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!