Recently we got an aquarium as well as a few fish and a snail to help clean up the tank. All was fine and dandy, the fish were doing whatever the hell it is fish do and the snail was working it. The girls named it Tiny Joe, and Tiny Joe was all over every surface of the tank sucking up any algae there was to be found. Our tank was immaculate; I really need to Google “house snails” to see if I can buy a few to help clean my house.
To get back on track here – the snail was growing quickly, the girls were excited to have pets of their own, and I enjoyed watching the boring fish and Tiny Joe in the tank while I futilely cleaned my kitchen 15 times a day.
One day while feeding the fish I noticed something weird on the bottom of the tank lid. It looked like a teeny tiny brain. So naturally I left it alone since it was crazy gross, I didn’t want to touch it or search online to see what it could be; I am still scarred from images I viewed in the past when googling something – there is some nasty shit posted that will give you nightmares. Anyway, I learned my lesson and the lesson was this, leave it alone and let the hubs deal with this one.
Naturally this meant that the creepy brain-thing stayed attached to the top of the tank for FOREVER, or a few weeks. While feeding the fish about 2 weeks later I noticed Tiny Joe was climbing above the water. I sat and watched him climb to the underside of the lid and just hang there. I opened the lid a crack to knock him down and saw something strange coming out of Tiny Joe: little eggs. Tiny Joe was actually Tiny Josephine, and she was laying hundreds of eggs.
At that point I felt I had no choice but to Google Mystery Snail eggs and saw that, yes indeed, the creepy brain was a clutch of eggs. But we had only one snail and she had been with us for nearly 3 months at this time, so how could she lay eggs? These kinds of snails are not asexual (I read that once I started Googling – I can assure you I am not a snail expert), there has to be a male and a female to make babies.
When my oldest, T, saw all the eggs she declared “These eggs are just duds since there is no boy snail in there with Tiny Joe. We won’t get any snail babies.” She was very matter of fact, not disappointed at all.
What the… How in the world did she know that? Since she didn’t probe into the specifics of why you need a mommy and a daddy I agreed with her and crossed my fingers that this wouldn’t be the beginning of “the talk”.
A few days later Tiny Joe took the snail trail to heaven. We held a funeral for her, complete with a eulogy given by T. I wrapped her up in pretty tissue paper, tied a ribbon around it, and we placed her in front of the house in a spot that we didn’t mind digging up since there already was not grass there. The girls pulled flowers from the plants I have worked so hard not to kill and placed them on her grave (and have continued to do so daily since she died).
Without Tiny Joe my tank was starting looking like the rest of my house, nasty and filled with scum. It was time to clean the tank, and go snail shopping. The kids were excited, they love cleaning the tank. I got the holding tank and rinsed it out. While doing this T looked in the tank and called out “Mom! There’s a baby snail in our tank!”
Suuurrrrrrreeee there is. That tank was so nasty it was probably some piece of slime just stuck to the side of the tank. “T, it is probably just scum. Don’t worry; we are going to get a new snail later today”
“Noooo! Mom, really, there is a baby snail on the side of the tank. COME LOOOOOK!!!!”
Ugh, fine. I trudged over to point out to her that it was just a bubble of yuck and she was delusional. I peered in, and had to admit that it did look like a lot like a baby snail up against the glass but I couldn’t be sure, the tank was so dirty there were all sorts of slimy things in it other than snails. I looked closer then grabbed a flashlight to confirm.
Holy Shell! It was a baby snail! We looked more and saw 4 other baby snails. I turned to T and told her Tiny Joe left us babies to remember her by; it was a good thing we didn’t clean the tank and kill the babies.
T declared “No mom, this is a miracle from God! He knew we missed Tiny Joe and turned her duds to babies!” as she told me this tears streamed down her face from the joy of this slimy phenomenon.
While I do think that our Lord and Savior can and does perform miracles, I highly doubt this was one of them. Instead of letting T know my thoughts or the disturbing fact that I read online that Mystery Snails can actually hold sperm in their bodies for months (and then having to tell her about sperm) I just smiled and agreed with her that yes, the babies were a gift from God. But I did inform her we are not going to keep them all; I have no plans to start the miracle snail farm anytime soon regardless of how happy it makes her.
Okay, I’ll keep two and try to train them to mop my floors.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Dirty F'n Liars
When you become a parent at some point you will have an epiphany that your mom and dad were big fat liars when you were growing up. They made up stories about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and even concocted elaborate schemes to keep you from suspecting the truth. They told you too much TV will rot your brain when the truth is they just wanted you out of the house so they could have 5 minutes of peace. They also said babies are made when 2 people love each other get married and leave out that it can also happen when there is too much booze involved to take the proper precautions, or when the condom breaks.
All parents do this. It is a survival tactic. If you say you don’t lie to your kids then you are a dirty F’n liar; lying to yourself and everyone around you.
