there's no such thing as a free kitten!

My Darling Daughter went on a short trip with her Grandfather to Montana this summer. Now we weren't crazy about this idea to put it lightly, but we relented in an attempt to let her feel a sense of Independence and some other important parenty stuff that I forget now. Long story short with a half broken heart, stomach full of knots and a signed release for medical treatment I let her leave the state.
It went well. she called and sounded sweet and tiny on the phone. She asked if I got her email. Nope sure haven't checked. See in my constant waiting by the phone for the call from the Montana hospital I had neglected my computer. This little yummy sprite of mine persuaded me to get online with promises of an email with pictures of her. I dash to my laptop, when did it get so damn slow turning on? Oh come on, why the hell do I keep a password on this stupid thing?!?! Seriously it never takes this long to download my mail.
There it is! I excitedly open the attachment to find a huge picture of my little girls smiling face, I scroll down. What the hell is that thing, scroll more. She is holding something, what the hell are they letting her mess with there, keep scrolling. It's a freaking kitten! Dear God no! not another animal! But she looks so cute and happy! The kid not the cat. The cat, although cute is nothing but a furry Ball of mischief to me. Absolutely no kitten!
Scroll down more, " Mommy can I please!Please! have this kitten! Her mom gets fluffy fluffy in the winter and I know how you love fluffy cats! Please I love you" . Maybe a kitten.
" So Mommy did you get my email?"
" Well Honey I don't think it's the best idea for you get a kitten right now".
" But I love her!" hysterical sobbing!!!!! ( next is a quote of what I believe she said, but since she was hysterical and kind of sounding like snot was pouring out of her nose I can't be certain. I just know it was graphic!) " she's a barn cat and they'll make her stay outside in the winter and she'll freeze and die and it will be my fault because I couldn't bring her home and she loves me and I never get a pet of my own you bought me a dog but he loves my little brother more and that's not fair I will take care of her she can be my Christmas present I don't want an ipod anymore I want the kitten I love her she'll die outside you can have all my money" (now if you said it in one breath without stopping you have the idea)
" Peanut I don't think Daddy will let you".
"Please Mommy you have to ask him I love you mommy please!"
"She wants the barn cat from Montana"
"absolutely not!"
"She said she wouldn't want an ipod and we can have all her money in the bank"
"ummm, Mommy I meant my piggy bank. You Can have half of my college money though".
"Oh, we can have half of her college money"
"No kitten!"
Complete dramatic hyperventilating sobs are streaming from the phone. "Baby you need to calm down. Your giving yourself an asthma attack over a kitten. Calm down and I will try to talk to Daddy."
"But He's really mean and he's going to say no and my kitten will freeze. She can't be a barn cat she's too nice. Please Mommy!!!!!!!"
"I'll talk to your Daddy. Calm down and go have fun at the horse show."
Well talk I did. I somehow talked him into this kitten that I didn't even want! We arrange for her to be surprised by having the kitten brought from Montana over Labor Day weekend, but that's another story altogether!

NO! it's not my time of the month, thank you!

Why is it that men are allowed to have bad days and we have PMS? For men it's always the excuse that they had a bad day at work, are stressed, so and so pissed them off, etc, etc... Why can't it just be that they are being an a-hole today? It's obvious they are. We all know they are! Yet it's just accepted that Mr. pissypants was set off by something or someone. It's never a mans fault that they're a cyclone of obscenities and attitude. It's societies/ forces that be that provokes the usual calm gentle creature into these outbursts! Well woman on the other hand can have the same moments of, well call it, discontent and we're labeled as having PMS. Certainly if it isn't our time of the month it will be soon! It couldn't be insane children running a muck, terrible traffic, mean bosses, or just the plain fact that we want to make our husbands miserable for a day because they insist we have hormone issues! I'll show you PMS buddy!
Case in point, I don't even have a damn uterus! Not a single ovary in my body, but my grumpy day has to involve my patch. You know the hormone patch that lovingly distributes a continuous even stream of beard prevent estrogen into my system. Ok, a moment of silence for this amazing feat in engineering........... So where was I? That's right! My fabulous ball of man meat, this understanding amazing man I married still pulls the freaking hormone card on me! Insert me stressed out, tired, making dinner while the kids are fighting over oxygen. Here comes the love of my life to affectionately grope me while, we'll say getting something hot as Hades out of the oven. I push said love of my life away and receive scowl of death followed by retort of, " Ohhh, someone needs to change there patch soon!" Really!!!!! Are you serious???? You people heard the part about the even dose of hormone as so on?!?!
So I have noticed that not only do we allow men to push us into this lame ass excuse for having, what are they called, oh emotions, we use it our selves. How many times have you cried over a friend/family member and said " I must be getting ready to get my period" ? Perhaps we need to just face the reality that it isn't your girl bits, it's your brain telling you that they are a crappy friend/relative and you need to stand up for yourself instead of crying on the couch watching Oprah! Just because we have boobs doesn't make us any less entitled to have a bad day just for the sake of having a bad day! So come on ladies, throw out the PMS excuse and embrace the fact that we have every right to feel! And I mean feel whatever you want good, bad and pornographic!( Just know that last word is the only one men will remember from this whole blog)

Leave your monsters at home please!

