now, far be it for me to bash childhood icons, but this year i am pissed at santa. granted, i am the one limping it along for the eight year old, but it seems he has me out witted.
the boy has asked me for an additional pet for months. apparently the fuzzy bitches aren't living up to their snuggle potential. all this time i have empahtically said "NO". so, my sweet lovely child writes his letter to santa this christmas and includes "i have been very good at taking care of the cats. i feed them every day. and even thou my mom says she won't get one, i would like you to bring me a fish". well shit balls. do i tell him santa isn't real or suck it and have an aquatic creepie under the tree christmas morning? yeah, you guessed it.
and he LOVED it. LOVED LOVED LOVED it. named it irvin, which actually means water (he put some thought into this). and when we went away for new year's weekend, he bought him a food disk.
now, irvin was alive when we got home. and the next morning. but that night while my boy is in the tub, the girl brings me the bowl...with a lifeless floater...and hisses "REPLACE HIM" damn it. knowing that this will absolutley destroy the child who spends time reading to the bowl, huny and i quickly run to walmart to replace the corpse.
not a one of those suckers look like irvin. there is one who is the same colors, only his orange, silver and black are on the top instead of on the belly, and this fish, i'm not kidding you here, is maybe only about a third the size. i am in freak out mode by now, not wanting to deal with the breakdown that will occur if he finds out his pet is dead. huny points out, the boy really only saw the fish for about fifteen hours before taking off to gramma's for the week, then going for the new years excursion. oofta. so we buy the not even close to the original irvin 2 and slip him into the bowl before dom can notice he's gone.
amazingly, it works. dominic is so unfamiliar with irvin 1, that irvin 2 flies under the radar for about a week. dom reads to him, spends time sitting and staring at the bowl, and talks to irvin 2.
then, the boy presents this quandary to me...
"mom, do you think irvin is okay?"
"ummm, he looks fine. why do you ask?"
"i don't know mom. i don't think he eats while i'm gone. he looks like he's lost weight."
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
driver's education
monday i pulled my two year old, yet impecable "big blue bitch" out of the garage...and ran smack into the basketball hoop, which apparently had been moved into the driveway by the spawn over the weekend. now since i wasn't expecting this little treat to start off my morning, it startled the hell outa me. so my natural response was to, whoops, jerk the wheel of the car...thus running it into the garage door. being the calm individual i am, i muttered some random explicatives. okay, i think i hollered "FUUUUCK!". i got out of the car, and yup, scraped up the left rear bumper. i didn't have the heart to look at the front, so plopped back door in the car and pushed the garagedoor opener. and nothing. i poked it vigorously several times before giving up and releasing the door mannually and texting sweetie to tell him i'd bunged the car AND the house.
i went to drop the spawn and low and behold, the boy does not have school. is presidents day really a skip-worthy holiday??? bah.
sweetie called at lunch and told me he had fixed the door. i sing his praises as THE MAN and then he says "how bad is the car beck?". i answer that i don't know. honestly, i don't. i was afraid to look. and so i ask why.
"because pumpkin...you ripped the sensor out of the wall and tore the wires free, so i suspect your bumper may be hanging off".
i went to drop the spawn and low and behold, the boy does not have school. is presidents day really a skip-worthy holiday??? bah.
sweetie called at lunch and told me he had fixed the door. i sing his praises as THE MAN and then he says "how bad is the car beck?". i answer that i don't know. honestly, i don't. i was afraid to look. and so i ask why.
"because pumpkin...you ripped the sensor out of the wall and tore the wires free, so i suspect your bumper may be hanging off".
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
gets that from her mamma!
more tests for miss bailey this morning, which means yet ANOTHER pregnancy test. we have become accustomed to this, however, the techs usually aren't.
this morning's phlebotomist couldn't have been more than 21...22..and she asked bai if she knew what we were drawing her blood for, and nervously looked at me after asking. "yeah," my thirteen year old mumbles, after all, it is 6AM, "my fourth pregnancy test in three weeks". and the phlebo goes completely white.
"you know, " i say, "if any of these come back positive, you won't need any more thyroid studies..." and the tech looks up at me, obviously horrified.
bailey notices she looks panicy and says "she means because i'll be DEAD."
this morning's phlebotomist couldn't have been more than 21...22..and she asked bai if she knew what we were drawing her blood for, and nervously looked at me after asking. "yeah," my thirteen year old mumbles, after all, it is 6AM, "my fourth pregnancy test in three weeks". and the phlebo goes completely white.