As a mom of two I lie habitually. I tell little white lies daily to (unsuccessfully) keep the drama to a minimum. My kids have heard all the classics peppered in with some new ones such as: Kids who constantly tell fart jokes grow up to live in the dumpster and: You have to eat your vegetables or you will grow chest hair (then I tell them their daddy didn’t eat enough veggies). I have become so used to doing this I have never thought how it must look to an outsider. Recently, while shopping, I was witness to another mother doing this at my least favorite store, Wal-Mart. It was the day before Easter and the store was filled to the brim with crazies. While looking at tank tops the Easter Bunny would be bringing (yet another lie) I heard a mom talking to her daughter whom she was carrying. The little girl looked to be about 3 years old. The little girl wanted down and was squirming and whining. Seemed normal enough to me. Then the mom yelled out “No! You can’t get down, you don’t have shoes on!” Naturally I looked up when I heard that; who the hell brings a child into this store with no shoes on if you are not going to contain them in the cart? There is not enough soap in the world… The mom then said “You’ll get tuberculosis on your feet! Do you know what tuberculosis is?” The little girl, obviously used to her mom saying crazy things, admitted that no; she did not know what tuberculosis was. “Say tuberculosis. Tu-ber-cu-lo-sis. Do you want that? NO ONE WANTS TUBERCULOSIS!!” To this the little girl began to cry and agreed she did not want tuberculosis. “Stop squirming before you fall and get TUBERCULOSIS!” Look, I say some crazy shit to my kids to stop their whining at times but this was a new one. I have never told my children they could catch a disease from walking barefoot in a store, I just pop their asses if they try not to wear their shoes. I’m not judging, just partially jealous I didn’t think of it first. I know you have, so tell me, what crazy lies have you told your kids? |
Sunday, May 10, 2015
To my daughters on Mother's Day
To my daughters on Mother’s Day,
Thank you for being born. The back pain, swollen ankles, stretch marks, and heart burn were worth every second of discomfort in order to have you in my life.
You were both planned; your dad and I wanted you to come into this world well before I felt the first flutters of life within my belly. I was thrilled as my belly grew bigger and bigger showing signs that the life within me was thriving. Then you were ready to come out of that safe place and meet the world.
T, you were born on a Wednesday. I tried and tried to have you normally but you weren’t going to follow the rules even in the womb and I had an emergency C-section. I was scared, not for me but for you. I had no idea what was wrong, what was causing your heart rate to drop every time I pushed. When the doctor cut open my belly she exclaimed “She’s sunny side up and looking right at me!” You were rushed to NICU and spent your first 4 hours of life there due to meconium in the womb. You were always my fighter, so strong and brave. They brought you to me at 3 am and from that moment on my world became brighter.
The day you were born you only wanted me. If anyone else held you a howling cry would emit from your tiny mouth unless they rocked you or walked with you; always in motion. You slept restlessly, moving and squeaking the entire time. As you grew you continued to move nonstop, even in your sleep and are restless to this day.
You blazed your own trail from the minute you were conceived. You are fearless, caring, inquisitive, and have the memory of an elephant. You made me a Mom. You and I have such a strong bond and I pray it remains this way. You are one half of my heart and I thank God for you.
C, you are Saturday’s child through and through – kind at heart. Your entry into this world was less dramatic than T’s initially but even then you had to one up her and have to be rushed to the NICU for 2 days because you were having trouble breathing. You were the biggest baby in there. Unlike T, who was barely 5 pounds, you were 8 pounds and so chubby your eyes were squinty and your cheeks so fat.
I was so scared throughout my entire pregnancy with you that I would not love you as much as I did T. I did not think that was possible. I was petrified that I was taking something away from her and that my bond with her would shatter and I wouldn’t have it with you. Then I held you for the first time. As I tried to nurse you I saw a little dimple on your cheek and I was amazed. How was I able to create such a beautiful child?
You are more timid than T, more inquisitive and much more sensitive; in other words more like me. You melt hearts with your smile and even when you disobey you are cute. You are the first to say you are sorry, to tell me you love me, to wrap your arms around me. You fit perfectly on my lap and hip. T made me a Mom but you made our family complete and taught me that my heart could grow and love more and more.
My fear about my bond with T quickly dissolved the moment she held you. She loved you from the start and took on the role of big sister with ease. As you grew you two became friends, always wanting to play with each other. When I went through Chemo you held my hand as we shaved my head. You looked at me with your beautiful blue eyes and told me I was beautiful even with no hair. At 2 years old you were well aware of how to be kind, how to make someone feel wonderful in the middle of a storm. You are my baby, I love you more than words can express and I thank God daily for you; you completed our family.
Being a mother is hard. You give up a life that you had freedom you didn’t realize existed until you couldn’t even pee alone or run to the store without packing half the house and 45 minutes of prep work. I have cried many tears, hurt when you hurt, smile when you discover something new. You girls brought magic back to my world that didn’t exist since I was little.