The summer is almost over even though the scalding sting of misery still radiates from my car every time I open the door. You know when it is so damn hot that your temporarily blinded until your eyes start to water in a desperate attempt to lubricate and or salvage whats left of your eyeballs, yeah that kind of hot! So as I look back at the busy days of the past few months I start to notice what I could only call a pattern. No it wasn't the museum bender the kids and I went on or even the continuous cleaning up of shedded dog fur. It turns out I yelled at what seemed like a back to back line of ill bred, rude, disrespectful children! It's like they all crawled out of some unsupervised hole and ended up in my living room. When did parents stop disciplining their damn kids and why the hell did they keep turning up at my house?
A prime example is the little girl that showed up at my sons 3rd birthday with her uncle. It was the first time I ever saw the devil in a dress, I must say! After some time of her eating candy, of course not forgetting to stuff the melted chocolate covered wrappers between my couch cushions, locking little boys in the bathroom with her ( high school football team will love her one day), and bullying everyone I had enough. I told her repeatedly to knock it off in my not so friendly voice. Her uncle even attempted (insert laugh here) to reprimand her by yelling," why can't you just be normal?!?!? Look at the other kids they aren't acting like you! Just be normal". This is my favorite part, where she kicks him in the chest and jumps off my couch. So amusing, no? I didn't think so either. The last straw came when she locked my 9 year old out her room and got in my face screaming at the top of her lungs that she was playing a game and my daughter is rude because she is bothering her. This little piece of sunshine had they nerve to tell me I better make my daughter behave! Oh hellllll no! Insert me, irate, hair blowing back in mysterious wind whilst I summon the powers that be, channeling evil itself " Look little girl I don't know who you think you are or where you think your at, but you will never speak to anyone like that again in my house, do you hear me? What are you like 4 years old? There are a whole lot of corners in this house and don't even think I won't put you in one. Don't you ever disrespect anyone in my house again!" Wide eyed and stunned she backs out of the room. I calmly go find her uncle and tell him, " yeah your niece is probably going to say your friends wife is mean, I'm ok with that."
These kids haven't all been strangers either! I had one of my daughters friends come over for a few hours. It all seemed fine, nothing major, that is until her mom came. We were talking back and forth when the charming 9 year old in question blurts out, " Mom, your so full of crap your eyes are turning brown!" Gasp, cough, the horrible knowledge that I am about to witness this child be physically abused in my own house, mingled with the idea that she kind of deserves it. My panic is broken when her mom bursts out laughing, " I say the same thing to you! HAHA! She is just too funny sometimes." I try to smile and look at my own 9 year old who's mouth is still open. After the girl leaves me daughter goes," Mom I don't really understand what she said but I don't think it was very nice, was it?" That's my girl!
Exhibit 3, even less of a stranger! Some relatives came to town and I let the two girls stay with us for the night. I have never heard kids talk back, bicker, and blatantly disobey adults so much before in my life! There was just a constant blur of rudeness! My husband was telling them to keep it down at bedtime because, " like your father I have to get up early in the morning to go to work." "well my dad doesn't have to go to work tomorrow!" I do have to admit it was pretty brave because my husband tends to be pretty scary to kids, that being said I was very proud of my husband who simply took a deep breath and told them he did have to get up at 4 am and if they didn't keep quite he would be back to drag one of them out of the room and make them sleep on the couch. Come on I found that very civil!
To be fair my summer was infringed on by rude children everywhere we went. Like the tween boy at the children's museum that put his hands on my toddler to push him out of the way. Now I don't know if it was the mother hen in me or the evil bitch, but I told him he might want to reconsider ever putting his hands on my kid again. Then I pointed out the other kids I was there with and basically informed him they were off limits too. I then glared at him until he knew I was dead serious and a bit frightened of what I was capable of. From that point on I smiled warmly at him whenever we were in the same part of the museum until he was so freaked out by my apparent mental imbalance that he would walk away.
Now the point of all of this isn't just that I met some pretty horrible kids, the point is somewhere in the background there were some pretty horrible parents that dropped the ball! Come on people! Wake up and be parents! Were aren't raising kids here, were raising adults! You can pretend to be their best friends all you want, it still comes down to the fact that one day they will be teenagers and they will HATE you! There is no getting around it. For several years we will all be uncool, mean, controlling,embarrassing and not know what it's like to be "them". At least prepare them to function in society. Let them have the tools to be respected because if they stop turning to you, which they will, they have to turn to someone. Do you really want them turning to the wrong people because they where such a-holes as kids no proper, loving person will be there to support them. I know it's harsh but it's true! The more you can say," I know one day your going to hate me for a few years but I am going to still love you and enforce the rules" the better a parent you can be. If you really want to be a good friend, discipline your kids so your friends don't have to put up with your little monsters!

High School? Where's the love?

