie: laying on the couch and taking a nap. And it was awesome! At one point I looked up and saw the mess surrounding me: pillows, empty capri sun pouches, cracker crumbs, toys and a bra I had taken off the night before and stuffed into the couch cushions. I felt a twinge of guilt for not cleaning and basically wasting my time. Then I stuck my middle finger in the air, took a deep breath, said "fuck it" and fell back to sleep!

I'm hoping today will be much more productive! We have guests coming (Howie's aunt and uncle from PA) up for the weekend which means that I have to scrub the house from top to bottom in the attempt to fool them into thinking that I am actually a good housekeeper. It won't happen. It's basically the same thing as trying to lose 100 pounds in the two weeks before your high school reunion. Pretty much impossible, not that I won't try :-)

P.S. Bubba did great on his first day. He passed out cold on the bus ride home and was pretty much a wiggly puddle of nothingness when he got home. He sat in my lap and let drool stream out of his mouth as he tried in vain to keep his eyes open. My poor, sweet boy!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Man's Best Friend

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Today, I read this story about a dog named Buddy who saved his owner's life. The owner had a seizure and the dog raced for the phone, called 911 by biting the phone and barked until paramedics came to assist.

After I read the story I turned to look at my dog, Spencer, who was busily chewing on his nut sack and thought to myself, "if I ever have a seizure and the only one who can save me is Spencer, I should immediately start praying and asking forgiveness for that time I tried to seduce an astonishingly sexy monk during a high school bible retreat." Sure, Spence used to be a ready, willing and able seeing eye dog. He was light on his feet, he had super senses and could detect if a fly took a shit in the woods two counties over. Nowadays he barely notices if one of the kids uses him for a trampoline.

He spends his days eating, sleeping, throwing farts that will peel the paint from the walls, licking himself and watching old re-runs of Jerry Springer. Basically the same stuff Howie will do when he retires.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Why You Should Never Put Money In Your Mouth

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Last night I finally talked Howie into taking a kick boxing class with me at the Y. He's not an official member but because I am there morning, noon and night, all the front desk people know and love me. I mean, c'mon...what's not to love, right?

So anyway, Howie was paranoid that they wouldn't let him in without paying his five dollars so he wanted to make sure to take some money. He stuffed a five dollar bill into his underpants just in case.

Of course, they didn't ask him to pay so he went in and got his ass kicked in the kick boxing. He punched, he kicked and for a man who has very little balance or coordination, he did amazingly well. He did complain the whole time but I pretended that I couldn't hear him. Every time he would start talking to me I would squint my eyes, put my hand behind my ear and say "what, the music is too loud, I can't hear you." It was a hard workout and he didn't punk out which is quite impressive!

So we get home and he realizes that the five bucks is still down his shorts so he pulls it out and its soaking wet in funky Howie sweat. He tried to put it in my hands but I threatened to use his ball sack as a punching bag.

He turns to Mamaw and says, "hey mom I think you forgot this paper here last week" knowing that she will reflexively stick her hand out (as most blind people do). As soon as he did he plopped the wet five dollar bill in her hands and she started screaming in disgust.

She went after him but he started bobbing and weaving. I'm pretty sure that if she got her hands on him I would be a widow today!

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Memo to Kids: August 2008

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To: My offspring
From: The baby maker
Re: You are making my hair turn white

