Most days, carpool drop-off and pick-up at Eldest Daughter's school goes smoothly. On some days, however, I am able to tell which kids are the dumbasses and bullies just by how their parents drive in carpool.
In the morning, carpool at her school is one-lane in the front, and one-lane in the back. You can drop off at either place. In the afternoon, the back is gated, so you can't use it. The front is two lanes, and each lane takes turns making the left turn into the school to get the kids. It's not hard. Left lane goes, right lane goes, left lane goes, right lane goes. Pretty simple, right? You'd think so, but then you'd be wrong.
One afternoon I was waiting patiently in line. I was in the left lane, and after the car in the right lane went, I eased up to go. But the asshat behind the car in the right lane who should have gone behind me guns it and squeals her tires to get in front of me. I throw my hands in the air in the universal symbol for WTF??? and honked my horn. So she starts doing this head bobbing hand waving thing, then she flips me the bird. Let me describe her: She's in a nice car, a late model Lexus. But you can tell she can't drive because there are dents and paint scrapes all over it, and all of her rims look as though she has a hobby of hitting curbs. She's got about 25 pounds of leis and Mardi Gras beads hanging from her rear view mirror, which if you're over 20 years old just screams out 'I'M SO FREAKIN CLASSY, WHY DON'T WE CHEST BUMP BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THE CLASSY PEOPLE ON MY FAVORITE SHOW JERSEY SHORE DO'. And she has the Snooki bump, but I'm quite certain she's not from Jersey. The Mexico sticker on her back window gives that away. And just to underline how classy she is, she's squealing tires and flipping another parent the bird in the school parking lot. Safety is obviously not a concern of hers. And since she's a rude, inconsiderate, obviously idiotic parent, I imagine that she has an equally rude, inconsiderate, obviously idiotic child. I just hope it's not one of the kids in my daughter's class.
Here's what happened in my head:
I quickly whip the Caravan around her and park in front of her at an angle so that she cannot go anywhere. I get out of the van and storm over to her window, and because she's smoking a cigarette with a baby in the car with her, the window's down, and I'm able to reach in and pluck her bitchy ass out of the car by her Snooki bump. She's a dummy, so of course she's not strapped in and she comes out of the car easily. Once out, I slap her across the face a few times until her false eyelashes are hanging down onto her cheeks and she is crying with gobs of eye makeup streaming down her face. Then I take her Bumpit out of her hair, throw it down and stomp on it. Then I yank her entire rear view mirror off and fling it and the assortment of items she got for showing her tatas across the school parking lot. Finally, I punch her with both hands in her fake boobs and they immediately deflate. I leave her crying beside her car, with all of the other parents in carpool standing outside of their vehicles, applauding and holding their cell phones open to show their appreciation. I'm like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, except I'm wearing pajama pants and a holey Ole Miss t-shirt instead of a yellow jumpsuit. Oh, and I'm not hot.
In reality, I simply complained to the lady who was calling out carpool numbers. I suggested that if someone breaks the carpool rules, they must be made to wait until everyone else has picked up their children before they're allowed to get theirs. She said she agreed but there was nothing she could do and I should write a letter to the Board of Education complaining.
My next project will be to get support from other parents for the school to hire a mercenary to do carpool security. If he sees someone misbehaving in carpool, he will pull out his AK-47 and blow out their tires. That would be awesome.
1/29/11
Puppy Hate...Oops, I Meant Love - Puppy Love
Little Stinker was up on and off all night with a fever. Every few hours I was up checking his temp and giving him alternating doses of baby Tylenol and baby Motrin. So this morning, when Bama Hubs got up to get ready for work and the baby (who was sleeping with us since he's sick) didn't even whimper, I thought to myself 'Yes! I will actually get to sleep in!).
You can all laugh now. I know you want to, because you know that when I think something like that, it's not gonna happen. My motto has and always will be to prepare for the worst so that when something good happens I'll be surprised. That's from a lifetime of things like this morning happening.
When Bama Hubs left the bedroom after getting dressed, he goes to the kitchen and lets the puppy out of the kennel. Our puppy is a 5 month old Boxer. She probably already weighs 40 pounds and she's pretty big. And stupid. He didn't shut the bedroom door when he let her out, so at 6 am on a SATURDAY, the dog comes bounding into the bedroom and jumps on the bed and lands with her front two paws.......
On the baby's head and back.
When I felt her hit the bed I woke up from a dead sleep very quickly, heard the baby yell and saw where the dog was and immediately started yelling 'Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit' as I try to shove the dog off the baby, where she has firmly planted herself so that I can pet her. He's trying to get out from under her, screaming, and she's just sitting there with her paws on him, holding him down, wagging her bobbed tail. I was finally able to shove her off the bed, and Bama Hubs comes into the room and instead of asking how his small son is doing, he's concerned that I may have hurt the dog shoving her off the bed.
Because everyone knows that your puppy's well being is more important than that of your child.
The dog goes back in the kennel, I get Little Stinker calmed down and back to sleep after making sure he's ok, and we go back to sleep. At 6:30, Bama Hubs leaves for work. At this point, the girls are still sleeping soundly in their beds, and as long as they're allowed to sleep in the weekends, they'll sleep until 8:30 or 9. But not this weekend morning! As soon as hubby left, the dog starts barking and whining loudly. Boxers have big, deep, loud barks, even as puppies. And very loud whines. Of course both girls wake up and come into my room. I tried to get them to lay down and go back to sleep with me, but they wouldn't. They woke the baby up. Again.
So I did send them into the living room to turn cartoons on and eat a Gogurt so I could sleep for a minute. Baby went back to sleep and slept for another half hour, so I got to sleep in a little. But really, interrupted sleep is not nearly as good as just a full, sound sleep. But hey, I'll take what I can get.
You can all laugh now. I know you want to, because you know that when I think something like that, it's not gonna happen. My motto has and always will be to prepare for the worst so that when something good happens I'll be surprised. That's from a lifetime of things like this morning happening.
When Bama Hubs left the bedroom after getting dressed, he goes to the kitchen and lets the puppy out of the kennel. Our puppy is a 5 month old Boxer. She probably already weighs 40 pounds and she's pretty big. And stupid. He didn't shut the bedroom door when he let her out, so at 6 am on a SATURDAY, the dog comes bounding into the bedroom and jumps on the bed and lands with her front two paws.......
On the baby's head and back.
When I felt her hit the bed I woke up from a dead sleep very quickly, heard the baby yell and saw where the dog was and immediately started yelling 'Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit' as I try to shove the dog off the baby, where she has firmly planted herself so that I can pet her. He's trying to get out from under her, screaming, and she's just sitting there with her paws on him, holding him down, wagging her bobbed tail. I was finally able to shove her off the bed, and Bama Hubs comes into the room and instead of asking how his small son is doing, he's concerned that I may have hurt the dog shoving her off the bed.
Because everyone knows that your puppy's well being is more important than that of your child.
The dog goes back in the kennel, I get Little Stinker calmed down and back to sleep after making sure he's ok, and we go back to sleep. At 6:30, Bama Hubs leaves for work. At this point, the girls are still sleeping soundly in their beds, and as long as they're allowed to sleep in the weekends, they'll sleep until 8:30 or 9. But not this weekend morning! As soon as hubby left, the dog starts barking and whining loudly. Boxers have big, deep, loud barks, even as puppies. And very loud whines. Of course both girls wake up and come into my room. I tried to get them to lay down and go back to sleep with me, but they wouldn't. They woke the baby up. Again.
So I did send them into the living room to turn cartoons on and eat a Gogurt so I could sleep for a minute. Baby went back to sleep and slept for another half hour, so I got to sleep in a little. But really, interrupted sleep is not nearly as good as just a full, sound sleep. But hey, I'll take what I can get.
1/28/11
Skinny Jeans Are a Danger to Society
I have to ask, what's up with skinny jeans on men? Is this a generation thing? I'm in my early 30s, and I think they look absolutely ridiculous. I pray that when Little Stinker gets to be a teenager that this trend has gone the way of polyester suits (if we make it past December 2012). To me, the skinny jeans on men are very similar to the camel toe on women. No one should be subjected to it.
Bama Hubs and I were shopping for him some new attire before Christmas, and in the jeans section of JC Penney (we're middle class Southerners with 3 college tuitions to pay for in the distant future, folks, you won't find us spending more than $25 for a pair of jeans, puhleeze) I held up a pair of skinny jeans and asked him, 'Why don't you get a pair of these skinny jeans so you can announce to everyone 'I'm a huge dork'?' Apparently the lady in the next aisle agreed because she shot her soda out of her nose laughing.
Seriously, I just don't get it. Most men have chicken legs, and most men want to hide these chicken legs. Looser (Loose-er, not Loser, as I know some of you read it like that) jeans actually even out your profile and make you look more proportioned. And if you have no ass to fill out the skinny jeans? You just look weird. I think that there should be a law forbidding any male over the age of 16 from wearing skinny jeans. And there should be a law that any male of any age who is a little on the chunky side CANNOT wear them, ever. Muffin tops are bad enough on women, they look downright silly on men.
Below is a perfect example of why grown men should not ever, under any circumstances, wear skinny jeans (from justjudyjudyjudy.com):
Dude, mirror. Really. That cannot be comfy. I'm going to write my congressman a letter detailing the hazards of skinny jeans on men and why they should stop the manufacture of this aesthetically dangerous product. You should do the same.
Next topic to be tackled in a rant post: Women who shave off their eyebrows and paint them back on in exaggerated expressions.
Bama Hubs and I were shopping for him some new attire before Christmas, and in the jeans section of JC Penney (we're middle class Southerners with 3 college tuitions to pay for in the distant future, folks, you won't find us spending more than $25 for a pair of jeans, puhleeze) I held up a pair of skinny jeans and asked him, 'Why don't you get a pair of these skinny jeans so you can announce to everyone 'I'm a huge dork'?' Apparently the lady in the next aisle agreed because she shot her soda out of her nose laughing.
Seriously, I just don't get it. Most men have chicken legs, and most men want to hide these chicken legs. Looser (Loose-er, not Loser, as I know some of you read it like that) jeans actually even out your profile and make you look more proportioned. And if you have no ass to fill out the skinny jeans? You just look weird. I think that there should be a law forbidding any male over the age of 16 from wearing skinny jeans. And there should be a law that any male of any age who is a little on the chunky side CANNOT wear them, ever. Muffin tops are bad enough on women, they look downright silly on men.
Below is a perfect example of why grown men should not ever, under any circumstances, wear skinny jeans (from justjudyjudyjudy.com):
Dude, mirror. Really. That cannot be comfy. I'm going to write my congressman a letter detailing the hazards of skinny jeans on men and why they should stop the manufacture of this aesthetically dangerous product. You should do the same.
Next topic to be tackled in a rant post: Women who shave off their eyebrows and paint them back on in exaggerated expressions.
1/27/11
Driving Miss Crazy
Going anywhere with my mother is something that I really need to pep myself up for. She is not a very good passenger. Let me rephrase that. She's a great passenger for anyone who is not her daughter. For me, she is a horrible passenger.
I get carsick very easily. Some cars are worse than others, and some roads are worse than others. If the road is very hilly or curvy, and I'm not driving, I'm going to get sick (I actually made myself sick driving in the North Carolina mountains once - that was fun). So, I have a lot of sympathy for carsickness. But it can get really old. And with Maw Maw, it does. She got carsick a lot before the aneurysm rupture. Now, she gets carsick just looking at a vehicle. We have motion sickness patches for her to wear, and they work sometimes. Other times they don't, and I'm guaranteed to have to pull over and clean puke up out of my vehicle. For long trips, I give her a double dose of Dramamine, and that works great - it knocks her butt out. But for driving around town, I can't do that, because we're getting in and out of the car, and she can't be asleep for that.
In addition to the constant carsickness, there's the backseat driving. The other morning it was raining, and I was at least 2 football fields behind a truck that tapped their brakes. Tapped. Not slammed. Tapped. When she saw the lights, she starts screaming 'SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN, THE ROADS ARE WET AND YOU'RE GOING TO REAR END THEM AND WE'RE GOING TO DIE!' and slamming her hand into the dash.
Newsflash, Maw Maw, the only way I'm going to have a wreck now is if you startle me so badly that I suddenly jerk the wheel into oncoming traffic because you're yelling so loud.
Every time I get behind the wheel, I have to mentally prepare myself for the berating I'm going to get at the hands of my mom. It's constantly 'I'd go this way if I was you'; 'You should have turned back there'; 'I don't know why you go this way, it's so long' (I checked on the odometer, it's actually shorter); 'You're going way too fast' (when I'm going 5 below the speed limit); 'You really should watch these cars pulling out here, they just don't look' (I have driven this way every morning for 6 years, thanks, I think I know that). It's not fun.
I've already blogged about the trash obsession - everywhere we go, I get asked to pull over so she can pick trash up. I have a little game that I play with myself to see how far from the house we get before she mentions the trash on the road. And it's never very far.
Then there's the reading road signs out loud. One day Pumpkin Pie had had enough, and she yelled 'I can't take it anymore! Maw Maw! You don't have to read every road sign out loud!' But that didn't stop her - she still does it. I understand that it's a little technique to try and keep her mind sharp, but she can do it in her head, she doesn't have to do it out loud.
If we pass a thrift store or yard sale, she wants to stop. Like the trash picking up, it's a compulsion. And if I say no, she gets pouty and acts worse than my 6 year old pulling a major whine session. You'd think she were a toddler rather than a 63 year old woman. And I even get the 'You never let me do anything!' that my kids yell when they're mad at me. Holy crap I have a very large, very crankypants 4th child.
And if all of that weren't wonderful enough, I get the random comments. These are sometimes funny, sometimes disturbing, always unexpected. The other morning (the same morning she started yelling that we were going to die) we're driving by some houses and she says, 'I bet a child molester lives there.' What? What about that cluster of houses led her to believe a child molester lives there?
We were parked at Pumpkin Pie's school and this quite large family got out of a vehicle in the parking lot, and Maw Maw says, 'Look at that family of fat people. Why do fat people have to send their kids here?' Ok, I guess fat people don't need daycare for their children. And really, she and I ain't skinny minnies, she has no room to talk about fat folks.
She's always commenting on architecture (Why on Earth would someone build something that ugly?), on the placement of business (If I were them, I'd move that building back so that there's more parking in front), and on the reasons businesses have closed (Look at all those empty offices - I bet you something's going on here that the government doesn't want us to know about). And if there is a police car parked in front of someone's house, whether or not the lights are on, she always asks me 'What is that cop doing at their house?' I don't know mama, you want me to stop and ask. 'Yes.' Sigh.
My mom waves at EVERYBODY. Everybody. In parking lots, driving down the road, at stop lights, everywhere, she waves. Constantly. Ever seen Dumb and Dumber? Remember Jim Carrey's character Lloyd? Everytime she waves, in my head I see Lloyd waving spastically at people.
If I weren't afraid of getting a DUI, I would take a shot or 12 of a strong liquor before I got in the car with my mom. Or I'd take one of her anti-anxiety pills. Or maybe the whole bottle. Sometimes I just have to turn the radio on really loud so that I can't hear her musings and driving instructions and sign-reading. If you think I'm mean for griping about her passenger behavior, I'll send her your way and you can take her for a few drives. Once she gets comfy with you, she'll start doing the same things to you. And since you aren't as nice of a person as I am, you'll probably just give her a trash bag and let her out of the car somewhere so she can pick up trash, just to shut her up.
I get carsick very easily. Some cars are worse than others, and some roads are worse than others. If the road is very hilly or curvy, and I'm not driving, I'm going to get sick (I actually made myself sick driving in the North Carolina mountains once - that was fun). So, I have a lot of sympathy for carsickness. But it can get really old. And with Maw Maw, it does. She got carsick a lot before the aneurysm rupture. Now, she gets carsick just looking at a vehicle. We have motion sickness patches for her to wear, and they work sometimes. Other times they don't, and I'm guaranteed to have to pull over and clean puke up out of my vehicle. For long trips, I give her a double dose of Dramamine, and that works great - it knocks her butt out. But for driving around town, I can't do that, because we're getting in and out of the car, and she can't be asleep for that.
In addition to the constant carsickness, there's the backseat driving. The other morning it was raining, and I was at least 2 football fields behind a truck that tapped their brakes. Tapped. Not slammed. Tapped. When she saw the lights, she starts screaming 'SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN, THE ROADS ARE WET AND YOU'RE GOING TO REAR END THEM AND WE'RE GOING TO DIE!' and slamming her hand into the dash.
Newsflash, Maw Maw, the only way I'm going to have a wreck now is if you startle me so badly that I suddenly jerk the wheel into oncoming traffic because you're yelling so loud.
Every time I get behind the wheel, I have to mentally prepare myself for the berating I'm going to get at the hands of my mom. It's constantly 'I'd go this way if I was you'; 'You should have turned back there'; 'I don't know why you go this way, it's so long' (I checked on the odometer, it's actually shorter); 'You're going way too fast' (when I'm going 5 below the speed limit); 'You really should watch these cars pulling out here, they just don't look' (I have driven this way every morning for 6 years, thanks, I think I know that). It's not fun.
I've already blogged about the trash obsession - everywhere we go, I get asked to pull over so she can pick trash up. I have a little game that I play with myself to see how far from the house we get before she mentions the trash on the road. And it's never very far.
Then there's the reading road signs out loud. One day Pumpkin Pie had had enough, and she yelled 'I can't take it anymore! Maw Maw! You don't have to read every road sign out loud!' But that didn't stop her - she still does it. I understand that it's a little technique to try and keep her mind sharp, but she can do it in her head, she doesn't have to do it out loud.
If we pass a thrift store or yard sale, she wants to stop. Like the trash picking up, it's a compulsion. And if I say no, she gets pouty and acts worse than my 6 year old pulling a major whine session. You'd think she were a toddler rather than a 63 year old woman. And I even get the 'You never let me do anything!' that my kids yell when they're mad at me. Holy crap I have a very large, very crankypants 4th child.
