Only 14 days left until we are officially “Homeless.”
No, we have not found a place yet.
Yes, we are looking.
No, I have not got a job yet.
Yes, I am looking.
(Apparently, no one wants to hire a 35 year old whose only experience listed on her resume is “worked with kids for 15 years!” I can’t imagine why not! Seriously.)
No, I am not going to BlogHer.
Yes, I really wanted to go. But, the whole “we’re homeless” thing has kind of ruined those plans. But you have fun without me, ya’hear!?
No, I have not yet had a single glass of the super sized bottle of sangria that PigHunter surprised me with 3 weeks ago because it was on sale for $5.99 and he wanted a blow job.
Yes, that will all change tonight as soon as the kids go to bed. (And by “that” I mean, the bottle will finally be open and consumed, NOT that PigHunter will be getting that blow job he thought he’d get 3 weeks ago because he bought me a cheap bottle of Sangria.)
A Very Important Poll
Are you going to BlogHer?
(Real post coming soon. Stupid Termite Guy ruined my day. But, more about that later. For now, I must know if you plan on going to BlogHer.)
The Toddler Teacheth
This morning my daughter climbed onto the toilet so that she could reach into the cabinet that hangs above it. The cabinet that contains things that she’s not allowed to play with—like deodorant, hair gel and one bottle of pink nail polish that I bought 2 years ago and have used maybe twice.
As I was about to swoop her in my arms to rescue her from all of the things that could possibly result in a phone call to poison control, she made sure to grab the bottle of nail polish.
“I need polish, mom.”
Not “I WANT polish, mom.” Or “I sure would LIKE some polish, mom.”
No.
I NEED polish.
Neeeeeeeed iiiiiiiiiiiit.
Her nails needed to be clipped, so I told her I’d paint her nails, but only after I clipped her nails. She agreed because she nee-eee-eeeeeeded pink polish.
As we walked over to the kitchen table, I stopped and ran back to (not) my bedroom to grab the camera. I had to capture this moment for all eternity. She had on a white tutu, with pink pj pants underneath and a pink shirt with little puppies on the front. She was wearing her purple “tap tap” shoes, her face covered with pink eye shadow and silver eyeliner. (Yes, I own silver eyeliner.)
Sadly, the batteries were dead and I wasn’t able to take a picture. Man, I would have loved for you to see her in all her Girlie Glory.
As I was clipping her tiny little nails, I wondered where she’d learned such girly behavior. She certainly did not learn it from me. I used to be, back “in the day”, but 3 kids and unemployment has turned me into THAT mom. You know, the one who stays in her pj’s until noon and has gone to the grocery store wearing yesterday’s clothes because she didn’t feel like “taking a shower and getting ready because Oh! The energy that requires!” I rarely paint my nails: In fact, I think I’ve painted them twice in the past 2 year, once for a wedding, once for BlogHer. (And I’m not even sure that I painted them for BlogHer. But I’m pretty sure I did, because I remember thinking I would go get a manicure, but then I called Amalah and was all “are you going to get yer nails did?” and she was all “Um, no.” And so I decided to just “do them ma’self.” Just checked Flickr and sadly, yes, I did paint my nails myself and um, well, I don’t think that I should ever do that again.)
As I begin to paint her nails, I almost started to cry because Oh My God, I have a daughter who loves for me to paint her nails with pink nail polish.
She looked at my finger nails and said “Mom, you need to paint a’yer nails too!”
“No, sweetie, mommy doesn’t like to paint her nails.”
That really freaked her out. Her voice got all high pitched and desperate sounding.
“Yes, Mom, you need to paint a’yer nails! PLEASE MOM! PAINT THEM!”
You know, I think she’s right. I do need to start painting my nails and while I’m at it, I need to start getting pedicures because I’m pretty sure cracked heels and in grown toe nails aren’t ever going to be “in style” and you know what else? Maybe I should start getting my eyebrows threaded again, and taking care of my skin again and while I’m at it maybe I’ll get ma’ pachina Brazilian Waxed, y’all!
(No I won’t, I will NEVER get a brazilian wax because DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO GET ON ALL FOURS? I have a hard enough time doing that for PigHunter these days and he’s seen all of THAT for going on 18 years now. No thank you, no amount of smoothness in the world would ever make me Do The Dog for a stranger.)
