Ok, so, um, like when you hear a very loud buzzing sound from a light that is on and then there’s a mini explosion and it starts to smell like smoke, that’s bad, right?
Because that just happened to the hall light and so, I kind of freaked out and ordered the kids to EVACUATE THE HOUSE AND then I grabbed all of my storage containers with photos and put them in the back of the van just in case this shitty house burns to the ground.
I’m (almost) sure the house isn’t going to burn to the ground now, but I am afraid to plug anything in or turn on anything that isn’t already turned on. (And also afraid to flip any light switches on. Good thing I like peeing in the dark.)
I may or may not have unplugged everything in the house that is not this computer and not the TV and well, I also may or may not have did a little in my pants.
PigHunter is not home and he also does not have a cell phone so I can not call him to ask him if I should keep packing all of our valuables in the car because OMG! The house is going to burn down! Or if I should let the kids back in the house and relax because hahaha.. it was probably just the light bulb exploding and not really a big deal.
Except I’m [high pitched voice]PRETTY FREAKING SURE[/high pitched voice] that light explosion + loud buzzing sound + smoke= a big deal and not good at all.
I have to say that, aside from the fact that I have loaded all of my family photos into the van and have forbidden my kids from coming back into the house and have unplugged almost everything in the house and have DUCT TAPED ALL LIGHT SWITCHES so that no one can flip one on, I have handled this mini crisis with “minimal overreacting.”
Think of the 911 call that I could have made.
“OMG! 911! THE LIGHT EXPLODED! COME AND SAVE US!”
You should be proud of me, Internet. I’ve grown so much.
PigHunter actually got home as I was writing this and is now in the attic “checking things out.”
Which, NOT ENTIRELY OK WITH THAT, because of things like “electrocution”, but for the sake of my sanity, I’m going to go ahead pretend like I’m totally ok with it and chill out with a glass of wine.
(Meredith Viera’s all “oh noes! She drinks wine in front of her children! Bad mommy. Bad.)
A Moment in Time
A few weeks ago, a family friend gave me a stack of pictures from her wedding in 2002. Ethan was the ring bearer in their wedding and also, the free entertainment at the reception.
He was only 4 years old, too young to care what anyone thought, and so as soon as the music started playing, he hit the dance floor all by himself and WENT OFF. The kid danced for probably 30 minutes by himself while everyone watched, cheered him on and laughed until they had tears rolling down his face.
It was hysterical because the kid had THE MOVES and wasn’t afraid to use them.
Andrew wanted nothing to do with the dance floor I begged him to get out there with his brother, but he refused. It’s always like that with my boys. Ethan is a free spirit, not too worried about what people think, not afraid to bust out the Elvis Dance Moves at a wedding.
(Which reminds me of my friend’s wedding last summer. The entire reception, people were begging me to do The Worm. “But I can’t! I have a skirt on! And we all know what happened the last time that happened the last time that I did The Worm in a skirt!” But they didn’t care and kept egging me on and finally, I was all “Tony, here! Hold my wine! Fear not! I’m tucking the skirt in!” and I wormed my way across the dance floor. Ah, he is SO my son.)
I was able to talk Andrew into one dance that day. It took a lot of begging and pleading, but he finally gave in and danced with me and Ethan. I do remember that dance and how lucky I felt to have both of my little guys there, holding my hand dancing with me. I had no idea how much that dance would mean to me almost 5 years later.
That dance that I had begged my oldest son for, the one where we laughed and twirled and sang along to the music was now a memory that a random stranger had captured on film. I held that picture in my hands and I began to cry.
A picture, snapped by a complete stranger, holds more meaning to this mother than that person will ever know. One picture among hundreds taken that day.
A picture that reminds me just how fast the time really flies—how I blinked and that little boy in the red shirt is a few months away from his Freshman year in high school and that little munchkin in the blue shirt is now “too cool” to let loose like he did that day.