For Mother’s Day I do not want a necklace, a ring, any baubles or trinkets. I just want to hold you, play with you, and create memories of a great day we spent as a family. Thank you, girls, for being born. Without you my world would not be the wonderful, crazy, chaotic, love-filled place that it is today.
I love you with all my heart,
Momma
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Relax, Rejuvinate, and get Injected With Radioactive Sugar
After 18 months of bitching and moaning about wanting a scan to confirm no breast cancer cells had gone rogue and spread, my oncologist finally gave in. I am not sure if she was just tired of me whining every time I went to see her or if it was the complaint that my right lower back and hip had been hurting for several weeks. Either way I finally got what I wanted and walked out of her office with an appointment for a PET scan.
Because I wasn’t sure what to expect I actually read the information they provided regarding the test as opposed to promptly tossing it in the trash as was usual. I was happy when I read that a PET scan is different from an MRI in that the machine was open on both ends and didn’t make random loud noises. I was going to be injected with radioactive sugar and lay in a quiet dark room for 45 minutes prior to the scan. Since I have 2 small kids, one who is in the “scream and cry over EVERY little thing” phase, I was kind of excited that I was going to have nearly an hour of mandatory quiet time.
I wasn’t nervous; my onc didn’t order this test because my blood work was abnormal, it was more to ease my mind. Plus I still had a bottle of Valium and this seemed like the perfect excuse to indulge.
While I was going through chemo I had learned to think of a trip to the hospital as an extremely expensive trip to the spa. There are these nice blankets they take out of a warmer, comfortable chairs that lay back, and they give you snacks. Plus they have cable, and I don’t. I took the day off and decided to get a pedicure that afternoon to complete the fantasy.
I had several offers to take me to the imaging center where this was taking place but I declined, no point in anyone sitting in a waiting room for a few hours while I was laying on a comfy recliner, wrapped in a warm blanket in Valium heaven. I knew not to drive on vitamin V so I popped 5 mg when I got in the car, I live only 15 minutes from the facility. However I didn’t take into account that I had been fasting for the past 15 hours. Naturally the valium kicked in right around the time that I arrived and it hit me harder than I ever experienced before. I felt like a teenager who was high and was unsuccessfully trying to hide it. I staggered up to the receptionist, got my stylish hospital bracelet and attempted to hold myself together while they asked me questions regarding my living will and other light hearted topics.
After what felt likea day and a half of sitting in a waiting room I was called back. I was finally on my way to my insurable spa day (with needles).
When the radiologist opened the back door and motioned to the, I kid you not, tractor- trailer in the parking lot I was concerned, disappointed, and amused. Seriously? This state of the art equipment is kept in something you need a CDL to occupy? I blurted out “For real? This is where they keep the PET scanner-thingy?” (I made sure to use technical jargon so they would take me seriously)
The radiologist had obviously heard this before and mumbled it wasn’t ideal. He explained because it is so expensive the hospital system in my tiny town had a mobile unit so they could travel to other towns that didn’t have the equipment. Whateves; just direct me to my spa chair.
I squeezed into the teeny-tiny room to the back of the trailer and plopped into a lumpy, hard 1980’s style hospital chair that reclined about as much as an airplane seat. I was very quickly poked, injected and a cold blanket tossed my way. The closet room was not at all dim, it was cold, and there was a lot of activity in the next room. There was no tv and not even crappy Muzac to listen to. And at this time my valium euphoria was wearing off. So much for my spa experience.
After about an hour I was carefully placed into the tiny ass tube with my arms positioned over my head and told not to move for the next 30 minutes or this would all be pointless . As soon as the scan began I had a horrible blazing hot flash that caused my back, face, and chest to quickly dampen with sweat. Luckily I remembered Lamaze breathing from child-birth and huffed and puffed to keep from passing out all the while silently praising the engineer that added the fan in the machine.
Once the hot flash subsided the nice cool fan blowing on me turned into a torture device giving me frost bite on my only real boob and quite possibly freezing the implant on the reconstructed side. To this day it is still cold to the touch.
Sitting perfectly still for 30 minutes is not easy, or relaxing. I tried to ignore the itch on my nose, my arm, my foot. I dealt with the cramp in my arm and hip thinking I only had to endure it a few minutes longer.
After what felt like another hour it was over. The radiologist told me to stay away from women who were pregnant and small babies and to limit my contact with my girls since I was radioactive. Sweet! Maybe I could get my pedicure after all, or at least get some super powers from being radioactive such as the ability to clean an entire room in a single day.
Because I wasn’t sure what to expect I actually read the information they provided regarding the test as opposed to promptly tossing it in the trash as was usual. I was happy when I read that a PET scan is different from an MRI in that the machine was open on both ends and didn’t make random loud noises. I was going to be injected with radioactive sugar and lay in a quiet dark room for 45 minutes prior to the scan. Since I have 2 small kids, one who is in the “scream and cry over EVERY little thing” phase, I was kind of excited that I was going to have nearly an hour of mandatory quiet time.