I am an adult, at least that is what my drivers license tells me. I am as you noticed a mommy just like so many other grown up mommies. So why do I feel like I am in high school when ever I am around said grown up mommies. I am painfully aware that I am not like any of them, but I am OK with that. In fact I wouldn't really want to be like most of them. It's like the older we all get the more they need to hold onto petty fronts. They feel like they need to prove they are whatever they think people should perceive them to be. As if letting the facade drop for ten minutes would suck the youth out of them. They hide behind their false smiles and false interest just as they hide behind their Botox. Please don't pretend to be concerned about my life and I will pretend not to notice the shallows of your soul. As I stand at my daughters school it is just like high school, but worse. People stand cold and fixed a few feet away from one another, acting as if they are the only person breathing that air, or they stand engaged in meaningless conversations thinking how they would rather be the only person breathing that air. They all coexist, no one reaches out no one takes in, the just... exist.
It terrifies me that one day my child could turn into one of these transfixed hollow souls. I want her to love, reach out of herself. I want her to feel other peoples love, pain and happiness. I want her to feel her own happiness and even occasional pain. Most importantly I want her to feel she can share it with someone else! I want her to believe in friendship. I want her to be true and lay it all out on the table no matter what other people might think, because in the end you can only be loved for who you are and not for who you want others to perceive you are.
I might be odd, I might be different from the other mothers, but I am me. I am obnoxious and forward. I am sensitive but forgiving. I will say the things you wish you had and occasionally you wish I hadn't. I am embarrassing and proud. Once I love you I will never let it fade, no matter how much you hurt or betray me. Granted I might not talk to you anymore, but you will still fill my heart. I would give you all I could till it sucks the life out of me, and if you loose yours I will get a tattoo to feel you with me everyday. That is how it should be! Friendship should be blessing, not a chore. You shouldn't have to work to be loved and you should never have to work to give it.
I am lucky. I have a few friends that accept or shall I say pleasantly tolerate me just as I am. I have had a friend since I was 6 years old and holds my life history in her heart, I have been blessed by new friend that completes my family, I have mourned friends longer than I had the gift to hold them, I have met friends that I wish will fill in the blanks of my life. I think the most magical part of friendship isn't just being loved but loving back. There is something raw about opening your heart wide and allowing another person inside to do what they wish with it. So yes, some saying receiving love is the greatest gift, don't forget giving it. To receive love is easier than trusting someone to be kind to your heart in return.
So let go, open up and let me find my snugly spot, I'm here to stay!

okay I'm back!

So here I am again, typing, thinking. That can be a pretty bad combination I tell you. It has been some time since I have brought myself back to this place. There are perhaps a few reasons, none of them good. I guess in the end I am stuck against the wall in the haunting reality of actually doing something with my words. Letting them escape from my mind and into yours is so frightening. Like those dreams when you are nude in front of the whole class and your penis is too small or you didn't shave. Something potentially scarring like that. I want to be heard, I want to call out but the echo can be overwhelming. So here I am, hoping all of my kind readers have not abandoned me as I have you. It was a moment, OK months of weakness, I'm sorry! I vow to suck it up and be what I need to be, a writer. It is in me trying to escape, pouncing on unsuspecting friends during e mails. Now truly that is no way to treat my delicate rants, is it? So hold on: I'm back! I apologize in advance for any times I have or will offend you.

More times I wanted to crawl in a hole!

Do you ever hear things coming out of your kids mouths and instinctively want to cram it back in, or even pinch them really hard? This is my life. These moments of horror are filled in with moments that have to look at my daughter and just shake my head. So now i will dictate out a few of the old mommy traumatic conversations:
We are at Discount tire speaking with a very sweet old lady. I am certain she has left some cookies baking in the oven. My little girl is about 2 1/2 at this time. The lady is marveling at how well my daughter speaks. In her marvel she naively engages her in a discussion about what a big girl she is.
" You are very smart. Such a big girl."
Me," Thank you"
"She speaks so well and is absolutely beautiful" My daughter is dancing in the glory of these compliments by now.
Me," Thank you, the trick is getting her to stop!"
Her'" I'm a big girl. My mommy is a big girl too. My Daddy has a big penis"
" Excuse me dear?'" No doubt a breath away from reciting a hail Mary.
Me," Come over hear dear and let this nice lady have some peace and quite"
I attempt to appear unnerved as I scoop her up and venture outside to find Daddy. As the door closes I swear I hear the sound of nails on a rosary, but I could be paranoid!

After a very lengthy afternoon of nonstop gabbing from my beloved little one, we stop for lunch. Daddy runs in to grab our food, seeing as I don't eat in public (acknowledging the craziness here give me credit). I suggest , OK I may have used a slightly threatening tone, that my daughter not talk for the next five minutes. Something about mommy on the verge of an aneurysm. Minute 1, she does well, minute 2 holding on, minute 3 a bit fidgety, minute 4 about to burst from within. I actually hear a whistling sound coming out of her ears, maybe not. Minute 5 " SOOOOOOO, what do you know about squirrels, I know they eat nuts and stuff!!!!" all in one breath. All I can do is turn and look at her. The weirdest part is we live in the desert. I don't think she has even really seen a squirrel before.

One day we head out to the new shiny Smith's down the street. Nothing interesting happens so I will jump to the check out line. It seems to always go down in the check out line! The nice cashier in her crisp new vest, complete with fold lines, offers my girl a sticker and asks how she is doing. " I'm good. I start school soon and my Daddy's at the psych hospital!" The woman's Chiclet smile twitches a bit and she uncomfortably looks my way." NO! NO! Daddy is helping to build the psych hospital!!" Then I have to blurt out the hole story about his going to help put the finishing touches on the mental hospital opening next week. I don't think I inhaled between sentences because I was dizzy and sweating as we walked away. So now that he is building the prison we made sure to teach her " Daddy is BUILDING the prison, not AT the prison".