I'm sure if I thought really hard, I could think of a million things to write about you this month. You did amazing things like riding your bike sans training wheels without falling down in the street with your brains seeping down into the sewage drain. You accomplished alot. A LOT. And while I have a list sitting in front of me of all that you've accomplished this August, it is all overshadowed by what happened just a few days ago, you began first grade. I woke you up at 7am so that you could get dressed and eat breakfast and head off to your first day of first grade. It wasn't pre-school that was only twice a week or Kindergarten that was only 3 hours a day. This was REAL school with lunch cards and lockers and your own desk. It's all day school where you leave at 8am and don't return until nearly 4. You were so stressed out and worried that I hadn't filled out your paperwork correctly or that you needed school supplies or that I didn't pack enough lunch money. You were afraid we would miss the bus or that the teacher would send you home for forgetting some vitally important first grade necessity like bubble gum scented erasers or princess pencils. I have NO idea where you get your neurosis. Okay, maybe I do. You've only spent the last 6 years of your life watching me freak out. Like when I'm writing the bills or packing us up for a trip somewhere. As you know, packing doesn't have to be something we do for a big trip. Going to the supermarket requires a 45 minute packing session which includes three Ziploc snack bags of goldfish crackers, 2 sippie cups, 1 bottled water, 1 backpack full of crumpled paper, half a deck of GO FISH cards and McDonalds toys (preferably the ones that make the most noise possible). We also pack a teddy bear, 14 gazillion dinosaurs, 2 diapers, wipies, my purse, my glasses, my coupons, my cell phone, re-usable grocery bags and my shopping list. And while I'm packing I'm running around like a maniac with sweat dripping down my back and into my underpants. Let the phone ring and the dog trip me while I'm holding all above mentioned packed items and I lose it completely. Nope, no idea where you got so tightly wound. So you went off on your own and while it seemed so routine, it also marked the beginning of my being without you. Your life now revolves around school work and friends and school bus politics and no matter how many times I ask or how much you say, you could never tell me everything that happens during your day. This means that you have a little life of your own, completely separate from mine and that scares me silly. But then that night after I had read you bedtime stories and listened to all of your stories about mermaids living in your bed, you cuddled right next to me while I hugged you tight. I noticed that you were trying to match my breathing, taking long slow breaths to match me and I remembered doing the exact same thing with my mom. I would crawl into bed and lie next to her while she was sleeping and try to match the rhythm of her breath. It struck me right then and there that you love me alot. Just as much as I love my mom and no matter how fast you grow up and how much I resist, you will always be my baby girl.

Sometimes you surprise the hell out of me. It's been such a long time that you've been unable to communicate that I still forget that you now have a voice and opinions and I forget to listen. I forget that you are almost 4 years old, practically of legal age to run for president! The other day you told me that your Lightning McQueen car was out of batteries and that I should "get up mommy, get batteries". I looked in the pantry, scoured the junk drawer and any other place I thought we might keep batteries but found none so I told you I would buy some when I went to the grocery store that night. You said, "go to basement, mommy go to basement." I didn't understand. I thought that you wanted to punish me because that's what you say when you finally lose your patience with the cat when he is trying to drink milk out of your bowl full of shredded wheat. "Go to basement, mommy", you repeated but I ignored you. When your dad got home that night I told him that we needed to buy batteries and he said, "oh, well I think we have a 30 pack in the basement." I went downstairs to check and sure enough there it was, a whole box full of batteries. That's when I realized that's what you were trying to tell me all along and I didn't even know it. I forget that you are now capable and credible. You surprise me that you know the difference between a Dipolodicus dinosaur and a Brachiosaurus. One day I found you brushing sand in your sand box with a paint brush and when I looked closer I noticed that you had buried your toy dinosaurs deep in the sand and were pretending to discover them. I'm sorry I don't give you enough credit. I'll make you a deal: I promise to listen and try to understand you better if you promise to eat. Every night is a battle of wills and you usually win. I can't imagine how you sustain yourself on half a bite of a cheezit or a nibble of a hot dog. It just doesn't seem right. But then again, who am I to judge. The other night my dinner consisted of licking a spoonful of hamburger helper and guzzling a Shmirnoff Ice. The other day you spontaneously told me that you loved me and I swear my heart stopped and smiled a big cheezy grin. I said how much do you love me this much (holding my thumb and forefinger an inch apart) or this much (arms open wide). You jumped up, spread your arms out wide and said, "all the way to God." And my knees went weak.