I wasn’t nervous; my onc didn’t order this test because my blood work was abnormal, it was more to ease my mind. Plus I still had a bottle of Valium and this seemed like the perfect excuse to indulge.
While I was going through chemo I had learned to think of a trip to the hospital as an extremely expensive trip to the spa. There are these nice blankets they take out of a warmer, comfortable chairs that lay back, and they give you snacks. Plus they have cable, and I don’t. I took the day off and decided to get a pedicure that afternoon to complete the fantasy.
I had several offers to take me to the imaging center where this was taking place but I declined, no point in anyone sitting in a waiting room for a few hours while I was laying on a comfy recliner, wrapped in a warm blanket in Valium heaven. I knew not to drive on vitamin V so I popped 5 mg when I got in the car, I live only 15 minutes from the facility. However I didn’t take into account that I had been fasting for the past 15 hours. Naturally the valium kicked in right around the time that I arrived and it hit me harder than I ever experienced before. I felt like a teenager who was high and was unsuccessfully trying to hide it. I staggered up to the receptionist, got my stylish hospital bracelet and attempted to hold myself together while they asked me questions regarding my living will and other light hearted topics.
After what felt likea day and a half of sitting in a waiting room I was called back. I was finally on my way to my insurable spa day (with needles).
When the radiologist opened the back door and motioned to the, I kid you not, tractor- trailer in the parking lot I was concerned, disappointed, and amused. Seriously? This state of the art equipment is kept in something you need a CDL to occupy? I blurted out “For real? This is where they keep the PET scanner-thingy?” (I made sure to use technical jargon so they would take me seriously)
The radiologist had obviously heard this before and mumbled it wasn’t ideal. He explained because it is so expensive the hospital system in my tiny town had a mobile unit so they could travel to other towns that didn’t have the equipment. Whateves; just direct me to my spa chair.
I squeezed into the teeny-tiny room to the back of the trailer and plopped into a lumpy, hard 1980’s style hospital chair that reclined about as much as an airplane seat. I was very quickly poked, injected and a cold blanket tossed my way. The closet room was not at all dim, it was cold, and there was a lot of activity in the next room. There was no tv and not even crappy Muzac to listen to. And at this time my valium euphoria was wearing off. So much for my spa experience.
After about an hour I was carefully placed into the tiny ass tube with my arms positioned over my head and told not to move for the next 30 minutes or this would all be pointless . As soon as the scan began I had a horrible blazing hot flash that caused my back, face, and chest to quickly dampen with sweat. Luckily I remembered Lamaze breathing from child-birth and huffed and puffed to keep from passing out all the while silently praising the engineer that added the fan in the machine.
Once the hot flash subsided the nice cool fan blowing on me turned into a torture device giving me frost bite on my only real boob and quite possibly freezing the implant on the reconstructed side. To this day it is still cold to the touch.
Sitting perfectly still for 30 minutes is not easy, or relaxing. I tried to ignore the itch on my nose, my arm, my foot. I dealt with the cramp in my arm and hip thinking I only had to endure it a few minutes longer.
After what felt like another hour it was over. The radiologist told me to stay away from women who were pregnant and small babies and to limit my contact with my girls since I was radioactive. Sweet! Maybe I could get my pedicure after all, or at least get some super powers from being radioactive such as the ability to clean an entire room in a single day.
I never got my pedicure, and not a single room in my house is remotely clean. But I did learn that there are no signs of recurrent breast cancer (yippee!) so there are no complaints here. The PET did show 2 large cysts on my right ovary, accounting for the pain I have been feeling in my lower back/hip.
After the scan I had a visit with my obgyn which involved a 10 minute ultrasound session that I really should have been wined and dined prior to. From that we determined that I could no longer wait, I needed to have a hysterectomy, and soon.
This coming Tuesday I will finally get some good sleep thanks to the anesthesia that will be administered while my lady parts are removed. While I am not exactly thrilled to have to have yet another surgery I am glad that my doctor’s listen to me and are willing to do everything they can to reduce my risk of recurrence and of a second primary cancer. I am so lucky that we have state of the art medical equipment available in this small town even if it is located in a trailer.
And I am really glad I still have an active prescription for Valium.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
You might be a Mom if...
You might be a Mom if … your car is not just a vehicle but also a movie theatre, a dining room, a dance floor, and a therapist’s office.
You might be a Mom if … your phone contains 300 blurry photos of inanimate objects your preschooler took.
You might be a Mom if… you consider showering before 10 am an accomplishment.
You might be a Mom if… you haven’t peed alone in over a year.
You might be a Mom if… there are plastic ponies, dolls, and mermaids in your shower.
You might be a Mom if… you can walk through a playroom in the dark like a Ninja, never stepping on a single toy that is scattered throughout the room.
You might be a Mom if… you find a random sock, hair bow, or googly eye in your purse.
