Wednesday, June 1, 2011

I'm actually kind of smart...

I don't know why but I was not aware.  I always assumed it was some weird island with maybe a little straight or some island chain.  But it has recently become clear to me that Alaska is NOT an island.  I mean someone told me within the last couple months but I just couldn't wrap my brain around it.  I always thought it was like some bigger version of Hawaii but cold and more North.  Just chilling up there next to Washington state.  But I've had to face and accept the truth after seeing the map on the dashboard.  It shows Alaska is in fact connected to Canada.  While I've never been so I cannot attest to it's accuracy, I will have to trust the mapmakers.  I'm in no position to go and check the accuracy of their coordinates.  I am leaving open the theory that this is a huge conspiracy by the mapmakers to hide away Alaska and keep it as their private island just like they did when they named Iceland (tricky bastards...I'm on to you!)
But let's just pretend for one minute that this isn't a huge conspiracy. 
If, Alaska is in fact attached to Canada...well, I don't want it anymore.  I think we stole it *ahem* borrowed it.  We probably owe them an apology of sorts.  I'll send them a letter along with some Alaskan soil.

Dear Canada, I believe this belongs to you.  We have been in possession of it for a while now but it was totally an accident.  We didn't mean to steal your chunk of land.  We really didn't know it was attached to you, you can totally have it back.  By the way, you can have North Dakota too, that state just sounds lame.  Sincerely, your little brother America

P.S we kept the oil

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

In bad economic times...

I just want to say I knew talking bad about MJ would scare away the few people reading this.  But let's face it MJ is probably chilling some where watching my kid and having a dirty fantasy.  He may have been a great pop star (if you like that type of music) but he was just plain scary/weird.  Now onto today's subject matter:

When the economy gets tough and money gets tight I start to plan.  I'm sure I'm not alone in this ideas are probably a little different than the standard reaction.  I come up with get rich quick schemes...again not very unique.  Let me share a few of these gems with you:

1) Create a new drug using baby orajel and oregano, call it CrackaJuana.  Market it to cool 5th graders.  Use slogan "you know ju wanna try it!".  Can't possibly be an actual crime because neither substance is actually illegal.  Get all youth addicted = MONEY MONEY MONEY!

2)  Find cute girl (of legal age) willing to sell some sexual act on the Internet (i.e. first threesome), set it up with the bunny ranch to make it legal.  Put her on Ebay and take a 90% cut as agent fees etc.

3)  Become a paid hit man.  Require a 10,000 dollar down payment.  Find person I'm supposed to "hit" walk up and punch them...say this is from "person who paid me to hit them"...never collect the other 10k.  Always refer to the act as a "hit" as to avoid any confusion. 

So, as you can see these aren't normal...or maybe they are, hell the economy is shit.  So tonight when my father asked me to cut his hair so he could save some money, I came up with a more realistic idea.  I could cut people's hair (well buzz cut it) for half the price of the shop...not that I know what I'm doing but you get what you pay for dumb ass!

 BTW this post is lacking in cute wisdom from the 4 year I'll throw in this little nugget.  Tonight when I was going to get the buzzer thingy (umm clippers, maybe?) my son had just waken up from a nap and wanted me to sit with him.  I asked him if he wanted to help cut granddad's hair and he got extremely excited about this idea.  He ran into the kitchen, pulled out the tub from under the table and proceeded to sort through his playdoh toys before settling on the bright green playdoh scissors.  He proudly announced that he would be cutting granddad's hair with them :).  That is my kid <3

Monday, May 23, 2011

Even my kid knows:

My husband got some time off from him temporary position at ___ university and decided to come home to spend time with  us.  My schedule was not so nice during that time and it ended up with him hanging out with our son while I worked at various events.  The first day I woke up and left around 8:30 am while everyone else slept so snug in their beds.  They had some stuff to do around the house but after it was all done they were free to go out and do whatever they wanted....which usually means go to the park because that is FREE!  This time apparently it was not limited to the park because when I got home they were playing a new video game called "de blob"...not sure where the appeal is there but the two of them really enjoyed it, so I won't complain.  Then they told me all about their day.  First the dishwasher delivery people showed up 20 minutes earlier than quoted and didn't call like they said.  Then they went to the park for a little bit but they were hungry.  So they made their way to Chick-fil-a for lunch.  And while out daddy thought the game store was the next best place to go (and the whole reason for this post because my husband insisted that I blog about blame him). 
So they are in the game store looking at all the games and our four year old is pulling each one off the shelf going "this looks cool, this one is great" or "this one looks fun, it's cool".  He does this with almost every game in the store until they come to the Michael Jackson this is it or the experience or w/e it is called.  My son quickly puts it back on the shelf.  This causes my husband to be curious.  Said curiosity results in this:
Daddy:  Doesn't this one look cool?
Son:  No, Daddy
Daddy:  Why not?
Son:  It looks SCARY!

See people, even my four year old knows Michael Jackson is scary!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Looking GOOD!

So my father has been begging me to use his electric razor and cut his hair.  And while when I was younger I would have jumped at this opportunity (mainly because I don't have the first idea how to use the thing and he would probably end up with zigzags or his name in his hair) but now that I'm older, making my father look like a fool just isn't as amusing as it once was.  I don't want to make him mad though, after all he is letting my son and myself stay with him until my husband gets a permanent job and we know where we will be living.  So, I keep telling him I'll do it "later".  Hopefully he doesn't catch on that later is never coming. 

So that story isn't very funny (at least it wasn't when I typed it) but it is important to what happened today.  Recently I did two things a) started a new job!  b) decided to go back to school.  Since the community college campus is close to my new job, I decided to buy my books and turn in my time sheet for work in one trip.  Now I'm sort of broke and my car is out of gas (with gas over $4 a gallon I'm not buying any anytime soon!) I asked my dad if he needed anything in the other county.  He decided he wanted to do some things over there so he agreed to drive us.  We're riding a long and my son is in the backseat making up jokes that only he finds amusing (example:  Granddad, what kind of flower jumps up in the water?  (granddad guesses "a waterlily") Answer:  A red flower.  *laughs hysterically at his joke while granddad and I stare at each other in confusion*).  We are in the front trying to make conversation and son is in the backseat trying to make his own conversation all the while shouting "why are you talking over me, stop talking over me".  We drive the 20-30 minutes to the college campus and buy the one book I need that they have and order the one that wasn't in and then head to my job's shop. 
We are driving down the road and my son in the backseat starts talking
"where are we going now?" 
I respond "to my work and then where ever granddad needs to go next." 
Granddad seeing we are pretty close to the barber shop jokingly adds "to get that haircut that your mom was supposed to give me."
4 year old says "why?"
I respond (since my 4 year old has a Beatles style haircut)  "cause granddad is starting to look like you!"
4 year old says "Oh okay, we're looking good!"
And while I must agree the haircut looks good on him...some how it just isn't a good fit for his 60+ year old granddad with receding hairline and grey/silver highlights.

My kid looks good and he knows it, boy am I in for trouble!

Friday, May 13, 2011


This is just a quick post:

When my son was almost three we took him to the VANS store and picked out a cool pair of new shoes.   They were slip-ons with white fading to grey outlines of flames.  My son's aunt and I deemed them the "badass" shoes.  That word sounds pretty awesome to almost three year olds apparently and soon every other word was "Badass".  Badass this and badass that and badass badass.  Soon it was an epidemic of badass around the house.  So we sat down and had a conversation about "grown-up words".  Now I must admit I started the "badass" situation but it was going too far.  So, I discussed the words that were reserved for grown-up use ONLY.  Then we talked about how "badass" was ok for his shoes but other than that he was never EVER to use the word.  OK...this was a conversation with an almost three year old.  I didn't expect it to sink in fast or maybe ever at all but I was determined to reiterate my point when needed.  Soon after the conversation, maybe several days or a week, my son and I were doing something.  I guess it was something pretty cool even though I don't recall but he looked up at me and said "mommy, you're like my shoes."  I was a little confused and probably just stared at him.  So he said again "Mommy, you are like my shoes!"  Again I was missing it and asked him what he said.  "you are like my shoes!"  Then I realized it..."I'm badass?" I asked...and it was answered with a resounding "YES!"  My almost three year old had made his first simile and I'm totally to blame...but remember I'm BADASS!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Poor Parenting?