You have officially started to talk in sentences. Your favorite? "Miney, GET DOWN!" Miney is what you call the cat. His legal name is Minor but only his mother and lawyers call him that. You scream at him with such fervor, such rage and passion. I can only assume that you are mimicking me and I really don't like what I see. Do I really yell that loud? Do I really sound so violent? Naturally, since the the cat rarely spends a moment off of the tables, counters, stove or tend to shout a lot. I gave you a squirt bottle so that you could back up your threats to him with a spray of cold water but you just put it in your mouth and squirted yourself a refreshing drink. You lost your temper with me the other day when I had the audacity to not be able to read your mind. You came into the kitchen and said, "apple" so I gave you an apple. You took one bite and then threw it across the kitchen floor and started screaming bloody murder and I thought there must be something seriously wrong with this apple. Was it poisoned? Were there wiggly worms protruding from it? It looked alright to me so when you asked for "apple" again I gave it to you only to have a repeat of the apple toss. I swear you rolled your eyes at me and climbed up the the chairs onto the table where you retrieved a nectarine and started slurping it down. Then you said, "apple" with a tone as if to say "you stupid lady, THIS is an apple!" Well, excuuuuuse me. You know, every day when I put you down for your afternoon nap you scream at the top of your lungs. A blood curdling scream that sounds like someone is gutting you with a rusty nail file. What's so terrible about a nap? Do you know how many of my kidneys I would sell to be able to take an afternoon nap? BOTH OF THEM and I would throw offer up my liver for the opportunity to sleep in past 6 am! Appreciate it! It's like I'm a starving person who cannot afford even one grain of rice and I'm forced to serve you a giant juicy steak with potatoes and bread with butter and vegetables with a sundae dripping in chocolate sauce and you are all GOD, I HAVE TO EAT AGAIN, MAN I HATE EATING, THIS SUCKS. I know I do such horrible things to you. Things like washing your ears and combing your hair. Torturous acts of making sure your butt is clean and feeding you healthy food. Someone ought to report me for unforgivable things like strapping you into a 5 point harness car seat or holding your hands when you walk down the stairs. I know these things are horrible because every time I do them you scream like I'm pulling you limb from limb. I opened up all of our windows a couple of weeks back so that the fresh air could drift through our house but now I'm worried that the neighbors will report me to the department of human services because the screams could lead them to only one conclusion: I have strapped you down, sliced you open with paper cuts all over your body and poured salty lemon juice all over you.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

What You Would See...

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...if you opened up my brain and looked inside:

"Okay, I have 1 hour to clean the kitchen, living room and family room. Hmm, I wonder what the difference is between a living room and a family room. Are you only supposed to have families in a family room? Don't they usually serve the same purpose? What if you are single and don't have a family? Do you have a single room? And then there's the matter of a living room verses a "formal" living room. What makes a formal room formal? We never even use our formal living room, perhaps because we don't have the occasion to be formal. Plus, we don't live in our living room and we never seem to dine in our dining room. It seems like most days we live in our kitchen. We cook in there, eat in there, work in there. Our family room is really our TV room and our current living room is functioning as a playroom. If we only use our family room for watching TV and games, then shouldn't it be called a media room? And if a room is called by the function that it serves then by rights our half bathroom should be called a "take a shit" room because that's what we do in there. Plus, can it be called a "room" if it's smaller than my walk-in closet? It doesn't have a 'bath' in there, only a toilet and a sink. If it goes by size then my closet should be called the clothes room. Our upstairs bathroom has our washer and dryer in it so it could be either a bathroom or a laundry room. Bedroom isn't named by it's functions either. It should be called a sleep room because that's how we use it. Okay maybe it should be called the sleep/get dressed/occasionally have sex in, room. And what about a foyer. It means an entryway but why isn't it just called an entryway. And why are foyers in churches called vestibules? And what is the purpose of a sitting room? I think the only room that makes sense in this house is the basement. Or should it be cellar?

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

A Great Role Model

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A conversation between Birdie and I as we drove home from school:

Birdie: "Hey mom, do you know that flat and mat rhyme?"
Me: "Yes I do. And they also rhyme with cat and hat and sat and rat."
Birdie: "And do you know what else rhymes? Throw up and show up."
Me: "What about vomit and comet?"
Birdie: "Ewww, you're just so gross, mom!"
Me: "You started it."
Birdie: "Nuh uh, you did."
Me: "Did so."
Birdie: "Did not."

I almost went into a tirade of "yo mamma" insults but figured it really wouldn't play out in my favor.

A PSA About Dirty Panties

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I can't believe I am actually going to write a blog about this but I figure I've told you all my stories about flaming vaginas and lost tampons so what's a little dirty panty story, huh?