You might be a Mom if… you grab a Capri sun for yourself to drink.
You might be a Mom if… you consider 3 chicken nuggets, 6 grapes, and a half eaten cookie a balanced meal.
You might be a Mom if… you do 3 loads of laundry every single day of the week and still cannot catch up.
You might be a Mom if… you have become an expert at doing pretty much everything with only one hand, and not even your dominant one.
You might be a Mom if… the restaurant you go to the most often has a playground attached to it.
You might be a Mom if… you consider 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep refreshing and a good night.
You might be a Mom if… when you hear someone about to throw up you instinctively reach out to catch it in your hand.
You might be a Mom if… you can carry 6 bags of groceries, an open juice box, a purse, a diaper bag, 2 dolls, and a 30 pound sleeping child in one trip without dropping a single thing.
You might be a Mom if… you check for floaters in your drink before you take a sip in case one of your kids got to it first.
You might be a Mom if… the magic of Christmas, Easter, Halloween, and Valentine’s Day has returned.
You might be a Mom if… your refrigerator also doubles as an art display.
You might be a Mom if… you know the actors in the Teen Bop magazine cover.
You might be a Mom if… you catch yourself singing “Let it Go” while at work or the grocery store.
You might be a Mom if… you just started singing “Let it Go” in your head.
You might be a Mom if… your tablet case looks like a monster, a cartoon character, or has stickers all over it.
You might be a Mom if… all the apps on your phone are for ages 3+
You might be a Mom if… you schedule your pap smear around PTA meetings, play dates, and baby-sitter availability.
You might be a Mom if… you could serve a full meal with the food that is on the floor board of your car.
You might be a Mom if… your serving wear has cartoon characters on them… even the forks.
You might be a Mom if… you go to sporting events where the star athlete scores in the opposing team’s goal more times than in their own. And they are excited when they do so.
You might be a Mom if… you look forward to the annual Spelling Bee because it is a chance for you to socialize with other adults.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever told someone “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit”.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever swatted blindly into your backseat while driving hoping to connect with an arm, leg, SOMETHING because of what was going on back there.
You might be a Mom if… you consider arriving 5 minutes later than scheduled as being early.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever gone through a car wash for entertainment.
You might be a Mom if… you are an expert at doing hair and nails but yours always looks like crap.
You might be a Mom if… you pee yourself a little when you sneeze/cough/laugh.
You might be a Mom if… you have several clothing items get ruined by the adhesive from stickers.
You might be a Mom if… you have rewashed the same load of clothing 4 times to try to get the desiccant completely out of the laundry from the diaper that exploded when you washed the original load.
You might be a Mom if… you are the Master at hiding things; so good, in-fact, that you forget where they are.
You might be a Mom if… you are going to reread this because this is a very accurate description of you.
You might be a Mom if … your phone contains 300 blurry photos of inanimate objects your preschooler took.
You might be a Mom if… you consider showering before 10 am an accomplishment.
You might be a Mom if… you haven’t peed alone in over a year.
You might be a Mom if… there are plastic ponies, dolls, and mermaids in your shower.
You might be a Mom if… you can walk through a playroom in the dark like a Ninja, never stepping on a single toy that is scattered throughout the room.
You might be a Mom if… you find a random sock, hair bow, or googly eye in your purse.
You might be a Mom if… you grab a Capri sun for yourself to drink.
You might be a Mom if… you consider 3 chicken nuggets, 6 grapes, and a half eaten cookie a balanced meal.
You might be a Mom if… you do 3 loads of laundry every single day of the week and still cannot catch up.
You might be a Mom if… you have become an expert at doing pretty much everything with only one hand, and not even your dominant one.
You might be a Mom if… the restaurant you go to the most often has a playground attached to it.
You might be a Mom if… you consider 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep refreshing and a good night.
You might be a Mom if… when you hear someone about to throw up you instinctively reach out to catch it in your hand.
You might be a Mom if… you can carry 6 bags of groceries, an open juice box, a purse, a diaper bag, 2 dolls, and a 30 pound sleeping child in one trip without dropping a single thing.
You might be a Mom if… you check for floaters in your drink before you take a sip in case one of your kids got to it first.
You might be a Mom if… the magic of Christmas, Easter, Halloween, and Valentine’s Day has returned.
You might be a Mom if… your refrigerator also doubles as an art display.
You might be a Mom if… you know the actors in the Teen Bop magazine cover.
You might be a Mom if… you catch yourself singing “Let it Go” while at work or the grocery store.
You might be a Mom if… you just started singing “Let it Go” in your head.
You might be a Mom if… your tablet case looks like a monster, a cartoon character, or has stickers all over it.
You might be a Mom if… all the apps on your phone are for ages 3+
You might be a Mom if… you schedule your pap smear around PTA meetings, play dates, and baby-sitter availability.
You might be a Mom if… you could serve a full meal with the food that is on the floor board of your car.