I’m so grateful for this picture. It serves as a reminder that I really must cherish every moment. I had no idea that day as I was dancing with my boys that beautiful day in 2002 that 5 years later, I’d be sitting with my teenage son, looking at a picture of that very moment, and hear the words “you know mom, that will be the only picture you’ll ever see of me dancing with you like that.”
(Did you hear that sound? That was my heart, breaking into a million pieces.)
If I had known that, maybe I would have danced a little longer with them that day, or maybe I would have reminded myself to never forget the way their laugh sounded as they were twirling around, or maybe I would have asked someone to take more pictures, or maybe I would have broke down right there on the dance floor, dropped to my knees and begged God to please let them still little just a while longer because I wasn’t prepared for the day that they were too grown to dance with their mama to come so damn soon.
On notice… FEET SHOTS.
I love Flickr. I mean, I love Flickr. I usually spend my early morning alone time– which lately has been at 5am because suddenly, my boys is all “5 in the morning is a great time to start your day!– browsing through my contacts photos and also the photos from the 365 Days group.
This morning, I realized something very profound while browsing through the photos.
Eye close up photos make me feel uncomfortable. I’m not talking about a close up of both eyes, I’m talking about a close up of ONE eye in which you can see all of the tiny red veins and moisture and that little red bump thingy in the corner of your eye. I do not like to see those things up close and personal like that. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the eye is, either. It just creeps me out.
Perhaps my issue with The Eyeball can be traced back to the time that I had to cut open a COWS EYE in 6th grade science class. I will never forget the feeling of that thing staring at me just as I was about to slice it open.
GAG.
Also, men who take close up pictures of their nipples? Please stop. I get all vomitty inside when I see that little erect Man Nipple surrounded by pube like hairs. To be honest, I feel slightly violated by close up Man Nipple photos.
But then, I have issues with nipples in general. Just saying the word makes me feel all dirty inside.
Title change courtesy of Internet Pervs.
Wow.
I had no idea so many people were lurking around here.
I asked that people leave a real email address because I planned on responding to every comment, to be all cute and say things like “thanks for playing along!” Obviously, I didn’t expect 400 (!!!) of you to play along.
This is going to take a while. And I also think it’s going to leave a mark.
Honestly, I was floored by the number of people who came out from hiding! I’ve had so much fun reading through the comments (and yes, I do read them all, silly people.)
There are people who are battling cancer, people who almost got killed by a shark, people who are pregnant, people who cringe when I drop the F-bomb (but still read anyway. Thank you.) There are girls named “Ryan”, people who have DickLords just like mine, there are AEROBIC DANCE INSTRUCTORS!
Speaking of Aerobic Dance… I had no idea so many of you enjoyed reading about my Adventures in Aerobic Dance. (Ha! Ha! “Adventures.”) I figured that they were annoying and not very funny to anyone except me, but I kept writing about it because I was obsessed with it and couldn’t stop myself. (And I was truly obsessed, to the point of canceling doctor appointments and fantasizing about punching Old Wimmins who were trying to take “my spot” in the class)
And yes, I had “a spot” in the class. Front, left, thank you very much.
Anyway, it was pretty great to read that some of you actually ENJOYED those posts and actually want me to start writing about them again. I will, but sadly, classes have been reduced to ONCE a week (blame the Step Class Bitches. IT IS THEIR FAULT.) I plan on making my triumphant RE-Return this coming Monday.
Whoa, I got all excited about Aerobic Dance Class and started talking about myself again. And this post isn’t about ME.
I wanted to mention two of the comments left in the delurking post that struck me as “Hilarious” and that I must share with everyone who didn’t feel like reading through all of the comments.
Let’s start with this one (which happens to be my favorite because she said LUBE)from Kate.