Before I had a child, I had tons of preconceived notions about parenting.  I thought that my friends who already had children weren't very good parents.  I had all these plans and of course it was the perfect way to raise a child.  I was going to stick to my guns no matter what happened.  My child wasn't going to watch tv or eat junk food or ever step foot in McDonald's.  But then I was in college and TV worked as a distraction so I could get my work done and that went out the window.  Then grandparents, they aren't much help.  They sneak the kid junk food every time they are alone even after you've insisted over and over that said child isn't allowed to have it and when it feels like the whole world is against you, you just give up.  Then that Mc word.  Everyone knows it tastes delishious and it is even a little addicting.  Just seeing the golden arches can make you hungry.  So, I was pretty determined not to even give my little one a single taste of it.  But then there are those moments in parenthood where you are halfway through a three hour car ride, have five dollars to your name and a two year old in the backseat screaming how hungry he is.  Then that plan took a backseat to life.  See that's the problem...we make all these plans and really life isn't planned it just happens.  In fact life is happening all around us while we read/write this.  I'm quite certain that in this country we work and work to make a nice life but life doesn't stop to wait for us and by the time we get there...well life is almost over.  But back to my parenting plan.  I did have notions that I stuck to.  I promised my child wouldn't drink soda...and he's 4 and still never had soda.  I wanted to co-sleep, breastfeed and selectively vaccinate and all of those I've done.  I swore my son wouldn't be a three year old in pull-ups and I did potty train him by the time he was two.  I also promised myself he wouldn't have a bink(y) (pacifier) after he could walk and bink/y/bipy got packed up after he started walking.  I also didn't want to reinforce negative behavior and for the most part I'm pretty good at ignoring or disciplining the negative behavior instead of giving into it.
Then there are the things you don't really think about.  For example when your four year old is in the fitting room with you while you are trying on a new shirt and shouts out "I see your boobies, Mommy!"  Or when you are in a restroom going to the bathroom and you have an emergency have to poop incident, you wait until the bathroom clears and try to poop both as quickly and as quietly as possible and your little one screams "are you pooping, Mommy?"  You don't plan on them shouting "my penis is up" in the middle of their social activities.  And while we all know mommy kisses are magic and mommies make boo-boos all better with them.  We never count on our 2 year old dropping the toilet seat on his penis and asking mommy to kiss it better.  We don't plan for these things before we have children.  So when your 2 year old is crying in the store while you are trying to find clothes that fit and making a huge scene...and you bend down and quietly say "I love you crack-baby" and your two year old looks back up at you and screams "I love you too crack-mommy"...all you can really do is smile and laugh.
We all have these plans on what we're going to do and what great parents we're going to be.  And while we try to plan for what we can and handle what we can't plan for, life still happens.  It goes on and we have to roll with the punches and try to enjoy ourselves in the meantime.  There isn't any point in being embarrassed.  I'm sure I'm not the only mother to have my boobs or bathroom behaviors called out in public and I surely won't be the last.  In fact this is probably happening to some poor woman as I type this.  And all those things that I thought were poor parenting were really just survival, you have to pick your battles.  Find what's most important to you and stick to your guns and learn to let the other stuff slide.  Good luck Mamas!

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Grown-ups are secretly plotting to keep all the good stuff for themselves