You might be a Mom if… your serving wear has cartoon characters on them… even the forks.
You might be a Mom if… you go to sporting events where the star athlete scores in the opposing team’s goal more times than in their own. And they are excited when they do so.
You might be a Mom if… you look forward to the annual Spelling Bee because it is a chance for you to socialize with other adults.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever told someone “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit”.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever swatted blindly into your backseat while driving hoping to connect with an arm, leg, SOMETHING because of what was going on back there.
You might be a Mom if… you consider arriving 5 minutes later than scheduled as being early.
You might be a Mom if… you have ever gone through a car wash for entertainment.
You might be a Mom if… you are an expert at doing hair and nails but yours always looks like crap.
You might be a Mom if… you pee yourself a little when you sneeze/cough/laugh.
You might be a Mom if… you have several clothing items get ruined by the adhesive from stickers.
You might be a Mom if… you have rewashed the same load of clothing 4 times to try to get the desiccant completely out of the laundry from the diaper that exploded when you washed the original load.
You might be a Mom if… you are the Master at hiding things; so good, in-fact, that you forget where they are.
You might be a Mom if… you are going to reread this because this is a very accurate description of you.
Friday, March 13, 2015
Chloe Gump's Pet Company
Every morning the girls would rush to the fish tank to feed them and to look for Shrimpy. He (I am assuming it is a he, I don’t know how to tell the gender of a shrimp) liked to hide in the pink princess castle in the tank. Since he was transparent all you could really find were his creepy little eyes or his antenna-thingies; I am pretty sure that is the scientific name for them. At the pet store he was pretty cool, swimming around all over the place, but in our tank he was ridiculously boring and almost never moved into the open.
One morning my husband was looking at the tank with the girls and there, floating in the tank, was what appeared to be Shrimpy. It was his husk floating in the tank and Hubs showed it to the girls. T thought it was cool but Chloe started to scream and cry as typical and ran away to wallow in agony. He explained it was just Shrimpy’s old shell and that it meant he was growing which is a good thing. He then pointed out the actual Shrimpy cowering in a corner just like always which pacified the beast, I mean Chloe.
Later that day they told me about the incident and Hubs let me know Chloe was crying over the shrimp. These shrimp are literally $0.50 at the pet store so I declared when he actually does die I am going to buy a new one and no one will know the difference to save myself the drama. Hubs disagreed and made the point that we don’t need to lie to the girls, that we will tell them the truth like we did when Mr. D (my cat) died. Seeing as how they still cry over that cat and we let them eat breakfast with his ashes I am not sure that is the best approach but I agreed (see “Nothing a dead can’t fix” for the details on that one).
Last weekend it was time to clean the tank, the filter was nasty and there was a ton of stuff floating around the bottom of the tank. The girls were really excited to help me and caught the fish and snail and put them in the holding tank. T was worried about Shrimpy and I told her not to worry, he was most likely in the princess castle like he had been the last 2 weeks. He doesn’t move much so I wasn’t concerned.
When I picked the castle up no shrimp came scurrying out. He wasn’t in the rock or around the plant. Crap, where is he? I pulled the filter out; nope, not stuck to it or inside.
The girls started to cry.
“Don’t worry, I am sure he is in here. He is see-through, he probably is just among the fuzzy stuff on the rocks.”
He wasn’t. Super crap. That damn shrimp was nowhere to be found. Not an antenna, a husk, nothing. The girls REALLY started to cry.
“Momma!!! He’s dead! You killed Shrimpy!!!” yep, blame me. It’s always the mothers fault.
“Maybe Shrimpy is tricking us and wanted to go down the drain because he wanted to go to the ocean” Ah-ha! This will make them happy, they’ve watched Finding Nemo a hundred times and love when the fish escape!
“NOOOOOOOO!! HE’S A FRESHWATER SHRIMP!! THE OCEAN WILL KILL HIM!!!”
Damn-it! These kids are too smart.
I couldn’t pull anything else out of my rear. I admitted I thought he was dead.
Oh the wails! Tears, sobs, snot, and misery all erupted out of them like lava from a volcano. They were howling and hugging each other and declaring how much they were going to miss their favorite pet shrimp.
“T, didn’t you just tell me a few days ago that he was boring and you wanted to return him to the pet store?”
That was adding salt to the wound.
“BUT *sob* I LOVED *hiccup* HIM!” snot, tears, more snot (kids are gross).
I had to leave the room, I didn’t want them to see how much their pain was entertaining me. I went in the living room and heard them start to sing songs about how much they loved Shrimpy – “I am going to miss Shwimpy, he was the best pet evew!” this continued for quite a while.
They went over to the craft table, still singing, pulled out the crayons and paper and drew several pictures of shrimpy, some with hearts all over the paper. T came up to me with her picture, tears glistening in her eyes, Chloe beside her with tear stained cheeks.
“Momma, can we put Shrimpy in a can like Mr. D?”