We have always been honest with our daughter about body parts. As you can tell by the penis episode before mentioned. We only give her information we find suitable for her age. People assume that since she knows vagina that she knows some gratuitous information on the part. Totally not the case, until.... When I was pregnant with sweet little DD I would receive the emails detailing the growth of the baby, how fat your feet should be and the best way to treat those pesky hemorrhoids. You know the emails! They have the side profile drawing of the baby's development in the uterus. My daughter loved to see that her brother finally had legs or eyelashes. So one day we are looking at the profile of Jane pregnant lady. My daughters eyes squint a bit and she gets a weird look on her face. Her porcelain face smooths as she is filled with a moment of clarity. " Mommy, did you know the baby is going to come out of your vagina??? Are you ready for that?!?!?!?!" She peers at me a bit nervous and somewhat disturbed. I try to scan the page for the word " vagina", nowhere. " So, how did you figure that out? " My six year old looks at me like I'm an idiot for thinking she is an idiot, at this point we are visually insulting each other. " I just looked at the picture. It seems to be the only way out. It's gonna hurt you!"
" Yes, I am aware of the hurting thing. Thanks"

Too gross to title...

Poor Darling D is on Augmentin to clear up his unfortunate case of ear cooties. He seems to be improving thankfully! He was finishing breakfast while I filled the tub with his inch and a half of water and prepared his Vaseline covered cotton balls( I will be so grateful when we pass the month mark on this tube situation and we can bath like normal). I go to get the delightful little buddy from his high chair. Such a happy boy! I lift him up , down his leg runs the Mississippi River, minus the the pee! It is straight down his pudgy leg resting at his ankle. I am startled and confused for a split second, reality comes across me," BRACKEN, HELP!!!!!!!" He runs in, surveys the situation and backs away a little. Now my husband, you must understand, has a huge aversion to poop. He will change diapers and things like that, but once it has left its little absorbent containment unit, he is done. He gags and coughs, laughs and yells. It is actually a very funny scene on the rare occasion that we have a blowout emergency. He looks at me with his pleading eyes, I think he is considering attempting to run to the garage. Like a good man he stays. I yell for him to grab the baby's wiggly foot before the brown lava can drip off onto the floor. He winces grabs on and we run to the bathroom. We look at the meager inch and a half of fluid in the tub," I don't think that's going to help," he says. I stand the drippy boy in the tub look at removing his overalls, not a chance. We proceed to hose him off, fully clothed, with the shower attachment. All the while my fabulous husband is yelling out things like: Gross, on my God it's everywhere, no no don't touch that buddy, your so nasty little boy, it isn't coming off. Add a few gags, coughs and my hysterical laughter and you have America's funniest home video, good times! After significant hosing I remove the baby's clothes then eventually his diaper. He is sitting pleasantly in the tub loving the refreshing spray of the water. He occasionally tries to pick up some of the stew like diaper contents as they cruise toward the drain, so foul. We have to keep grabbing his hands and rinsing them, please do not put them in your mouth for the love of all things holy! I finish him off my washing him with soap head to toe twice, three times for his little mitts, and get him out of the tub. I run D to his room whilst wiping the tears from my eyes on the towel and quickly wrap a fresh diaper on his bottom. I briefly wonder if two would be helpful, I just did it tighter than usual. Damn, he has been trying to walk a lot lately, he needs to feel his legs, I loosen it a hair. I mention to my husband that the high chair is full of poop. " Your taking care of that! I did the hard part already". For all of you that didn't know it "the hard part" is apparently holding a shower hose yelling like a girl while your wife scrapes crap out of the baby's ass crack. As you probably already figured out, he's cleaning the high chair! Since he has said aversion to fecal matter and refuses to touch such substance he proceeds to drag the chair in the front yard and hose it off! I am dead serious! I can imagine what the neighbors saw. Plus I can't help but think it will mange to attract wild animals to our yard, thanks dear.



Before posting this I read it my husband who wants to state that he was not gagging or coughing and I am exaggerating!

Ear drainage is a privilege, it seems, not a right!