I know it sounds silly, but my daughter pointing out that I neeeeeeeded to paint my nails has made me realize that I really do need to start taking better care of myself and pampering myself a little the way that I used to do.
I felt so much better about myself when I would take the time to go get a manicure, or spend a few extra minutes in the bathroom after a shower to lather myself in some sweet smelling body butter while wearing a mud mask on my face.
Now, I feel like I’m splurging if I wash my face with a bar of Dial soap before I go to bed.
I’ll never be that kind of girl who wears toe rings around her beautifully painted toe nails, or who has perfectly manicured nails at all times, but I wouldn’t mind being that girl who takes a few extra minutes out of each day to take care of her skin and pamper herself with a manicure and perfectly shaped threaded eyebrows from time to time.
Oh, Crap!
Sometimes, when I am having a very serious conversation with my mother in law, I wonder if she is thinking about the she saw me shit on the table while giving birth to her grandson.
I know that I’ve never been able to get past the fact that she saw me make The Birth Poopie.
It was already awkward for me to have anyone but my husband in the room with me, just because, well, I don’t like anyone but him seeing my bare ass and That Precious Thing between my legs where all of The Magic happens, SO the fact that she was RIGHT THERE watching when I crapped on the nurses hand is horrifying to me.
I have never found my mother in law so annoying as I did the day that I was in labor. Don’t get me wrong. She really was wonderful and helpful, but then, she busted out the “beautifully scented massage oils” and decided that what I needed was a “sweet, gentle foot rub.”
Oh hells naw.
I know she had really good intentions, she saw me lying there in pain, and wanted desperately to do something to make me feel better, but, and I really can’t explain it, her soft touches on my body were not helpful at all because when you’re in unimaginable pain, someone rubbing your feet gently with oil “feel good” as much as it makes you “want to kick people in the teeth.”
I remember how she would squeeze a little bit of the oils into her soft, little hands and how she would rub my feet so gently while telling me to “just breathe” in a sweet little voice. And I remember thinking “Oh my God! I’M GOING TO KICK HER IN THE FACE!” I wanted to scream at her to stop! “STOP TOUCHING ME!” But, I knew she was just trying to help and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Had I known that a few hours later, I’d be shitting in front of her while the nurse lied and said “No! You’re not pooping! Keep pushing!” whilst wiping my ass, I just may have kicked her in the head to have spared her from ever seeing such a horrific thing.
Honestly, I don’t understand how she’s never once used that against me. We’ve had several huge fights in which lots of yelling and screaming took place and not once did she throw “CHILD BIRTH SHITTER!!!” in my face.
She must really love me.
This thing called Marriage
When PigHunter and I were first married, I would get up with him every morning to make him a wonderfully nutritious lunch and a big, fat egg burrito.
I didn’t mind getting up at 3 in the morning, because I could go straight back to bed after he was gone. Ah, the joys of not having to go into work until 1:30 in the afternoon.
Some of my friends thought that I was crazy for getting up that early, but I really didn’t mind. In fact, I enjoyed it. I was young, happy, crazy in love and having The Legal and Jesus Approved Sex at least 3 times a day. I was happier than I had ever been in my 19 years of life on this planet and I woke up excited every morning to express my happiness by making a big, cheesy burrito and a lunch box filled with good food for my man.
A few months into the marriage, the Joy of Scrambling Eggs at 3 in the morning started to wear off and I would dread the sound of the alarm. But still, I’d get up, make him a burrito and a lunch, kiss him goodbye and go right back to sleep.
Then, one morning, I didn’t feel like getting up.
“I’m so tired, babe.”
“It’s ok, you stay in bed my love, I can make my own lunch.”
I can make my own lunch.
Those 5 little words changed everything.
I did get up to make him lunch still, but only a few days a week instead of every single day.
And then a few days turned into one or two days.
Then I just stopped completely.
Every once in a while, I’ll wake up early and surprise him by packing him a lunch and making him breakfast while he’s in the shower, but 16 years and 3 kids later, I really value my sleep, so when I say “every once in a while” I mean, like, 2 times every year.