"you know, " i say, "if any of these come back positive, you won't need any more thyroid studies..." and the tech looks up at me, obviously horrified.
bailey notices she looks panicy and says "she means because i'll be DEAD."
Monday, February 14, 2011
metal detectors
when i got divorced, i think it hit my father as hard as it hit me. he and the ex were best buddies...hunting, fishing trips, vacations. and because i am his little girl. still to this day, at nearly forty, i am "daddy's girl". so i was not the least bit surprised when he offerred to come be my moral support at my divorce proceedings. unfortunately, because of the nature of the last few months of our marriage, i knew there were a lot of things i wasn't prepared for my father to hear, even though i'm sure he already suspected or knew most of them. so i tried to talk him out of it.
we stood together outside the courtroom, and i watched his face fall, then the disgust rise up as the demon groom walked past us. i felt horrible, knowing my father had lost not just his son-in-law, but his trust in a good friend. so i turned to him one last time and said, "dad, you don't have to do this."
my father hugged me tighter than he ever has before and said, "huny, of course i'm going in there. i'm your father and you need me." and then he hugged me even tighter...
...and said "besides, who else is going to smuggle the gun into the courtroom?"
we stood together outside the courtroom, and i watched his face fall, then the disgust rise up as the demon groom walked past us. i felt horrible, knowing my father had lost not just his son-in-law, but his trust in a good friend. so i turned to him one last time and said, "dad, you don't have to do this."
my father hugged me tighter than he ever has before and said, "huny, of course i'm going in there. i'm your father and you need me." and then he hugged me even tighter...
...and said "besides, who else is going to smuggle the gun into the courtroom?"
Friday, February 11, 2011
extortion
a couple years ago, miss bailey took the american red cross babysitting course. she learned a lot, and despite her shortcomings, she's actually very good with children and can be an excellent sitter.
now, the key for me, is if i've asked to watch her brother as a favor, or as an actual sitter. this is directly in proportion with the quality of care i get from her. money equals qualified sitter. no money equals older sister bossing little brother.
one evening, on very short notice, my sitter was unable to make it, and i was forced to ask miss bailey to help. this threw in another dimension, as she sometimes has transition problems. not that nite. she was quite agreeable to it. i asked her how much she wanted for the hour and a half that i would be gone. after a brief pause, she retorted "twenty bucks." to which i immediately replied, "are you kidding me???" without skipping a beat, that child said, "since you said it that way, thirty. i am my mother's daughter you know." and grinned and walked away.
now, the key for me, is if i've asked to watch her brother as a favor, or as an actual sitter. this is directly in proportion with the quality of care i get from her. money equals qualified sitter. no money equals older sister bossing little brother.
one evening, on very short notice, my sitter was unable to make it, and i was forced to ask miss bailey to help. this threw in another dimension, as she sometimes has transition problems. not that nite. she was quite agreeable to it. i asked her how much she wanted for the hour and a half that i would be gone. after a brief pause, she retorted "twenty bucks." to which i immediately replied, "are you kidding me???" without skipping a beat, that child said, "since you said it that way, thirty. i am my mother's daughter you know." and grinned and walked away.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
your sarcasm or mine?
children's hospital went okay today. we got some answers, yet still need a nuc med test next week. turns out miss bailey has hyperthyroidism and a "diffuse toxic goiter", and the doc said something about it being "lumpy" (yes, this is actually the phrase he used) and not being totally comfortable with that.
unfortunately, children's couldn't get us in today as there are diet requirements and it's a two day study, so we decided to schedule in lincoln. scheduler tracy got us all squared away and was giving us our pre-scan instructions. miss bailey has to have another pregnancy test (we find this uproariously funny, and mildly annoying). when they got to the prep, they of course told her no gum or irritants, to which bailey mumbles "Well i guess i won't have a cigarette for breakfast that morning". the scheduler laughed and said, "yeah and you'd better skip that beer before you go too."
i love people with a good sense of humor. i mean come on...working at children's can not be a particularly happy job. i'm sure it's rewarding, but a good chuckle has got to make it less depressing to be around all those poor sugars and their health problems. hooray scheduler tracy! and to my daughter for being a total smartass!
unfortunately, children's couldn't get us in today as there are diet requirements and it's a two day study, so we decided to schedule in lincoln. scheduler tracy got us all squared away and was giving us our pre-scan instructions. miss bailey has to have another pregnancy test (we find this uproariously funny, and mildly annoying). when they got to the prep, they of course told her no gum or irritants, to which bailey mumbles "Well i guess i won't have a cigarette for breakfast that morning". the scheduler laughed and said, "yeah and you'd better skip that beer before you go too."