All was settling down in post surgery land, and then buddy got sick! He is stuffy and pissed. There is yellowish orange junk coming out of his ear. I look at said junk, turning it into the light hoping it is a smear of animal cracker or something less sinister. Nope, it doesn't look so good. I call the surgeon and wait and wait, did I mention wait for a return call. I pass the time with a very shallow soothing bath for him. I stuff his tiny ear canals with Vaseline covered cotton(so foul) and dip him in. Before mentioned cotton falls into the hearty inch and a half of water. I pluck it out and noticed it is a lovely orange shade. Definitely not the color of animal cookies! In a panic I call the pediatrician. My trusty nurse friend instructs me to bring him in, love her. She makes me feel so justified in my obsessive parenting! Finallllllllly the ENT office calls. She said she would have gotten on the phone if she knew it was a medical emergency. I thought the description of congestion with ooze coming out of his ears was a pretty good indicator that I was not looking to set an appointment, I need answers! We exchanged some boring banter where I said I was taking him to Dr. Worldsgreatestpediatrician," good, he'll know more about the congestion then we would." My mind is spun a bit! WTF, they are an ENT office! Isn't it kind of their area. It's not like I'm inquiring about hemorrhoids or something. I hang up feeling a lot better about not going to see them, a bit worried they cut into my kid in the first place. Looking in the mirror it occurs to me that I have not managed to squeeze in a bath in two days on account of being the mother of two sick kids, did I mention the older one is sick too, just my luck. I ponder if I could get by one more day, my imagination trails off. I see me running into the doctors followed by a pack of wild dogs, what an entrance! Hazmat arrives to evaluate the situation, news crews arrive since hazmat always draws a crowd. Yeah, this will definitely require more than deodorant. Desperate, I go in the kitchen and I drop the him in the mobile baby containment unit AKA walker. I ask my daughter to keep him entertained so I can get in the shower. I make it to the bathroom with the nimble swiftness of a ninja. Get in ,splash around,eye the razor, no time I'll wear jeans. Then I hear crying. Followed by more crying, wait it's getting louder! I open the shower door and look directly out the bathroom door to find buddy alone in the hall outside the open door screaming. What the hell is going on?!?!?! I rinse off, jump out, and yell for the deserter! No answer. Now I am a little worried. Kidnappers came and stole her. They had to abandon the baby in the hall because I opened the door, my God she's in danger!! I run to the living room, no danger, she's watching sponge bob. Now she is in danger! It seems that the unfortunate crying of her delicious baby brother kept her from hearing the TV so she drug him to the other room. He wanted me anyway! So now she won't be hearing TV for a week. We arrive intact to the doctor. I will spare you the next boring hour and a half. In conclusion mom was right, he has another ear infection. Good thing we just put him through surgery to prevent this little issue. Dad is not happy, belligerent and irate is a fair description. Me, I am exhausted, clean but exhausted.

I used to wear lipstick...

This is one of the many things I once did according to my husband. His list is slightly more scandalous. Do you ever stop and wonder what happened? Like at what point in my life did wearing pants become a completely valid option compared to shaving? Hell when did I even start wearing jeans? It isn't that I have totally let myself go. I still make sure to be wearing eyebrows and to brush my teeth before leaving the house, but there is always some room for improvement. I fear that one day I will ride that miserable slip and slide into sweat pants. The worse part it will be the ones that don't really fit and I will top it off with a pair of crocs. Sorry to hurt any one's feelings but shoes are not meant to be rinsed with a garden hose. These are just facts people. Once upon a time I was fabulous( in my own mind). My clothes were clean, my hair was washed and my boobs were up where they belong. It was before the days of spit up and gravity. Now I am certain that if I ever ended up missing they would use the spit stains on my shoulders to identify my body. " Excuse me, Mr. Hanson what was your wife last wearing?"
" I believe it was a trix t shirt with stains on the shoulder."
" Now sir was it animal cookies or goldfish?"
"Goldfish!"
" Sir we've found your wife."
It will make it into those special circumstances reference guides. Crap, I truly believe there is already one out there dedicated to my family. Like it just goes into embarrassing detail all of my freakish medical dramas and bizarre anomalies. On the cover it will have a picture of me, no lipstick, just eyebrows.

The reason I get stuck at the doctors!

The singing siren! She is a bit sick and stuffy but still painfully cute! At least it downloaded this time.

Would you let him carry a gun?

Ah ha! We are getting closer to knowing names now aren't we? Here is my wonderful husband. He has recently been turning into Ted Nugent. A bit scary. By this I mean he has developed a bit of a gun, I wouldn't say fetish, but strong interest. He has been dragging us to countless army surplus stores in the ghetto. You know the kind that you actually require a pistol to safely survive the neighborhood. I will pretend it is enriching my kids life, yeah that's it. Sports warehouses? Know them like the back of my hand. This is odd since I am in no way out doorsy. In fact I don't run unless someone is chasing me. So here we are, house full of ammo. Shot gun hidden for protection(completely out of reach of my children!!!!! We aren't stupid), safe nestled with pistols. I am not certain how it all happened. We have had a 2 handguns for many years. I thought we were safe and happy. Then a few months ago the Montana in my husband began to surface. Now he has done a smashing job at stifling his inner hillbilly. Granted it does pop up by ways of beef jerky, strong love of explosive items, and automotive grease. Still, when I was married I thought he had it in check. 10 years later it comes out full tactical force. It was so fast I didn't have time to brace myself. One day it was a shot gun, a few weeks later it was his now beloved Desert Eagle. You know because shooting them isn't enough. We have rapidly progressed to the concealed weapons permit. I really want to meet the officer that was reviewing my husbands application. At what point did he look at this picture and think," Why sure! That man looks like he should be carrying a gun!" Did the idea of," maybe we should pass on this one" ever cross his mind? And does Bracken really need a concealed weapon. Seriously, if you ran into a guy looking like him on the streets would you mess with him, probably not. Now, I am truly fine with it all. As long as my children aren't in danger and he is entertained, whatever. In fact it has given me hours of comic material. It's like the icing on the making fun of my husband cake. I do question why he needs to be packing heat on a pleasant Sunday walk around the neighborhood, but he doesn't question most of what I do. I figure if I start pointing fingers he could easily point a dozen back in my direction. Besides I have to admit it's kind of hot when he comes in from shooting in the desert with a shot gun on his shoulder! Scrumptious!

I could eat him up in slipper socks!

Here is the picture of my darling buddy before his surgery. Delicious! So cute, so trusting, so unsuspecting.

I made it through D's surgery and he did great too!