There are some mornings when Tony will come in here to kiss me goodbye while I’m sleeping, (and sometimes, he’ll left my shirt up and play with My Bobs, and then next thing I know, he’s on top of me and we’re having a 5 am quickie.) but most mornings, he rushes out the door without saying goodbye.
Ever since we received the news that we had to vacate this house, Tony has been coming into the bedroom every morning and kissing me gently while telling me how much he loves me, how much he’s going to miss me and how he can’t wait to come home from work and see me again.
You see, since we were faced with this “life crisis”, we’ve been doing a lot of talking. We’ve been talking about things we normally don’t talk about, like our feelings.
PigHunter has feelings! Who knew!
We’ve had some pretty intense conversations. Some of them have been positive and uplifting and ended up in some Pretty Sweet Boinking. Some of them have been painful and brutal (“I’m SO done with you!” “Oh yeah? I’ve BEEN done with YOU!”). But with each conversation we have, one thing is always evident.
We love each other deeply and we want to keep our family together.
I love my husband more today that I ever have and apparently, he feels the exact same way.
That is why he doesn’t want to leave the house without kissing me and telling me how much he loves me. (He told me this while we were waiting for our burgers and fries in the Wendy’s drive-thru!)
That he has decided he needs to take a few minutes out of his morning to say goodbye to me and tell me how much he’ll miss me while lavishing my sleepy head with kisses is the most precious thing in my life right now.
(I will wait while you go rinse the vomit from your mouth because I know that made you sick.)
It makes me so happy that I almost want to get up early, scramble him some eggs, pack him a lunch and maybe give him a little loving in the form of a, what do the kids call it? A BJ?
Almost.
No Deal!
Today the gravity of it all hit me like a Mack Truck and I had my first panic attack in 4 years.
We shouldn’t be in this position.
Sure, our landlords were cold hearted jerks for doing what they did in the way that they did it, but ultimately, this is our fault.
Entirely our fault.
That’s not to say I’m not angry with them for the lies that they told us.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to kick you out, we’re going to give you plenty of time to find a new place.”
Two days later: Hi, you have 30 days to get the hell out of here.
As I take the pictures of my children down off of the walls, I break down into tears and sob.
I love them more than I could ever express in words, and yet, I’ve failed them in so many ways.
Andrew just wants to graduate from 8th grade with his friends, I can’t promise him he’s going to be able to do that.
That hurts me to the core of my being.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.
That’s all I can say to them, but it doesn’t make any of this easier.
I don’t want this to turn into the “we got kicked out of our rental house and OMG! What are we going to do?!?” blog, and yet, “we got kicked out of our rental house! OMG! What are we going to do?!?”
Sadly, my AMAZING AND TOTALLY AWESOME plan to get picked to be on Deal or No Deal bombed in the biggest way, so all of my plans to win a sick amount of money by picking the lucky case got flushed down the toilet, along with all of the money we’ve wasted on rent over all of these years.
What? I didn’t tell you that I was going to go to an open casting call for Deal or No Deal? Whoops, must have slipped my mind! Because I totally didn’t keep it from you on purpose because I was worried about being mocked and called a loser! (Or about someone driving there just to stalk me!)
Not quite in the mood to write about it just yet, but because I am a giver and because this makes me laugh when all I want to do is cry, I’ll leave you with the email that Lena sent me the day after we spent 6 damn hours standing in line.
Things You Shouldn’t Think About Today
Vi pop-locking in line.
Lena going toe-to-toe with ladies with strollers.
Y’s kidneys failure.
The old man going after the big black booty in his crotch.
The cows from the group home.
What the guy in front of us looked like when he took his shirt off.
Y worrying about The Farting Worm.
Y convinced that the Staff Member with the Bullhorn was “just trying to get us to leave”.
What the bathroom smelled like.
My big ass blisters.
The big band version of “Hollaback Girl”.
Lena shouting out “Deal or No Deal” before hours later deeming them “users”.
Vi crying that “I’m not interesting!”.
Y getting pissy that “they want us to sell ourselves” and then writing 8 paragraphs.
Lena yelling at people to “go home” and getting all angry when they wouldn’t.