I have very few distinct memories from my childhood.  This probably shouldn't be surprising as my childhood was fairly traumatic and in order to survive I blocked out most of it.  One particular thing that stands out in my pre-separation (before my mom left my dad) life is the Chinese food restaurant that we would eat at like all the time.  We went there so often that we had a regular waitress and sometimes her kids would come out of the kitchen to play with me or eat with us and color  (keep in mind these were Chinese people and it was the 80's).  I loved that place.  I don't recall any specific meals there for the most part.  I know at some point that I tried the spicy mustard after much insistence from my parents that it was hot and I wouldn't like it.  But who were they to tell me what I would and wouldn't like to eat...I wasn't a damn baby drinking formula...I had a very mature pallet after all.  Spicy mustard, it turned out was just too much for my 6 year old taste buds and I decided that while I wouldn't tell my parents they were right, THEY WERE RIGHT!  The time I do distinctly remember is when sometime after that my mom invited her friend and her friend's daughter (who was my best friend at the time) to join us for lunch or dinner at our favorite restaurant.  I was so excited to share this experience with my best friend.  So we are all gathered in our little booth sharing this exciting "ethnic" food when the waitress brings out the little "pallet" thing of sauces.  And my friend must have had similar thought patterns to me because she was instantly drawn to the bright yellow mustard.  It went something like this:
Friend:  Oooh I want that *points to mustard*
Friend's mom:  No, that's just for grown ups.
Friend:  I WANT IT!
Friend's mom:  It's not for children.
Me:  *seeing where this is going* trust me *insert friend's name* you don't want it, it's gross, you won't like it :)
Friend:  But I do want some...
My mom:  *insert my name* tried it, she is telling you the truth
Friend:  you are all LYING to me to trick me out of something good and have it ALL for yourselves!
Friend's mom:  really you don't want it, it's not for kids.
Friend:  *all out screaming, sobbing fit* I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT!!!!  *laying in the floor kicking and screaming*  I WANT ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!
Friend's mom:  OK
Friend:  *gets up instantly*   *takes heaping spoonful*  *face turns fire red*  *screaming ensues*  *I think she even spit fire*  *angrily*  YOU ALL TRICKED ME!

I only bring this up because the 4 year old woke up...yes it really is midnight here...demanding more food.  After debating with him he settled on bologna (fried) with ketchup.  I cook it, cut it and go to ketchup it.  I found a container on the counter of small packets of sauces and proceeded to grab a handful of red ones...luckily I read them before dumping them out on his plate...because when I did, they said "Taco Bell Fire Sauce"  That would have made for a memorable childhood moment.  And while I actually saved him from this traumatic experience, I'm sure he'll remember it as the grown-ups secretly plotting to keep all the good stuff for themselves.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Toothpicks and WWIII emergency supply kit.

I'm going to blame my parents for this...

I have horrible dental hygiene, like really horrible.  I don't feel like they ever instilled in me appropriate teeth care philosophy.

When I was 3 my mom was still putting me to bed with bottles...sometimes filled with Kool-aid...don't ask me why but maybe it's part of why teenagers shouldn't have babies.  Then my front four teeth rotted out of my head...and then I had to go to some war death camp and have them pulled out of my head with giant plyers and no pain medicine...well that's not how it really happened but that is exactly how my nightmares after the dentist removed my rotten baby teeth went. 

So some where between age 3 and rational thought, I always decided that the teeth I had were baby teeth and didn't need caring for and when my adult teeth came in, I wouldn't let anything happen to them.  I promised myself...but that didn't last long and before I knew it I had fillings in almost all my teeth.  Then it got worse...I avoided the dentist until I could no teeth were throbbing...I wanted to ram my mouth into a desk, over and over until my teeth stopped hurting or until they fell our or I was knocked unconcious.

I made the appointment...I didn't want to go but the pain made it unavoidable.  I debated with myself over and over.  I knew it wasn't going to be good but again the pain triumphed and off I went.  The dentist gives you this form to fill out asking silly questions...and I know they totally judge you as they read your you can't tell how often I brush my teeth by looking at them...but the form goes like this:
How often do you brush:___________________________
How often do you floss:___________________________
Do you notice any blood after brushing/flossing:__________________
Do you have bad breath:__________________
Do you get headaches:__________________
Do you have senstitivites to cold/hot:_______________________

For a moment I consider lying...I brush 3x a day...floss...ummm...everyday...blood?  um no, why would I? 
Then I think about it...these people are experts at teeth...are they really going to believe that all this decay occurred with such excellent care...that I was just unlucky and cursed with really shitty teeth...or maybe they are using this as a test of my I quickly decide not to lie...but I can't possibly tell the truth I come up with the idea to answer half my form ends up like this:

How often do you brush:  Whenever I remember to
How often do you floss:  When I think about it
Do you notice any blood:  Only when I brush or floss
Do you have bad breath:  When I eat garlic or don't brush my teeth
and so forth...and I try not to look anyone in the eye when I turn the form in...I hate being judged
Then they send me back to the examination room and I'm waiting for like ever...which is again my fault because I spent so long debating on whether I should even come that by the time I decided I had to I was already running 15 minutes late.  Then someone comes in an attemps to get x-rays.  After some x-rays (which for now I will not tell you how difficult that is for me but will explain at some point later.)  The dentist comes in to tell me about the abscesses under my teeth and now I have two options A) remove said tooth or B) root canal...well I don't want to look silly and be missing teeth (I have seriously scary nightmares about that situation) so I opt for the root canal and the appointment is scheduled.

Now let's flash forward to now...I've had 3 root canals and with all the negative hype surrounding'd think they were really painful but nah...nothing to it.  But the problem I have now is that for a while I tried to be a good tooth caregiver...I really really did.  I went to the dentist, got a cleaning, kept cleaning them to maintain the minty fresh clean the dentist left me with.  I started flossing religiously...and then it happened...the floss got stuck.  I tugged and tugged but it wouldn't budge.  I let go of the inside side and pulled...but nothing happend...then I pulled from the inside side and again nothing happened.  I freaked out...I'm not sure why I'm sure nothing bad really happens if you get floss stuck between your teeth but suddenly it was like it was a bomb wedged in my mouth and it was going to EXPLODE!  So I grabbed both ends in a panic and ripped as hard as I could...and it broke free...but not without serious repercussions.  I noticed a rock in the back of my throat...and then I coughed it up...but it wasn't a was the filling from my tooth!  So now there is a crater sized hole in my tooth from where the filling should be.  This obviously put a damper on my tooth care regime.

But this hole creates a whole new problem.  I can't eat anything without something getting lodged in it.  Depending on what gets stuck, it ranges from annoying to pain, pain ,explosive pain ,I think my face is going to fall off and I'm going to die pain.  There are a few inbetweens of mildly bothersome and excessive pressure but usually it's either just annoying or the most painful experience of my life and I've given birth!  So to tolerate living with this hole, I've made some simple adaptations.  I analyze foods before I eat them and look for things that might cause problems...carrots, banana nut bread, peanut M&Ms...etc.  I learn to chew some things on the other side of my mouth and to avoid others all together.  I also learn to keep a stash of toothpicks nearby.  And that is where this post was born. 

When I use a toothpick in my living room it inevitably gets lost.  I can have it in my hand and not even a second later, it has vanished.  Then I will go get another one only for it to vanish moments later as well.  I didn't really question where they were going, nor did I really care.  They are little splinters of wood that I can get a box of like 1000 for a couple dollars.  I could never use that many if I kept using the same one, so I just thought it was God's way of helping me not waste them...that is until one day when I was trying to clean my living room and removed the sofa cushion...and found a whole stash of toothpicks.  Now keep in mind I have a four year I also found:
a peanut
some puff'n'corn
a few random candies
some potato chips
some cheetos
some lint
and some unidentifiable substances

Now a normal person would be disgusted by this...I however, thought it was ingenious!  I left it all under there and now call it our WWIII emergency supply kit.  My husband had no idea about this secret stash until one day when we were all in the living room and I annouced that I wanted a toothpick.  No one was 'unlazy' enough to go get I asked him to get one from the WWIII emergency supply kit under the sofa cushion.  He made a slightly scrunched look and laughed at me...but just to prove we were made for each other...he didn't make me clean it out either.

So...if you ever need a toothpick, peanut, candy, chip or cheeto...just ask and I'll pull one of the sofa for you.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Easter is a big f***ing deal

I hate holidays.  I also have a need to do/be the opposite of what most people do/are.  And I know you are now thinking that this hatred of holidays stems from that need...and while you might be partially right...that is not the entire story.  I could go into the horrible story I have from each holiday in my childhood...but I'll spare you for now.  I'll just leave you with the one where I was about ten and my stepfather threatened to kill my father on Christmas...that was probably the most traumatic  (picture a 300lb 6+ feet tall man vs.  a 165lb 5' 8" dad).  Hell I'll throw in how my mother left my father on Mother's day when I was 9.  Just sum it up as bad things started happening in my life on holidays the year I turned 10.  So holidays were not only the start of my life spinning into an uncontrollable disaster but with each one it got worse. 

