So, it's been a loooonnnnggg time since I decided to blog...and even longer since I've actually blogged anything! Life in my house has changed...I officially have two little boys. I live in the land of make-believe monsters, i.e. Darth Booger, and sword fights...and for the most part, I LOVE it. I started working more hours at my part-time job, which has been an experiment, for the most part. My kids miss me and I cut back on my hours again; besides, now with baseball and soccer and activities, it's nearly impossible to maintain any kind of regular schedule. My big boy, who I'm now calling Thing 1, is super active and SUPER excited because today is daddy's birthday. He desperately wants to help me make the birthday cake, which, is also an experiment (most things in my house are). I'm trying to make a mint-chocolate chip ice cream cake...it's not going well. I can cook. Well. I am bad at cakes and stuff. This isn't any better because it includes ice-cream. Currently, I have a cake base with soup-like ice-cream sitting on top of it re-freezing because I didn't let the cake cool enough (apparently) and a very upset kindergartener that wants to help desperately and doesn't get that the ice-cream has to become ICE cream again before we can do anything with it.
My little one is partially at fault for this fiasco. Thing 2 was ABSOLUTELY a force to be reckoned with today! He woke up grumpy, which is unusual for my normally sunshiny, happy, little man. But, nonetheless, he woke up grumpy...pissy even. And it hasn't improved. I thought a change of scenery might help, so we went to the grocery store to buy what I needed for the cake, and pick up some Rx at the pharmacy. It started with him flirting with the girl at the pharmacy like he usually does, which was encouraging...and then it spiraled downhill at a pace that I still can't wrap my head around. I don't know what went wrong or why, but, things were flying out of the cart, Thing 2 was climbing out of the cart, throwing himself around, screaming and whining. Sooo...I paid for the few items I NEEDED, aborted the remainder of my shopping and high-tailed it out of there, only to do what any sensible person would do (please note my sarcasm here!)...I took him out to lunch with some friends. And not, to a fast-food place where they could run amok in a plastic jungle and scream like barbarians...no....I'm not that smart. We went to a decent local pizzeria where local businessfolk like to have normal lunches. My child was the only one that refused to behave. There was no sitting, there was no eating (for either of us), it was pure chaos. This time I took the hint and we came home. I decided to start the cake, and get him down for a nap. In retrospect, I should've tackled one of these at a time and not in tandem. But, I'm a glutton for punishment. Got the chocolate cake mixed and in the oven and then TRIED to get him to nap. There was much crying, drawer emptying, flailing, etc...and alas, no nap. Conceding defeat (and needing to deal with the whole cake thing), he came downstairs and tried to help me, which resulting in a not-so-cool cake being used as a base for ice-cream and has ended with a soupy mess in my freezer. Here's to hoping it turns out okay, or at least tastes okay. I am committing to blogging more...this is my new resolve. I need to do this for my sanity...and I want to start reviewing products, but, in order to do it, I have to blog more.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Sunday, June 13, 2010
school makes me poop...
Okay, so I haven't posted in a few days...I'm still new at this and bad about making time to do it. C's results from the urologist have come in...he has trained his sphincter muscles to stay clamped shut so that's why it hurts when he goes pee. She says our two options are laxatives (to help relax the sphincter muscles) or biofeedback therapy. Laxatives have a down-side...a BIG down-side...he already shits his pants when he gets engrossed in games...I would prefer if it wasn't diarrhea. That being said, my understanding of biofeedback therapy (and I full-well could be wrong here) is that it's like electric shock therapy. Sounds awful, but, my luck, knowing my kid, he'll enjoy it and keep the muscles clamped up just so he can go back for more. Ahhh...decisions, decisions...