And the #1 thing you shouldn’t think about:
That we all got up in the middle of the night.
(Seriously, if I ever email you and say “Hey! Let’s go audition for a game show because, like, we are totally what they’re looking for and it will be so much fun because OMIGOD! We’ll get to spend time together being our wild and cerraaazy selves!!! Tell me to go SCREW MYSELF! I bet you Lena wishes she would have.)
This post has been severely edited because sometimes I need to THINK before I hit “save”
It kind of sucks to be us right now.
A few weeks ago, Ethan’s teacher sent home a copy of a story he had written about “his favorite place.” She told me this story made her cry and that she made copies to show her mother. It was a story about how this house was his favorite place in the whole world.
When I read it, I cried. Cried because all of these years, I’ve hated living in this house, because “the cabinets are ugly.” But my son, he loves it, he loves it because it has been his home. He doesn’t care what the cabinets look like, he only cares about the love and memories these walls hold inside of it. Here is a little portion of what he wrote.
As you walk in, tons of pictures are hanging on the wall. Lots of basketball posters in my room. I just love living where I live today because of all of my memories are held here, from happiness to sadness. This life here will never change.
And
By now you should know how much I love this place. I love everything in my favorite place. It fills me with joy. It is my very own house.
(Excuse me while I sob again.)
When I read that, it changed my entire perspective about this house. I had vowed to never say “I hate this house” ever again and to make sure that it always felt like our home. His words had a real impact on me.
Be grateful for what you DO have, mom..
Well, as of yesterday, we no longer have this house. Our landlord sold it unexpectedly (even though he told us he was going to “wait a year” to put it up for sale. But, I won’t EVEN go there. Bottom line is that it’s his house and he can do what he wants.) This house will belong to someone else very soon. But, what we do have is each other.
Now, we just need to find a home in which to make new memories.
And we will.
Right?
I mean, yes! We will!
(No, seriously, we will, right?)
The wait is going to kill me. (Now with A (really boring) Update!)
In the 16 years that I’ve been married to PigHunter, I’ve never played an April Fool’s joke on him.
That all changed today, because today I got up at 6 in the morning, drove his car around the corner and parked it there. When he wakes up, I’m going to ask him if he’ll pretty please go buy me a coffee. When he sees that his car is not there, he is going to shit his pants and I am going to pretend to be very upset because “OMG! We do not have theft on our insurance policy! What are we going to do because we have no moneeeeeeeey?!”
I realize this isn’t the greatest April Fools Day joke, but I was too lazy to go buy a pregnancy test and draw a purple line in it.
THAT would have been the greatest April Fools Joke because, you know, he had a vasectomy.
Maybe next year.
I do know that he’s going to fuh-reeeeeeeeak out. We had one of our cars stolen when I was pregnant with our first child and oh my God, my husband turned into some kind of Mutant Super Hero.
He was hell bent on finding our car and “the perpetrators” who stole it. We’d be driving and he would think he saw our car traveling in the opposite direction and he’d scream “THERE IT IS!” make an illegal u-turn and start chasing the car. Once he’d realize it wasn’t our car, he’s apologize for giving me whiplash and say really dramatic things like “I’m sorry, hon, I just have to catch whoever did it, they can’t get away with violating us like this. I have to find these assholes.”
One day he actually called the police and asked them this question. “How much force can one use by law when making a citizen’s arrest?”
The dispatcher was like “Sir, why are you asking this question?”
And PigHunter was all “because someone stole my car and if I happen to see them driving around in it, I plan on making a citizen’s arrest and holding them until the police can come.”
Citizen Nerd says “Fuck with my Datsun 210 and I will hunt you down like a pig and CITIZENS ARREST YOU.”
You have no idea how badly I wanted him to find the thugs who stole our car and watch him take them down in a completely legal manner so as not to be sued or arrested him self for taking the arresting of a citizen too far.
God, I can’t wait for him to wake up already.
While I’m waiting, I think that you should tell me the greatest April Fools Pranks you’ve ever played on someone, or have had played on you.
*Update*
So, this is how it went down…
Wounded Knees, Wounded Pride: A Water Park Story
The summer of 2002 I had one of the greatest ideas I’ve ever had as a parent.