i love people with a good sense of humor. i mean come on...working at children's can not be a particularly happy job. i'm sure it's rewarding, but a good chuckle has got to make it less depressing to be around all those poor sugars and their health problems. hooray scheduler tracy! and to my daughter for being a total smartass!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
i'm sure that's not the normal response...
today, i got a phone call to pre-register bailey for her appointment at children's hopsital tomorrow. we got to the point where the gal was verifying insurance, and they had everything right-id number, date of birth-except my ex's name. they had it as nathan...which it isn't. i corrected her and she asked if i was sure about his name. "well," i replied, "unless he lied about THAT for 14 years as well, which is a possiblity, yes. however, if this nathan is a better father than he is, i'll take him."
that poor woman took a good two minutes to stop laughing and regain her composure so she could could the correct information.
that poor woman took a good two minutes to stop laughing and regain her composure so she could could the correct information.
Monday, February 7, 2011
so she named me sarah...
so like i said, i've met my birthmom. and she is a full on whackjob (it's actually where bailey gets it from. my mumsy is bipolar but does NOT take her meds...feels that pot is medicinal enough. awesome.).
when i was getting married i looked for her. not real seriously and only the demon groom and i knew i was doing so. and it didnt' go anywhere and the wedding got in the way.
so a few years later, after we find bailey's pinneal cyst (little tumor-like thing pushing on her pituitray) i go great guns. i had a name, because while my folks where signing the adoption papers, the pen ran out of ink and the lawyer left it all out in front of my parents while he went and got another one. my mom didn't tell anyone she'd seen the name because she was so afraid they'd come and take me away. I've always known i was adopted and my parents were always supportive of the idea of locating her (i have a number of weird medical problems, so info would be great) so she shares this with me and i plugged it into a geneology website. and i wait. and nothing. and i eventually forget i've been looking again.
nearly two years later on st. patrick's day, i come home and find an email from this person named "pat" who says it thinks my mother is it's sister. leaves me a phone number and everything. i call my mom and tell her and she asks what i want to do. "i want to throw up" i say. she tells me to go do it and hurry up and call her back. that makes me laugh and sets me straight (i HATE to puke. HATE IT. so much that i cry while i do it, and if you touch me while i'm puking, i puke more violently. out the tear ducts and everything). listen, she says, technically it's a holiday, and we know your mom was from an irish family. they are probably out erin go bragh and won't even answer the phone. i ask her if she's sure this is what i should do, that it won't offend her. "becky," my mother says, "you are bought and paid for. i am not concerned with losing you". so i make the call...
"huwhoa?" says the voice at the other end. shit. shit shit shit. i have dialed a drunken irishman. "uhhhh this is becky, you sent me a message about maybe your sister being my mom?" please gawd, do not let this lunatic be the dad. do not let me be an inbred leprechaun. "oh!!! uhhhhhh WAIT!!!" and i hear shuffling. the voice comes back and says "you must think i'm some drunk. i am so sorry. i had oral surgery today and my mouth is packed with gauze!" seriously, huge relief. i talk to this guy, my uncle pat, for a long time, discussing what i really want from his sister.
now here's the thing. i am a happy, centered individual. i have an amazing family, and i just don't have that empty space that a lot of adoptees talk about. i love my parents. all i really wanted was medical history and my records, since i can't access them myself. and as far as the babyhouse goes? the most selfless thing she did was to decide to go ahead and carry me so that they could have me. which turns out to be a good thing. pat and i communicate over a couple days and he tells me she-kathy-wants nothing to do with me. i learn all sorts of interesting stuff about her-like that giving me up may have been the last truly sane thing she did-and he promises to send me some pictures of her.
that sunday, my phone rings. it's her. now, i can go on to tell you about this fantastic reunion conversation...but that's not how it went. she's paranoid that i want something other than info. and she's very defensive. and discombobulated...in shock i suppose. but we end it that she'll get me my medical records, and i actually learned a bit from her. she then says that she probably won't call me ever again, but that every year, on my birthday, she wonders if i'm okay, and now she won't have to wonder any more. i'm good with that.
so, in brief, here's what happened over the next couple months. she calls, incessantly, and she is a fruitcake. now my uncle, and my aunt, they are super cool. i actually fostered a relationship with my aunt linda and would have dinner with her a couple times a month. i look like her, have her build and personality...she used to laugh and say i should have been HER kid. unfortunately, while i was pregnant with dominic, she died of rectal cancer. "couldn't get get something glamouous like breast cancer," she said, "died of asshole cancer will be on my death certificate!".