My darling baby did so well with his surgery. I think I am the one that really needed to recover. It was so stressful. I have spent the past week making myself, and my husband, crazy. Wed. was the longest night. I lay in bed not able to sleep, wishing it was Friday already. Knowing that soon I would need to drag my delicious little boy from his snugly sleep and traumatize him. In reality it went pretty smoothly. Not as my wandering imagination had portrayed it at all. We arrived super early at the surgery center. He and our daughter where in delightful moods. He didn't even seem to notice the gnawing pit of hunger under his pajama top. A man came out into the waiting room and spoke to a waiting father while looking back and forth in my direction. He mentioned taking the baby first, to which I responded " are you talking to me too?" He laughed like I was a moron and said not to worry, it will be fine and strolled off. That is the strangest anesthesiologist I have ever met. I look at the father,since the doctor didn't really answer my question," Was that confusing to you?" He agreed that he wasn't sure what was going on since he was kind of talking to him but looking at me. I told him I was just waiting until someone actually called my kids name. Good idea I think. Name called! Darling D and I go in the back where I change him into a tiny hospital gown. Very disturbingly cute I must admit! They also give him red slipper socks that are more like thigh highs on his pudgy legs. Adorable! About this time the fore mentioned anesthesiologist comes in our little changing closet, the room was filling me with claustrophobia, and starts going over how many ear drops to put in his ears after the procedure and blah blah. I ask about pain relief since my daughter was given codeine after having her lip done. Hey throws his hands in front of his body,"no,no... that's not mine! I'm only doing tubes. He's not my patient!" He starts walking awkwardly backward away from me, " See I'm not crazy! That's why you weren't making sense to me in the waiting room", I call out to him. No response, he retreats to the hall, embarrassed I hope! The nurse comes in and I mention that the wrong doctor keeps coming in to talk to me, I am getting worried, wouldn't you. She says he is the other ENT. I mention he seems really nice ,internal thought " for a doctor that doesn't know his patients". I know I was surprised I didn't say it out loud too. I, my friends,am growing up! Now it is a waiting game since our real doctor is always late. It is almost compulsive! During the next hour the actual anesthesiologist comes in. He is a jolly guy that promises not to stick the buddy with needles, my new best friend. We go over the ridiculous family history and he compliments my thoroughness. I am never sure if it is truly a compliment or just drawing attention to my compulsive behavior. I then dance with the baby and sing to him. This activity is broken up by nurses coming through and playing with him, my boys a lady killer! They love to play in his fluffy mohawk. Finally he arrives! He calls out, " Who wants to go first", I yell,"Me" beating out the other two waiting families. Keep in mind I was prepared to wrestle for the position. Ok I do realize we were first since he is the youngest and I am the most annoying mom to keep around. Still I would have welcomed the distraction. Then the nurse wraps him in a blanket, I kiss him, he says my name and touches my face. Next time I see him he will have a fresh set of tubes and an enormously bruised lip.I manage to walk on rubber legs out to the waiting area. I sit through the longest 20 minutes of my life, choking back tears. The presence of my daughter does help since I don't want her to worry. The call out his name and I am up and running at the door. She asks if they are with me, who? Oh the rest of my family, forgot them! I nod, I think, " can they come too?" She says yes and starts giving some parking directions to my husband, something about a doorbell, who cares!!! Where is my baby??? I kind of push forward, " I'm sure he'll figure it out he's smart". I have tunnel vision. I hear her talking but have no clue what she is actually saying. My eyes are on a smiling tall lady holding my boy as his eyes go in different directions and his sweet head bobs around. I rush over. He puts his little arms out with slight coordination and lets out a raspy, "Mama"! I tear him from that ladies arms and hold him. I think I finally took a breath. We go into a group recovery area. She asks if I have any clear fluids for him or if I need juice. I tell her I intended to nurse. " Oh he will like that, let me get you a private room." Hmm, I like her. We settle in our private double closet and I nurse. He goes at it like he has never eaten, then he starts to scream! His lip is so swollen/numb/awkward he can't latch on right! He keeps trying, same frustrating result. He cries like I have rarely heard. I must look anxious because miss nice nurse looks in his file and tells me, " He shouldn't be in much pain. I checked and they gave him a suppository for pain relief. I think he's just disoriented." Or maybe he's pissed that you guys made him take a nap and stuffed something up his ass! My God they will do anything to you in surgery! She goes over discharge info, mentioning Tylenol. I look at the howling heap of baby in my arms, I think we will need more than Tylenol. I tell her the Dr gave baby girl Tylenol with codeine. She seems nervous," well I looked and it doesn't have anything else. I guess I could ask the doctor( while her eyes say please, don't make me do this!!!!)" " Thanks! I would really appreciate that" I am such a pleasant bitch. Lucky for her I saw him first and had the same conversation. He said "it would be his pleasure". See he's nice! He doesn't want my kid to hurt. Either that or he doesn't want me calling the office all day. So after a scream filled drive home we settled in. I put him in bed with me where he finally calmed down a bit and was able to nurse. He slept for two hours and woke very sweet and swollen. He looks like a little Jolie baby. He was still a bit disoriented and crawled into things but very pleasant. He is happy, medicated, but happy and so am I. Then it happens I talk to my sister. I mention the horrible suppository incident. I recall my vision of him in his little hospital gown and large socks sleeping unawares. Then they rip open his diaper and cram this thing up his tiny bottom! I shudder a bit. She laughs at me, " you know he was naked" NO HE WAS NOT!!! HE WAS IN A TINY GOWN, THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE FOR!!!!! More laughing at me. She by the way is a paramedic, but not a surgery technician so it's not like she really knows anyway! She asks her partner(at work, not a life partner. I would actually prefer she had a life partner then the guy she is married to though) what you wear when you have surgery. " Was he put to sleep?" She replies yes," Then nothing!" Lies all lies!!!! Why,why! She couldn't leave me in peace. I suppose the point of this story is that Baby D did fabulous, I barely cried, and watch your bottom in surgery!