And if all of that weren't wonderful enough, I get the random comments. These are sometimes funny, sometimes disturbing, always unexpected. The other morning (the same morning she started yelling that we were going to die) we're driving by some houses and she says, 'I bet a child molester lives there.' What? What about that cluster of houses led her to believe a child molester lives there?
We were parked at Pumpkin Pie's school and this quite large family got out of a vehicle in the parking lot, and Maw Maw says, 'Look at that family of fat people. Why do fat people have to send their kids here?' Ok, I guess fat people don't need daycare for their children. And really, she and I ain't skinny minnies, she has no room to talk about fat folks.
She's always commenting on architecture (Why on Earth would someone build something that ugly?), on the placement of business (If I were them, I'd move that building back so that there's more parking in front), and on the reasons businesses have closed (Look at all those empty offices - I bet you something's going on here that the government doesn't want us to know about). And if there is a police car parked in front of someone's house, whether or not the lights are on, she always asks me 'What is that cop doing at their house?' I don't know mama, you want me to stop and ask. 'Yes.' Sigh.
My mom waves at EVERYBODY. Everybody. In parking lots, driving down the road, at stop lights, everywhere, she waves. Constantly. Ever seen Dumb and Dumber? Remember Jim Carrey's character Lloyd? Everytime she waves, in my head I see Lloyd waving spastically at people.
If I weren't afraid of getting a DUI, I would take a shot or 12 of a strong liquor before I got in the car with my mom. Or I'd take one of her anti-anxiety pills. Or maybe the whole bottle. Sometimes I just have to turn the radio on really loud so that I can't hear her musings and driving instructions and sign-reading. If you think I'm mean for griping about her passenger behavior, I'll send her your way and you can take her for a few drives. Once she gets comfy with you, she'll start doing the same things to you. And since you aren't as nice of a person as I am, you'll probably just give her a trash bag and let her out of the car somewhere so she can pick up trash, just to shut her up.
1/26/11
How to Get Out of a Speeding Ticket
Most people have heard stories of women crying to get out of tickets. This actually happened to me once. But it's not your typical crying to get out of a ticket.
I was in Oxford, Mississippi - my grandmother had recently passed away and I had broken up with my boyfriend that morning. Then I get a call from the phone company that if they didn't get my payment that day, they were going to cut my phone off, and I was going to have to pay a large reconnection fee that I did not have. Needless to say, I was crying when I left the house.
I was in a hurry to make it to the phone company before they closed (this was before online bill pay, I had to actually take the money to them - how archaic!), and was speeding coming down the back side of the Ole Miss campus when I saw blue lights in my rear view. The only place for me to pull over was to pull onto the road leading onto campus. So I'm sitting at one of the rear entrances to Ole Miss with a cop behind me - everyone who drove by was staring, it was really embarrassing.
Before I go on, I have to give another ticket story - about 8 months before that, I got a genuine speeding ticket in Holly Springs, Mississippi. It was technically my first offense, so I went to court to beat it (I had 2 prior tickets but both times the troopers didn't show up for court so they were thrown out, so technically I didn't have any violations). When I showed up, they told me that I missed my court date, but I had called a couple of weeks before and that was the date they gave me - I even had to provide phone records from where I called, so they rescheduled it and I had to go back. The trooper didn't show up again, so they threw it out. I had paperwork showing where the ticket was dismissed, so I figured it would be ok. If anyone has read any of my other blog posts, you already know that nothing is drama-free with me. In hindsight, I should have known that there would be more.
Now, back to the crying episode.
The officer gets out of the patrol car and comes up to my window. I'm not a pretty crier - my face gets all red and splotchy, my eyes swell and get red - it's hideous. So the officer gets greeted by this monstrous leaky beast. He asks for my insurance card and license, then goes back to his car. A few minutes later he comes back and says that my license has been suspended and there's a warrant out for my arrest for a failure to appear. This made the crying much, much worse. He goes on to explain that he's supposed to arrest me and impound my car. The crying gets even worse, which doesn't seem possible.
At this point, there is a dual snot string hanging off of my nose that reaches all the way down to the steering wheel. I'm crying so hard I have the hiccup sobs, and I was probably drooling on myself because I couldn't feel my face. The officer was a nice guy, and he felt sympathetic, so he tells me that it's not that bad, everything will be ok. In response, I unload on him. I spill out in what could best be described as diarrhea of the mouth about my grandma, my boyfriend, my phone bill, I'm broke, what am I going to do...followed by more hiccup sobs.
Now, for anyone not familiar with the type of girls that attend Ole Miss, let me paint you a picture. Ever seen the movie 'Mean Girls'? Well, about 95% of the girls that go to Ole Miss are Mean Girl types. Gorgeous, rich, almost all of them in a sorority (not that there's anything wrong with sororities, they just weren't my cup of tea). I, on the other hand, am of average attractiveness, do not come from money, wasn't in a sorority, and I attended college on a full academic scholarship. Most of my classmates drove new luxury cars. I drove a Nissan Sentra with no power steering, a bad transmission, and a muffler that was held on by duct tape and a wire coat hanger. I was not your typical Ole Miss girl.
And I think the officer realized that. I wasn't a spoiled little brat, and it was pretty obvious that daddy wasn't going to come and bail me out. So the most wonderful, nicest police officer ever told me that he wasn't going to take me in, but he couldn't watch me drive off. So he said that as far as he knew someone was on their way to get me, and I could do whatever I wanted when he drove off. He gave me his card and told me that as soon as I got everything straightened out in Holly Springs to bring the paperwork to him and he would get my tickets taken care of. He took my license and gave me a ticket for speeding and driving while license suspended, got in his car and left.
What had happened was that when Holly Springs gave me the wrong court date, they sent a notice to Alabama, the state where I held my license since I'm from Alabama, and they had suspended my license. When I showed up for court and the ticket got thrown out, Holly Springs sent notice to Alabama, but they never reinstated my license. It took me 2 more months and lots of phone calls to get it straightened out, but I finally did. Mississippi blamed it on Alabama and Alabama blamed it on Mississippi. What we had was a failure to communicate. The two dumbest states in the country having a communication problem? You're kidding! I know, it's unbelievable, but it really happened.
I took everything back to the officer and he told me who to go speak to at the courthouse to get it taken care of. He called her and told her I was coming over and explained the situation. When I got there, she took care of everything. For the life of me I cannot remember that officer's name, but I owe him so much. After some stuff that had happened with my dad and my brothers, I had lost faith in law enforcement, and he restored it. Thank you, nice Oxford policeman. I hope karma has been good to you.
I was in Oxford, Mississippi - my grandmother had recently passed away and I had broken up with my boyfriend that morning. Then I get a call from the phone company that if they didn't get my payment that day, they were going to cut my phone off, and I was going to have to pay a large reconnection fee that I did not have. Needless to say, I was crying when I left the house.
I was in a hurry to make it to the phone company before they closed (this was before online bill pay, I had to actually take the money to them - how archaic!), and was speeding coming down the back side of the Ole Miss campus when I saw blue lights in my rear view. The only place for me to pull over was to pull onto the road leading onto campus. So I'm sitting at one of the rear entrances to Ole Miss with a cop behind me - everyone who drove by was staring, it was really embarrassing.
Before I go on, I have to give another ticket story - about 8 months before that, I got a genuine speeding ticket in Holly Springs, Mississippi. It was technically my first offense, so I went to court to beat it (I had 2 prior tickets but both times the troopers didn't show up for court so they were thrown out, so technically I didn't have any violations). When I showed up, they told me that I missed my court date, but I had called a couple of weeks before and that was the date they gave me - I even had to provide phone records from where I called, so they rescheduled it and I had to go back. The trooper didn't show up again, so they threw it out. I had paperwork showing where the ticket was dismissed, so I figured it would be ok. If anyone has read any of my other blog posts, you already know that nothing is drama-free with me. In hindsight, I should have known that there would be more.
Now, back to the crying episode.
The officer gets out of the patrol car and comes up to my window. I'm not a pretty crier - my face gets all red and splotchy, my eyes swell and get red - it's hideous. So the officer gets greeted by this monstrous leaky beast. He asks for my insurance card and license, then goes back to his car. A few minutes later he comes back and says that my license has been suspended and there's a warrant out for my arrest for a failure to appear. This made the crying much, much worse. He goes on to explain that he's supposed to arrest me and impound my car. The crying gets even worse, which doesn't seem possible.
At this point, there is a dual snot string hanging off of my nose that reaches all the way down to the steering wheel. I'm crying so hard I have the hiccup sobs, and I was probably drooling on myself because I couldn't feel my face. The officer was a nice guy, and he felt sympathetic, so he tells me that it's not that bad, everything will be ok. In response, I unload on him. I spill out in what could best be described as diarrhea of the mouth about my grandma, my boyfriend, my phone bill, I'm broke, what am I going to do...followed by more hiccup sobs.
Now, for anyone not familiar with the type of girls that attend Ole Miss, let me paint you a picture. Ever seen the movie 'Mean Girls'? Well, about 95% of the girls that go to Ole Miss are Mean Girl types. Gorgeous, rich, almost all of them in a sorority (not that there's anything wrong with sororities, they just weren't my cup of tea). I, on the other hand, am of average attractiveness, do not come from money, wasn't in a sorority, and I attended college on a full academic scholarship. Most of my classmates drove new luxury cars. I drove a Nissan Sentra with no power steering, a bad transmission, and a muffler that was held on by duct tape and a wire coat hanger. I was not your typical Ole Miss girl.
And I think the officer realized that. I wasn't a spoiled little brat, and it was pretty obvious that daddy wasn't going to come and bail me out. So the most wonderful, nicest police officer ever told me that he wasn't going to take me in, but he couldn't watch me drive off. So he said that as far as he knew someone was on their way to get me, and I could do whatever I wanted when he drove off. He gave me his card and told me that as soon as I got everything straightened out in Holly Springs to bring the paperwork to him and he would get my tickets taken care of. He took my license and gave me a ticket for speeding and driving while license suspended, got in his car and left.
What had happened was that when Holly Springs gave me the wrong court date, they sent a notice to Alabama, the state where I held my license since I'm from Alabama, and they had suspended my license. When I showed up for court and the ticket got thrown out, Holly Springs sent notice to Alabama, but they never reinstated my license. It took me 2 more months and lots of phone calls to get it straightened out, but I finally did. Mississippi blamed it on Alabama and Alabama blamed it on Mississippi. What we had was a failure to communicate. The two dumbest states in the country having a communication problem? You're kidding! I know, it's unbelievable, but it really happened.
I took everything back to the officer and he told me who to go speak to at the courthouse to get it taken care of. He called her and told her I was coming over and explained the situation. When I got there, she took care of everything. For the life of me I cannot remember that officer's name, but I owe him so much. After some stuff that had happened with my dad and my brothers, I had lost faith in law enforcement, and he restored it. Thank you, nice Oxford policeman. I hope karma has been good to you.
1/25/11
Switched at Birth
Memphis is famous for baby swapping. For some reason, Memphis has had several cases of baby-swapping in hospitals over the years.
One case was particularly memorable. This very dark-skinned, not very attractive African-America woman and another light-skinned, attractive African-American woman had their babies swapped. The buttugly one went on the news and said that she didn't believe it. To paraphrase (as I remember it), 'That baby too dark, that baby ugly. My baby pretty, he light-skinned. That ain't my baby. This my baby' as she held the lighter-skinned, very cute baby. Turns out that indeed, that other baby was ugly, but it was her baby.
I was born in Memphis. Maybe I was swapped at birth too!! That would explain how I'm well-adapted and normal being raised by maladaptive and abnormal parents. I used to imagine a boring, even-keeled family that raised some addiction-prone, wild as hell daughter that was born on the same day as me, wondering why she was so different from the rest of the family.
I know I was not adopted, or stolen from a hospital - I have the birth certificate to prove it. But maybe, just maybe, I was swapped. I mean, my baby picture is inconclusive. The hospital picture shows an angry-looking baby who could be Japanese. How do I know that's really me? It could be the other baby girl who was born on the same day.
But, I know that I actually do belong to my family. There is a strong family resemblance. We all favor - my brother's daughter looks like she's my kid. I don't really understand how my brothers and I had the same upbringing yet we turned out so differently. I'm the white sheep among black sheep.
I've been told that I'm the spitting image of my dad's grandma (his dad's mom). From what everyone says, she was strong, smart and funny. My dad and aunt both say that I remind them of her in those ways as well. I'll take that - maybe that stuff is actually genetic, it just skipped a generation. Which doesn't bode well for my kids. Maybe my grandkids will be normal.
One case was particularly memorable. This very dark-skinned, not very attractive African-America woman and another light-skinned, attractive African-American woman had their babies swapped. The buttugly one went on the news and said that she didn't believe it. To paraphrase (as I remember it), 'That baby too dark, that baby ugly. My baby pretty, he light-skinned. That ain't my baby. This my baby' as she held the lighter-skinned, very cute baby. Turns out that indeed, that other baby was ugly, but it was her baby.
I was born in Memphis. Maybe I was swapped at birth too!! That would explain how I'm well-adapted and normal being raised by maladaptive and abnormal parents. I used to imagine a boring, even-keeled family that raised some addiction-prone, wild as hell daughter that was born on the same day as me, wondering why she was so different from the rest of the family.
I know I was not adopted, or stolen from a hospital - I have the birth certificate to prove it. But maybe, just maybe, I was swapped. I mean, my baby picture is inconclusive. The hospital picture shows an angry-looking baby who could be Japanese. How do I know that's really me? It could be the other baby girl who was born on the same day.
But, I know that I actually do belong to my family. There is a strong family resemblance. We all favor - my brother's daughter looks like she's my kid. I don't really understand how my brothers and I had the same upbringing yet we turned out so differently. I'm the white sheep among black sheep.
I've been told that I'm the spitting image of my dad's grandma (his dad's mom). From what everyone says, she was strong, smart and funny. My dad and aunt both say that I remind them of her in those ways as well. I'll take that - maybe that stuff is actually genetic, it just skipped a generation. Which doesn't bode well for my kids. Maybe my grandkids will be normal.
1/24/11
Herpes is All Around
When you think of Herpes, you probably think of the nasty nether-regions Herpes. That's because you have a dirty mind and you really need to get your head out of the gutter. In reality, there are LOTS of things that are caused by Herpes. For this post, Herpes will be capitalized, because I feel that this virus needs to be respected. If you've ever been affected by Herpes, you will agree, I'm sure. And once you realize just how many things are caused by Herpes, you'll probably realize that you have been affected by it and just didn't know it!
As a fever blister sufferer, I have dealt with Herpes for my whole life. When I was a baby (my mom says I was less than a year old, so it was 1978 or 1979), my cousin's wife used to kiss all over me with a mouth full of cold sores. Shortly thereafter, I started getting cold sores myself. They are triggered by extreme cold, sunburns, stress, too little sleep, and ascorbic acid (in regular terms, Vitamin C). If I have a pimple around my mouth, it develops into a blister too. The Vitamin C one is tough to deal with - I love oranges, apples, tomatoes, tangerines - any fruit that's high in Vitamin C. If I drink a glass of pure, fresh orange juice, eat one orange or one tomato, within hours I start getting a fever blister. I have to drink a lot of apple juice or eat several apples to trigger one. But it still does. I test this theory about twice a year to see if maybe it's changed, but I always just break myself out. If I take a Vitamin C supplement, it doesn't do it - it must have something to do with that acid touching my lips and mouth.
Fever blisters are painful. I've had a few outbreaks where I would sit with ice on my face, just crying. Twice the outbreak has gotten so bad that it's spread up my nose and down my chin and gotten infected with Staph. Thankfully the really bad outbreaks seem to only come every few years, and since I have found a good product to deal with them, I haven't had one in a while. When you have one, it kind of takes over your thinking. You have this burning, itching sensation that just won't go away. And you can feel this growth on your face, when you talk, laugh, eat. You have to watch it when you brush your teeth, and you have to throw your toothbrush away to keep from spreading it when it's gone. It's hard to keep your hands away from it. You can't kiss your spouse or your kids. Those blisters burst, then you have to make sure the fluid inside is not spreading down your chin. The resulting scab after they burst is almost as bad, because they get hard and tight. When you go anywhere, you think that people are just staring at the thing hanging off of your face. Ever had a really, really bad zit that you felt was like a fetus hanging off your face like the South Park character? That's what a fever blister feels like. Except it's a really really painful fetus hanging off your face.
Each time I get one, I'm so grateful that I don't get the other Herpes on my lady parts. As I stated above, that crap hurts like hell on my face. If it was down below, I think I would lay in bed and cry all day. Holy God, that would be so bad, and I have a super ginormous amount of sympathy for anyone who does suffer from the other type of Herpes, because I can only imagine what you go through when you have an outbreak.
Herpes has such a stigma attached to it. As a society, we just don't talk about stuff like this. Well guess what? We should!! If people more openly talked about this and other health issues, there wouldn't be as much of a stigma attached. Just because Herpes CAN be spread by sexual activity doesn't mean that it's the ONLY way that it can be spread.
Ever had the chicken pox? Almost everyone my age and older has. Guess what! You had Herpes!! Known anyone who has shingles or have you had them yourself? Yep - again, Herpes. Sometimes Herpes can even cause encephalitis, which can be life-threatening. And you may even have Herpes and not even know it - many cases are asymptomatic (meaning you show no symptoms). Oh, and known anyone who has had Mono? Epstein-Barr virus is a member of the Herpes family as well. Babies can get Roseola (or Sixth Disease) - again, Herpes.
You see, Herpes is very prevalent.