the babyhouse begins contacting me more frequently, even sitting outside my house in my drive waiting for me to come home from work. eventually she sends me a letter saying SHE WENT TO MY HOMETOWN. holy biscuits!!! she says she went "kind of undercover" and didn't tell anyone who she was and tried to locate my folks. GASP!!!
eventually this behavior just got worse and worse. for someone that didn't want anything to do with me, this lady sure was infringing on my territory. it finally came to a point where she showed up on my doorstep one day and, in short, i told her if she didn't back off i would get a restraining order. i get a christmas card now and then, and always a birthday card. i firmly believe that if she would have kept me, i'd be living in a trailer somewhere, strung out with about nine kids of my own...or dead.
so...thanks to her for having the courage to be a pregnant teenager, and giving me the best possible parents i could have. i couldn't be less sarah :)
when i was getting married i looked for her. not real seriously and only the demon groom and i knew i was doing so. and it didnt' go anywhere and the wedding got in the way.
so a few years later, after we find bailey's pinneal cyst (little tumor-like thing pushing on her pituitray) i go great guns. i had a name, because while my folks where signing the adoption papers, the pen ran out of ink and the lawyer left it all out in front of my parents while he went and got another one. my mom didn't tell anyone she'd seen the name because she was so afraid they'd come and take me away. I've always known i was adopted and my parents were always supportive of the idea of locating her (i have a number of weird medical problems, so info would be great) so she shares this with me and i plugged it into a geneology website. and i wait. and nothing. and i eventually forget i've been looking again.
nearly two years later on st. patrick's day, i come home and find an email from this person named "pat" who says it thinks my mother is it's sister. leaves me a phone number and everything. i call my mom and tell her and she asks what i want to do. "i want to throw up" i say. she tells me to go do it and hurry up and call her back. that makes me laugh and sets me straight (i HATE to puke. HATE IT. so much that i cry while i do it, and if you touch me while i'm puking, i puke more violently. out the tear ducts and everything). listen, she says, technically it's a holiday, and we know your mom was from an irish family. they are probably out erin go bragh and won't even answer the phone. i ask her if she's sure this is what i should do, that it won't offend her. "becky," my mother says, "you are bought and paid for. i am not concerned with losing you". so i make the call...
"huwhoa?" says the voice at the other end. shit. shit shit shit. i have dialed a drunken irishman. "uhhhh this is becky, you sent me a message about maybe your sister being my mom?" please gawd, do not let this lunatic be the dad. do not let me be an inbred leprechaun. "oh!!! uhhhhhh WAIT!!!" and i hear shuffling. the voice comes back and says "you must think i'm some drunk. i am so sorry. i had oral surgery today and my mouth is packed with gauze!" seriously, huge relief. i talk to this guy, my uncle pat, for a long time, discussing what i really want from his sister.
now here's the thing. i am a happy, centered individual. i have an amazing family, and i just don't have that empty space that a lot of adoptees talk about. i love my parents. all i really wanted was medical history and my records, since i can't access them myself. and as far as the babyhouse goes? the most selfless thing she did was to decide to go ahead and carry me so that they could have me. which turns out to be a good thing. pat and i communicate over a couple days and he tells me she-kathy-wants nothing to do with me. i learn all sorts of interesting stuff about her-like that giving me up may have been the last truly sane thing she did-and he promises to send me some pictures of her.
that sunday, my phone rings. it's her. now, i can go on to tell you about this fantastic reunion conversation...but that's not how it went. she's paranoid that i want something other than info. and she's very defensive. and discombobulated...in shock i suppose. but we end it that she'll get me my medical records, and i actually learned a bit from her. she then says that she probably won't call me ever again, but that every year, on my birthday, she wonders if i'm okay, and now she won't have to wonder any more. i'm good with that.
so, in brief, here's what happened over the next couple months. she calls, incessantly, and she is a fruitcake. now my uncle, and my aunt, they are super cool. i actually fostered a relationship with my aunt linda and would have dinner with her a couple times a month. i look like her, have her build and personality...she used to laugh and say i should have been HER kid. unfortunately, while i was pregnant with dominic, she died of rectal cancer. "couldn't get get something glamouous like breast cancer," she said, "died of asshole cancer will be on my death certificate!".