I have 786 reasons to enjoy your blog, but enough about you. Let’s talk about me:
My family doesn’t know this, but my cousin (and close friend, though I’m reconsidering that designation) has, in the past year, became a gay porn star (he was already gay, but not a porn star, just to be clear) and has had mcuh success. Like a lot. But I’m pissed– not because he’s a porn star or gay or crazy, even. Here’s what makes me so hostile and petty and rude and selfish: he didn’t bring a gift to my wedding this past summer. Hello?! He’s a PORN STAR!? Where were the wads of cash? Or the trips? Or even just some nice lube for the honeymoon? Excuse my lewdness, but it’s a thing about me and if anyone’s got a tip about how to weasel a gift out of him, let me know…
p.s. sorry to attempt to make this an advice column.
The nerve! Not even a Tube of Lube? Now, I have to admit that I’m a little jealous that I do not have a gay cousin. Wait, I think that I have a gay cousin, but he does not do porn. At least not that I know of. Now, if any of you clever people who read this (and I now know that there are at least 408 of you!) have any suggestions for Katie and how she can “weasle a gift” out of her porn star cousin, please feel free to leave them in the comments.
Next, I’d like to share with you THIS gem from Metalia. (And let me just tell you that Matalia is pretty damn funny. You’ll see.)
B) In the spirit of your request, however, hi! And something you don’t know about me is that I’ve never watched a soap opera in its entirety. Once, I watched Passions for 25 minutes, because my friend told me that there was a monkey nurse who had wedding fantasies about one of the characters, and I flat out did not believe her. After seeing the monkey in a wedding dress, I was horrified, and stood corrected. Sadly, I was fascinated as well. This is why I do not watch soap operas. I’m obsessed with what I saw until this day. (This is actually from my “100 things” list, so I’m sort of cheating, but it’s something I feel you should know about me, nonetheless.)
I emailed her right away because, while I knew that show was crazy from some of the previews I had seen, I had no idea there was a plotline involving a NURSE MONKEY who has FANTASIES about marrying a dude.
Her response will be filed under “ones that made me laugh until I cried (and quite possibly, ripped one.)”
So, I swear I am not making this up…also, I feel it is extremely important to point out a very key fact that I omitted in my comment: The monkey nurse? Yeah, her name was “Precious.” Not only do people watch this show, but apparently, Professor Google has informed me that a number of nurses were highly upset by this plotline, and its implication that a monkey could do a nurse’s job.
Whatever, yo. The point here is this:
In few brief moments that I watched, this is what I learned: Precious the monkey nurse was apparently in love with a tall dark and studly character on the show. She then had a daydream where she was walking down the aisle, in a monkey-sized wedding gown, towards the guy. I want to say there was a honeymoon sequence as well, wherein she donned monkey lingerie (mongerie?), but I think my brain may be making that up, for it is too good to be true.
Do you see why I can’t get involved with this? It’s just too much awesomeness.
Mongerie. MONGERIE!
Were it not for “delurking week” (oops, there go my eyes, rolling into the back of my head.) I probably would have lived my whole life without hearing that. (Mongerie!) Nor would I have known about The Nurse Monkey who wanted to get in on with The Stud (who was NOT a monkey). I would not have known that there were gay porn stars rolling in The Money who are too cheap to buy their cousins a wedding present. I would not have known about the people who I would not have known about each of the 405 of you that took the time to “introduce” yourself.
In all seriousness, the things that some of you said really did humble me and help put some things into perspective for me. I am grateful beyond words for the support that I have recieved from this little place called “My Blog.”
I don’t expect “everyone to love me.” (And, really? Who does? I mean, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? If everyone loved you? But I think most reasonable people understand that not everyone will. I also think the “NOT EVERYONE LOVES YOU.OR YOUR KID” thing is just something that people like to say to justify being an asshole on The Internet.) I actually think it would be quite easy to hate me after reading what I write here on a daily basis. But, here’s the thing. I’m not trying to be famous, or write a book, or get a TV show and I’m certainly not going around The Internet bothering people. I’m just here, writing about my life, because I enjoy writing. And the fact that people relate to what I write and feel connected to what I have to say is just sweet (chocolate) icing on “The Cake.”
(Whatever THAT means.)
So, thank you again for “delurking” and telling me a little bit about yourself. Now, watch your inbox for my response. It should be there by 2008. I promise.