There is no cure for Herpes, as it's a Virus. There is some great research going on now that I would be a test subject for - it forces the virus out of it's dormant hiding place (the spinal cord), all of it (when you have an outbreak, some of the virus remains in your spinal cord), and this allows massive doses of anti-viral drugs to kill it. You can read about it here: http://www.herpescureresearch.org/
So, no cure yet. In high school, I was stuck using Campho Phenique and Carmex on them because there just weren't that many treatments for them. And sadly, some people remember me with the scent of camphor and menthol hanging around me because I had so many outbreaks. I guess it could be worse, I could be stuck with people remembering me for smelling like ass, right? In the last decade, some treatments have been developed that I have found work on the kind you get on your face. I've listed them out below, so that if you, too, are a fever blister sufferer, you can see if they work for you as well:
Viroxyn
This stuff is (to use the old school term) DA BOMB. I love Viroxyn. My dentist at Ole Miss told me about it when I went to get my teeth cleaned with a really bad outbreak (on a side note, my dentist was super hot and had been named one of Oprah's 'Most Eligible Bachelors', so I would have done anything he suggested). Back then, it was really expensive - $90 for a 3-pack. But it worked. And it worked well. I would have paid more.
You can read about Viroxyn here: http://www.viroxynstore.com/. Thankfully, you can get it on the cheap because Walgreen's makes a generic version that works just as well. Here's the Walgreen's link to that product: http://www.walgreens.com/store/c/walgreens-cold-sore-treatment/ID=prod3409298-product. It's $13 for a 2-pack, but they run buy-one-get-one deals on it all the time, so I stock up.
I keep these all over the place - there's a pack above the sink, in my bathroom, in my car, in my purse and diaper bag, I used to keep one in my desk at work. As soon as you feel one coming up, you feel that special tingle, you use it. If you aren't able to catch it in time, use it as soon as you can, and it will be just a little sore by the next day. I recommend this to anyone I run into who has a fever blister. I've been known to give out a vial to complete strangers. This stuff really works, and I'd go kiss whoever invented it, but I'm sure they probably get mouth Herpes too so that may not be a good idea.
Valtrex
Valtrex is a prescription medication that you can take all the time to suppress the bad Herpes (the lady parts Herpes). But, it works on fever blisters, too. I try to make sure I have a refill waiting at the pharmacy just in case I have an outbreak that's just too big for the Viroxyn. When I brought Little Stinker into this world, I had an outbreak that the Viroxyn just couldn't handle - instead of it starting with one and trying to spread like they usually do, I had 10 pop up at one time without the usual tickle warning. When I was in the hospital, my doctor gave me a massive dose of Valtrex, and I wound up having to have another dose prescribed when I left the hospital because they came back. Usually 1 will do it, but sometimes you'll need 2 massive doses if you have a really bad outbreak.
Of course, you may get some funny looks at the pharmacy if you do get it, because it is typically used to treat the other kind of Herpes. Just ignore the looks. Or make sure you make a point to mention that you hope this works on your fever blisters because they really bug you. But know that they'll probably still think you have the other Herpes. Oh well, what can you do?
There are other treatments - Abreva (works well if you only get them occasionally and have never had a really bad outbreak, and it's expensive for a tiny tube), Zovirax (much slower working and less powerful than Valtrex), and others. Some people believe in L-Lysine, but it's never worked for me.
Hopefully this has enlightened both those who are sufferers and those who didn't know anything at all about Herpes. And I hope my recommendations can help someone who has bad fever blisters and hasn't found a good treatment for them yet. Please try not to stare at those of us who get fever blisters - we feel bad enough as it is without you staring at the cluster of blisters hanging off of our mouths like a wad of tiny grapes.
As a fever blister sufferer, I have dealt with Herpes for my whole life. When I was a baby (my mom says I was less than a year old, so it was 1978 or 1979), my cousin's wife used to kiss all over me with a mouth full of cold sores. Shortly thereafter, I started getting cold sores myself. They are triggered by extreme cold, sunburns, stress, too little sleep, and ascorbic acid (in regular terms, Vitamin C). If I have a pimple around my mouth, it develops into a blister too. The Vitamin C one is tough to deal with - I love oranges, apples, tomatoes, tangerines - any fruit that's high in Vitamin C. If I drink a glass of pure, fresh orange juice, eat one orange or one tomato, within hours I start getting a fever blister. I have to drink a lot of apple juice or eat several apples to trigger one. But it still does. I test this theory about twice a year to see if maybe it's changed, but I always just break myself out. If I take a Vitamin C supplement, it doesn't do it - it must have something to do with that acid touching my lips and mouth.
Fever blisters are painful. I've had a few outbreaks where I would sit with ice on my face, just crying. Twice the outbreak has gotten so bad that it's spread up my nose and down my chin and gotten infected with Staph. Thankfully the really bad outbreaks seem to only come every few years, and since I have found a good product to deal with them, I haven't had one in a while. When you have one, it kind of takes over your thinking. You have this burning, itching sensation that just won't go away. And you can feel this growth on your face, when you talk, laugh, eat. You have to watch it when you brush your teeth, and you have to throw your toothbrush away to keep from spreading it when it's gone. It's hard to keep your hands away from it. You can't kiss your spouse or your kids. Those blisters burst, then you have to make sure the fluid inside is not spreading down your chin. The resulting scab after they burst is almost as bad, because they get hard and tight. When you go anywhere, you think that people are just staring at the thing hanging off of your face. Ever had a really, really bad zit that you felt was like a fetus hanging off your face like the South Park character? That's what a fever blister feels like. Except it's a really really painful fetus hanging off your face.
Each time I get one, I'm so grateful that I don't get the other Herpes on my lady parts. As I stated above, that crap hurts like hell on my face. If it was down below, I think I would lay in bed and cry all day. Holy God, that would be so bad, and I have a super ginormous amount of sympathy for anyone who does suffer from the other type of Herpes, because I can only imagine what you go through when you have an outbreak.
Herpes has such a stigma attached to it. As a society, we just don't talk about stuff like this. Well guess what? We should!! If people more openly talked about this and other health issues, there wouldn't be as much of a stigma attached. Just because Herpes CAN be spread by sexual activity doesn't mean that it's the ONLY way that it can be spread.
Ever had the chicken pox? Almost everyone my age and older has. Guess what! You had Herpes!! Known anyone who has shingles or have you had them yourself? Yep - again, Herpes. Sometimes Herpes can even cause encephalitis, which can be life-threatening. And you may even have Herpes and not even know it - many cases are asymptomatic (meaning you show no symptoms). Oh, and known anyone who has had Mono? Epstein-Barr virus is a member of the Herpes family as well. Babies can get Roseola (or Sixth Disease) - again, Herpes.
You see, Herpes is very prevalent.
There is no cure for Herpes, as it's a Virus. There is some great research going on now that I would be a test subject for - it forces the virus out of it's dormant hiding place (the spinal cord), all of it (when you have an outbreak, some of the virus remains in your spinal cord), and this allows massive doses of anti-viral drugs to kill it. You can read about it here: http://www.herpescureresearch.org/
So, no cure yet. In high school, I was stuck using Campho Phenique and Carmex on them because there just weren't that many treatments for them. And sadly, some people remember me with the scent of camphor and menthol hanging around me because I had so many outbreaks. I guess it could be worse, I could be stuck with people remembering me for smelling like ass, right? In the last decade, some treatments have been developed that I have found work on the kind you get on your face. I've listed them out below, so that if you, too, are a fever blister sufferer, you can see if they work for you as well:
Viroxyn
This stuff is (to use the old school term) DA BOMB. I love Viroxyn. My dentist at Ole Miss told me about it when I went to get my teeth cleaned with a really bad outbreak (on a side note, my dentist was super hot and had been named one of Oprah's 'Most Eligible Bachelors', so I would have done anything he suggested). Back then, it was really expensive - $90 for a 3-pack. But it worked. And it worked well. I would have paid more.
You can read about Viroxyn here: http://www.viroxynstore.com/. Thankfully, you can get it on the cheap because Walgreen's makes a generic version that works just as well. Here's the Walgreen's link to that product: http://www.walgreens.com/store/c/walgreens-cold-sore-treatment/ID=prod3409298-product. It's $13 for a 2-pack, but they run buy-one-get-one deals on it all the time, so I stock up.
I keep these all over the place - there's a pack above the sink, in my bathroom, in my car, in my purse and diaper bag, I used to keep one in my desk at work. As soon as you feel one coming up, you feel that special tingle, you use it. If you aren't able to catch it in time, use it as soon as you can, and it will be just a little sore by the next day. I recommend this to anyone I run into who has a fever blister. I've been known to give out a vial to complete strangers. This stuff really works, and I'd go kiss whoever invented it, but I'm sure they probably get mouth Herpes too so that may not be a good idea.
Valtrex
Valtrex is a prescription medication that you can take all the time to suppress the bad Herpes (the lady parts Herpes). But, it works on fever blisters, too. I try to make sure I have a refill waiting at the pharmacy just in case I have an outbreak that's just too big for the Viroxyn. When I brought Little Stinker into this world, I had an outbreak that the Viroxyn just couldn't handle - instead of it starting with one and trying to spread like they usually do, I had 10 pop up at one time without the usual tickle warning. When I was in the hospital, my doctor gave me a massive dose of Valtrex, and I wound up having to have another dose prescribed when I left the hospital because they came back. Usually 1 will do it, but sometimes you'll need 2 massive doses if you have a really bad outbreak.
Of course, you may get some funny looks at the pharmacy if you do get it, because it is typically used to treat the other kind of Herpes. Just ignore the looks. Or make sure you make a point to mention that you hope this works on your fever blisters because they really bug you. But know that they'll probably still think you have the other Herpes. Oh well, what can you do?
There are other treatments - Abreva (works well if you only get them occasionally and have never had a really bad outbreak, and it's expensive for a tiny tube), Zovirax (much slower working and less powerful than Valtrex), and others. Some people believe in L-Lysine, but it's never worked for me.
Hopefully this has enlightened both those who are sufferers and those who didn't know anything at all about Herpes. And I hope my recommendations can help someone who has bad fever blisters and hasn't found a good treatment for them yet. Please try not to stare at those of us who get fever blisters - we feel bad enough as it is without you staring at the cluster of blisters hanging off of our mouths like a wad of tiny grapes.
1/23/11
Downsizing
Two of my brothers are in and out of jail, and always doing amoral things. When they are in the state of Georgia, and not in jail, I worry all the time about my house and my stuff. Because every time one of them is around me, things go missing in my house. Now, I cannot provide proof that they took it, but amazingly when they are no longer around, things stop going missing. Interesting.
One of them is currently incarcerated in Alabama. He'll be there for a while, so I don't have to worry about that anxiety at least until the summer. The other one got out of jail in August, and we tried to let him stay here to get on his feet, and he immediately started breaking the house rules (#1 - since you're an alcoholic, you cannot drink as long as you stay here, broken within days). Then things started going missing.
We have a split level house, with a separate entrance for the downstairs, and we're able to lock the door between upstairs and downstairs and set the alarm for the upstairs and the garage so we'll know if someone attempts to go either place. Twice while he was at my house, the motion detector for upstairs went off, and it was a minute before I was able to get home. He had ample time to either pilfer through our belongings himself or tell one of his loser friends where they could find things so they could go through things.
And go through our things someone did. Almost all of the things taken were put up in my closet or in the garage, and someone would have to dig to find them. At first, we didn't think there was anything missing - everything appeared to be in their places - none of my jewelry was missing, all of our electronic equipment was untouched - nothing obvious was gone. One of the first things we discovered missing was a checkbook - at first I didn't think he took it because he supposedly wasn't here at the time, but I think he took it now. Then other things started coming up missing. My husband's bow - he didn't discover it was missing until he went to pull it out to practice before hunting season started. His drill - he didn't realize it was missing until he needed it to fix something. Our portable dual-screen DVD system for the car - we didn't realize it was gone until we needed to pull it out for a long trip. One of my kid's Christmas presents - a Nintendo DS that he knew I had because he opened the package when it was delivered and hid it from me and I had to find it then re-hide it in my closet. Other things have come up missing - a webcam, some Microsoft Office software, our GPS unit. And the biggie - my company credit card.
I discovered the company credit card missing when I went to pull it out of our fire safe to turn it in at work when I quit my job. It wasn't in the safe where I kept it, it wasn't in the stack of important papers waiting to be put up, it wasn't in any of my bags, it was just missing. I pulled out an old bill and called to report it lost, and they told me that someone had been using it that week. Amazingly, earlier that week was when an alarm went off. So someone had been having a shopping spree with my company credit card. Of course, I reported it stolen, then I did a police report reporting it stolen, and I told them I think my brother took it. I'm not sure he did - again, we have no proof - he may have given it to someone else to use, I hope some of the places it was used still has the video footage from when it was used so they can nail them.
The irony of this is that just before I quit, one of my coworkers had abused their company credit card and lied about it. They wound up being fired for it. And then BAM! Mine comes up stolen. Wonderful.
My point here is that when we try to help people, we get shat upon. We've helped my husband's cousin, his brother, my brothers, and we almost always come out the losers. I try to be a good person, I live right, I'm nice, I give to charity even when I don't have money to (we do the Salvation Army Tree every year). So we are done helping the mooches in our lives.
My brother J has been in Memphis since before Thanksgiving. I cannot tell you how stress-free my life has been with both of my brothers being nowhere near me (and if you've read my other blog posts, you'd realize that stress-free is a relative term). J was staying with my mom's sister and her sons, but then he allegedly stole some pain medication from one of my cousins, so he got kicked out. My dad had sent him $200 in a week for bus money to come back to Georgia to turn himself in for a warrant he thought he had - I found out that he really doesn't have a warrant, and he was planning on coming back and staying with me even though I explicitly told him he was not staying here. He never got on a bus, he blew the money on liquor and drugs. He at first went missing and no one knew where he was. I was upset, afraid that something had happened to him - as much as I don't want him around me, I still love him and don't want anything to happen to him. But he turned up and had been sleeping in the woods in freezing temperatures. He slept outside for a week, then called my dad crying, so my dad sent him another $100 (that's $300 in less than 2 weeks) for him to get on a bus over here. I told my dad, my mom and my brother that under no circumstances should he step foot on my property, but of course my parents snuck him in downstairs. This morning we found out that my mom hid him in her closet last night so he could sleep here.
Over the years my brother has royally screwed my mom (figuratively speaking of course - we're a jacked-up family, but incest isn't part of that jacked-upness). He has left her homeless before, with no vehicle, while he and his girlfriend were cashing her paychecks and driving around in her truck buying crack with her money. She was left to sleep in a tent in the woods behind her office in a bad part of town, in vacant houses around her office. She was showering at work and at the gym - she was literally homeless. This was while I was finishing up my degree in Mississippi and she and my brother were in Atlanta. She was arrested and went to jail once because of my brother's girlfriend. She blew through her 401K money paying off his and my other brother's legal fees. She couldn't even attend my college graduation because my brother had her vehicle and her money. He has never had to truly pay consequences for his actions, because mama (and sometimes daddy) were there to bail him out.
And even now in her mentally diminished state, she's still trying to do everything for him. Tough love has never been part of her vocabulary. She would give him money for drugs, her reasoning being that she would rather him get it from her than go steal from innocent people (apparently I'm not an innocent person, because when he was at his worst on drugs he stole all kinds of crap from me). My dad's just as bad - my brother has financially ruined him from stealing his checkbooks and debit cards, and he never follows through with pressing charges, and then forgets about it as soon as my brother cries that he needs help.
If I were to express the anger I feel towards my parents and brother right now, Blogger would probably remove my blog, because it would be filled with expletives. My mother, who is a major bleeding heart, asked me how I can be so cruel as to kick him out in the cold - are the things that went missing really more important than a person? Yes, mother, obviously they are, or my brother wouldn't have stolen them from me in the first place, or allowed them to be stolen from me by one of his buddies. So yes, those things were more important to him than me and my children. As for my dad, he said that he feels caught in the middle here, and he didn't do anything. HELLO!!! You sent him the money to come over here knowing that he wasn't welcome in my house, so of course you are caught in the middle, you ignoramus!
We are seriously tempted to file for bankruptcy (there's no way we can sell our house for what we owe on it - like the rest of the country, we're victims to the horrible real estate market) and move to a very small rental house or apartment where we have no room to let anyone stay with us ever again. We've actually discussed me turning over my mom's guardianship/conservatorship to the courts and letting some random lawyer take over, and letting her be put into a nursing home. My dad draws a pension, and he can move somewhere else. He's not capable of living on his own anymore - he's on too many medications, and he cannot regulate them himself. In the past several years, when he does live on his own, he overtakes his medication and winds up in the hospital, then at the end of the month he's seriously short on medicine and has to spend tons of money to buy them off the street. When I administer his medicine to him, he does fine most of the time, when he doesn't solicit his friends for extra medication. He would be a fine candidate for assisted living.
I know my blog will probably be less funny if we do this, but Bama Hubs and I are at our wit's end. We have 3 babies to take care of, and I do not want them raised to think that the family dynamic that I am part of with my mom/dad/brothers is normal, because it's about as far from normal as it gets.
People tell me all the time that I should be thankful that my parents are still alive, and that my brothers are still alive. Part of me is - I do love them. But another part of me wishes that they weren't so dysfunctional. My mom wishes bad things on my kids all the time so that I'll know how she feels when I'm older (she tells me all the time to just wait until my kids get on drugs and start going to jail). That's not normal. At all. And yes, I know there are varying degrees of normal, but that's not even on the normal scale. You don't wish bad things on your grandchildren to spite your daughter!
Anyway, I almost always find humor in these situations, but I think my sense of humor is broken for now. Anger, frustration and years of bad feelings have come to a head and it's time to pop that nasty zit. I may not get rid of the parents if my brother can find elsewhere to go, but if he keeps coming around, by next month we will be residing elsewhere, as I cannot take anymore of this garbage without getting multiple bleeding ulcers.
One of them is currently incarcerated in Alabama. He'll be there for a while, so I don't have to worry about that anxiety at least until the summer. The other one got out of jail in August, and we tried to let him stay here to get on his feet, and he immediately started breaking the house rules (#1 - since you're an alcoholic, you cannot drink as long as you stay here, broken within days). Then things started going missing.
We have a split level house, with a separate entrance for the downstairs, and we're able to lock the door between upstairs and downstairs and set the alarm for the upstairs and the garage so we'll know if someone attempts to go either place. Twice while he was at my house, the motion detector for upstairs went off, and it was a minute before I was able to get home. He had ample time to either pilfer through our belongings himself or tell one of his loser friends where they could find things so they could go through things.
