getting started...

OK...I can't say I'm entirely sure why I'm starting this, other than friends encouraging me to write down the day-to-day nonsense that goes on in my house, because, according to them, "you can't make this shit up". I suppose a good place to start is a tiny bit of background...I am a stay-at-home mom to two little boys. My oldest (we'll call him C), is 5 and my youngest (who I'll call L), just turned 2. I've been married for 7.5 years to my wonderful, yet nerdy, scientist husband, who I'll call D in this blog. I've had a bizarre life...in some cases wonderfully charmed in that I've gotten to travel the world, see some amazing things and experienced some of the most wonderful times a human can imagine. I have wonderful friends and a mostly wonderful family. I also have had some pretty crappy things happen to me. My dad lives with us because he is blind (and you will find that he is a large source of the nonsense that goes on daily in my house), I lost my mom to complications from Multiple Sclerosis 6.5 years ago and I was myself diagnosed with it 7.5 years ago, one month - to the day - after my wedding.
So there's background...here's today's edition of "you can't make this shit up"...
C has had a fever on and off since Sunday...a crazy fever...goes from 104 to 99 to 103, etc...and then yesterday he peed himself (another recurring trend recently). What was different about this time that he peed himself? It smelled HORRIBLE and he was screaming that it felt like he was being punched in his pee-pee...soooo...off we go to the urologist. You see, this kid has a history of a bladder reflux, so, it never hurts to make sure all is working well with the plumbing. You'd think since hubby took the day off of work to help out with the doctor (as C is nothing resembling cooperative) it should be easy to get out the door with two kids. And it would have been...if my dad didn't decide he wanted a sandwich.
Because of the alarming rate at which my father consumes rye bread, we keep a stock-pile of it in our freezer so as not to ever run out and be forced to make a midnight run for rye bread or be subjected to incessant whining from an older man (which IS, in fact, more pathetic than child whining). So, dad wants a sandwich and the bread is frozen. I tell him to take two slices out and nuke 'em for about 15 seconds then make a sandwich. He's not satisfied knowing there is a WHOLE loaf of frozen bread and therefore feels compelled to defrost the whole thing in one shot. He stuffs the loaf of bread (plastic, twistie-tie and all) into the microwave and within moments I see flames licking out of the microwave. I yell for my dad to shut off the microwave, but, as I mentioned before, he is blind and therefore clueless as to what I am actually yelling about because, since he can't SEE the fire, there must not be any. I dash across the kitchen in time to see my father do what any sane person would do in this instance (*note sarcasm here*)...he grabs the flaming bag of molten plastic and bread in his bare hands and drops it on the counter top full of papers, where he begins smacking the fire out. Then announces, in a shocked sort of fashion, that he's burned himself and there is plastic stuck to his hands. I now have to deal with addressing his burns, scraping plastic off of him, cleaning the molten plastic out of the microwave...oh...and did I mention we have to be at the doctor's office in an hour and half and it's about that long of a drive?!?!
I'll leave you for there tonight...what happened at the doctor's is simply too long of a story, although equally as qualified for "you can't make this shit up". I'll post that tomorrow...