“No honey. We have to have a body to be able do that. Shrimpy is gone. But we can keep this picture to remember him”
Sniffle. “OK. Can we go to the pet store? I want to tell them he died, and maybe we can get a new fish?”
Rest in Peace, Shrimpy, you won't be forgotten. Just kidding, it had been a whole 15 minutes - time to fill the vacancy in the aquarium.
My hubs made a good point about that shrimp after he read this post - The only thing exciting that shrimp ever did was die, twice.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Going out in College vs Going out Today
A few months back my friends and I got a rare treat, a girl’s night out. It was a lot of fun but it struck me how different a night out is now compared to many many (many) years ago when I was young, single, and my body wasn’t wrecked from babies, age, and way too many M&M's.
Work till 11 pm, go home smelling like fried chicken and sweat after working a 9 hour shift at a restaurant in town. I need to hop in the shower but there is only one bathroom at the house I share with 2 other roommates. No big deal; there is a shower curtain there for a reason, right? As I shower my roommate comes in to pee.
“Hey” I call out, “Bring me a beer, I need to catch up!” They started at Happy Hour so I needed to start chugging if I wanted to achieve their level of drunk-ness.
I drink a beer while finishing up my shower. I shave my legs, (who knows what will happen tonight, I might get lucky) wash my hair and dry off quickly. At this point in time there are random people in my home. No big deal, I wrap up in a towel, walk through the kitchen and head to my room to get dressed.
I put on a slinky, sexy outfit (i.e. 2 sizes too small and my muffin top is popping out), blow dry my hair, use a putty knife to slather on my makeup and slip on the highest heels I can stand (which only make me 5’3” as I am ridiculously short). During this time I drink another beer. Crap! Am I missing a game of Never Have I Ever? I need to hurry up!
I am finished getting ready, I grab another beer and head to where everyone is. The music is loud, people are laughing, dancing, drinking. It is midnight, still too early to go out; it doesn’t get busy till 12:30 – 1 am, no point in heading out yet. Yuck, this canned beer is hot, better chug it and grab another.
Finally, 5 beers and 2 shots later, it is time to go out. I get to the bar/club with my friends and drunkenly attempt to not have to pay the cover charge. After paying to get in we dance, yell over the ridiculously loud music, and drink until last call. Then I head home (plus or minus a few people).
The next morning we lay around, hung over, and decide who is going to go get biscuits from Hardee’s. We clean up the mess from the night before, collecting beer cans, solo cups, and cigarette butts, the smell is awful, I dry heave a little. After that I take a nap, I have to be at work at 4 pm so I need to get some sleep, it is Saturday and there is a great band playing at the bar tonight.
You know, hair of the dog and all.
After a week of reminding my husband that I have plans to go out I am SO ready for some crazy fun!
Seriously? He forgot?!? Ugh, ok, we will go at 7 when he gets home from work instead of 6 like originally planned.
Sweet! My friend is here in her boss Mini-van to pick me up, I don’t have to worry about drinking and driving – whoop whoop, I can have 2 glasses of wine tonight! We head to over pick up our other friend who is eagerly awaiting our arrival in her driveway, giant purse in hand; I hop in the back after moving aside her son’s soccer gear and toys. This is going to be EPIC!
We go to the nail salon and get pedicures. After consulting with each other we get wild and splurge for a design on our big toe – with crystals on mine, I feel special. Gotta take a picture to capture this! Now what? Time to go get dinner; it is still early-ish at only 8 pm. Maybe we’ll go see a movie after.
We pile up into the mini-van and head to a restaurant/bar. We all want to sit in non-smoking away from the bar; it stinks and is too loud. No one is in the mood to have to yell to be heard. Man, it is dark in here; can they not afford decent lighting?
I order a glass of wine and sip on it before I get my entrée, as do my friends. We talk and giggle about work, kids, men, whatever comes up. I bring up how Mini-van friend had to do the stop and squeeze earlier that day because she began to laugh and nearly peed herself. Our other friend calls out “I pee myself all the time!” and whips out a bag which contains a pair of spare panties. She slaps the panties on the table and lets us know that anytime she laughs, sneezes, coughs, she pees herself and has taken to always having a spare pair of underwear with her. Her husband even asks her anytime she laughs if she peed herself and typically the answer is yes. Having babies will wreck your bladder control, along with other things.
Man can I relate to that. Good to know I am not the only one. I am so going to have to get a cute bag to put some spare panties in; that is a genius idea.
I yawn. It is 9:30, getting kind of late. At this point we have all agreed that we will have to go to the movies another time; my friends don’t want to have to pay their babysitters more than they have to, it is nearly Christmas and Black Friday is 2 days away. The babysitter for one of my friends is on her way to the restaurant and drops off her son since the sitter has a date tonight, it is still early for her so she has plenty of time to go home and get ready.