And go through our things someone did. Almost all of the things taken were put up in my closet or in the garage, and someone would have to dig to find them. At first, we didn't think there was anything missing - everything appeared to be in their places - none of my jewelry was missing, all of our electronic equipment was untouched - nothing obvious was gone. One of the first things we discovered missing was a checkbook - at first I didn't think he took it because he supposedly wasn't here at the time, but I think he took it now. Then other things started coming up missing. My husband's bow - he didn't discover it was missing until he went to pull it out to practice before hunting season started. His drill - he didn't realize it was missing until he needed it to fix something. Our portable dual-screen DVD system for the car - we didn't realize it was gone until we needed to pull it out for a long trip. One of my kid's Christmas presents - a Nintendo DS that he knew I had because he opened the package when it was delivered and hid it from me and I had to find it then re-hide it in my closet. Other things have come up missing - a webcam, some Microsoft Office software, our GPS unit. And the biggie - my company credit card.
I discovered the company credit card missing when I went to pull it out of our fire safe to turn it in at work when I quit my job. It wasn't in the safe where I kept it, it wasn't in the stack of important papers waiting to be put up, it wasn't in any of my bags, it was just missing. I pulled out an old bill and called to report it lost, and they told me that someone had been using it that week. Amazingly, earlier that week was when an alarm went off. So someone had been having a shopping spree with my company credit card. Of course, I reported it stolen, then I did a police report reporting it stolen, and I told them I think my brother took it. I'm not sure he did - again, we have no proof - he may have given it to someone else to use, I hope some of the places it was used still has the video footage from when it was used so they can nail them.
The irony of this is that just before I quit, one of my coworkers had abused their company credit card and lied about it. They wound up being fired for it. And then BAM! Mine comes up stolen. Wonderful.
My point here is that when we try to help people, we get shat upon. We've helped my husband's cousin, his brother, my brothers, and we almost always come out the losers. I try to be a good person, I live right, I'm nice, I give to charity even when I don't have money to (we do the Salvation Army Tree every year). So we are done helping the mooches in our lives.
My brother J has been in Memphis since before Thanksgiving. I cannot tell you how stress-free my life has been with both of my brothers being nowhere near me (and if you've read my other blog posts, you'd realize that stress-free is a relative term). J was staying with my mom's sister and her sons, but then he allegedly stole some pain medication from one of my cousins, so he got kicked out. My dad had sent him $200 in a week for bus money to come back to Georgia to turn himself in for a warrant he thought he had - I found out that he really doesn't have a warrant, and he was planning on coming back and staying with me even though I explicitly told him he was not staying here. He never got on a bus, he blew the money on liquor and drugs. He at first went missing and no one knew where he was. I was upset, afraid that something had happened to him - as much as I don't want him around me, I still love him and don't want anything to happen to him. But he turned up and had been sleeping in the woods in freezing temperatures. He slept outside for a week, then called my dad crying, so my dad sent him another $100 (that's $300 in less than 2 weeks) for him to get on a bus over here. I told my dad, my mom and my brother that under no circumstances should he step foot on my property, but of course my parents snuck him in downstairs. This morning we found out that my mom hid him in her closet last night so he could sleep here.
Over the years my brother has royally screwed my mom (figuratively speaking of course - we're a jacked-up family, but incest isn't part of that jacked-upness). He has left her homeless before, with no vehicle, while he and his girlfriend were cashing her paychecks and driving around in her truck buying crack with her money. She was left to sleep in a tent in the woods behind her office in a bad part of town, in vacant houses around her office. She was showering at work and at the gym - she was literally homeless. This was while I was finishing up my degree in Mississippi and she and my brother were in Atlanta. She was arrested and went to jail once because of my brother's girlfriend. She blew through her 401K money paying off his and my other brother's legal fees. She couldn't even attend my college graduation because my brother had her vehicle and her money. He has never had to truly pay consequences for his actions, because mama (and sometimes daddy) were there to bail him out.
And even now in her mentally diminished state, she's still trying to do everything for him. Tough love has never been part of her vocabulary. She would give him money for drugs, her reasoning being that she would rather him get it from her than go steal from innocent people (apparently I'm not an innocent person, because when he was at his worst on drugs he stole all kinds of crap from me). My dad's just as bad - my brother has financially ruined him from stealing his checkbooks and debit cards, and he never follows through with pressing charges, and then forgets about it as soon as my brother cries that he needs help.
If I were to express the anger I feel towards my parents and brother right now, Blogger would probably remove my blog, because it would be filled with expletives. My mother, who is a major bleeding heart, asked me how I can be so cruel as to kick him out in the cold - are the things that went missing really more important than a person? Yes, mother, obviously they are, or my brother wouldn't have stolen them from me in the first place, or allowed them to be stolen from me by one of his buddies. So yes, those things were more important to him than me and my children. As for my dad, he said that he feels caught in the middle here, and he didn't do anything. HELLO!!! You sent him the money to come over here knowing that he wasn't welcome in my house, so of course you are caught in the middle, you ignoramus!
We are seriously tempted to file for bankruptcy (there's no way we can sell our house for what we owe on it - like the rest of the country, we're victims to the horrible real estate market) and move to a very small rental house or apartment where we have no room to let anyone stay with us ever again. We've actually discussed me turning over my mom's guardianship/conservatorship to the courts and letting some random lawyer take over, and letting her be put into a nursing home. My dad draws a pension, and he can move somewhere else. He's not capable of living on his own anymore - he's on too many medications, and he cannot regulate them himself. In the past several years, when he does live on his own, he overtakes his medication and winds up in the hospital, then at the end of the month he's seriously short on medicine and has to spend tons of money to buy them off the street. When I administer his medicine to him, he does fine most of the time, when he doesn't solicit his friends for extra medication. He would be a fine candidate for assisted living.
I know my blog will probably be less funny if we do this, but Bama Hubs and I are at our wit's end. We have 3 babies to take care of, and I do not want them raised to think that the family dynamic that I am part of with my mom/dad/brothers is normal, because it's about as far from normal as it gets.
People tell me all the time that I should be thankful that my parents are still alive, and that my brothers are still alive. Part of me is - I do love them. But another part of me wishes that they weren't so dysfunctional. My mom wishes bad things on my kids all the time so that I'll know how she feels when I'm older (she tells me all the time to just wait until my kids get on drugs and start going to jail). That's not normal. At all. And yes, I know there are varying degrees of normal, but that's not even on the normal scale. You don't wish bad things on your grandchildren to spite your daughter!
Anyway, I almost always find humor in these situations, but I think my sense of humor is broken for now. Anger, frustration and years of bad feelings have come to a head and it's time to pop that nasty zit. I may not get rid of the parents if my brother can find elsewhere to go, but if he keeps coming around, by next month we will be residing elsewhere, as I cannot take anymore of this garbage without getting multiple bleeding ulcers.
1/22/11
Summer of Van
We have a 2003 Dodge Grand Caravan, or as my girls call it, the Dodge Grand Care Bear Van. It's actually been a pretty good vehicle, considering it's a Dodge. Dodge Lovers, don't get your panties in a bunch over that statement. Dodges have issues, everybody knows that. Bama Hubs has a Ram - less than a year after we bought it, we had to have the transmission rebuilt. A friend of mine had the same year Caravan that we have, and he discovered that the automatic lift gate was wired to the interior thermostat, and would only work when it was below 78 degrees. I had a Mitsubishi Eclipse once, when Mitsubishi was owned by Daimler Chrysler, and that thing had all sorts of electrical problems.
My van is not a super duper model. It's got power locks and windows, but no power doors. Although that would be nice, because those things are heavy and they could lead to injury if a kid gets slammed in one while parked on a hill (so far hasn't happened, thank God). In my humble opinion (and experience with jacking up computers in cars by doing something like looking at it) the less automated crap you have, the less you have to worry about it breaking. And that stuff doesn't break cheap. I like having something that the hubs can fix if needed.
The year Little Stinker was born (2009), the van decided that she didn't like us (like most people, I refer to most of my cars as females). When I was about 6 months along, the starter went out and Hubs had to fix that. About two weeks before he was born, the check engine light came on. Hubby took it to Auto Zone and their diagnostics said there was a vacuum leak. He tried to find it but couldn't, and it still ran fine, so we didn't stress over it. We should have taken the check engine light as a warning of things to come.
Later that summer, I was at the YMCA with the kids, trying to work off some of my baby weight (which is still there, by the way). I got in the van to leave and it wouldn’t crank. At first, I thought, no biggie, it’ll crank in a minute. About a year and a half before that, the van went through a period where it wouldn’t crank - the Dodge dealership said that the computer had shown a bad cylinder coil, but it was working fine when I took it in. They said we may have sporadic issues with it. I figured it would be that or that the starter that was put on earlier in the year was faulty. I figured wrong.
I let it sit for a few minutes and tried it again, still wouldn’t crank. I let it sit a few more minutes and again, still no cranking happening. I finally called Bama Hubs at work and told him he needed to come get me and the kids. He was driving my then-work car, a 2007 Honda Civic. He left work, and we loaded 3 car seats into the back of the Civic (a VERY tight fit - if Little Stinker had been in a front-facing seat instead of his infant carrier, they wouldn’t have fit). When we get everything moved to the car, Bama Hubs gets behind the wheel to leave, turns the ignition and nothing.
We have 2 vehicles parked side-by-side in the YMCA parking lot and neither of them will crank. And they’re not old vehicles. Ho-lee Crap. Eldest Daughter starts panicking…we’re never going to make it home, we’ll have to sleep at the YMCA, we’re going to die, etc. I had to get her out of the car seat and calm her down. Then Pumpkin Pie starts screaming, so I had to get her out and calm her down. Thankfully Little Stinker slept through the whole ordeal.
Turns out, my brother had taken the battery out of my car to see if he could get his vehicle to crank and when he put it back, he didn’t hook it up correctly. One of the battery cables had jarred loose on the ride from Hubby’s work to the Y. He hooked it back up and we were off. On the way home I called a tow truck and scheduled for them to pick up the van and bring it home. Hubs wound up changing the fuel pump and the fuel filter in the van later that week.
The next week, I was at my mom’s apartment (this was during the period when she tried to live by herself and wound up moving my brother C and his girlfriend and her 2 kids into the apartment with her). When I got ready to leave, the van cranks fine, but when I back out, it just dies, and wouldn’t start again. It was trying to turn over, but it wouldn’t crank again. I got out of the van, and then I smelled gas. I walked toward the front of the van to open the hood, and damn if I didn’t step in a puddle of gas. I bent over to see what I could see and it appeared that gas was leaking from the van.
Thank God my brother was there at the time - he crawled under the van and discovered that the fuel line had come undone. He clipped it back, and I was able to make it about 20 yards, then it did it again. This time he rigged it a little better and I was able to make it home, but I wound up coasting down into my driveway because it came loose again.
When Hubs got home he found that the brand new clip that came with the brand new fuel line was broken. He put the old clip back on and that did the trick.
But that’s not all that the van had in store for us.
The power steering started messing up. First, it started knocking. Then, it started jerking when we turned. And then came the whine. If you’ve never heard power steering whine, it’s a lovely sound. Bama Hubs bought a new power steering pump, and tried to put it on, but he didn’t have the right tools and couldn’t get the old one off. He just changed the fluid and it fixed it. Occasionally it still gives us some problems, but nothing like it did. We still carry the power steering pump under the back seat in the van in case it goes out while we’re on a trip.
Since that summer, the van hasn’t given us many problems. One of the panels on the sliding door is coming off and needs to be welded back on, and one of the seat belts in the back row isn’t working correctly, and it still has issues cranking sometimes, mostly when it's really cold. But other than that, since the Summer of Van, we haven’t had many problems. And because I actually thought that and typed it out, I’m betting that the engine will blow up later this week. Thankfully, though, we traded the Civic in on another 3-row vehicle, so if it does I'm golden. Unless it blows up too. At least the new one's under warranty.
My van is not a super duper model. It's got power locks and windows, but no power doors. Although that would be nice, because those things are heavy and they could lead to injury if a kid gets slammed in one while parked on a hill (so far hasn't happened, thank God). In my humble opinion (and experience with jacking up computers in cars by doing something like looking at it) the less automated crap you have, the less you have to worry about it breaking. And that stuff doesn't break cheap. I like having something that the hubs can fix if needed.
The year Little Stinker was born (2009), the van decided that she didn't like us (like most people, I refer to most of my cars as females). When I was about 6 months along, the starter went out and Hubs had to fix that. About two weeks before he was born, the check engine light came on. Hubby took it to Auto Zone and their diagnostics said there was a vacuum leak. He tried to find it but couldn't, and it still ran fine, so we didn't stress over it. We should have taken the check engine light as a warning of things to come.
Later that summer, I was at the YMCA with the kids, trying to work off some of my baby weight (which is still there, by the way). I got in the van to leave and it wouldn’t crank. At first, I thought, no biggie, it’ll crank in a minute. About a year and a half before that, the van went through a period where it wouldn’t crank - the Dodge dealership said that the computer had shown a bad cylinder coil, but it was working fine when I took it in. They said we may have sporadic issues with it. I figured it would be that or that the starter that was put on earlier in the year was faulty. I figured wrong.
I let it sit for a few minutes and tried it again, still wouldn’t crank. I let it sit a few more minutes and again, still no cranking happening. I finally called Bama Hubs at work and told him he needed to come get me and the kids. He was driving my then-work car, a 2007 Honda Civic. He left work, and we loaded 3 car seats into the back of the Civic (a VERY tight fit - if Little Stinker had been in a front-facing seat instead of his infant carrier, they wouldn’t have fit). When we get everything moved to the car, Bama Hubs gets behind the wheel to leave, turns the ignition and nothing.
We have 2 vehicles parked side-by-side in the YMCA parking lot and neither of them will crank. And they’re not old vehicles. Ho-lee Crap. Eldest Daughter starts panicking…we’re never going to make it home, we’ll have to sleep at the YMCA, we’re going to die, etc. I had to get her out of the car seat and calm her down. Then Pumpkin Pie starts screaming, so I had to get her out and calm her down. Thankfully Little Stinker slept through the whole ordeal.
Turns out, my brother had taken the battery out of my car to see if he could get his vehicle to crank and when he put it back, he didn’t hook it up correctly. One of the battery cables had jarred loose on the ride from Hubby’s work to the Y. He hooked it back up and we were off. On the way home I called a tow truck and scheduled for them to pick up the van and bring it home. Hubs wound up changing the fuel pump and the fuel filter in the van later that week.
The next week, I was at my mom’s apartment (this was during the period when she tried to live by herself and wound up moving my brother C and his girlfriend and her 2 kids into the apartment with her). When I got ready to leave, the van cranks fine, but when I back out, it just dies, and wouldn’t start again. It was trying to turn over, but it wouldn’t crank again. I got out of the van, and then I smelled gas. I walked toward the front of the van to open the hood, and damn if I didn’t step in a puddle of gas. I bent over to see what I could see and it appeared that gas was leaking from the van.
Thank God my brother was there at the time - he crawled under the van and discovered that the fuel line had come undone. He clipped it back, and I was able to make it about 20 yards, then it did it again. This time he rigged it a little better and I was able to make it home, but I wound up coasting down into my driveway because it came loose again.
When Hubs got home he found that the brand new clip that came with the brand new fuel line was broken. He put the old clip back on and that did the trick.
But that’s not all that the van had in store for us.
The power steering started messing up. First, it started knocking. Then, it started jerking when we turned. And then came the whine. If you’ve never heard power steering whine, it’s a lovely sound. Bama Hubs bought a new power steering pump, and tried to put it on, but he didn’t have the right tools and couldn’t get the old one off. He just changed the fluid and it fixed it. Occasionally it still gives us some problems, but nothing like it did. We still carry the power steering pump under the back seat in the van in case it goes out while we’re on a trip.
Since that summer, the van hasn’t given us many problems. One of the panels on the sliding door is coming off and needs to be welded back on, and one of the seat belts in the back row isn’t working correctly, and it still has issues cranking sometimes, mostly when it's really cold. But other than that, since the Summer of Van, we haven’t had many problems. And because I actually thought that and typed it out, I’m betting that the engine will blow up later this week. Thankfully, though, we traded the Civic in on another 3-row vehicle, so if it does I'm golden. Unless it blows up too. At least the new one's under warranty.
1/21/11
IDD
This should be a new 'The More You Know' spot on NBC. And it is a joke, because I get really tired of stupid people.
(Imagine some melancholy music playing, like Sarah Maclachlan singing on those creepy ASPCA commercials, or the music that played when Sally Struthers used to do her spots about children starving in Africa. I picture Oprah or Ellen doing the narrating.)
There is a condition that is quickly gaining a foothold in our country, and it's a serious problem. It has recently been recognized by the American Medical Association, as so many Americans have this debilitating sickness.
I'm referring to Idiotic Dumbshit Disorder, or IDD.
This illness just takes over people's lives and makes them make horrible decisions. So many celebrities have IDD - Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Heidi Montag, Spencer Pratt, Sarah Palin, the entire cast of Jersey Shore and The Bad Girls Club, and many, many more. But it not only affects celebrities - regular people have IDD, too. Don't get angry at the person who cuts you off in the carpool lane at school - they may have IDD, and they can't help it. Be more patient with the lady behind the desk at the Driver's License or Tag office - poor thing has IDD (as many of you know, the government has a no discrimination policy when it comes to IDD). When someone just seems to be a really big idiot, remember that they may just have IDD, and they can't be held responsible for their behavior.
New research has shown that 99% of married men develop IDD when their wives ask them to do something. Similarly, 100% of children show signs of IDD when they are told to clean their rooms. The people who are arrested on the shows COPS and any of the 'Police Women of XXX County' all have been diagnosed with IDD. All of the guests on Jerry Springer, Maury Povich or any of the courtroom shows must have IDD to be allowed to go on the air.
