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!