Every since I can remember I've had a problem with my underwear. By the
end of each day, I noticed that the crotch area of the panties had turned yellow or sometimes brown! Some days my underwear would be totally white but by the next morning had stained. It always made me feel so gross and dirty and I was really embarrassed and self conscious about it. When I was a teenager I wouldn't let my mom see or wash my clothes, preferring to do it myself in secrecy. When I moved in with Howie I would go to great measures to hide my underwear from him because I didn't want him seeing something like that and go thinking that I was disgusting. Lucky for me the man has never once done a load of laundry in the 11 years we've been together so I've never had a close call.

I knew there was nothing WRONG with me in terms of infections or anything like that. There was no real smell or problems other than the stains and I just couldn't figure out where it comes from. I don't have colored discharge and it can't be blamed on a period either. One time I bought some black and dark blue underwear thinking I could outsmart the system. That's when my body decided to switch things up on me and instead of stains, the crotches in my black panties got bleached out! *sigh*

This was always my dirty little secret. I assumed that it was only me that dealt with this but then a while back I happened to be talking to a girlfriend and spoke frankly about the problem and she confessed to dealing with the same issue. I was really relieved but still thought that were were the exception not the rule.

I did some research online and apparently it's a HUGE problem for most all women but is a completely normal, albeit disgusting part of womanhood. It's also something we never, EVER talk about. Because we think that we are supposed to be ladies and ladies are always clean and never sweat, fart or burp. We especially don't have stained underwear! It's not bad enough that our boobs hurt, our ankles swell, our insides cramp, our periods last for nearly 4 decades and we have to push babies out of an opening the size of dime, but we also have to endure stained underwear?

For being completely "normal" it sure does leave it's mark. It's strong enough to leave permanent marks on my white bloomers and bleach out black ones. I keep waiting to pull my drawers out of the dryer and find holes in the crotch like it's been dissolved by hydrochloric acid!

I found out that as Doctor Oz says, "vaginas are self cleaning ovens", they produce fluids that keep us clean down there. When that fluid comes into contact with sweat and underpants, it leaves a mark. So, unless there is a foul smell or weird discharge, the marks are completely normal. It doesn't mean you are dirty, in fact it means just the opposite. Your vagina is doing a good job at keeping you clean! Just so you know that you are not alone and are completely normal. And if you are a man who happens to see these things in your woman/girlfriend's undies, get used to it. It comes along with having a woman who will let you put your penis in her vagina. Small price to pay if you ask me! Besides, think of all the gross stuff you do that she puts up with :-)

Well, I should be off. I need to buy new underwear and buy a years worth of panty liners :-)

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Because There Is No Such Thing As A Free Ride

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We make her sweep and mop the floor every day. After she cleans the gutters and repaves the driveway, of course. Hey, there is no such thing as a free ride!

Notice how she puts her back into it. That's because she comes from a long line of Mexican women who have made floor cleaning an art form. If you want proof I will post a picture of my floors. They are covered in egg crumbs, crackers and sticky spots made from chocolate milk spills.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Hanna, Not Montana

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We're getting a piece of Hanna tonight. Sadly, Hanna is not some really hot, sexy chick that has agreed to come and have a threesome with me and Howie. Tropical storm Hanna is expected to make landfall this evening and slam into New England. We've been under advisory since yesterday and from the looks of things outside, she is slowly making her entrance into Connecticut. So far, she's being a lady but forecasters warn that she plans on bending us over and bitch slapping us till our asses are red. It's been horribly muggy today with the humidity reaching the 100% mark. I had turned our AC off a couple of weeks ago and turned it back on today because I just couldn't bear the mugginess. I took a shower this morning and within seconds of getting out I was sweating already!

We went to the supermarket this afternoon and loaded up on junk food. Aldi's had bags of jumbo shrimp for $3.99 and Howie and I both caught a glimpse of them at the same time. We looked at the shrimp, then smiled at each other. Score! We also hit Blockbuster and got the kids some entertainment since they will be confined indoors all evening and into tomorrow. By the way, I noticed that people don't take kindly to seeing a family of 5 rounding into a place of business. Aside from the occasional old woman saying "aren't they so beautiful", most people give us the stink eye. It's like having more than two children makes us some rare breed of people who just CAN'T STOP HAVING KIDS! When the the kids and I walked by a young couple at Blockbuster they blinked slowly at me, let out a loud sigh and then rolled their eyes. And the kids weren't even being BAD. Tonight I will be sure to say a special prayer for them, wishing them lots and lots and lots of fertility. Fertility that will bring them triplets. Triplets who are hyper and poop a lot.