Research is still ongoing to find out how one contracts IDD. In some cases, it's congenital, and there appears to be a genetic link. If one or both of your parents suffer from IDD, you are more than likely going to show symptoms, probably in childhood. Sometimes it's brought on by alcohol or drug use (conversely, IDD can cause alcohol or drug consumption - it's a chicken/egg quandary). Sometimes people just wake up one day and have IDD. If you truly do not have IDD, after being around someone with IDD for any length of time, you may feel as if you do have it, but scientists don't think it's contagious, so once you are away from the affected individual, you should return to normal quickly.
Symptoms of IDD may include being named Sarah Palin, extensive unnecessary plastic surgery, media whoring, bad driving, taking pictures of yourself doing the 'duckface'. There are many other symptoms - the CDC has the full fact sheet. Treatment of IDD is tricky - education sometimes cures the disorder, but is not 100% effective. Many people who have IDD will unfortunately never be cured and must go through life suffering and making those around them suffer as well with their bouts of idiocy and dumbshitness.
Please, please, don't judge those people afflicted with IDD. They just can't help it, bless their hearts.
(Imagine some melancholy music playing, like Sarah Maclachlan singing on those creepy ASPCA commercials, or the music that played when Sally Struthers used to do her spots about children starving in Africa. I picture Oprah or Ellen doing the narrating.)
There is a condition that is quickly gaining a foothold in our country, and it's a serious problem. It has recently been recognized by the American Medical Association, as so many Americans have this debilitating sickness.
I'm referring to Idiotic Dumbshit Disorder, or IDD.
This illness just takes over people's lives and makes them make horrible decisions. So many celebrities have IDD - Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Heidi Montag, Spencer Pratt, Sarah Palin, the entire cast of Jersey Shore and The Bad Girls Club, and many, many more. But it not only affects celebrities - regular people have IDD, too. Don't get angry at the person who cuts you off in the carpool lane at school - they may have IDD, and they can't help it. Be more patient with the lady behind the desk at the Driver's License or Tag office - poor thing has IDD (as many of you know, the government has a no discrimination policy when it comes to IDD). When someone just seems to be a really big idiot, remember that they may just have IDD, and they can't be held responsible for their behavior.
New research has shown that 99% of married men develop IDD when their wives ask them to do something. Similarly, 100% of children show signs of IDD when they are told to clean their rooms. The people who are arrested on the shows COPS and any of the 'Police Women of XXX County' all have been diagnosed with IDD. All of the guests on Jerry Springer, Maury Povich or any of the courtroom shows must have IDD to be allowed to go on the air.
Research is still ongoing to find out how one contracts IDD. In some cases, it's congenital, and there appears to be a genetic link. If one or both of your parents suffer from IDD, you are more than likely going to show symptoms, probably in childhood. Sometimes it's brought on by alcohol or drug use (conversely, IDD can cause alcohol or drug consumption - it's a chicken/egg quandary). Sometimes people just wake up one day and have IDD. If you truly do not have IDD, after being around someone with IDD for any length of time, you may feel as if you do have it, but scientists don't think it's contagious, so once you are away from the affected individual, you should return to normal quickly.
Symptoms of IDD may include being named Sarah Palin, extensive unnecessary plastic surgery, media whoring, bad driving, taking pictures of yourself doing the 'duckface'. There are many other symptoms - the CDC has the full fact sheet. Treatment of IDD is tricky - education sometimes cures the disorder, but is not 100% effective. Many people who have IDD will unfortunately never be cured and must go through life suffering and making those around them suffer as well with their bouts of idiocy and dumbshitness.
Please, please, don't judge those people afflicted with IDD. They just can't help it, bless their hearts.
1/20/11
Mommy Torture
There is a Family Guy clip where Stewie, the baby, is saying 'Mom' several different ways to get his mom's attention. Finally she snaps and screams 'WHAT???!!' with this evil look on her face. And he simply says 'Hi', giggles and runs out of the room. You can view this wonderful piece of reality-based art below:
I know that face! I make that face at least 494 times a day.
Little Stinker has discovered the art of doing exactly what Stewie is doing in the video above. The girls already perfected this long ago, but they have outgrown it most of the time (they still have relapses). But Little Stinker still does it. A lot. Did I mention I make that face about 494 times a day?
The other day I was reading an old article about waterboarding, and I thought, 'If anyone ever wanted to torture me, they'd just have to put a small child with a whiny, high-pitched voice in the room with me and make them say 'mommy' in as many ways possible in quick succession, and dammit, I believe I'd tell anyone anything they wanted to know.' I would spill it like the fat kid in The Goonies - telling everything about myself, blubbering, if they would just make it stop.
I really think that this could fly as a new form of torture. If any country caught a woman spying, they could find out if she was a mother. If she did procreate, just put a kid like Little Stinker in the room with her to fling 'mommies' at her. In no time at all she would give up her country, and she'd probably agree to be a double agent and spy on her own country. For real. It would be cheap - the torturers would just have a 'bring your kid to work' day and make sure everyone brings the whiniest kids to the torture sessions. To anyone who's not a mother, it would be considered humane and nobody could be charged with anything. You wouldn't find anybody being sentenced to 10 years in prison for this. Us moms know otherwise, though, as this is inhumane. Terribly inhumane.
Seriously, this would work. It works on me all the time.
I know that face! I make that face at least 494 times a day.
Little Stinker has discovered the art of doing exactly what Stewie is doing in the video above. The girls already perfected this long ago, but they have outgrown it most of the time (they still have relapses). But Little Stinker still does it. A lot. Did I mention I make that face about 494 times a day?
The other day I was reading an old article about waterboarding, and I thought, 'If anyone ever wanted to torture me, they'd just have to put a small child with a whiny, high-pitched voice in the room with me and make them say 'mommy' in as many ways possible in quick succession, and dammit, I believe I'd tell anyone anything they wanted to know.' I would spill it like the fat kid in The Goonies - telling everything about myself, blubbering, if they would just make it stop.
I really think that this could fly as a new form of torture. If any country caught a woman spying, they could find out if she was a mother. If she did procreate, just put a kid like Little Stinker in the room with her to fling 'mommies' at her. In no time at all she would give up her country, and she'd probably agree to be a double agent and spy on her own country. For real. It would be cheap - the torturers would just have a 'bring your kid to work' day and make sure everyone brings the whiniest kids to the torture sessions. To anyone who's not a mother, it would be considered humane and nobody could be charged with anything. You wouldn't find anybody being sentenced to 10 years in prison for this. Us moms know otherwise, though, as this is inhumane. Terribly inhumane.
Seriously, this would work. It works on me all the time.
1/19/11
Me Time - Only for Husbands
My doctor recently put me on a weight loss drug (aka legal crystal meth). He also 'prescribed' a regimen of healthy eating and exercise - let's face it, we all know how to lose weight, it's common sense, but I guess getting it from a doctor gives it a little more emphasis, so I really want to try to stick with it this time.
Before I left his office, he said that he also wants me to take 30 minutes of 'me' time every day, regardless of what's going on. I looked at him with what I'm sure was my best 'I really really want to be a smartass right now but am trying really hard not to act on that impulse' face. Inside my head I was laughing hysterically. In fact, the Cindy in my mind had already peed her pants and fell off the table from laughing so hard. The Cindy sitting at the table continued to stare at the doctor with that comical look on her face.
He knows I have 3 kids. He knows I have my (divorced for 20 years) parents living with me. He knows I have a husband. Any 1 of those things would be prohibitive to even 5 seconds of 'me' time (especially with my hubby). All three of them together means I actually have a negative amount of time (I think there's a theory in physics for this phenomenon, a really hard equation).
Dude, I can't even take a crap by myself. Showering? Yeah, baby's trying to jump in with me. If I have to change a feminine sanitary product, I have 3 little pairs of eyes staring, asking questions that they're not old enough to know yet. There is no way I can get 30 minutes to myself every day, I can't even pee in private, just not possible.
When I told Bama Hubs, he said that I get time to myself when the baby is asleep. So I asked him if the definition of 'me' time meant time spent with someone else, because if the baby is asleep, more than likely mama or daddy are going to be coming up the stairs.
What about when you're sitting in the carpool.
Really? Really?
Ok, you go to the grocery store, you're by yourself sometimes then.
Blank stare.
So, husband is not supportive of 'me' time, because my 'me' time interferes with his Playstation or watching football/NASCAR/basketball/baseball/golf/tennis/bowling/poker/air hockey game watching time - he actually has to do something with the kids.
Occasionally I get to take a bath. The entire time I'm in the tub, a child is knocking on the door. Here is an example of how relaxing my bath time is:
Kid knocks on the door (which is locked, I ain't stupid).
What are you doing mommy?
I'm taking a bath honey.
Three seconds later, 2nd kid knocks on the door.
What are you doing mommy?
Taking a bath.
Another 4 seconds lapses, 1st kid is back at the door.
What are you doing now mommy?
Still taking a bath.
7 seconds later, 2nd kid is back.
Mommy! When are you gonna be done?
In a little while.
Then the baby comes and slaps the door.
Mama! Mama! Mommy! Moommmeee! Mami! Mama! Mommy!
Then he collapses into a heap against the door wailing because I won't let him in.
Then both girls run up and bang on the door at the same time - keep in mind that Bama Hubs is 'watching' them.
Mommy! She hit me!
No she bit me first!
No she kicked me first!
No she pinched me first!
No she scratched me first!
WHAAAAAA!
Then I lose it. That's when they get to hear mommy sound like an alien.
BAMA HUBS!!!!!!!!!! WHATINTHESAMHELLAREYOUDOINGWHYAREYOUNOT
WATCHINGTHEKIDSSOICANTAKEADAMNBATHYOUASSHOLE???!!!
So now my relaxing bath has turned into a blood pressure raising soak from hell. I'm mad, the kids are upset and crying, and my husband is mad because he has to get up from the recliner to come get the kids away from the bathroom.
As he's griping about having to do it because he's missing the game/race/whatever, I remind him (in my loudest, most high pitch voice so that I can be heard through the door) that we have a EFFIN DVR and he can GD pause live television, DOUCHEBAG! To which he replies that I should stop being such a bitch.
So, even when I try to have 'me' time, I cannot. And I know it sounds like I have a horrible husband - I really don't. He puts up with a lot (he has to live with his in-laws and put up with a lot from them and my brothers), and he is a good dad. But he fails to realize that I put up with all that, too, and then him being a d-bag on top of all the other drama.
So, anyway, I digress. Back to my point of 'me' time. Even when I am able to get it, I don't truly get it. I'm never alone - most of my friends who are married, have kids or both, also have no 'me' time for themselves. Some of my friends have good husbands, or parents who will eagerly take the kids off their hands for them. To those friends, I'm glad for you, I really am. But at the same time a little part of me is jealous and wants to beat you up, snatch your 'me' time and run away with it, laughing as I go. And one of the reasons I'm jealous is because before my mom's aneurysm rupture, I had 'me' time. So I know what I'm missing.
I have started going back to the gym and putting the kids in the child watch so I can at least get a little exercise in without the kids. It's about the only 'me' time I can manage right now. And it's not every day, but it'll have to do. Maybe Bama Hubs will start to see that when I have a little time to myself, I'm not such a big bitch, and he will be a little better about watching the kids. Yeah, I know, you're right, that won't happen.
Before I left his office, he said that he also wants me to take 30 minutes of 'me' time every day, regardless of what's going on. I looked at him with what I'm sure was my best 'I really really want to be a smartass right now but am trying really hard not to act on that impulse' face. Inside my head I was laughing hysterically. In fact, the Cindy in my mind had already peed her pants and fell off the table from laughing so hard. The Cindy sitting at the table continued to stare at the doctor with that comical look on her face.
He knows I have 3 kids. He knows I have my (divorced for 20 years) parents living with me. He knows I have a husband. Any 1 of those things would be prohibitive to even 5 seconds of 'me' time (especially with my hubby). All three of them together means I actually have a negative amount of time (I think there's a theory in physics for this phenomenon, a really hard equation).
Dude, I can't even take a crap by myself. Showering? Yeah, baby's trying to jump in with me. If I have to change a feminine sanitary product, I have 3 little pairs of eyes staring, asking questions that they're not old enough to know yet. There is no way I can get 30 minutes to myself every day, I can't even pee in private, just not possible.
When I told Bama Hubs, he said that I get time to myself when the baby is asleep. So I asked him if the definition of 'me' time meant time spent with someone else, because if the baby is asleep, more than likely mama or daddy are going to be coming up the stairs.
What about when you're sitting in the carpool.
Really? Really?
Ok, you go to the grocery store, you're by yourself sometimes then.
Blank stare.
So, husband is not supportive of 'me' time, because my 'me' time interferes with his Playstation or watching football/NASCAR/basketball/baseball/golf/tennis/bowling/poker/air hockey game watching time - he actually has to do something with the kids.
Occasionally I get to take a bath. The entire time I'm in the tub, a child is knocking on the door. Here is an example of how relaxing my bath time is:
Kid knocks on the door (which is locked, I ain't stupid).
What are you doing mommy?
I'm taking a bath honey.
Three seconds later, 2nd kid knocks on the door.
What are you doing mommy?
Taking a bath.
Another 4 seconds lapses, 1st kid is back at the door.
What are you doing now mommy?
Still taking a bath.
7 seconds later, 2nd kid is back.
Mommy! When are you gonna be done?
In a little while.
Then the baby comes and slaps the door.
Mama! Mama! Mommy! Moommmeee! Mami! Mama! Mommy!
Then he collapses into a heap against the door wailing because I won't let him in.
Then both girls run up and bang on the door at the same time - keep in mind that Bama Hubs is 'watching' them.
Mommy! She hit me!
No she bit me first!
No she kicked me first!
No she pinched me first!
No she scratched me first!
WHAAAAAA!
Then I lose it. That's when they get to hear mommy sound like an alien.
BAMA HUBS!!!!!!!!!! WHATINTHESAMHELLAREYOUDOINGWHYAREYOUNOT
WATCHINGTHEKIDSSOICANTAKEADAMNBATHYOUASSHOLE???!!!
So now my relaxing bath has turned into a blood pressure raising soak from hell. I'm mad, the kids are upset and crying, and my husband is mad because he has to get up from the recliner to come get the kids away from the bathroom.
As he's griping about having to do it because he's missing the game/race/whatever, I remind him (in my loudest, most high pitch voice so that I can be heard through the door) that we have a EFFIN DVR and he can GD pause live television, DOUCHEBAG! To which he replies that I should stop being such a bitch.
So, even when I try to have 'me' time, I cannot. And I know it sounds like I have a horrible husband - I really don't. He puts up with a lot (he has to live with his in-laws and put up with a lot from them and my brothers), and he is a good dad. But he fails to realize that I put up with all that, too, and then him being a d-bag on top of all the other drama.
So, anyway, I digress. Back to my point of 'me' time. Even when I am able to get it, I don't truly get it. I'm never alone - most of my friends who are married, have kids or both, also have no 'me' time for themselves. Some of my friends have good husbands, or parents who will eagerly take the kids off their hands for them. To those friends, I'm glad for you, I really am. But at the same time a little part of me is jealous and wants to beat you up, snatch your 'me' time and run away with it, laughing as I go. And one of the reasons I'm jealous is because before my mom's aneurysm rupture, I had 'me' time. So I know what I'm missing.
I have started going back to the gym and putting the kids in the child watch so I can at least get a little exercise in without the kids. It's about the only 'me' time I can manage right now. And it's not every day, but it'll have to do. Maybe Bama Hubs will start to see that when I have a little time to myself, I'm not such a big bitch, and he will be a little better about watching the kids. Yeah, I know, you're right, that won't happen.
1/18/11
Crayons
With three kids in this house, there are always crayons everywhere. With a baby and a dog in the house, some mammal is always eating a crayon. You would not believe some of the poopies that come out of Little Stinker and the dog - at least twice a week, I get a colorful surprise in the diaper or left for me on the floor.
What is it with crayons? Why are they so appealing? Are they really that tasty? Do they ease constipation? I can't remember eating crayons when I was little, but then, that was 30 years ago, so maybe the formula has changed. I know the girls ate their share of crayons, but I don't think they ate the amount that Little Stinker does. And I've never seen a dog enjoy crayons more than my puppy. If she was starving and had the choice of a crayon and her puppy chow, she'd go for the crayon. Even when they're up out of the way, she will work at it and work at it until she knocks them down to get to them.
The other day I got curious. I was cleaning up the living room and came across some of the kid's crayons they had left in the floor and the dog hadn't gotten to yet. I made sure no one was looking (my girls would make so much fun of me if they saw me sampling a crayon because they are, after all, my children) - then I licked the crayon. Honestly, I don't see what the hype is about. Maybe it's like a truffle - the good stuff's on the inside. If I bit into it, would I get a burst of Crayola flavor? I didn't want to go that far. Licking a crayon is one thing, but actually biting it and chewing it - um, no thanks.
Hopefully the baby won't develop pica (the compulsion to eat non-food things). I can't afford therapy to treat that. And hopefully the puppy will grow out of her affinity for crayons. My kids need to color, and I really don't want to buy a new pack of crayons every week because the dog and baby keep devouring them.
What is it with crayons? Why are they so appealing? Are they really that tasty? Do they ease constipation? I can't remember eating crayons when I was little, but then, that was 30 years ago, so maybe the formula has changed. I know the girls ate their share of crayons, but I don't think they ate the amount that Little Stinker does. And I've never seen a dog enjoy crayons more than my puppy. If she was starving and had the choice of a crayon and her puppy chow, she'd go for the crayon. Even when they're up out of the way, she will work at it and work at it until she knocks them down to get to them.
The other day I got curious. I was cleaning up the living room and came across some of the kid's crayons they had left in the floor and the dog hadn't gotten to yet. I made sure no one was looking (my girls would make so much fun of me if they saw me sampling a crayon because they are, after all, my children) - then I licked the crayon. Honestly, I don't see what the hype is about. Maybe it's like a truffle - the good stuff's on the inside. If I bit into it, would I get a burst of Crayola flavor? I didn't want to go that far. Licking a crayon is one thing, but actually biting it and chewing it - um, no thanks.