I can no longer use that line at target!

When my sweet lovely daughter was younger she hated to use toothpaste. You know the kind of hate where I have to straddle her in the bathroom and scrub her teeth while she cries. Don't judge me, I am well prepared to pay her therapy bill one day. Besides it is just a glimpse of the things she'll be laying on a leather couch about. So we went to target with said toothpaste hater to let her pick out new flavor of sand ingrained tooth polish. This was not a happy occasion for the little miss. We discussed how important the junk was to keep her tiny teeth pretty and healthy. She is not concerned. Fast forward to the check out. My husband and I notice a very audible speech impediment of the cashier in the line we chose. I assume she is perhaps hearing impaired, my husband who is closer flat out thinks she's retarded, hey his words not mine, back off! Then my precious little angel blurts out, " WOW, lady!!!!! You're missing a lot of TEETH!" My lord the room grew dark, apologies fell out of my mouth in delirious cession! The woman was very nice about it(still possibly on the handicap side I think).She said it was fine and told her it's because she doesn't have good health insurance. Ok, politely settled one would assume. NO!!! Somehow I managed to pick my foot up and jam it straight into my big fat mouth! Still covered in sweat I point out to my daughter, recollecting the ideas we were trying to instill in her earlier, " See that's why you need to use toothpaste". Apparently not the best place to forward this little lesson to her because the once understanding cashier rages out, " I brush my teeth!!!!!". I sheepishly try to back out and explain the origin of our trip. I think I even drooled a little. I look to my husband for salvation. He is desperately trying to get through using his debit card while pretending he is not with us. As if she will assume he is some stranger taking pity on us and paying for our goods. We finish and my cheeks have the scalding burn of shame. My husband looks laughs at me and asks, " What was that, just couldn't shut up could you?" I try to apologize to him. He keeps laughing and informs me if his card wasn't already in the machine he would have walked away. For better or worse my ass!

My blog friend rocks!

I wanted to let everyone know that my fabulous blog friend, find her at : http://www.aleryan.com, has taught me how to allow everyone to leave comments on my blog. So now you can comment without having to be a blogger member. So show the love and type away. I have to approve your comments before they post, so be patient. Thank you all for the support and remember if your friends are interested in crazy rantings send them my way!

Baby D goes under the knife

We are quickly approaching the day (2 left) that my sweet little boy gets surgery. Ok so it isn't anything serious, he's getting tubes and the frenulum on his upper lip cut, still it is heart wrenching. I feel like I have been eating stomach acid. I went through this with my daughter twice. It is horrible. They come in and take your starving screaming baby from your arms. She was grabbing at me screaming my name all down the hall. I stayed strong until the sounding slam of the doors and fell in the chair crying. I am certain it was a pretty dramatic scene but this is my baby we are talking about here!!!! I am pretty sure that Baby D's operation will go about the same. Me crying hysterically in the surgery center. It might make the news, splendid indeed. I have tried to figure a million and five ways to get the little buddy out of it but none are truly valid. He received a stay in Nov. because he stopped breathing on Halloween. Apparently they don't like to use anesthesia on babies a week after their mommies resuscitate them. I think it's in their insurance or something. So, I'm not religious but I will pretend it was God's intervention.(please note I am such a heathen that I spelled GOD wrong three times before typing if properly, not a good sign by any means) I would not like a similar intervention since I still have flash backs of his blue little face, but can't the center have a fire or something simple? What about burnt popcorn in the microwave. You know how it gives off that toxic scent. Then they can peacefully evacuate. That would be very nice. Instead I will be getting up too early on Thurs. ripping my drowsy baby from his warm crib and ushering him off to a group of strangers. These people will poke prod and make him hurt. Baby Buddy will not understand why his Mommy is letting that happen and why the hell she just doesn't stop crying, he's the one in pain. Plus he will be extra upset since he cannot drink his morning milk yet and is full of crummies in his tummies. This will all be contained inside the swirl of my daughter moving about singing loudly to everyone that is in earshot while my husband yells at her to knock it off. It will be a jolly affair indeed.

amendment

It has been rather humorously brought to my attention that perhaps my depiction of other mommies is lacking and somewhat unfair. I now plan to make an amendment to it by creating a subsection I will call: " Moms in Capri pants". This is the group of moms that I tend to really get along with. They are casual but maintained. Even though I have noticed this group does tend to go by ways of comfy undies, they tend to be the funniest group on the playground. These are the moms with the best jokes and the dirtiest e mail forwards. On the surface they look all vanilla, did I mention they also wear a large amount of neutral colors with said Capri pants? Inside they are the ones you would let watch your kids or trust with lives most intimate details. These are the ladies I consider my friends and I am very sorry if I left you guys out. Without you I would just be lonely weirdo color coding m&m's.