We put the youngest two to bed, especially since we didn't let Bear nap today. Yikes. I am letting Birdie stay up and watch movies. Howie went out to buy Rock Band. I've heard it is terribly addicting but I'm very curious and eager to give it a try. Howie is excited to play the guitar. He thinks he'll be good at it but he's delusional. This is the man who types chicken peck style and he thinks he will be able to master quick riffs? And when it comes to the karaoke, the only thing he knows how to sing is "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam. Even still, he does sound sexy when he sings and if he's lucky I will throw my panties at him.

Well, I guess I should take off. Things (i.e. that second glass of wine) needs tended to :-)

Slowly Looking Over My Shoulder

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Has something ever gotten under your skin and scared the living daylights out of you?

I get scared pretty easily but I avoid things that scare me so it doesn't happen that often. I've never enjoyed scary movies and never have or plan to ever see "Friday the 13th" or "A Nightmare On Elm Street". I've caught glimpses of them here and there and they scared me silly. I know that Freddie Krueger isn't real and honestly, it's not really him that spooks me, it's just that I don't like all the suspense when the music swells and I just know something is going to jump out and make me pee my pants. In the end, I know that it's all just make believe and I was never in any real danger. The likelihood of something like that happening to me is less than me being offered a job modeling lingerie for Fredericks of Hollywood, so all in all I feel safe.

But do you know what really scares the shit out of me? Movies like "The Exorcist" because there is a possibility of them being true. There is something about that whole spiritual, demonic, whatever realm that gives me the willies. Like the other day, Howie and I caught a cable show called "A Haunting" and we started recording and watching them. FREAKED ME OUT! Probably because the majority of them happen IN CONNECTICUT. A little too close for comfort. That's the same reason that "The Silence Of The Lambs" scared me so much. I used to think that crazy, cross-dressing, penis-tucking serial killers were only interested in skinny girls but the idea of one going after the fat chick make chills run up my spine! Just too close for comfort! The haunting stories are so honest, the people so average and that makes them terrifying. Here's what I've learned from that show:

1. Never rent or buy a house that seems too good to be true. If the price is extremely low and is being sold for half the price of the other houses in the neighborhood, it's probably infested with spirits who want to sniff your panties when you're not looking. Actually, if your house is not haunted, just never move!

2. Don't build a house over an old Indian burial ground. It's just asking for trouble. And if you do decide to build there for the love of Pete, do not mess with the bones because those Indian spirits won't hesitate to scalp you in your sleep!

3. If the house you move into used to be an old funeral home be willing to sell your body on the streets in order to afford getting out of the lease, otherwise when your son gets possessed by the devil, it is all your fault. And if you do stay and if they still have the old cadaver freezer in the basement, do not store your excess food down there and then make your small children go get it. At night. In the dark. Alone.

4. Do not dabble in witch craft. Again, you are just asking for trouble. And when you do dabble and think a demon is living in your house and want to go look for it, at least turn the lights on in your house instead of using a flash light!

Almost everyone interviewed said they felt like "someone was watching" them and that really spooked me. Some of these are about run of the mill ghosts and others are about demons whose only purpose is to torture them. Not exactly what I would call a good time. *shivers*

Now I'm freaking out because I keep thinking someone is watching me. *looks slowly over shoulder* Granted, usually there REALLY IS someone watching me. Like one of the kids or maybe the cat. *bites nails* I know I'm being paranoid because nothing scary has actually happened to me, I'm just a little skiddish from all of those shows. *makes sign of the cross* I just don't want to take any chances. *splashes face with holy water* You never know with that sort of thing. *puts rosary around neck* Because those stories all seem to real to be lies. *starts praying under breath* And I want to be on the safe side *kisses rosary*

I will NOT be watching any more of those damn shows. They are messing with my head and I tend to bring things to a slow, rumbling boil in my brain and then cook it slowly while I stir and stir and stir the pot. You know, to keep it from sticking to the sides. In the meantime I will be attending church this weekend and taking communion. While I'm at it I may as well go to confession. And have the priest come over to bless my house.

Better safe than sorry! So tell me, what scares you? Do you like scary movies? Do you believe in ghosts?