Hopefully the baby won't develop pica (the compulsion to eat non-food things). I can't afford therapy to treat that. And hopefully the puppy will grow out of her affinity for crayons. My kids need to color, and I really don't want to buy a new pack of crayons every week because the dog and baby keep devouring them.
1/17/11
Mommy Blog Jinx
I just read this post in the NY Times online:
http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/14/the-mom-blog-jinx/
The interesting part of that article was not the article itself, but the comments. People are so judgemental and easy to point fingers. I follow Dawn Meehan's blog, and it is hilarious. The people who left comments criticizing her really need to just kiss someone's ass. I'd offer mine up, but my blog doesn't get enough traffic to do any good.
Everyone has a story, let's face it. Everyone's story is different. But some people's stories are just more interesting than others. More things happen to them, and each person must find a way to deal with those events in their lives.
As one of those folks who fall into the 'more things happen to them' category, my way of dealing with the chaos has always been to talk. I am the queen of oversharing, always have been, probably since elementary school. Anything that happens, I talk about it. I try to see the humor in it, even in really bad situations. If there is no humor, there is always irony. Sharing my stories with people has always been my own brand of therapy, of staying sane. Keeping my sanity is important, since mental illness runs in my family. Making people laugh was a bonus. Dawn seems to have a similar way of dealing with things - just talk about them, get them out into the open and laugh, sometimes until you cry.
Those people who criticized Dawn and other mommy bloggers for putting things out there need to realize that people have been writing down what happens to them for years. If not for people writing down what happens to them, this world would be without the hilarity of David Sedaris. We wouldn't have cried while reading Anne Frank's experience hiding in an attic. And since most comedians draw on their personal experiences to come up with their acts, we would be without the humor of stand-up comics making us shoot our beverages out of our noses. I would bet that a gigantic portion of fiction was based on something that someone actually experienced. Without people keeping journals, writing memoirs, or telling about funny things that have happened to them, this world would be a dull, dull place.
So, Dawn, keep blogging! I know you're busy, I know you have a lot on your plate, but you give so much to the other moms who have a lot to deal with by giving us somewhere to go and laugh as we relate to your stories.
And for anyone who reads my blog, go take a look at Dawn's blog so you can see just how funny she is - you won't be disappointed!
http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com/
http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/14/the-mom-blog-jinx/
The interesting part of that article was not the article itself, but the comments. People are so judgemental and easy to point fingers. I follow Dawn Meehan's blog, and it is hilarious. The people who left comments criticizing her really need to just kiss someone's ass. I'd offer mine up, but my blog doesn't get enough traffic to do any good.
Everyone has a story, let's face it. Everyone's story is different. But some people's stories are just more interesting than others. More things happen to them, and each person must find a way to deal with those events in their lives.
As one of those folks who fall into the 'more things happen to them' category, my way of dealing with the chaos has always been to talk. I am the queen of oversharing, always have been, probably since elementary school. Anything that happens, I talk about it. I try to see the humor in it, even in really bad situations. If there is no humor, there is always irony. Sharing my stories with people has always been my own brand of therapy, of staying sane. Keeping my sanity is important, since mental illness runs in my family. Making people laugh was a bonus. Dawn seems to have a similar way of dealing with things - just talk about them, get them out into the open and laugh, sometimes until you cry.
Those people who criticized Dawn and other mommy bloggers for putting things out there need to realize that people have been writing down what happens to them for years. If not for people writing down what happens to them, this world would be without the hilarity of David Sedaris. We wouldn't have cried while reading Anne Frank's experience hiding in an attic. And since most comedians draw on their personal experiences to come up with their acts, we would be without the humor of stand-up comics making us shoot our beverages out of our noses. I would bet that a gigantic portion of fiction was based on something that someone actually experienced. Without people keeping journals, writing memoirs, or telling about funny things that have happened to them, this world would be a dull, dull place.
So, Dawn, keep blogging! I know you're busy, I know you have a lot on your plate, but you give so much to the other moms who have a lot to deal with by giving us somewhere to go and laugh as we relate to your stories.
And for anyone who reads my blog, go take a look at Dawn's blog so you can see just how funny she is - you won't be disappointed!
http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com/
1/16/11
Jelly Tummy
When I was pregnant with my first baby, every woman I talked to told me that yes, birthing a baby hurt, but you would forget the pain, and it was all worth it. I knew that you could crap yourself while pushing a baby out. I was prepared for that. I knew that you may need an episiotomy, or that your 'taint' may rip all the way down to your butthole. I was prepared for that. I knew that breastfeeding was hard, that it may hurt at first and that your nipples can get raw and bleed. I was prepared for that. I knew things could go wrong during labor and you may need a C-Section. I was prepared for that. I was ready for whatever pre-pregnancy, birth and postpartem event was thrown at me. Except one, and it was a doozie.
With Eldest Daughter, I wound up being in labor for 12 hours (10 hours with no pain relief), then wound up having to have a C-Section when her heart rate became undetectable. I did experience some horrific contractions, but I didn't have to push, and I didn't rip or have to get cut. The nursing part was pretty bad - we were both learning how to do it and it wasn't pleasant those first few weeks.
But what no one prepared me for was (que ominous sound).....jelly tummy. In movies and TV shows, when a woman has a baby, her stomach immediately goes back to the way it was before. Even though I was around babies and kids all the time, I rarely was around a woman after she had just had a baby, and then if I was, they were layered under covers or holding the baby all the time, so I never truly SAW. In reality, you are left with a giant blob of flesh hanging off of your midsection. When you breathe, jelly tummy jiggles. Cough - jelly tummy jiggles. Laugh - jelly tummy jiggles. And you can't hide it. Although it doesn't stick out as far as your full-term belly did, it still sticks out farther than your boobs, so even if you have big boobies and are normally able to hide your belly by wearing a peasant blouse or something, there is no disguising the jelly tummy. So when you walk, the jelly tummy sways side to side with every step you take, and no matter how much you suck it in, it's always there.
I hate the jelly tummy. I wish someone would have warned me about the jelly tummy, but no one did. And it's very common - many of my friends who have kids admit to having them now. Not everybody gets the dreaded jelly tummy, and for those who don't get it, know that the rest of us hate you. I asked my doctor after having Pumpkin Pie if it will ever go away, and he says it will get better, but it may never go away without surgery, especially with 2 C-Sections, since all of those abdominal muscles were cut. He asked me how my mom's was, but my mom had a tummy tuck when she had her hysterectomy, so I really don't know.
And jelly tummy gets worse with each baby you have. If all of your babies were born via C-Section, that jelly tummy gets really, really bad. After having Little Stinker, my jelly tummy was still there after almost a year.
Now that I'm done having kids, and Little Stinker will be 2 in 4 months, I don't exactly have jelly tummy. I still have extra tummy, that's for sure. But now my jelly tummy has turned into the dreaded dunlap disease (you know, the belly's done lapped over the belt). I have what plastic surgeons call a 'bib'. A jiggly bib - it's like the jelly tummy just dropped down and hangs there, taunting me. I'm hoping that when I get the weight off, the bib will at least shrink, maybe disappear completely, but I'm not holding out hope for that to happen. So once I get the weight off and give my skin plenty of time to bounce back on its own, I'm going to go get the 'mommy tuck' and get rid of the remnants of the jelly tummy and the damned bib as soon as we can afford it, giving the jelly tummy a final 'up yours'.
Having kids is wonderful, and it's definitely worth it. But know that the jelly tummy will be waiting for you.
With Eldest Daughter, I wound up being in labor for 12 hours (10 hours with no pain relief), then wound up having to have a C-Section when her heart rate became undetectable. I did experience some horrific contractions, but I didn't have to push, and I didn't rip or have to get cut. The nursing part was pretty bad - we were both learning how to do it and it wasn't pleasant those first few weeks.
But what no one prepared me for was (que ominous sound).....jelly tummy. In movies and TV shows, when a woman has a baby, her stomach immediately goes back to the way it was before. Even though I was around babies and kids all the time, I rarely was around a woman after she had just had a baby, and then if I was, they were layered under covers or holding the baby all the time, so I never truly SAW. In reality, you are left with a giant blob of flesh hanging off of your midsection. When you breathe, jelly tummy jiggles. Cough - jelly tummy jiggles. Laugh - jelly tummy jiggles. And you can't hide it. Although it doesn't stick out as far as your full-term belly did, it still sticks out farther than your boobs, so even if you have big boobies and are normally able to hide your belly by wearing a peasant blouse or something, there is no disguising the jelly tummy. So when you walk, the jelly tummy sways side to side with every step you take, and no matter how much you suck it in, it's always there.
I hate the jelly tummy. I wish someone would have warned me about the jelly tummy, but no one did. And it's very common - many of my friends who have kids admit to having them now. Not everybody gets the dreaded jelly tummy, and for those who don't get it, know that the rest of us hate you. I asked my doctor after having Pumpkin Pie if it will ever go away, and he says it will get better, but it may never go away without surgery, especially with 2 C-Sections, since all of those abdominal muscles were cut. He asked me how my mom's was, but my mom had a tummy tuck when she had her hysterectomy, so I really don't know.
And jelly tummy gets worse with each baby you have. If all of your babies were born via C-Section, that jelly tummy gets really, really bad. After having Little Stinker, my jelly tummy was still there after almost a year.
Now that I'm done having kids, and Little Stinker will be 2 in 4 months, I don't exactly have jelly tummy. I still have extra tummy, that's for sure. But now my jelly tummy has turned into the dreaded dunlap disease (you know, the belly's done lapped over the belt). I have what plastic surgeons call a 'bib'. A jiggly bib - it's like the jelly tummy just dropped down and hangs there, taunting me. I'm hoping that when I get the weight off, the bib will at least shrink, maybe disappear completely, but I'm not holding out hope for that to happen. So once I get the weight off and give my skin plenty of time to bounce back on its own, I'm going to go get the 'mommy tuck' and get rid of the remnants of the jelly tummy and the damned bib as soon as we can afford it, giving the jelly tummy a final 'up yours'.
Having kids is wonderful, and it's definitely worth it. But know that the jelly tummy will be waiting for you.
1/15/11
How to Spice Up Your Marriage
Bama Hubs and I aren't particularly romantic. I've never been a 'candlight and roses' kind of girl. Maybe it's because I was raised with all boys, and I had no-nonsense, no-frills women for my mom and grandma (my mom's mom, who I was really close to). My grandma's idea of a romantic vacation was taking the RV and heading to the lake to fish all week. My mother-in-law is another one of the no-nonsense, no-frills women, so I'm pretty sure my hubby grew up in a similar non-romantic household.
So, one might ask, since neither of you are romantic, how do you keep that spark alive in your marriage?
Funny you should ask. Normally, I'll do little things for him, like make sure the coffeemaker is ready to go in the mornings when he gets up, or make sure he has enough clean underwear to make it through the week. He considers keeping the cars maintained and the grass mowed as his 'little things'. When he's feeling particularly loving, he'll cook something on the grill. But sometimes we need more.
At Christmas, we received a gag gift. In this gag gift was a bag full of fake roaches. A few weeks ago, the kids discovered the roaches. They know I hate roaches, so they started putting them on me. All the time. I'd be washing the dishes and Pumpkin Pie would come up to me and put the roach on my shoe then squal with laughter - 'Mommy, there's a roach on your shoe!' Eldest Daughter would sneak up behind me while I was folding clothes and put one on my shoulder - 'Mommy, there's a roach on your shoulder!' Even Little Stinker tried to get in on it - he came running up to me with his mouth open, giggling, and there was a fake roach hanging out of his mouth.
One night I found one in the kitchen floor, so I picked it up and put it on the counter. I knew that the hubs would be up before me and that he wouldn't turn all the lights on in the house so as not to wake everybody up. So I put the roach onto the paper towel where his coffee cup was drying out for him to find when he was making his coffee. When I got up, the roach was positioned as if it were trying to crawl onto the water faucet on the sink.
So now, that's our thing. We leave the fake roach in various places for the other to find. It's our version of 'Elf on the Shelf'. Last night I dropped it into his lunch bag. This morning he put it on top of the coffeemaker. It's actually fun - we both look forward to finding the stupid plastic roach. Silly, I know, but it works for us. Get out there and find your own version of the plastic roach to keep your marriage exciting.
The Roach on the Coffeemaker.
So, one might ask, since neither of you are romantic, how do you keep that spark alive in your marriage?
Funny you should ask. Normally, I'll do little things for him, like make sure the coffeemaker is ready to go in the mornings when he gets up, or make sure he has enough clean underwear to make it through the week. He considers keeping the cars maintained and the grass mowed as his 'little things'. When he's feeling particularly loving, he'll cook something on the grill. But sometimes we need more.
At Christmas, we received a gag gift. In this gag gift was a bag full of fake roaches. A few weeks ago, the kids discovered the roaches. They know I hate roaches, so they started putting them on me. All the time. I'd be washing the dishes and Pumpkin Pie would come up to me and put the roach on my shoe then squal with laughter - 'Mommy, there's a roach on your shoe!' Eldest Daughter would sneak up behind me while I was folding clothes and put one on my shoulder - 'Mommy, there's a roach on your shoulder!' Even Little Stinker tried to get in on it - he came running up to me with his mouth open, giggling, and there was a fake roach hanging out of his mouth.
One night I found one in the kitchen floor, so I picked it up and put it on the counter. I knew that the hubs would be up before me and that he wouldn't turn all the lights on in the house so as not to wake everybody up. So I put the roach onto the paper towel where his coffee cup was drying out for him to find when he was making his coffee. When I got up, the roach was positioned as if it were trying to crawl onto the water faucet on the sink.
So now, that's our thing. We leave the fake roach in various places for the other to find. It's our version of 'Elf on the Shelf'. Last night I dropped it into his lunch bag. This morning he put it on top of the coffeemaker. It's actually fun - we both look forward to finding the stupid plastic roach. Silly, I know, but it works for us. Get out there and find your own version of the plastic roach to keep your marriage exciting.
The Roach on the Coffeemaker.
1/14/11
It's Cold Out, But I Feel Like I'm In Hell
Today makes an entire week that my kids have been out of school. Last week was the first week back after Christmas vacation, and it was a short week anyway. Plus, the kids were sick so I had to keep them home an extra day. Due to the 'Southern Blizzard', they have not been to school any this week. That makes nearly 5 weeks of being at home, and 2 rounds of snow where we couldn't leave the house for a few days.
This is Georgia, not Minnesota. We don't do so well with a lot of snow. We like to get outside, even in the winter. When there's snow on the ground, that's hard for us to do. And we don't do so hot driving on the icy roads. You won't find any snow tires or chains on tires. You may find a redneck driving around on a tractor, but that's about as much 'snow-readiness' as you'll find here. Oh, and there are about 3 snow plows to service all of metro Atlanta. There are zero snowplows to service rural Georgia. We have to rely on salted roads out here. That works really well. Um, yeah, I lied, it doesn't work that well, especially when the road refreezes every night after thawing a little during the day.
And did I mention Monday is MLK JR day? A school holiday. So the kids won't go back to school until Tuesday. I may have a nervous breakdown. Little Stinker does not take good naps with his sisters at home, because they constantly wake him up. I cannot do anything in the house with all of them because as quickly as I get it done, they undo it. During the summer, it won't be so bad - yes, they'll be here all the time, but we'll be able to play outside and go do stuff. Right now we're stuck in the house, all of us developing a really bad case of cabin fever. At least Bama Hubs got to go back to work yesterday, so I didn't have to hear him play the PlayStation all day long, like I have done since Saturday. All. Day. Long. I honestly hate the PlayStation and hope that the inventor of it contracts a nasty case of genital herpes from a nasty Japanese hooker, and I hope that he walks around smelling like Spam for the rest of his life, just because Spam is stanky (you know a man invented something that is that much of a time waster).
Don't get me wrong, I am really glad that I have gotten to spend the extra time with my family. And I'm super blessed to be able to stay at home - had I been working, I'd be out more than a week of vacation due to the weather. This time has been very trying, yes, but very special. I'm trying to remind myself that they won't ever be this little again, that in 15 years I'll remember this time and want them to be just like this again. Yeah, that will probably happen. But for now, can't I just want to be able to safely get out of the house?
This is Georgia, not Minnesota. We don't do so well with a lot of snow. We like to get outside, even in the winter. When there's snow on the ground, that's hard for us to do. And we don't do so hot driving on the icy roads. You won't find any snow tires or chains on tires. You may find a redneck driving around on a tractor, but that's about as much 'snow-readiness' as you'll find here. Oh, and there are about 3 snow plows to service all of metro Atlanta. There are zero snowplows to service rural Georgia. We have to rely on salted roads out here. That works really well. Um, yeah, I lied, it doesn't work that well, especially when the road refreezes every night after thawing a little during the day.
And did I mention Monday is MLK JR day? A school holiday. So the kids won't go back to school until Tuesday. I may have a nervous breakdown. Little Stinker does not take good naps with his sisters at home, because they constantly wake him up. I cannot do anything in the house with all of them because as quickly as I get it done, they undo it. During the summer, it won't be so bad - yes, they'll be here all the time, but we'll be able to play outside and go do stuff. Right now we're stuck in the house, all of us developing a really bad case of cabin fever. At least Bama Hubs got to go back to work yesterday, so I didn't have to hear him play the PlayStation all day long, like I have done since Saturday. All. Day. Long. I honestly hate the PlayStation and hope that the inventor of it contracts a nasty case of genital herpes from a nasty Japanese hooker, and I hope that he walks around smelling like Spam for the rest of his life, just because Spam is stanky (you know a man invented something that is that much of a time waster).
Don't get me wrong, I am really glad that I have gotten to spend the extra time with my family. And I'm super blessed to be able to stay at home - had I been working, I'd be out more than a week of vacation due to the weather. This time has been very trying, yes, but very special. I'm trying to remind myself that they won't ever be this little again, that in 15 years I'll remember this time and want them to be just like this again. Yeah, that will probably happen. But for now, can't I just want to be able to safely get out of the house?