DO NOT OPEN THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED LAST NIGHTS EPISODE OF THE OFFICE
Come out come out wherever you are.
This week is Delurking week.
I roll my eyes when I say that outloud and yet, I would love to know who is reading but not commenting.
So, in the spirit of being a lemming, I am going to ask that you let yourself be known and leave a comment.
I only ask two things.
That you leave a real email address and that you tell me one thing that I should know about you.
Ready?
Go.
May I please have a side…of thin and healthy? (Or: Titles that make people gag a little.)
There are two bad habits that I have when it comes to food and drink that I am trying to break.
The first one is “can I have a side of (fill in the blank)”
The second is “Extra (fill in the blank) please.”
Let me give you a couple of examples.
“Hi, can I have a salad with extra croutons and an extra dressing on the side please?”
“I’ll have a venti, iced, nonfat, sugar free vanilla caramel macchiato, with LOTS of extra caramel in the cup and on top please.”
And I get pissed off if there is not 3 inches of caramel sitting at the bottom of the cup when they hand it to me. I’m like “IS THAT EXTRA. I DO NOT THINK THAT IT IS. WHAT IS THIS DRIZZLE BULLSHIT?!”
(And I’m not exaggerating, I get a serious case of Squish The Foam&trade if there are not gobs of caramel making it’s way up the straw when I suck that drink down.)
Many times when PigHunter has gone on a fast food run, I had him a list that says something like “two fish tacos with two sides of secret sauce and LOTS OF MILD SAUCE. ASK FOR AT LEAST 10.”
He’ll usually roll his eyes and say something judgmental like “Do you NEED two sides of secret sauce” to which I’ll respond “do you NEED a blowjob? Get my secret sauce, man.”
He’s right and I know it. I don’t need “sides of ranch dressing” or “extra caramel.” I’m pretty sure “thin people” don’t ask for “sides” or “assloads of caramel.” And “thinking like a thin person” is one of my many “goals for 2007.”
So, this morning, I rolled into the Starbucks drive-thru (which, whoops! NOT going to the drive-thru is another goal of 2007, because I really have to break the cycle of being ‘too lazy to get out of the damn car.”) And I ordered my non fat iced caramel macchiato and as hard as it was, as much as it hurt, the words “lots of extra caramel in the cup and on top” did not come out of my mouth.
As stupid as it sounds (and I know it sounds REALLY stupid) I wanted to raise my fist in the air and shout “Victory is mine!”
It has been my experience that the key to success in my Battle of The Fat is winning the “small battles.” (And yes, for me? Not asking for extra caramel or 2 sides of ranch dressing is a BATTLE. And YET AGAIN I realize how STUPID that sounds, but it’s the truth. That is why I am fat, people.)
The key to me having lost 70 pounds was saying “no thank you” to the second helping of mashed potatoes, even though I wanted a second helping with every fiber of my being. It was getting up and taking a walk around the block when I wanted to sit on the couch and eat a bag of Doritos. It was peeling an orange and eating that instead of grabbing the Take 5 bar that my husband bought me while he was at the grocery store. Or it was eating half of that candy bar and saving the other half for some other time instead of eating the entire thing at once.
And of course, it was making my ass go to The Gym even though I wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch and watch TV with my husband.
I know that because I stopped doing all of those things is the reason I’ve put 24 pounds back on and I realize now more than ever that the ONLY way that I’ll lose the weight and keep the weight off is to do those things for the rest of my life.
Or, at least until I’m too old to Give A Shit and I’m like “Pass Grandma the entire pie and give me a fork already.”
And something tells me that those will be the greatest days of my entire life, man.
The update that no one has really been waiting for. HA.
I haven’t been writing much these days and apparently, people are starting to notice.
Life has been a little crazy around here with the sick kids, the guitar lessons, the drum lessons, the Holidays, the basketball practices, the looking for job because we are going to have to move, except SCRATCH THAT because we just found out that the Landlord has changed his mind and “isn’t going to sell the house”. (Translation: The Realtor decided not to buy it. Maybe I didn’t have enough pretty candles burning when she came to look at it, because it certainly couldn’t have been the cabinets that made her not want to buy this lovely house!) We have waited for a month for him to tell us what was going on and if he was selling it and when we needed to be out of here.