Blanket or Dishrag, you be the judge...

When I was pregnant with my daughter my mother in law was completely involved. She was at at every ultrassound(all 9) and drove me to every doctors appointment. She spoiled her rotten with a crib, clothes,toys, and savings bonds. To this day she still spoils the girl. One would specualte it is because she is a girl. Here is the kink in that theory, when we said she was a girl the woman cried because she wanted a grandson. She is just that kind of considerate person, talk about a mood killer. So despite the vagina thing she spoiled this little girl and made her a beautiful blanket with rows af crochetted hearts. My girl loves this blanket more than anything she owns. It is her safety, it smells like her and is a ratty as all hell.

Fast forward to my baby boy. NOTHING! This child is so neglect by this woman you would think he was a bastard son or something. She buys him things she picks up at garage sales and as you saw, cowboy clothes. She has not been invloved in his life. The little boy won't even go to her when she is around. She didn't visit him through all of his hospitalizations. The whole descrepency in affection pisses me off! This is where the ridiculous "blanket" comes in to play. As his first birthday approaches she shows up at my house, obviously noticing the clock ticking against her. After a bit of small talk she says she wanted to drop off his Blanket she made. Reaching into her little plastic grocery bag she begins the explaination," I didn't want to make it like 4 ft. long since he's crawling all over. I was afraid that he would get hurt dragging it around if I made some huge thing." Possibly valid. Then she presents the smallest scrap of patterned yarn I have ever seen. I feel my lips part as I blurt out," Oh my grandma gave up!" She sheepishly laughs at having been called out on her failed "attempt". Who am I kidding, this is no attempt! The thing isn't blocked, is edged on one end and doesn't even have the loose yarn weaved in. WTF! I later measured it to be a wonderous 23"x21".

(that is a ruler NOT a yard stick and a cat not a panther)

(OK I just noticed the cat was in the picture and had to comment on her fluffiness. That cat will make a fine pair of slippers one day)

I am in shock that she would even try to give this to him! Did I mention insulted. Nothing says I barely love you like 2 dozen rows of yarn. My husband said that he was going to donate it but I think we need to hold onto it for evidence. Perhaps I come off as ungrateful, granted I have no gratitude for this blanket, but I truly am not that way. I try hard to instill good values in my kids. I want them to be appriciative of the small things but I think 23x21 is a little too small to appriciate.

The crazies are getting in again!

Apparently there is a hole in my weather stripping again since the crazies have managed to pour in this week. It has been a dizzying whirlwind of relative insanity. Like actual relatives. Now I am not singling out one side or the other. My husband and I come from a gifted group of people with peculiar going ons. I would write specifics but you would never believe me. I am trying to keep this blog honest and I fear that divulging the details would lead one to speculate that I must be a fiction writer for surely these things don't occur in normal peoples lives. See that is the key. The word "normal". None of my relations truly fall into this category, not even myself. Most of those flowing in my and my husbands genetic circle (crap one technically doesn't even have the DNA), are in desperate need of a Dr. Phil intervention and one episode away from a Springer special. I have offered to make the phone call a few times but had no takers. I am certain it would be a two part topic. I guess the silver lining in having family with such peculiar lives is it makes all of my idiosyncrasies seem Minuit and trivial. Oh, crazy girl doesn't eat in public and color codes her M&M's, yes but wait till you seem what her mother in law has been up. Hmmm, my loathing of blue pens doesn't seem so important anymore does it. Now I am not going to promise that I won't fall upon talking details at some time. Each on there own are going to make splendid blogs some day, but you my friend will have to check back if you want the dirt. I will also be accepting calls at $2.99 a minute to sell the secrets. Maybe not.

I am MOM

I sit at times with my lovely daughter on my lap, by "on" I mean draping her gangling legs all over the place and hanging off of me since she is almost the same size as me, and think is this real? She has been in my life for seven years and still I feel like it is some dream. Like at any moment someone will step in and say, nope, your done babysitting. As if it this world of mine is just pretend. I don't feel old enough to be a mom, even at 30. Not that I am not mature or able, that is not the point. I just always imaged being a mother would feel different. Like I would get this tiny little person placed in my arms and suddenly be wise and aged like wine. I do occasionally feel a bit fermented, but I don't think that's what I'm going for either. I see other moms at school and think, I am not like any of these people. Typically they fall into two categories : That woman that shows up in the kitten heels, crisp button up shirt and perfectly coiffed hair or her counterpart: sweat pants, half slept in pony tail, being trailed by three crying kids in which she somewhat pretends are not hers at the moment. I stand on the blisteringly hot asphalt looking down at my converse, leading up to my low rise jeans, past my decorative belt buckle, and resting at my sesame street tee shirt. No, I am not like these woman. It makes you feel a bit awkward at times, but I can't change who I am. I watch " what not to wear" and think,"hmm, maybe they could turn me into a presentable mom". I consider it deeply. In the end I know in my heart that I can't walk in kitten heels and can't stomach the sweat pants. So I can only be what I am. These other moms can choose to love me or leave me. In the end it's more like stab me in the back. Still I try to fit into a role that I embrace with all of my being, even if I am the puzzle piece that will never fit in right. The one you contemplate throwing out, then just push in real hard. After a good push you will see I too fit in better than you thought I would.