1/13/11
Beware the Shower Curtain
I have an irrational fear of shower curtains. I don't even like my own shower curtain. If I'm at someone's house where I'm very comfy, I don't like their shower curtain either. If I'm in a hotel or at someone's house where I'm not comfy, I stay as far away from the shower curtain as possible.
Over the years I have thought about where this strange phobia came from, and I really can't pinpoint it. Being a psychology degree holder, I went on a search of the proper name for this fear. And there isn't one - the DSM doesn't recognize it, but there seems to be a lot of people who are afraid of them. Of course I saw Psycho, but I was already afraid of shower curtains when I saw it (my fear of roaches, however, can be blamed entirely on Stephen King's Creepshow). Deep down, I think it's the mold and mildew - something that stays wet like a shower curtain can't help but get nasty. Since we can't afford a new shower curtain every time ours starts getting moldy, I take it down and wash it on the sanitary cycle with bleach every few weeks to keep it from getting the pink and black mold that our water produces.
At any rate, I cannot stand to be touched by a shower curtain. Our shower curtain has these little suction cups on it that keep it in place so that if the air comes on it won't blow into the shower and touch me. And that brings me to the reason for my post - my experience with a gym shower curtain.
In the early 2000s I worked out at the Crunch gym in Duluth, Georgia with a couple of friends of mine that I worked with. We would meet in the morning to work out, shower, get ready then head to work. Since so many people shower in a gym shower, I was super careful about not touching the hideous fabric shower curtain when I showered.
One morning I needed to shave my legs. So I'm bent over in the shower, shaving, when God decided he needed a good laugh and made 3 women in nearby showers turn on the water at almost the exact same time. Anyone who has ever showered with a fabric curtain knows that they flutter at the slightest disturbance in the air. And anyone who has ever showered at a gym knows that those faucets usually put out a lot of water, which causes those pesky fabric curtains to move inward due to the air current that burst of high velocity water generates.
Since God thought it would be cool to mess with me that day, he caused a pretty large air current when he directed those women to turn their showers on. This caused the fabric shower curtain to begin moving towards me. At first, it was moving slowly, so I shifted towards the wall a little more. Then suddenly, when someone else turned on a shower, or when the sauna door opened, I'm not sure WHAT caused it to do this, the shower curtain raced towards me. Immediately I jump back into the corner of the shower, but not before taking about 4 large hunks of flesh off of my shin with the razor that I was, at that very moment, using to remove the hair off of the front of my left leg. Almost at once I realize I'm touching the shower wall in the gym, so I have to rebathe. Then I realize that my leg won't stop bleeding. I cannot get dressed with my leg bleeding like it is, and I only have one towel, so if I wrap the towel around my leg to help with the bleeding, I will be naked. And I don't want to be the naked lady at the gym - nobody likes that nekkid gym lady.
I decide to try to walk as quickly as possible from the showers to the locker room so as to minimize the blood drippage. This way I'm not naked in front of everyone. So I try that, and it really doesn't work very well, and there are blood splatters all over the place. When I reach the locker room, my friends turn around and see me hobbling quickly, then they see all the blood. Once they verified that I wasn't attacked or that I'm not dying, they spring into action.
Toilet paper, stat!
Someone brought toilet paper.
Someone wrapped it around my leg as a temporary gauze.
Go to the front and get the first aid kit, stat!
Someone went to the front and got the first aid kit.
Someone sterilized my leg with an alcohol wipe (OUCH!) and put some butterfly strips and big band aids on my leg.
I was able to get dressed eventually, but I wore a skirt that day. Since I had only partially shaved one leg and not shaved the other one at all, I looked really funny in my skirt. Well, the bandages looked pretty funny on their own, so I guess people were looking at those instead of the hair growing out of my legs. Hopefully karma got those ladies that turned the showers on simultaneously later by taunting them with their own phobias. And I hope God got a really good laugh courtesy of me that day.
Over the years I have thought about where this strange phobia came from, and I really can't pinpoint it. Being a psychology degree holder, I went on a search of the proper name for this fear. And there isn't one - the DSM doesn't recognize it, but there seems to be a lot of people who are afraid of them. Of course I saw Psycho, but I was already afraid of shower curtains when I saw it (my fear of roaches, however, can be blamed entirely on Stephen King's Creepshow). Deep down, I think it's the mold and mildew - something that stays wet like a shower curtain can't help but get nasty. Since we can't afford a new shower curtain every time ours starts getting moldy, I take it down and wash it on the sanitary cycle with bleach every few weeks to keep it from getting the pink and black mold that our water produces.
At any rate, I cannot stand to be touched by a shower curtain. Our shower curtain has these little suction cups on it that keep it in place so that if the air comes on it won't blow into the shower and touch me. And that brings me to the reason for my post - my experience with a gym shower curtain.
In the early 2000s I worked out at the Crunch gym in Duluth, Georgia with a couple of friends of mine that I worked with. We would meet in the morning to work out, shower, get ready then head to work. Since so many people shower in a gym shower, I was super careful about not touching the hideous fabric shower curtain when I showered.
One morning I needed to shave my legs. So I'm bent over in the shower, shaving, when God decided he needed a good laugh and made 3 women in nearby showers turn on the water at almost the exact same time. Anyone who has ever showered with a fabric curtain knows that they flutter at the slightest disturbance in the air. And anyone who has ever showered at a gym knows that those faucets usually put out a lot of water, which causes those pesky fabric curtains to move inward due to the air current that burst of high velocity water generates.
Since God thought it would be cool to mess with me that day, he caused a pretty large air current when he directed those women to turn their showers on. This caused the fabric shower curtain to begin moving towards me. At first, it was moving slowly, so I shifted towards the wall a little more. Then suddenly, when someone else turned on a shower, or when the sauna door opened, I'm not sure WHAT caused it to do this, the shower curtain raced towards me. Immediately I jump back into the corner of the shower, but not before taking about 4 large hunks of flesh off of my shin with the razor that I was, at that very moment, using to remove the hair off of the front of my left leg. Almost at once I realize I'm touching the shower wall in the gym, so I have to rebathe. Then I realize that my leg won't stop bleeding. I cannot get dressed with my leg bleeding like it is, and I only have one towel, so if I wrap the towel around my leg to help with the bleeding, I will be naked. And I don't want to be the naked lady at the gym - nobody likes that nekkid gym lady.
I decide to try to walk as quickly as possible from the showers to the locker room so as to minimize the blood drippage. This way I'm not naked in front of everyone. So I try that, and it really doesn't work very well, and there are blood splatters all over the place. When I reach the locker room, my friends turn around and see me hobbling quickly, then they see all the blood. Once they verified that I wasn't attacked or that I'm not dying, they spring into action.
Toilet paper, stat!
Someone brought toilet paper.
Someone wrapped it around my leg as a temporary gauze.
Go to the front and get the first aid kit, stat!
Someone went to the front and got the first aid kit.
Someone sterilized my leg with an alcohol wipe (OUCH!) and put some butterfly strips and big band aids on my leg.
I was able to get dressed eventually, but I wore a skirt that day. Since I had only partially shaved one leg and not shaved the other one at all, I looked really funny in my skirt. Well, the bandages looked pretty funny on their own, so I guess people were looking at those instead of the hair growing out of my legs. Hopefully karma got those ladies that turned the showers on simultaneously later by taunting them with their own phobias. And I hope God got a really good laugh courtesy of me that day.
1/12/11
Typical Day
Yesterday was just a typical day for me. My 'typical' days would leave most people sitting at a bar, crying with their heads in their hands, piles of empty shot glasses littered around them. For me, I just have a glass of wine and take some deep breaths.
The first part of the day was blessedly uneventful. We were still snowed in, so Bama Hubs took the girls outside to slide down the hill on a garbage can lid. I was able to clean the refrigerator (freezer too), which hadn't been cleaned since the Bush administration. I even worked in a Zumba video and did some laundry. One of my very nice neighbors came down with a tractor and cleared the snow out of my driveway and up the road - it iced where he plowed it, but it was still a nice gesture.
About 5:30, I look out the kitchen window and Maw Maw is shovelling snow. Again, Maw Maw is shovelling snow. The lady with a drop foot, very limited use of her right hand and terrible balance is on an icy asphalt hill shovelling snow. I know I stated 'shovelling snow' a lot, but you have to understand how crazy this is. Of course, I opened the front door and asked her what she was doing, but not before taking a picture. She told me that she was getting the snow out from behind my dad's car in case he needed to go somewhere. I told her that there's no way he's going anywhere, the roads are still too bad, but she said that he may need to back up and leave, and she wanted to make sure he could. Later when I asked him about leaving, he said he hadn't said one word to her about anything and he has no clue where she got the bright idea.
Bama Hubs is yelling 'Go out and get the shovel away from her before she kills herself!' so I shove into his work boots (probably not a good idea in hindsight because he had a really bad case of athlete's foot earlier in the year, and I was not wearing socks) and head out into the snow and ice to get the shovel away from her.
As I'm walking towards her, I can see that her face is bright red from the cold, and there appears to be snot frozen under her nose. I didn't think it was cold enough for snot to freeze, but the wind was blowing, so it coulda been. She asks me in this pleading, pitiful voice, 'Why are you doing this to me?' as I attempt to take the shovel away from her. When I tell her that I don't want her to fall down and hurt herself or die, she says that there's nothing wrong with helping clear away the snow. So I told her that if she didn't come into the house, I was going to post the picture I took of her on my blog so everyone else can see how crazy she looked. That made her hand over the shovel and stop.
But she didn't head straight home, she actually tried to go for a walk. Without her cane. About halfway up the road, she starts sliding. Luckily she was at my mailbox and was able to grab on with her good hand, so she detoured into the driveway and walked around the house, nearly stumbling in the snow because it was still deep.
All was quiet for a little while, until bath time came around. I put Little Stinker and Pumpkin Pie in the tub, and Eldest Daughter was supervising while Bama Hubs and I cleaned up the spaghetti dinner. Little Stinker likes to throw everyone's plates in the floor, so we had spaghetti noodles and salad everywhere, and the kids had emptied the cabinets out playing right before supper so I had to put that up. Hubs lets the puppy out so she can eat some of the scraps off the floor so we have less to clean up, so the pup's now running loose in the house. Eldest Daughter runs into the room and starts jabbering, and I hear 'Little Stinker's splashing water in the floor.' Splashing is not a big deal. Hubster hears 'Little Stinker's pouring water in the floor.' Pouring is a big deal. Why he didn't rush into the bathroom after hearing that I don't know, but he swears that's what she said. And to my surprise, that's exactly what I find when I go into the bathroom. There's about 2 inches of water all over the floor. I'm scrambling to get Little Stinker out of the tub and dried off while the girls are running around like ants whose anthill just got stepped on. The dog comes into the bathroom and is licking water off the floor, then goes over to the garbage can. When she comes away from the garbage can, she is pulling a poopie diaper, and she immediately starts eating baby poo out of the diaper.
I'm screaming, the kids are screaming, Bama Hubs is screaming. Then the kids start laughing because they realize the dog is eating poop. Little Stinker sneaks out of the tub in the melee and starts running around naked (which isn't good for him because he's just realized that his little man-part is where pee comes from, and he's always trying to take his diaper off so that he can show people how it works, in the floor). Naked baby running around, dog eating poo, 2 inches of water in the bathroom floor. I had to use all of the kid's clean towels to mop up the water - now we have a 3 ton bucket of wet towels in the laundry room that need to be washed, and I JUST got all of the clothes clean today since the washer was broken for a while.
Oh well, we got it cleaned up. Chalk it up to just another fun night in the house of horrors.
The first part of the day was blessedly uneventful. We were still snowed in, so Bama Hubs took the girls outside to slide down the hill on a garbage can lid. I was able to clean the refrigerator (freezer too), which hadn't been cleaned since the Bush administration. I even worked in a Zumba video and did some laundry. One of my very nice neighbors came down with a tractor and cleared the snow out of my driveway and up the road - it iced where he plowed it, but it was still a nice gesture.
About 5:30, I look out the kitchen window and Maw Maw is shovelling snow. Again, Maw Maw is shovelling snow. The lady with a drop foot, very limited use of her right hand and terrible balance is on an icy asphalt hill shovelling snow. I know I stated 'shovelling snow' a lot, but you have to understand how crazy this is. Of course, I opened the front door and asked her what she was doing, but not before taking a picture. She told me that she was getting the snow out from behind my dad's car in case he needed to go somewhere. I told her that there's no way he's going anywhere, the roads are still too bad, but she said that he may need to back up and leave, and she wanted to make sure he could. Later when I asked him about leaving, he said he hadn't said one word to her about anything and he has no clue where she got the bright idea.
Bama Hubs is yelling 'Go out and get the shovel away from her before she kills herself!' so I shove into his work boots (probably not a good idea in hindsight because he had a really bad case of athlete's foot earlier in the year, and I was not wearing socks) and head out into the snow and ice to get the shovel away from her.
As I'm walking towards her, I can see that her face is bright red from the cold, and there appears to be snot frozen under her nose. I didn't think it was cold enough for snot to freeze, but the wind was blowing, so it coulda been. She asks me in this pleading, pitiful voice, 'Why are you doing this to me?' as I attempt to take the shovel away from her. When I tell her that I don't want her to fall down and hurt herself or die, she says that there's nothing wrong with helping clear away the snow. So I told her that if she didn't come into the house, I was going to post the picture I took of her on my blog so everyone else can see how crazy she looked. That made her hand over the shovel and stop.
But she didn't head straight home, she actually tried to go for a walk. Without her cane. About halfway up the road, she starts sliding. Luckily she was at my mailbox and was able to grab on with her good hand, so she detoured into the driveway and walked around the house, nearly stumbling in the snow because it was still deep.
All was quiet for a little while, until bath time came around. I put Little Stinker and Pumpkin Pie in the tub, and Eldest Daughter was supervising while Bama Hubs and I cleaned up the spaghetti dinner. Little Stinker likes to throw everyone's plates in the floor, so we had spaghetti noodles and salad everywhere, and the kids had emptied the cabinets out playing right before supper so I had to put that up. Hubs lets the puppy out so she can eat some of the scraps off the floor so we have less to clean up, so the pup's now running loose in the house. Eldest Daughter runs into the room and starts jabbering, and I hear 'Little Stinker's splashing water in the floor.' Splashing is not a big deal. Hubster hears 'Little Stinker's pouring water in the floor.' Pouring is a big deal. Why he didn't rush into the bathroom after hearing that I don't know, but he swears that's what she said. And to my surprise, that's exactly what I find when I go into the bathroom. There's about 2 inches of water all over the floor. I'm scrambling to get Little Stinker out of the tub and dried off while the girls are running around like ants whose anthill just got stepped on. The dog comes into the bathroom and is licking water off the floor, then goes over to the garbage can. When she comes away from the garbage can, she is pulling a poopie diaper, and she immediately starts eating baby poo out of the diaper.
I'm screaming, the kids are screaming, Bama Hubs is screaming. Then the kids start laughing because they realize the dog is eating poop. Little Stinker sneaks out of the tub in the melee and starts running around naked (which isn't good for him because he's just realized that his little man-part is where pee comes from, and he's always trying to take his diaper off so that he can show people how it works, in the floor). Naked baby running around, dog eating poo, 2 inches of water in the bathroom floor. I had to use all of the kid's clean towels to mop up the water - now we have a 3 ton bucket of wet towels in the laundry room that need to be washed, and I JUST got all of the clothes clean today since the washer was broken for a while.
Oh well, we got it cleaned up. Chalk it up to just another fun night in the house of horrors.
1/11/11
It's Just Really Comfortable
At the beginning of November, my mom was in the hospital for a few days. They wound up having to adjust her shunt, and they're pretty certain she had a mild stroke due to her cranial pressure being so high, but she came out of the ordeal just fine.
The day she visited the ER, all of my kids were with me, so I couldn't go back into the exam room with her. Bama Hubs was leaving work early to come swap vehicles with me so I could be with her. I made sure that someone would help her change into a gown and get settled, and I waited on the hubbs. After he showed up and he picked up the kids, I went back into the hospital.
When I get back to her 'room' (really just a space divided up with curtains), I see that she's already situated, already has an IV. I see that her clothes are in a big pile so I start to fold them to put them into the bag. As I go through the pile, I finally get to her bra.
Over the summer, she and I went on a little shopping spree so she could have some new clothes. She basically got an entire new wardrobe, including several new bras that fit and support where they should. Then I got rid of all of the old ones that no longer fit. I had made sure she didn't have any undergarments but the new ones we had purchased so that those would be the only ones she would wear. Maw Maw seems to have a preference for wearing clothes that look like she pulled them out of a dumpster. I've said it before and I'll say it again, some people in the neighborhood see her walking around in her mismatched clothes, with either no or an ill-fitting bra, and think she's homeless. And I think my mom actually likes for people to think that.
Back in the ER, I'm down to her bra. It is obviously not one of her newer bras. All of the ones I got her were flesh-colored, this one is white. All of the ones I got her had the large shoulder straps with padding for comfort, this one had regular straps. And I'm pretty certain that we didn't purchase any nursing bras. Yet here was a nursing bra.
After I stopped nursing Little Stinker in May, I stopped wearing nursing bras. And I gave them all to Goodwill, so that some other mother may be able to benefit from them. Apparently, she had gone through the bag of clothes and hidden some items, because I threw the stuff out before I got rid of her old unmentionables, and I didn't see a nursing bra in any of her things.
My mom has some pretty large tatas. But my girls are bigger than hers. So the cups on the nursing bra are bigger than what she should be wearing. In addition, she has quite possibly the widest back of any woman who ever lived on the planet (even when she has been thin, her back is wide), so the band size she needs to be wearing is at least 2 sizes bigger than the nursing bra. Too big cup size, too small band size - it couldn't have been comfortable.