C's end-of-the-year school show was Friday night. It got off to a rocky start. Rehearsal during the day involved an epic temper tantrum that involved holding on to the rungs of a banister and insane amounts of wailing. After practice, he complained all day about how it was gonna be boring and awful and terrible, no good, horrible, and any other adjective you might wish to add to the list that denotes misery. At some point during this fiasco of whining, I was again reminded by the cosmos of 2 things: 1) I am not an adaptive personality and 2) the more rushed and flustered I am, the more of a guarantee that is that shit WILL go wrong.
It started heading in a severe southbound direction around the time that I realized that my husband was NOT going to be home at the time he told me he would be. Apparently there was some sort of traffic fiasco on 78 on the way home and he got caught up in it. Knowing that C had to be at the show for 6:30 was weighing on me when it got to be 4:30 and I realized that I had not yet gotten a chance to shower. I, perhaps putting too much faith in a 5-year old, decided to go shower, with the understanding that C would "watch" his brother. I got as far as in the shower and starting to lather my hair with shampoo with the screaming began; followed by the thundering footsteps of C, SCREAMING "MOMMY!!! LIAM ATE SOMETHING OUT OF THE TOILET!!!"...soooo...I did what any mom would do..I leapt out of the shower, soap running into my eyes to see what on Earth had happened. We use those little gel sticky thingys that go into the toilet bowl to keep them clean and deodorize them...L, it seems, decided to investigate this little green blob of goodness and in doing so smeared it all over his face, his body, his hair, his clothes and apparently ate some. I know this because his breath was minty, toilet bowl fresh. After calling poison control and learning that I did not, in fact, have to have a coronary and rush him to the hospital with soap still in my hair, I turned to C and asked him "didn't I tell you to watch your brother?!?!?"...and got a reply that I never in a million years expected... "mommy I DID watch him...I watched him open the toilet, pull out the goo-ball, rub it all over and taste it...I didn't worry until he tasted it though and then I came and got you." GRRRR...really, growling was all I could muster at that point. Now, we're even shorter on time, hubby is nowhere near home, my eyes are on fire from the soap and my youngest child smells like the inside of a toilet bowl. L gets unceremoniously tossed into the shower with me and we get as clean as possible; despite my best efforts, it is now Sunday night and he STILL smells like toilet cleaner. I hop out of the shower, toss C his clothes to get ready for his show and attempt to get my hair dried and L dressed. Hair drying was no problem at all...getting L dressed, on the other hand, was not so easy. The child that typically brings me his shoes with a quizzical "go out?"... has stood his ground..."no mamma, no choos...boo boo, no choos" and despite my best efforts, I think I would have had better luck trying to wrestle with a greased piglet in my kitchen because those shoes were NOT going on his feet. We settled for the next best thing...socks and the shoes would come along for the ride. C is dressed, dad is ready, L is ready, Hubby is still absolutely nowhere to be found and it is a FIRM 5:30, so we have got to go NOW because I've decided to feed everyone at the diner so that we can get moving...except...my dog has now conspired against us being on time.
I should probably have mentioned earlier...I am an insane animal lover. My husband hates that I bring home animals consistently. Worse yet, I am on the board of advisors for our local animal shelter so sad animal stories are perpetually in my face and something is always tugging at my heart-string. Such was the case with our 8-year old chocolate lab, Sadie. We got her a few months ago and for me, she is the epitome of perfect dog; good natured, great with the kids, quiet, lovable, etc... but she, like most women, has man issues. She just doesn't trust him, so 99% of the time she will NOT go to the bathroom outside for him. For me, she typically has no problems telling me she has to go out and then subsequently doing her business. NOT today though!!! Noooooo....I'm in a rush so of course, today, at the exact moment I'm trying to herd 2 little people and one blind old man in a forward moving direction, she decided she had to poop NOW. At first it wasn't a big deal. I grabbed a paper towel with the intention of flushing the poop and we're all good...except that it clogged the toilet. So, let me paint this scene for you...2 kids dressed up in nice dress clothes, my blind father (also dressed up) milling around the foyer of my house, the powder room (just off of the foyer) has an overflowing toilet. I am standing there in a white (yes, you read that correctly) white sundress with open-toed sandals on, staring at the water beginning to overflow the toilet, knowing that there is absolutely no way I can get to the shut-off valve without getting poopy water on some part of my outfit, however, the situation is getting more dire by the second. I suck it up, shut the water off and grab the plunger with an attempt to not soil myself, while my father is screaming that the bathroom door is closed, hurry up, he has to pee, and my children are screaming because the want to go. In goes the plunger and with a sickening "glump" water goes spraying all over the walls and my legs...at which point I throw the plunger into the toilet, wash my legs in the sink and declare the score Toilet: 1, Me: 0 and figure that whenever D gets his a** home, HE can deal with it.