He plans to put it up for sale again in a year. We agreed to stay so that we can have time to get things in order (get new jobs, save, pay bills off) so we can be in a better place financially and maybe even buy this place when they put it up for sale again. We promised them we’d not move so they don’t have to worry about the house sitting.
I’m still convinced that the whole “We’re selling the house, would you like to buy it?” was their way of letting us know that they were NOT going to fix the cabinets. (Because, the week before he showed up unannounced to offer to sell us the house, he called to raise our rent and he said “don’t worry, we’re not selling it! We’re just raising the rent!) But, whatever. It’s their house, they can do what they want. Maybe we will be in a position to buy this house in a year and then, I can rip those fuckers out and we can have a kitchen that doesn’t make us cry.
Anyway.
I do want to get into the habit of writing on a regular basis again now that things have gone back to (semi) normal around here. I know you’re so happy to hear me say that because you’ve missed my regular updates so bad that it hurts a little on the inside.
Admit it.**
**For those of you who lack A Sense of Humor, I was joking. (But seriously, it hurt a little, didn’t it?)
Pupp-ay!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Oh shit. You probably have a headache because of that nasty hangover . I’ll try to keep it down.
I? Do not have a hangover as this is the second, or quite possibly even the third, New Years Eve that we spent at home not drinking liquor and also falling asleep way before the clock struck midnight.
Because we are old and boring and no one wants to invite us to their New Years Eve parties anymore.
But we don’t care! We love having nothing to do on New Years Eve. Gives us a chance to fight about stupid things like plugged up toilets and fruit! And honestly? I love spending it here at home with the kids– knowing that everyone is safe, cozy and warm (even if they are unable to eat fruit and/or take a dump in the hall bathroom because SOMEONE REFUSES TO GET THE PLUNGER AND UNPLUG THE DAMN TOILET.)
The new year has brought us a new little someone to love.
That right there is the newest member of our family.
Lucky him, man. Lucky him.
His name is Bandit. Ethan named him that. When we asked him why he chose that name, he responded with the following answer.
“I named him Bandit because the minute I saw him, he stole my heart.”
Ah, The Cheese&trade, it runs in The Family.
It’s been incredibly fun to watch Ethan with his new lil’ friend. Or should I say “son”? Because Ethan calls himself “Bandit’s daddy.”
He even made up a cute little song about the two of them.
“I love you. You love me. We’re a happy Son and Daddy.”
(He kills me, people. KILLS.)
Thanks to Ma’People, I now have a buttload of new workout songs in my Generic mp3 player. The suggestions were so great, THANK YOU. I have to admit that I love the songs so much that my mouth freaking WATERS when I think about them.
I still have quite a few songs to add, but since you were kind enough to take the time to leave suggestions, I figured I would post the list of Totally Awesome Workout Songs that are now loaded and ready to be used.
Tomorrow. (No. Seriously. Tomorrow.)
OVERREACTOR!!!11!
First of all, I wanted to say thank you all for the comments and emails of concern for my daughter. They meant a great deal to us.
Things are looking better for Gabby now that she’s being treated for asthma. On Sunday, we had to take her to urgent care because she was having difficulty breathing again. Her oxygen saturation was at 94, so they gave her a breathing treatment.
The doctor who saw her in urgent care told us that her lungs were cleared up and that now the problem is asthma.
Gabby had RSV when she was 4 months old and our pediatrician told us that asthma could be a problem for Gabby down the road. The doctor that was saw on Sunday told us that 30% of babies who have RSV do go on to have asthma. Doctor said there’s still a chance she will outgrow it and we’re hoping that she does.
Asthma scares the shit out of me, people. Watching your child struggle to breathe is pretty fucking scary. I had a long conversation with the doctor and I do understand that it can be managed with proper medication. I need to educate myself on the disease so that I’m not so terrified of it.