I said I hate holidays...and that is the rule but we all know there is an exception to every exception is EASTER.  I fucking love EASTER! 

It's like this...what other holiday do you get to make everything into rainbow fucking candy happiness.  You can block out all the horrible shit in your life with a basket full of candy rainbow happiness.  You can fill your entire shopping cart up with bags of candy, eggs, marshmallows, stuffed animals and no one even looks at you funny.  Then you boil some eggs and dye them all the colors of the rainbow.  The only thing that could make Easter better is a unicorn pooping rainbow eggs full of candy.  That's right a candy rainbow egg pooping unicorn with a rainbow mane.  If anyone knows where I can get one, please send me more information.

You're probably thinking "umm ok, great you love Easter...why the Hell would you waste my time blogging about it?"  or "So, if you love Easter so damn much...well then...what seems to be the problem?"

Well to answer your question...I take EASTER way too serious.  Here are a few examples:

Example:  normal people dye eggs red, blue, yellow and green (maybe purple)
Me:  I buy multiple boxes of food coloring and make every color the box has directions for and some of my own blends.  (if you love of the food coloring companies makes neon color dyes too!)

Example:  Normal people dye a dozen eggs
Me:  I dye at least TWO packs of 18 Eggs

Example:  Normal people buy a basket and a little candy for their kid
Me:  I buy two baskets and a giant k-mart bag size of candy that is filled to the top, not to mention some dvds, a book or two and some stuffed animals (stuffies)  (and that's just for me)

Example:  Normal people upon realizing what they were going to buy (for Easter) is sold out, think for a second and buy something different
Me:  I have a panic attack and go to every store in a 45 minute radius, sometimes returning to stores already visited with some crazy delusional idea that the item I am looking for has magically appeared on the once empty shelf.

Ok, so you get that EASTER is a big f***ing least in my house.

So now we complicate Easter by adding in the fact that I have a child.  I have to confess that every year since I was old enough to dye eggs until now, I have dyed Easter eggs.  I must also add that every year up until I had my son and maybe even a few after that the Easter Bunny brought me baskets of candy and goodies.  So now I have a legit reason to celebrate it's like a great rationalization for my insanity!  But now things are even more complicated by the fact that two years ago on My 6 year anniversary with my boyfriend...we got married on Easter Sunday. 

How does that complicate things you might ask?

Well here is the husband was raised by morons.  Yes total MORONS (p.s. don't tell my in-laws I said this) not to be confused with Mormons.  I don't think they are actually retarded but I think they are socially inept and didn't really do anything the correct way, again not to be confused with Mormons.  And I apologize if any of you were raised by morons (or even Mormons) and now think this is the appropriate way to celebrate Easter.  But for some reason his family dyes eggs the night before Easter so the Easter Bunny can hide the eggs?!?!?!  And then the Bunny leaves them some stuff (a little candy, pack of socks or something educational) in baskets they leave out?!?!?!

So we are at my family's house this Easter...and we are celebrating it the way it SHOULD be done (dyeing eggs on Easter and taking turns hiding them and finding them...and the Easter Bunny came while we were sleeping and brought some baskets with him and hid them in a random place for my son to find)...and Husband starts telling me what is supposed to be done next...I'm staring at him with something that resembles my "what the fuck face?" and I guess a look of general confusion....then I look at him and start the speech that goes like this: 
I hate every holiday except this one!  I played along when you wanted to play Santa at Christmas, put up a freaking Christmas tree and make me decorate it and when you wanted to do x, y and z at Halloween but this is my f***ing holiday.  Do NOT ruin the ONE holiday I enjoy...

Then husband shuts up...but not for long.  I guess I should explain that husband lives in another state because he was in law school and even though he just finished, he was offered a temporary job near his home in that state.  So I'm living at home with family while he tries to find a job where we can live together.  So with that out there, he then says "well can you make me some egg salad to take home?"