Out the door....only about 20 minutes late but we're out! I won't even get into the fiasco at the diner because I can't even put that into words. Cranky 2-year old and impossible old man make life miserable. No matter where I moved anything on the table it was not safe from spilling, either by L or my dad. It was hopeless, really, but, hubby did finally show up and meet us at the diner. We choked down food and I rushed C up to his show while my dad, D, & L followed behind since they didn't have to be there until the show started at 7.
On the way TO the show, C informed me in the car that "school makes me poop mom"...when I asked for clarification on that point, he embellished by saying it makes him want to poop. The only thing I can think of as a fair explanation is that either A) he thinks school is a pain in his ass or B) He's so happy about it he could shit. Sadly, I think it's the former.
Nonetheless, he did an amazing job. He sang loudly, danced joyfully and had a wonderful time. I was the proudest mommy on Earth. We took him to Rita's for Italian ices afterwards and we were all good until he said "mommy, that was fun...I would do it again...I guess I didn't need to have a tantrum all week about it"...and I wanted to jump out of the car! We passed a milestone on Friday night...he graduated from preschool and did so beautifully. Next year we ride the bus to school and we start a new phase of life!
C's end-of-the-year school show was Friday night. It got off to a rocky start. Rehearsal during the day involved an epic temper tantrum that involved holding on to the rungs of a banister and insane amounts of wailing. After practice, he complained all day about how it was gonna be boring and awful and terrible, no good, horrible, and any other adjective you might wish to add to the list that denotes misery. At some point during this fiasco of whining, I was again reminded by the cosmos of 2 things: 1) I am not an adaptive personality and 2) the more rushed and flustered I am, the more of a guarantee that is that shit WILL go wrong.
It started heading in a severe southbound direction around the time that I realized that my husband was NOT going to be home at the time he told me he would be. Apparently there was some sort of traffic fiasco on 78 on the way home and he got caught up in it. Knowing that C had to be at the show for 6:30 was weighing on me when it got to be 4:30 and I realized that I had not yet gotten a chance to shower. I, perhaps putting too much faith in a 5-year old, decided to go shower, with the understanding that C would "watch" his brother. I got as far as in the shower and starting to lather my hair with shampoo with the screaming began; followed by the thundering footsteps of C, SCREAMING "MOMMY!!! LIAM ATE SOMETHING OUT OF THE TOILET!!!"...soooo...I did what any mom would do..I leapt out of the shower, soap running into my eyes to see what on Earth had happened. We use those little gel sticky thingys that go into the toilet bowl to keep them clean and deodorize them...L, it seems, decided to investigate this little green blob of goodness and in doing so smeared it all over his face, his body, his hair, his clothes and apparently ate some. I know this because his breath was minty, toilet bowl fresh. After calling poison control and learning that I did not, in fact, have to have a coronary and rush him to the hospital with soap still in my hair, I turned to C and asked him "didn't I tell you to watch your brother?!?!?"...and got a reply that I never in a million years expected... "mommy I DID watch him...I watched him open the toilet, pull out the goo-ball, rub it all over and taste it...I didn't worry until he tasted it though and then I came and got you." GRRRR...really, growling was all I could muster at that point. Now, we're even shorter on time, hubby is nowhere near home, my eyes are on fire from the soap and my youngest child smells like the inside of a toilet bowl. L gets unceremoniously tossed into the shower with me and we get as clean as possible; despite my best efforts, it is now Sunday night and he STILL smells like toilet cleaner. I hop out of the shower, toss C his clothes to get ready for his show and attempt to get my hair dried and L dressed. Hair drying was no problem at all...getting L dressed, on the other hand, was not so easy. The child that typically brings me his shoes with a quizzical "go out?"... has stood his ground..."no mamma, no choos...boo boo, no choos" and despite my best efforts, I think I would have had better luck trying to wrestle with a greased piglet in my kitchen because those shoes were NOT going on his feet. We settled for the next best thing...socks and the shoes would come along for the ride. C is dressed, dad is ready, L is ready, Hubby is still absolutely nowhere to be found and it is a FIRM 5:30, so we have got to go NOW because I've decided to feed everyone at the diner so that we can get moving...except...my dog has now conspired against us being on time.