Currently, they have her on a 5 day treatment of oral steriods (Predisolone.) She’s also taking albuterol and Qvar (she’ll be on that until the end of February.)
In the past 3 and a half weeks, we’ve spent over $300 on copays and prescriptions (our co-pays for both are only $10, I can not tell you how grateful I am for our health insurance. SO FUCKING GRATEFUL.) I’ve been to the doctors office more times than I can count (the boys have been sick too) and I’ve stood for hours in long ass lines with germy, sick people who do not think they need to cover their disgusting mouths when they cough. I’ve not slept in my bed for a week, but on the couch, with a sickly little girl sprawled across my chest. I’ve administered more medication than I think I’ve taken in my entire life.
But I’ll tell you what I have NOT done.
I have not bought a single Christmas present. I have not bought Christmas cards, nor have I taken holiday pictures of my children, I have not baked, decorated or acknowledged that Christmas is NEXT MONDAY in any way, shape or form.
PigHunter did take the boys on Friday to get a tree. I had swore that I would never let him go shopping for a tree without me ever again, but I had to stay home with Gabby. He let the boys pick the tree out and I must say, it is probably the most perfect tree we’ve ever had, which is hilarious because this is the first year that no one but us will actually see the tree. I let the boys decorate it however they wanted to. I did not have the energy to care about little things like “properly spaced ornaments”.
I always wait til the last minute to do my shopping and such, but I didn’t count on the three (THREE!) children of mine being sick and me being unable to get out of this house except for doctors appointments.
I thought about going shopping today, because today is the first day that Gabby has not cried all morning long and the first day that she’s been breathing normally, but, I’m now afraid to take my daughter out amongst the general public until she’s had her flu shot because the doctor made it very clear to me that she MUST GET HER FLU SHOT AS SOON AS SHE’S FEELING BETTER. Apparently, it would be “very bad” for her to get the flu right now.
I suppose I’ll wait til Tony comes home from work and brave the crowds and cold and start (I’m just starting. STARTING!) my Christmas shopping tonight.
I’m currently baking apple streudel for Ethan’s class. He informed me at 9 last night that “oops, I forgot to tell you have to bake something for my class and it has to be something from Germany.”
I’m not sure that apple streudel is from Germany, nor do I know if I’m spelling “streudel” correctly, but I do know that my grandmother makes it and she is from Germany and you know what? I’m worn THE HELL OUT, so that’s good enough for me.
Waiting. Worrying. Writing.
Last night we had to call 911 because my daughter could not stop coughing. She coughed to the point of throwing up and to the point of her lips turning blue.
While they were here, taking her vitals and doing what they needed to do, one of the fireman gave her an adorable little stuffed animal.
Her eyes immediately lit up and she said in her weak little voice “Thank you, fireman.”
She loves that dog and has clung to it all day long.
Tonight, she took another turn for the worse, burning a high fever and extremely lathargic. I’m usually the parent who freaks out and thinks the worse and I can always count on PigHunter to calm me down. Not tonight. Tonight, he’s the one that said “She’s bad, I’m taking her to urgent care. He just left a few minutes ago and I’m sitting here typing furiously, trying to calm myself down.
Perhaps it’s just the flu, or some virus that will pass quickly! But, it’s her history with RSV and lung problems that has me worried.
I’ve had less than 8 hours of sleep over the past 3 days, but I don’t mind because I signed up for this when I chose to bring these little human beings into this world.
I just want to know that my little girl is going to be ok, and I want her to get better already.
Ok, and maybe, just maybe, I’d like to get a little sleep, even if it is with a coughing little girl laying on my chest.
Update
They’re treating her for pneumonia, which is so funny (not) because the doctor who saw her this morning actually shrugged his shoulders (literally, shrugged them!) and said he had NO IDEA what was wrong with her, prescribed her some cough medicine and walked out of the room.
That’s what happens when you have an HMO and your doctor is “out for the day.”