the babyhouse begins contacting me more frequently, even sitting outside my house in my drive waiting for me to come home from work. eventually she sends me a letter saying SHE WENT TO MY HOMETOWN. holy biscuits!!! she says she went "kind of undercover" and didn't tell anyone who she was and tried to locate my folks. GASP!!!
eventually this behavior just got worse and worse. for someone that didn't want anything to do with me, this lady sure was infringing on my territory. it finally came to a point where she showed up on my doorstep one day and, in short, i told her if she didn't back off i would get a restraining order. i get a christmas card now and then, and always a birthday card. i firmly believe that if she would have kept me, i'd be living in a trailer somewhere, strung out with about nine kids of my own...or dead.
so...thanks to her for having the courage to be a pregnant teenager, and giving me the best possible parents i could have. i couldn't be less sarah :)
don't eat the red m & m s
i will never deny that i am a bit left of center. pretending to be normal is exhausting. i have my own special brand of crazy and it works for me...mostly. (sometimes it really works against me, but it's part of who i am. i sit and cry on the shower floor and it passes.)
the girls at work laugh their asses of at me-probably more than i even realize. like when we get m & ms. i don't eat the red ones. ever. not even if it was the last m on earth and i hadn't eaten in a week. eons ago, the red dye used to cause cancer. it's why it was taken off the market for a while. and i don't care how you reformulate it, i WILL NOT eat the red ones-you never know. i will shake the bowl (as i find it rude to "pick" thru to avoid the reds...and i might accidentally touch one) until i get the other ms out. i only eat the natural colored ones (so the blue ones are out too. not dangerous, i just can't bring myself to eat them).
in fact i won't eat much of anything with very obvious red dye in it. definitely not frosting-that even tastes wrong. nothing cherry pretty much...the dye just freaks me out. i did accidently ingest a red skittle at work a couple weeks ago. one of the girls saw it go in my mouth and said "chew it!!!" i couldn't...i spit it out while she laughed uproariously. "you might die you know!" she howled. "i might! you may come back and find me slumped on my desk or in convulsions. all from that damn red dye!!!" and then i ate all the green and purple ones just to dilute the red dye left on my tongue.
ramblings of a mad woman? look it up. don't eat the red m & ms...
the girls at work laugh their asses of at me-probably more than i even realize. like when we get m & ms. i don't eat the red ones. ever. not even if it was the last m on earth and i hadn't eaten in a week. eons ago, the red dye used to cause cancer. it's why it was taken off the market for a while. and i don't care how you reformulate it, i WILL NOT eat the red ones-you never know. i will shake the bowl (as i find it rude to "pick" thru to avoid the reds...and i might accidentally touch one) until i get the other ms out. i only eat the natural colored ones (so the blue ones are out too. not dangerous, i just can't bring myself to eat them).
in fact i won't eat much of anything with very obvious red dye in it. definitely not frosting-that even tastes wrong. nothing cherry pretty much...the dye just freaks me out. i did accidently ingest a red skittle at work a couple weeks ago. one of the girls saw it go in my mouth and said "chew it!!!" i couldn't...i spit it out while she laughed uproariously. "you might die you know!" she howled. "i might! you may come back and find me slumped on my desk or in convulsions. all from that damn red dye!!!" and then i ate all the green and purple ones just to dilute the red dye left on my tongue.
ramblings of a mad woman? look it up. don't eat the red m & ms...
equity...
if you ever go through a divorce, know that it's going to get messy. no matter how amicable you intend for it to be, it just doesn't work that way. especially when you've married a soul vaccuum who thinks the world owes him something.
so in the little letter that i found in my house when SOMEONE had taken the day (while i was at work) to empty out our home and bank accounts, among other things, was the line "i just want compensation". now how i missed this the first 18 or so times i read it was beyond me. must have been in shock. but he wasn't kidding. all that matters to this man is money, and his own self-gratification.
when it came down to it, the ex's demands included me selling the house and giving him half the equity. never-you-mind this is where our children had lived their entire lives, nor that the credit card debt he ran up in our name would eventually force me to file bankruptcy (and file him as a debtor:) so that i couldn't get a home loan...he wanted compensation for a sixteen year relationship.
lesson one, dear reader...be savvy. becasue i truly had no choice, i sold the house.
to my father.
for a dollar.
so in the little letter that i found in my house when SOMEONE had taken the day (while i was at work) to empty out our home and bank accounts, among other things, was the line "i just want compensation". now how i missed this the first 18 or so times i read it was beyond me. must have been in shock. but he wasn't kidding. all that matters to this man is money, and his own self-gratification.