Ok...back to normal vs. me and how I take Easter too seriously
Normal people:  Eat Easter eggs
Me:  Saves Easter eggs until they rot because I become emotionally attached to said eggs...but but they are prettyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

After investing so much time with a crayon writing "son's name <3's family member's name" or "we <3 Easter Eggs" or "Happy Easter"  or "son's name, Easter 2011" and then selecting the perfect color for each one...I almost want to cry thinking about picking through them to decide which one to eat.  And I feel almost superstitious about breaking one's with things like our son's name or family member's names on them.  The thought of this sends me into a panic stricken terror filled falling on the floor and twitching attack while curled in the fetal position sucking on my thumb with glazed over eyes.

Eventually I will sacrifice the ugly eggs...the cracked ones, the ones made from the random colors I tried to concoct or the ugly dusty rose color that no matter how many times I do this, and see they turn out ugly, still insist on making.  But even those eggs deserve a day of fun...a day of hiding in the grass and feeling the sun on their skin, rather shells.

 So when husband suggests that we start cracking em open before the dye has even heart sinks...panic starts to consume me...and my dad just looks at my husband and starts laughing.  Then our 4 year old says "you want to break my eggs" and starts to cry too.  We spend about 20 minutes between the two of discussing which eggs mean the most to us before settling on three we are willing to sacrifice.  Husband should feel one ever got to eat my eggs before!

P.S.  I've mastered boiling the eggs to get the least amount of cracked eggs...this year the result was 0 cracked eggs.  Some people boil their eggs for something like 6 minutes or something...I put the eggs in a big pan filled with cold water...then I turn it on high and set a timer for 20 minutes...the eggs are always perfectly cooked and very few crack (just a tip for you fellow Easter <3ers.)

I have no clue what my point was other than I am probably certifiably crazy when it comes to Easter.  But maybe someone will actually read the whole thing and find something of redeemable quality...maybe just a tip on how to limit the cracked eggs you get...but that's something, right?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Something about Poop

So my 4 year is, what I would consider, Abnormally obsessed with poop.  We actually had a meltdown, fall on the ground, freak out over not seeing my poop recently.  I admit this is partially my fault. 

I guess I need to explain that I have IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) which is pretty miserable.  So, as you can imagine I have to make frequent bathroom trips and it's always in a hurry.  There is actually a lot of background information I should give you. 

My 4 year old has bilateral hydronephrosis (big word for kidneys that retain fluid) and is supposed to go pee every 2 hours.  This was a huge challenge for us because well he is a small child and if you've ever tried to "make" a small child do something they didn't want to do, you'd probably understand this a lot better. 

We started with "it's time to peepee"
then we'd try "why don't you just try?" 
Which was always responded to with "But I DON"T HAVE TO PEEPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" 
Then we'd say something like "Maybe you don't know you have to pee?" 
And he would say "ASDSAGWRAGERGERGERAWWWER PEEPEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  followed by growling noises.

Well I shouldn't have to tell you this but in case you couldn't tell logic and reasoning were not working.  So we resorted to competition.  That's a great idea we have a, at that time 3 year old boy...and boys like sports right?  So came the invention of the peepee contest.  At first it was just to see who could pee the longest.  He'd go into the bathroom with mom or dad and we'd count (really slowly) the mississippi's while we peed and then say "I bet you can't pee longer...You can't beat that!"  and seriously what 3 year old isn't going to take on that challenge?  So he'd pee even when moments before we'd had the "I DON'T HAVE TO PEEPEEEEEEEEE!" fight and well of course we wanted him to win because if he lost it would have gone like this:  "I HATE THIS GAME, I'M NEVER PLAYIN IT AGIN!"  (storms off in a pouty fit of anger)  So we'd count really really fast and he'd always win.  Which turned into "I win, you guys are bad at this!" and this is where it began...I should have seen it coming.