I hold the bra up for her to look at. 'Mama, why in the world are you wearing a nursing bra and where did you get it?' I ask her. She tells me that it's just really comfortable. I asked her again where she got it. 'I've had that since I nursed you, and I wore it through nursing all of you. It's my bra and I like it' was her reply. I tried to tell her that no, this was one of the nursing bras I just got through using, and that I'm pretty sure they didn't make those kind of closures on nursing bras 30 years ago. No, she's certain that it's one of the nursing bras she used when she nursed us.
She's in the hospital. She's not feeling well. I don't want to start arguing with her about a stupid bra. I just shake my head, take a deep breath, and continue putting her clothes into the bag. After they admitted her and she got settled in for the night I went home and did a thorough search, where I found her stash of my nursing bras and a few maternity shirts. I bagged them up again and this time put them in my closet for safekeeping until I was able to make it to Goodwill to try and donate them one more time.
The day she visited the ER, all of my kids were with me, so I couldn't go back into the exam room with her. Bama Hubs was leaving work early to come swap vehicles with me so I could be with her. I made sure that someone would help her change into a gown and get settled, and I waited on the hubbs. After he showed up and he picked up the kids, I went back into the hospital.
When I get back to her 'room' (really just a space divided up with curtains), I see that she's already situated, already has an IV. I see that her clothes are in a big pile so I start to fold them to put them into the bag. As I go through the pile, I finally get to her bra.
Over the summer, she and I went on a little shopping spree so she could have some new clothes. She basically got an entire new wardrobe, including several new bras that fit and support where they should. Then I got rid of all of the old ones that no longer fit. I had made sure she didn't have any undergarments but the new ones we had purchased so that those would be the only ones she would wear. Maw Maw seems to have a preference for wearing clothes that look like she pulled them out of a dumpster. I've said it before and I'll say it again, some people in the neighborhood see her walking around in her mismatched clothes, with either no or an ill-fitting bra, and think she's homeless. And I think my mom actually likes for people to think that.
Back in the ER, I'm down to her bra. It is obviously not one of her newer bras. All of the ones I got her were flesh-colored, this one is white. All of the ones I got her had the large shoulder straps with padding for comfort, this one had regular straps. And I'm pretty certain that we didn't purchase any nursing bras. Yet here was a nursing bra.
After I stopped nursing Little Stinker in May, I stopped wearing nursing bras. And I gave them all to Goodwill, so that some other mother may be able to benefit from them. Apparently, she had gone through the bag of clothes and hidden some items, because I threw the stuff out before I got rid of her old unmentionables, and I didn't see a nursing bra in any of her things.
My mom has some pretty large tatas. But my girls are bigger than hers. So the cups on the nursing bra are bigger than what she should be wearing. In addition, she has quite possibly the widest back of any woman who ever lived on the planet (even when she has been thin, her back is wide), so the band size she needs to be wearing is at least 2 sizes bigger than the nursing bra. Too big cup size, too small band size - it couldn't have been comfortable.
I hold the bra up for her to look at. 'Mama, why in the world are you wearing a nursing bra and where did you get it?' I ask her. She tells me that it's just really comfortable. I asked her again where she got it. 'I've had that since I nursed you, and I wore it through nursing all of you. It's my bra and I like it' was her reply. I tried to tell her that no, this was one of the nursing bras I just got through using, and that I'm pretty sure they didn't make those kind of closures on nursing bras 30 years ago. No, she's certain that it's one of the nursing bras she used when she nursed us.
She's in the hospital. She's not feeling well. I don't want to start arguing with her about a stupid bra. I just shake my head, take a deep breath, and continue putting her clothes into the bag. After they admitted her and she got settled in for the night I went home and did a thorough search, where I found her stash of my nursing bras and a few maternity shirts. I bagged them up again and this time put them in my closet for safekeeping until I was able to make it to Goodwill to try and donate them one more time.
1/10/11
Poop Hand
Anyone who has ever been around someone who takes a lot of narcotics knows that there is one problem that is seldom discussed, but it's a BIG problem. Yes, I'm talking about constipation. My dad has horrible constipation. He has to take laxatives to keep himself regular. And he would die if he knew I was talking about this on the internet. But Ima do it anyway because I'm such a great daughter, and I'm more than a little bit pissed off.
When he's been constipated a while, he goes. And goes. And goes. And if he's sick and/or taking medication that I don't give him (which happens sometimes, as he will get things from friends of his), he will stop the toilet up and either not know it or not be in the right mind to tell someone. If I had stopped up a toilet, I would either attempt to plunge it myself, or if I was sick, I would tell someone to please help me unclog it, that I would pay them back for doing such a nasty chore. I wouldn't just leave it. It's a good thing my dad raised me to act better than he does.
So this morning, my mom comes upstairs. She's touching everything the way she usually does - ever since her aneurysm rupture it seems as if she has to put her good hand on almost everything she gets near. Then she announces, 'The toilet downstairs is stopped up. Your daddy must have done it early this morning. I got some of the poop out of it, but it's still stopped up.'
Excuse me? You got some of the poop out of it? She sure did - she scooped her BARE HAND down into the potty and pulled some human crap out. The toilet is not flushing, so common sense tells me that she couldn't have flushed it. 'Where did you put the human feces?' I ask. Her reply: 'I put it outside.'
Wow. Somewhere in the back of my house there is human excrement. It snowed about 7 inches last night, so I know she didn't take it to the woods. 'Where outside?' I query further. 'I put it in a garbage can on the back porch,' she answers.
I have to keep pushing for answers -
Was there at least a bag in it?
No.
So you put it in a garbage can with no bag.
I guess so.
And you're sitting up here touching everything after you touched shit.
I washed my hands.
Did you bleach them, too, since you can't use your right hand very well and I don't see how you could scrub them very well?
I washed them twice.
Did you at least use antibacterial soap?
I used Dove. (Dove's not antibacterial, by the way).
Let's just say that good judgement is not her strong point. Never in a million years would I think it's a good idea to stick my hand, with no glove on it, into a toilet FULL of shit. Not my own crap, not someone else's. If I did have to stick my hand into it, oh, to pull out a winning lottery ticket perhaps, I would at least put on a rubber glove. I mean, even crap from a healthy person is full of bacteria, it's just not a good idea to TOUCH IT. But apparently it's ok to Maw Maw. She really thought it was a good idea to do that, she thought that if she pulled it out, it would unstop it. We all know that when a potty stops up, it's deep down in the pipe. And she cannot figure out why I might be a little upset about her choice to do this. After all, she says that she has been doing that all of her life. She's been sticking her hand into toilets to scoop poop out of them her whole life. I don't know how I missed this, but I honestly don't have any recollection of this behaviour.
At this point in our little disagreement, Bama Hubs comes into the room and announces that I can plunge the crap this time, he did it last time and he's not doing it again. So not only did I have to plunge and clean the nastiest toilet I have ever laid eyes upon, I also had to sanitize everything that my mom may have touched. The girls told her that she needed to go back downstairs with her 'Poop Hand'.
What an awesome way to start the day. At least it's pretty outside.
When he's been constipated a while, he goes. And goes. And goes. And if he's sick and/or taking medication that I don't give him (which happens sometimes, as he will get things from friends of his), he will stop the toilet up and either not know it or not be in the right mind to tell someone. If I had stopped up a toilet, I would either attempt to plunge it myself, or if I was sick, I would tell someone to please help me unclog it, that I would pay them back for doing such a nasty chore. I wouldn't just leave it. It's a good thing my dad raised me to act better than he does.
So this morning, my mom comes upstairs. She's touching everything the way she usually does - ever since her aneurysm rupture it seems as if she has to put her good hand on almost everything she gets near. Then she announces, 'The toilet downstairs is stopped up. Your daddy must have done it early this morning. I got some of the poop out of it, but it's still stopped up.'
Excuse me? You got some of the poop out of it? She sure did - she scooped her BARE HAND down into the potty and pulled some human crap out. The toilet is not flushing, so common sense tells me that she couldn't have flushed it. 'Where did you put the human feces?' I ask. Her reply: 'I put it outside.'
Wow. Somewhere in the back of my house there is human excrement. It snowed about 7 inches last night, so I know she didn't take it to the woods. 'Where outside?' I query further. 'I put it in a garbage can on the back porch,' she answers.
I have to keep pushing for answers -
Was there at least a bag in it?
No.
So you put it in a garbage can with no bag.
I guess so.
And you're sitting up here touching everything after you touched shit.
I washed my hands.
Did you bleach them, too, since you can't use your right hand very well and I don't see how you could scrub them very well?
I washed them twice.
Did you at least use antibacterial soap?
I used Dove. (Dove's not antibacterial, by the way).
Let's just say that good judgement is not her strong point. Never in a million years would I think it's a good idea to stick my hand, with no glove on it, into a toilet FULL of shit. Not my own crap, not someone else's. If I did have to stick my hand into it, oh, to pull out a winning lottery ticket perhaps, I would at least put on a rubber glove. I mean, even crap from a healthy person is full of bacteria, it's just not a good idea to TOUCH IT. But apparently it's ok to Maw Maw. She really thought it was a good idea to do that, she thought that if she pulled it out, it would unstop it. We all know that when a potty stops up, it's deep down in the pipe. And she cannot figure out why I might be a little upset about her choice to do this. After all, she says that she has been doing that all of her life. She's been sticking her hand into toilets to scoop poop out of them her whole life. I don't know how I missed this, but I honestly don't have any recollection of this behaviour.
At this point in our little disagreement, Bama Hubs comes into the room and announces that I can plunge the crap this time, he did it last time and he's not doing it again. So not only did I have to plunge and clean the nastiest toilet I have ever laid eyes upon, I also had to sanitize everything that my mom may have touched. The girls told her that she needed to go back downstairs with her 'Poop Hand'.
What an awesome way to start the day. At least it's pretty outside.
1/9/11
Nursing (As in Boobies, Not Medical Care)
My mom nursed all three of her kids (note that my dad has more kids than my mom, so I have some half and step siblings, and other than my youngest bro, I'm not sure about their status as being breast babies). When I had kids, there was never a question about whether or not I would nurse - as a Pre-med Biology major for most of my undergrad, I knew that breast milk was the healthiest for babies (no judgement rendered for moms who choose not to nurse). I decided that I would nurse any child I had for a year. I had this thought in the back of my mind even when I was told I wouldn't ever be able to have kids, and then when I decided I didn't want kids anyway. When I actually had kids, I stuck with it - nurse for a year.
So, why did I nurse for a year and not longer? My logic is as follows:
Plus, the quality of breast milk does change after your baby is one. Some milk banks will not even take your milk if your baby is older than a year. At this point, babies are usually eating solid foods and will be getting most of their nutrition from what they eat rather than breast milk.
And if you've ever nursed for any length of time, you know that you just want your body back. As much of a joy as it is bonding with your baby (I mean, that little hand reaching up to touch your cheek is just priceless), after a while it gets old. You have to deal with thrush, mastitis, leaking, biting, pumping, it's definitely a hassle. Worth it, but a hassle nonetheless. The last couple of months with each of them, when I was pumping at work or nursing at home, my butt muscles would twitch, I was just that wound up and ready to get it over with. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade that time for anything, because I know I did what was right for me and my babies, but towards the end it gets really hard to stick with it. The urge to supplement is strong. But I resisted completely with Little Stinker. Eldest Daughter and Pumpkin Pie got a little formula, Eldest Daughter because she stopped wanting my milk unless it was actually out of my boob during the last couple of months, and Pumpkin Pie because I just couldn't keep up with her little piglet ass.
My mom always told a story about my brother J. He got braces on his legs because he was severely bow-legged. I'm talking drive a full-size Tonka truck through the gap in his knees when he was one bow-legged. So his doctor recommended braces to correct it. The day he got them on, he was very upset, and really wanted to nurse, but my mom had to take care of business before she could go out to the car and feed him. As my mom was checking out, she had him sitting on the counter in front of her. I think he was probably 16 months at this point. While she's paying the bill and making the next appointment, the ladies helping her start laughing - snorting, hysterical laughter. That's when my mom felt a breeze. She looked down and my brother already has unbuttoned her shirt and is about halfway through pulling her boob out of her nursing bra - and she didn't even realize it!
A couple of years ago I was in a salon getting a mani/pedi. There is a really cute Latina mother getting a manicure as well, and she's got an adorable 4 year old little girl with her. I know she was 4 because I asked - she looked to be about the same age as my Pumpkin Pie (who was 3 at the time). While I'm sitting there letting my nails dry, and the little Hispanic mami is getting her nails painted, her little 4 year old girl comes up and says 'I'm thirsty'. The mom kind of hunches her back as she's leaning over the manicure station and the little girl pulls her shirt up, pulls her bra down and just latches on, right there in front of everybody.
WHAAAAAA? Did that just happen? Yes, I believe it did. Holy cow, a 4 year old is nursing in public. Oh. My. God. To say that my jaw dropped doesn't accurately describe my reaction. I think I stared for about a minute before I could take my eyes away from the scene. Nursing an infant or even a small toddler is something of beauty - it's something that only that mom and that baby can share with each other. Watching a FOUR YEAR OLD nurse is just plain weird.
I know other societies nurse for years and years, specifically those in Africa where good food and proper nutrition are scarce, and maybe in Europe, where they are much more relaxed about the human body than we our here in America. That's fine - go to Africa or Europe and nurse your baby until she starts college, I don't care. And I don't care if you do it here, just please please please don't do it in front of me.
Based on my mom's anecdote I had already decided that if a baby is old enough to ask for it or get it himself, it's time to stop nursing. After watching the strange scenario unfold in the nail salon, I was convinced I had made a good decision. Nursing is entirely something that a mother can choose to do or not do, and I'm ok with nursing in public. I preferred to cover up but some moms don't, and that's their prerogative. And I'm ok with nursing for as long as you like, even if you choose to do it until your kid is taller than you. But if your 'baby' is not, in fact, a baby, then be prepared to get some strange looks, even from nursing advocates. You may seriously mess your kid up. I remember stuff from when I was 4, and I can imagine that if my predominate memories were of my mom's boob in my mouth, I may be really messed up.
So, why did I nurse for a year and not longer? My logic is as follows:
- I was nursed for a year, and I'm pretty well-adapted.
- My brother C was nursed for 14 months, and he's a tad bit of a compulsive liar, is in and out of jail and I'm not certain he has a conscience.
- My brother J was nursed for 18 months, and he cannot seem to shake the drug habit, steals things and is in and out of jail as well.
Plus, the quality of breast milk does change after your baby is one. Some milk banks will not even take your milk if your baby is older than a year. At this point, babies are usually eating solid foods and will be getting most of their nutrition from what they eat rather than breast milk.
And if you've ever nursed for any length of time, you know that you just want your body back. As much of a joy as it is bonding with your baby (I mean, that little hand reaching up to touch your cheek is just priceless), after a while it gets old. You have to deal with thrush, mastitis, leaking, biting, pumping, it's definitely a hassle. Worth it, but a hassle nonetheless. The last couple of months with each of them, when I was pumping at work or nursing at home, my butt muscles would twitch, I was just that wound up and ready to get it over with. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade that time for anything, because I know I did what was right for me and my babies, but towards the end it gets really hard to stick with it. The urge to supplement is strong. But I resisted completely with Little Stinker. Eldest Daughter and Pumpkin Pie got a little formula, Eldest Daughter because she stopped wanting my milk unless it was actually out of my boob during the last couple of months, and Pumpkin Pie because I just couldn't keep up with her little piglet ass.
My mom always told a story about my brother J. He got braces on his legs because he was severely bow-legged. I'm talking drive a full-size Tonka truck through the gap in his knees when he was one bow-legged. So his doctor recommended braces to correct it. The day he got them on, he was very upset, and really wanted to nurse, but my mom had to take care of business before she could go out to the car and feed him. As my mom was checking out, she had him sitting on the counter in front of her. I think he was probably 16 months at this point. While she's paying the bill and making the next appointment, the ladies helping her start laughing - snorting, hysterical laughter. That's when my mom felt a breeze. She looked down and my brother already has unbuttoned her shirt and is about halfway through pulling her boob out of her nursing bra - and she didn't even realize it!
A couple of years ago I was in a salon getting a mani/pedi. There is a really cute Latina mother getting a manicure as well, and she's got an adorable 4 year old little girl with her. I know she was 4 because I asked - she looked to be about the same age as my Pumpkin Pie (who was 3 at the time). While I'm sitting there letting my nails dry, and the little Hispanic mami is getting her nails painted, her little 4 year old girl comes up and says 'I'm thirsty'. The mom kind of hunches her back as she's leaning over the manicure station and the little girl pulls her shirt up, pulls her bra down and just latches on, right there in front of everybody.
WHAAAAAA? Did that just happen? Yes, I believe it did. Holy cow, a 4 year old is nursing in public. Oh. My. God. To say that my jaw dropped doesn't accurately describe my reaction. I think I stared for about a minute before I could take my eyes away from the scene. Nursing an infant or even a small toddler is something of beauty - it's something that only that mom and that baby can share with each other. Watching a FOUR YEAR OLD nurse is just plain weird.
I know other societies nurse for years and years, specifically those in Africa where good food and proper nutrition are scarce, and maybe in Europe, where they are much more relaxed about the human body than we our here in America. That's fine - go to Africa or Europe and nurse your baby until she starts college, I don't care. And I don't care if you do it here, just please please please don't do it in front of me.
Based on my mom's anecdote I had already decided that if a baby is old enough to ask for it or get it himself, it's time to stop nursing. After watching the strange scenario unfold in the nail salon, I was convinced I had made a good decision. Nursing is entirely something that a mother can choose to do or not do, and I'm ok with nursing in public. I preferred to cover up but some moms don't, and that's their prerogative. And I'm ok with nursing for as long as you like, even if you choose to do it until your kid is taller than you. But if your 'baby' is not, in fact, a baby, then be prepared to get some strange looks, even from nursing advocates. You may seriously mess your kid up. I remember stuff from when I was 4, and I can imagine that if my predominate memories were of my mom's boob in my mouth, I may be really messed up.
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