when it came down to it, the ex's demands included me selling the house and giving him half the equity. never-you-mind this is where our children had lived their entire lives, nor that the credit card debt he ran up in our name would eventually force me to file bankruptcy (and file him as a debtor:) so that i couldn't get a home loan...he wanted compensation for a sixteen year relationship.
lesson one, dear reader...be savvy. becasue i truly had no choice, i sold the house.
to my father.
for a dollar.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
"mom, there's a poop on the floor"
surely i did not hear that right. i open one eye, only to view a grey furry cat cheek. awesome. i often wake to this view as phae (fuzzy bitch one) sleeps on my pillow. i thank the stars she is not a farter...she is a lady afterall.
"mom? did you hear me???" 7:41am (damnit!!!)
i trudge up the stairs and find the boy, who has shed his footie jammies and is plopped deep in the recliner in a nest of scary bunnies. scary bunny is his life friend. had him since his second easter...it is lime green and the stuffing is centered in only two parts of it's enormous body from being well-loved...and just flat out creepie. two years ago, bailey gave dominic it's sister, strawberry, who was practically brand new and hot pink, so i have years of these freakie stuffies to enjoy. they seemed like a good idea when i bought them. i have to figure out how to put pictures on here so you too can experience the horror.
i look around the living room, and indeed, there is a tootsie roll laying in the middle of my carpet. now, granted, this is the carpet that caught fire a couple weeks ago thanks to a faulty extension cord that is going to be replaced in the next couple weeks, but still. "you can't get a tissue and pick this up?" i ask. the boy just stares at me. so that's a no.
as i go to gingerly pick up the treasure with a tissue, both of the fuzzie bitches are now staring at me. i hate them sometimes. as i kneel down, literally cursing them, i feel a cold sensation in the knee of my jammie pants. ACK! i have kneeled in cat puke!!! ack ack ack!!! no poo is this, but a neatly bound, COLD, barfed up hairball. OOOOOOOOGGGGG!
the dance begins. my wrist snaps and the treasure flips across the living room, with the cats in hot pursuit. the boy begins squealing, first in horror as the vomit package flies by, then in laughter as mom begins convulsing with the willies. as i hop around the living room, peeling off the puke-kneed pants, mimzy (fuzzie bitch number two, and the trouble maker) begins to bat the puke package across the kitchen floor. at this point my gag reflex kicks in and i stiffle what can only be described as the sound a bull frog makes, only with more force. "MIMZY!!!" dominic is yelling and goes to rescue the tissue, which he picks up and tosses in the garbage.
"you couldn't have just done that in the first place?" i ask, sitting on the floor (not in the puke spot), wadding up my soiled fuzzie jammie pants.
"well...yeah," he says sheepishly,"but that sure was funny."
"mom? did you hear me???" 7:41am (damnit!!!)
i trudge up the stairs and find the boy, who has shed his footie jammies and is plopped deep in the recliner in a nest of scary bunnies. scary bunny is his life friend. had him since his second easter...it is lime green and the stuffing is centered in only two parts of it's enormous body from being well-loved...and just flat out creepie. two years ago, bailey gave dominic it's sister, strawberry, who was practically brand new and hot pink, so i have years of these freakie stuffies to enjoy. they seemed like a good idea when i bought them. i have to figure out how to put pictures on here so you too can experience the horror.
i look around the living room, and indeed, there is a tootsie roll laying in the middle of my carpet. now, granted, this is the carpet that caught fire a couple weeks ago thanks to a faulty extension cord that is going to be replaced in the next couple weeks, but still. "you can't get a tissue and pick this up?" i ask. the boy just stares at me. so that's a no.
as i go to gingerly pick up the treasure with a tissue, both of the fuzzie bitches are now staring at me. i hate them sometimes. as i kneel down, literally cursing them, i feel a cold sensation in the knee of my jammie pants. ACK! i have kneeled in cat puke!!! ack ack ack!!! no poo is this, but a neatly bound, COLD, barfed up hairball. OOOOOOOOGGGGG!
the dance begins. my wrist snaps and the treasure flips across the living room, with the cats in hot pursuit. the boy begins squealing, first in horror as the vomit package flies by, then in laughter as mom begins convulsing with the willies. as i hop around the living room, peeling off the puke-kneed pants, mimzy (fuzzie bitch number two, and the trouble maker) begins to bat the puke package across the kitchen floor. at this point my gag reflex kicks in and i stiffle what can only be described as the sound a bull frog makes, only with more force. "MIMZY!!!" dominic is yelling and goes to rescue the tissue, which he picks up and tosses in the garbage.