It went from a simple competition of who could pee the longest to who could get to the bathroom first.  In an ordinary household this probably wouldn't have resulted in anything...but remember I have IBS.  So it began with an announcement:  I stand up "Mommy has to peepee."  3 year old stands up "I'll beat you!"  then the race begins.  The first couple times it was actually cute, he was peepeeing on his own and all I had to do was announce I was going pee every 2 hours.  This parenting thing is EASY (I even amaze myself, I am just that good)...jeeze what is everyone bitching about!  Then it took a turn for the worse.  My IBS was starting to act up...I look over to see what my 3 year is doing...I ask him "do you have to potty?"  He looks away from his WII game and says "no, I'm playing a game!"  I look at him again deciding whether to waste time on his attitude or just make a bee-line to the bathroom.  I double check to see how my stomach is feeling and realize it's about to be a 10 on some scale that measures how badly someone has to poop (we'll call the I have to poop scale because I don't have time right now to come up with something more unique or funny)  But to put it mildly there is about to be a chocolate pudding emergency in my pants if I don't start this point I'm mid-sprint out of the living room...when my 3 year old notices and asks "where are you going mommy?"  I yell "to the potty." I guess instinctively he sees my running as competition so he jumps up and screams "I'm going to beat you" as he knocks me over in the hallway.  I managed to make it to an upstairs bathroom right before explosive impact.  After a few more incidents of near poop "Chernobyl"s, I decided something must be done.  I couldn't avert disaster forever.  And this is where the poop obsession began.  I was in the middle of an explosive bathroom session and heard my son outside the door...I invited him in the bathroom to have a serious discussion. 
"You know how mommy says she has to potty and then you think it's a race?  And then mommy says it's cause her belly hurts...but you still think it's a race?" 
3 year old shakes head to indicate he understands what I am saying
"I know you don't understand how it feels and I don't want you to have to feel this bad ever but I do want you to know that when that happens mommy really really hurts and really really has to potty"
3 year old stands there with blank expression
Mommy finishes on potty, wipes and pulls up pants *genius idea strikes*
"See when mommy's poop looks like this *points to poop in potty*  (which just looks like strings of chocolate pudding exploded in the toilet)  it means her belly hurts and it's hard not to have an accident in her pants.  Do you understand?"
3 year old nods head yes

This worked great for a while until he started asking to see my poop all the first I was like umok...but then came the day when I flushed before he knew I pooped
almost 4 year old comes running into the bathroom "did you poop?"
Me:  yes
almost 4 year old:  Can I see it?
Me:  Um I flushed
Me:  umm
almost 4 year old:  *breaks down in sobbing fit, falling on the floor*
Me:  sorry?
almost 4 year old:  *still sobbing, coiled up in fetal position on the floor and twitching*
Me:  umm actually I didn't poop this time, I was JUST PLAYING!  LOL
almost 4 year old:  *still twitching* you didn't?
Me:  Nope, it was just a silly joke
*crisis averted*

Which brings me back to where I was starting...
Today I was having an IBS issue, raced to the bathroom when 4 year old decides as I am using the potty that he now in fact has to pee...le've got to be kidding me.  Now this isn't the first time this has happened and it won't be the last.  So it goes:
4 year old:  But I have to pee, mommy!
Me:  I'm almost done, just give me a minute
4 year old:  *angry*  I don't have to pee anymore!  I'm just going to sit in the sink *climbs up into sink*
Me:  Get down, I'm wiping right now.
4 year old:  No!  I don't have to pee ANYMORE!
Me:  yes you do, it doesn't just go away like that.
4 year old:  I DO NOT!
Me:  *trying not to get too annoyed*  Yes you do, your Kidneys are going to be angry if you don't...they might EXPLODE!
4 year old:  *still pouting in sink*  *possibly stuck*
Me:  *pulls up pants* *genius idea strikes* hey do you want to see my poop?
4 year old:  YES!!!!!!!!! *all excited*
Me:  *picks 4 year old out of the sink* 
4 year old:  oohh POOP *then he pees*

I'm a genius and my 4 year old is obsessed with poop...and it's probably all my fault

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Contemplating April Holidays

So I was starting my first day at a new job when my boss asked his assistant the pay period dates.  And this is the result of that conversation...

If you don't get it...I don't know what to tell you.  Or at least I think I'm funny!