I got season passes to Raging Waters.
I was only on contract for 10 months out of the year, so I most of the summer off with the kids and most summers were spent trying to think of what to do next so that the boys would not kill each other or so that I would not write to Maury to ask him to send my 5 & 9 year old to boot camp.
Every morning, we’d wake up and as soon as the boys started fighting I’d yell “Get yer trunks on, we’re going on some water slides!”
The first few times there were a blast. We’d go on every slide that they could ride, we’d grab an inner tube and float around the “tropical river”, or we’d just hang out in the wave pool.
It really was the greatest summer vacation we’d ever had.
Until the day I decided to break the rules.
There was this awesome ride that I wanted to take the boys on, but Ethan didn’t meet the height requirement. Every time I’d walk by, I’d be tempted to try to sneak Ethan on because I’m telling you, this ride was The Awesome. I’m trying to think of a way to describe it this ride. You sit on an inner tube and go make your way down through a series of drops, twists and raging waters, kind of like white water rafting? I don’t know, I’m at a loss, but trust me, this ride rules.
One day I decided to sneak Ethan on. I had a great plan. I’d let each of the boys go on their own inner tube, but I would hold onto Ethan’s so that he didn’t get ahead of me, or flip over.
We grabbed our inner tubes, headed up the hill to the front of the line. While we stood in line, we went over “the plan” to make sure nothing bad happened.
Andrew would go first. I would sit next to Ethan, making sure to hold onto his inner tube. If we got separated, we were to all meet at the bottom of the ride.
Perfect. What could go wrong?
Absolutely EVERYTHING, that’s what.
It started off great. No one questioned Ethan’s height and so the hardest part was over (so I thought!) We had successfully broken the rules! Let the fun began!
Five seconds into the ride, I lost my grip on Ethan’s inner tube and he started to float away from me. Andrew was already farther ahead than I would have liked, so I started to freak out. I noticed a big dip was coming up and I panicked. I screamed at Andrew “MEET ME AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIDE IF WE GET SEPARATED!! DO NOT LEAAAAAVE WITHOUT MEEEE!” Then, my Psychotic Over Protective Mother Skills kicked in and I jumped off of my inner tube and tried running to catch Ethan’s tube.
There was just one LEEEETLE problem. It was a WATER SLIDE and um, there was a huge dip coming up and um, it was all slippery and uh, I fell all the way down that huge dip, hitting huge rocks all the way down.
I could hear the people standing in line watching GASP as I flipped, skidded and was tossed down stream with the rushing water. I finally landed in a little area where I caught up to Ethan’s tube. I grabbed onto it. Ethan was crying hysterically, I was bleeding from my knees, arms and back and an employee from the park started shouting at us to exit the ride.
I picked Ethan up, dodged the incoming riders on their tubes and made the walk of shame to a set of rocks that I had to climb up to exit the ride.
People in line were staring, I was bleeding, Ethan was crying and the employee was PRETTY FREAKING PISSED OFF.
He helped us off, asked if we needed first aid (um, howza’bout a couple of bandaids, dude?) and asked us to never do that again.
I started crying because Andrew! My poor Andrew! Where was he? Had he followed “the plan”? Luckily, he had and was standing at the bottom of the ride waiting for me. He was visibly upset because it had taken me so long to get there.
As we made our way to the bathroom so I could clean my bleeding wounds, Andrew began to scold me “that’s why they make rules, mom, so that no one gets hurt!”
I felt like the shittiest mother to have ever expelled children from her vagina.
I had spent my entire life as a mother teaching my children to follow the rules because “rules are made to keep you safe!”
I stood there with gaping holes in my knees and said “You’re right, it was wrong of mommy to try to sneak Ethan on the ride, I’m sorry.”
That one little decision pretty much ruined the rest of our summer at Raging Waters because Ethan was traumatized and refused to go on another slide that wasn’t “for babies”.
I spent the rest of the summer bored to tears watching my boys play in the little kids wading pool, longing for the good ol’ days of speed slides and “Drop Out”. But I was just grateful that our season passes weren’t revoked and that we weren’t banned from the park for breaking the rules and almost dying on the freaking roaring rapids water slide.