"you couldn't have just done that in the first place?" i ask, sitting on the floor (not in the puke spot), wadding up my soiled fuzzie jammie pants.
"well...yeah," he says sheepishly,"but that sure was funny."
Saturday, February 5, 2011
short on the ex...
no, asstastic, one birthday card and two christmas cards after four years of no contact does not consitute "non-custodial parenting".
guess what? i don't give a flying pig that you had a baby this year and perhaps your guilty conscious...or more over your new wife (yeah, you know the one...you had an affair with her while i was pregnant?) probably out of fear that the same thing would happen to her...reminded you that you even had these kids. thank you for back tracking YEARS of therapy and feelings of abandonment.
oh whoops, did i mention that while i've gotten past being bitter that I still HATE you??? it's like a deck of cards jerko...you used to be the king of hearts and diamonds...and now i just wish i would have had you spade or clubbed.
ummm hmmmm. there'll be more on this later too...
guess what? i don't give a flying pig that you had a baby this year and perhaps your guilty conscious...or more over your new wife (yeah, you know the one...you had an affair with her while i was pregnant?) probably out of fear that the same thing would happen to her...reminded you that you even had these kids. thank you for back tracking YEARS of therapy and feelings of abandonment.
oh whoops, did i mention that while i've gotten past being bitter that I still HATE you??? it's like a deck of cards jerko...you used to be the king of hearts and diamonds...and now i just wish i would have had you spade or clubbed.
ummm hmmmm. there'll be more on this later too...
another lame saturday nite
it's 10:03pm on saturday and i have just been dubbed "the best mom ever" because i have let dominic watch another movie. in reality i'm hoping that staying up for this will cause him to sleep past the usual wake up time of slightly before 7am ("it's sunnytime mom!"). yet another example of my fine parenting skills. now, in all honesty, i'm a more than decent mom. i'm definitely not the parent i thought i'd be, nor am i the mom i was when i was married. but i haven't killed either of them, and while i completely understand child abuse, i don't condone it. but once, just once, i would like to sleep until after 8am on a weekend!!!
it's a winner of a nite because bailey-the bipolar one (and oh, did i mention she is also 13? do you have any idea what THAT is like??? teenaged, hormonal AND nutty? it's a wonder i don't drink more) is spending the nite at a friend's, and the boy and i had mamma time. he's easy...we could hang out in our footie jammies and he'd think it was the equivalent of taking him to disney. any time he can get with me alone is special and at eight, he still truly appreciates it. tonite, i took him to a pottery paint studio and then to mcspew for "dinner" (no i don't actually eat that crap, but i will sit and drink hi-c). we spent a delightful time painting-he chose a star shaped box, and me a mug. he was a little ditraught with the fact that when he asked if we could all share the mug that i promptly responded "absolutely not!". you see, i am a germaphobe. i have NEVER shared a drink or a snack with my child, i do not nibble off other's food or use people's chapstick. the surest way to get a free drink from me is to touch your lips to my pepsi can or straw. gag!!! i've come a long way in the last couple years-there's a few people that, if i am DYING of thirst, that i will "waterfall" out of their glass, but otherwise i'm kind of a freak about it. i have this saying about what i have no compunction about putting my mouth, but since i'm new to this, i'm not sure if it would get sensored and then this bit of hillarity would be over.
so anyway, my mortified boy says "you wouldn't share your mug? not even with me?". and keep in mind he looks like he's going to well up as he's asking me this. then he adds "i would share my star box with you...". "really," i say. "and what is that box for?" "wishes." says my bright spot. well sheit, don't i feel like an arse now?!? let me tell you, there is nothing more pathetic than your eight year old looking wistfully at you, and seeing in his face that you, mom of the year, would not share your freshly painted strawberry fields pink mug with him if he were parched.