I should probably have mentioned earlier...I am an insane animal lover. My husband hates that I bring home animals consistently. Worse yet, I am on the board of advisors for our local animal shelter so sad animal stories are perpetually in my face and something is always tugging at my heart-string. Such was the case with our 8-year old chocolate lab, Sadie. We got her a few months ago and for me, she is the epitome of perfect dog; good natured, great with the kids, quiet, lovable, etc... but she, like most women, has man issues. She just doesn't trust him, so 99% of the time she will NOT go to the bathroom outside for him. For me, she typically has no problems telling me she has to go out and then subsequently doing her business. NOT today though!!! Noooooo....I'm in a rush so of course, today, at the exact moment I'm trying to herd 2 little people and one blind old man in a forward moving direction, she decided she had to poop NOW. At first it wasn't a big deal. I grabbed a paper towel with the intention of flushing the poop and we're all good...except that it clogged the toilet. So, let me paint this scene for you...2 kids dressed up in nice dress clothes, my blind father (also dressed up) milling around the foyer of my house, the powder room (just off of the foyer) has an overflowing toilet. I am standing there in a white (yes, you read that correctly) white sundress with open-toed sandals on, staring at the water beginning to overflow the toilet, knowing that there is absolutely no way I can get to the shut-off valve without getting poopy water on some part of my outfit, however, the situation is getting more dire by the second. I suck it up, shut the water off and grab the plunger with an attempt to not soil myself, while my father is screaming that the bathroom door is closed, hurry up, he has to pee, and my children are screaming because the want to go. In goes the plunger and with a sickening "glump" water goes spraying all over the walls and my legs...at which point I throw the plunger into the toilet, wash my legs in the sink and declare the score Toilet: 1, Me: 0 and figure that whenever D gets his a** home, HE can deal with it.
Out the door....only about 20 minutes late but we're out! I won't even get into the fiasco at the diner because I can't even put that into words. Cranky 2-year old and impossible old man make life miserable. No matter where I moved anything on the table it was not safe from spilling, either by L or my dad. It was hopeless, really, but, hubby did finally show up and meet us at the diner. We choked down food and I rushed C up to his show while my dad, D, & L followed behind since they didn't have to be there until the show started at 7.
On the way TO the show, C informed me in the car that "school makes me poop mom"...when I asked for clarification on that point, he embellished by saying it makes him want to poop. The only thing I can think of as a fair explanation is that either A) he thinks school is a pain in his ass or B) He's so happy about it he could shit. Sadly, I think it's the former.
Nonetheless, he did an amazing job. He sang loudly, danced joyfully and had a wonderful time. I was the proudest mommy on Earth. We took him to Rita's for Italian ices afterwards and we were all good until he said "mommy, that was fun...I would do it again...I guess I didn't need to have a tantrum all week about it"...and I wanted to jump out of the car! We passed a milestone on Friday night...he graduated from preschool and did so beautifully. Next year we ride the bus to school and we start a new phase of life!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
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...
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)