"i would share my star box," he says again and smiles at me. "awww huny, that is so sweet," i say. "but no dice on the mug. it's mine."
i thought the girl behind the counter was going to pee herself.
it's a winner of a nite because bailey-the bipolar one (and oh, did i mention she is also 13? do you have any idea what THAT is like??? teenaged, hormonal AND nutty? it's a wonder i don't drink more) is spending the nite at a friend's, and the boy and i had mamma time. he's easy...we could hang out in our footie jammies and he'd think it was the equivalent of taking him to disney. any time he can get with me alone is special and at eight, he still truly appreciates it. tonite, i took him to a pottery paint studio and then to mcspew for "dinner" (no i don't actually eat that crap, but i will sit and drink hi-c). we spent a delightful time painting-he chose a star shaped box, and me a mug. he was a little ditraught with the fact that when he asked if we could all share the mug that i promptly responded "absolutely not!". you see, i am a germaphobe. i have NEVER shared a drink or a snack with my child, i do not nibble off other's food or use people's chapstick. the surest way to get a free drink from me is to touch your lips to my pepsi can or straw. gag!!! i've come a long way in the last couple years-there's a few people that, if i am DYING of thirst, that i will "waterfall" out of their glass, but otherwise i'm kind of a freak about it. i have this saying about what i have no compunction about putting my mouth, but since i'm new to this, i'm not sure if it would get sensored and then this bit of hillarity would be over.
so anyway, my mortified boy says "you wouldn't share your mug? not even with me?". and keep in mind he looks like he's going to well up as he's asking me this. then he adds "i would share my star box with you...". "really," i say. "and what is that box for?" "wishes." says my bright spot. well sheit, don't i feel like an arse now?!? let me tell you, there is nothing more pathetic than your eight year old looking wistfully at you, and seeing in his face that you, mom of the year, would not share your freshly painted strawberry fields pink mug with him if he were parched.
"i would share my star box," he says again and smiles at me. "awww huny, that is so sweet," i say. "but no dice on the mug. it's mine."
i thought the girl behind the counter was going to pee herself.
the beginning...
so...for years my friends have said "you should write a book" and "i don't know why you don't blog"...and after nearly three years of working on a book that never seems to end, as every time i think i'm done, something else happens in my life, i'm taking the easy way out! hopefully this will catch a following and then who knows what i'll be forced to do :)
first, i don't capitalize. second, i write how i speak, and people seem to like it that way. third, i am super picky about grammar and spelling, but i spell how i want to half the time. fourth, pink. enough said.
there's no real starting point...my entire life is better than cable. but as for background, i'm the oldest of three and the only girl. i suppose i should mention i'm adopted, and i've known since i can remember. i have two children-a product of my union with satan. the older of the two, my daughter, is diagnosed bipolar, ocd and spd. this makes for great comedy as well as absolute frustration, sometimes within five minutes of eachother. the younger, my son, is in that stage where he says the strangest things, and that fits in just fine here. he also chooses to rarely wear clothes, which is becoming a bit of a challenge. there's also two cats in this portable circus, we call them the fuzzy bitches.
be forewarned...i have razor sharp wit and a tongue to match. everything that you'll read here is true without embelishment. in my house, we make fun of mental health...we have to or we'd cry, and we do our share of that too. i've always spoke my mind and it gets me into trouble sometimes. but you'll find i have this ridiculously large heart that gets in the way sometimes. and a touch of crazy to go with it all.
oh, the name "surviving sarah"...? when i met my birth mother (MUCH more on that later), she said she'd named me sarah ('with an 'h') in utero, and as she originally went to a doctor to have me aborted, i always imagined that i survived being sarah. and continue to do so every day.
and so it begins...
first, i don't capitalize. second, i write how i speak, and people seem to like it that way. third, i am super picky about grammar and spelling, but i spell how i want to half the time. fourth, pink. enough said.
there's no real starting point...my entire life is better than cable. but as for background, i'm the oldest of three and the only girl. i suppose i should mention i'm adopted, and i've known since i can remember. i have two children-a product of my union with satan. the older of the two, my daughter, is diagnosed bipolar, ocd and spd. this makes for great comedy as well as absolute frustration, sometimes within five minutes of eachother. the younger, my son, is in that stage where he says the strangest things, and that fits in just fine here. he also chooses to rarely wear clothes, which is becoming a bit of a challenge. there's also two cats in this portable circus, we call them the fuzzy bitches.
be forewarned...i have razor sharp wit and a tongue to match. everything that you'll read here is true without embelishment. in my house, we make fun of mental health...we have to or we'd cry, and we do our share of that too. i've always spoke my mind and it gets me into trouble sometimes. but you'll find i have this ridiculously large heart that gets in the way sometimes. and a touch of crazy to go with it all.
oh, the name "surviving sarah"...? when i met my birth mother (MUCH more on that later), she said she'd named me sarah ('with an 'h') in utero, and as she originally went to a doctor to have me aborted, i always imagined that i survived being sarah. and continue to do so every day.
and so it begins...
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