I am home by 10. Good grief I am exhausted, I wouldn’t have stayed awake for a movie anyway. Yay! Hubby got the girls to bed so I don’t have to do that I can put on my pj’s or any pants without a zipper and crawl into bed.
Hubby gives me “the look”; he is hoping to get lucky. No thanks, I didn’t shave my legs, I have my jammies on and I am really tired, maybe tomorrow?
The next morning I wake up at 6, quickly get dressed and head out the door. The minivan pulls up and we head over to grab our friend from last night, there is a big sale at K-Mart and we need to get there early to take advantage of the deals.
My head hurts; I think I have a hangover from that second glass of wine. I need a cup of coffee and an Advil. Won't be doing that again for a while.
I think this quote pretty much sums it up:
“I used to carry a pair of spare panties with me in case I got lucky, now I carry them with me in case I sneeze” - A wise woman who obviously had a kid
In my single days:
Work till 11 pm, go home smelling like fried chicken and sweat after working a 9 hour shift at a restaurant in town. I need to hop in the shower but there is only one bathroom at the house I share with 2 other roommates. No big deal; there is a shower curtain there for a reason, right? As I shower my roommate comes in to pee.
“Hey” I call out, “Bring me a beer, I need to catch up!” They started at Happy Hour so I needed to start chugging if I wanted to achieve their level of drunk-ness.
I drink a beer while finishing up my shower. I shave my legs, (who knows what will happen tonight, I might get lucky) wash my hair and dry off quickly. At this point in time there are random people in my home. No big deal, I wrap up in a towel, walk through the kitchen and head to my room to get dressed.
I put on a slinky, sexy outfit (i.e. 2 sizes too small and my muffin top is popping out), blow dry my hair, use a putty knife to slather on my makeup and slip on the highest heels I can stand (which only make me 5’3” as I am ridiculously short). During this time I drink another beer. Crap! Am I missing a game of Never Have I Ever? I need to hurry up!
I am finished getting ready, I grab another beer and head to where everyone is. The music is loud, people are laughing, dancing, drinking. It is midnight, still too early to go out; it doesn’t get busy till 12:30 – 1 am, no point in heading out yet. Yuck, this canned beer is hot, better chug it and grab another.
Finally, 5 beers and 2 shots later, it is time to go out. I get to the bar/club with my friends and drunkenly attempt to not have to pay the cover charge. After paying to get in we dance, yell over the ridiculously loud music, and drink until last call. Then I head home (plus or minus a few people).
The next morning we lay around, hung over, and decide who is going to go get biscuits from Hardee’s. We clean up the mess from the night before, collecting beer cans, solo cups, and cigarette butts, the smell is awful, I dry heave a little. After that I take a nap, I have to be at work at 4 pm so I need to get some sleep, it is Saturday and there is a great band playing at the bar tonight.
You know, hair of the dog and all.
Going Out Now
After a week of reminding my husband that I have plans to go out I am SO ready for some crazy fun!
Seriously? He forgot?!? Ugh, ok, we will go at 7 when he gets home from work instead of 6 like originally planned.
Sweet! My friend is here in her boss Mini-van to pick me up, I don’t have to worry about drinking and driving – whoop whoop, I can have 2 glasses of wine tonight! We head to over pick up our other friend who is eagerly awaiting our arrival in her driveway, giant purse in hand; I hop in the back after moving aside her son’s soccer gear and toys. This is going to be EPIC!
We go to the nail salon and get pedicures. After consulting with each other we get wild and splurge for a design on our big toe – with crystals on mine, I feel special. Gotta take a picture to capture this! Now what? Time to go get dinner; it is still early-ish at only 8 pm. Maybe we’ll go see a movie after.
We pile up into the mini-van and head to a restaurant/bar. We all want to sit in non-smoking away from the bar; it stinks and is too loud. No one is in the mood to have to yell to be heard. Man, it is dark in here; can they not afford decent lighting?
I order a glass of wine and sip on it before I get my entrée, as do my friends. We talk and giggle about work, kids, men, whatever comes up. I bring up how Mini-van friend had to do the stop and squeeze earlier that day because she began to laugh and nearly peed herself. Our other friend calls out “I pee myself all the time!” and whips out a bag which contains a pair of spare panties. She slaps the panties on the table and lets us know that anytime she laughs, sneezes, coughs, she pees herself and has taken to always having a spare pair of underwear with her. Her husband even asks her anytime she laughs if she peed herself and typically the answer is yes. Having babies will wreck your bladder control, along with other things.
Man can I relate to that. Good to know I am not the only one. I am so going to have to get a cute bag to put some spare panties in; that is a genius idea.
I yawn. It is 9:30, getting kind of late. At this point we have all agreed that we will have to go to the movies another time; my friends don’t want to have to pay their babysitters more than they have to, it is nearly Christmas and Black Friday is 2 days away. The babysitter for one of my friends is on her way to the restaurant and drops off her son since the sitter has a date tonight, it is still early for her so she has plenty of time to go home and get ready.
I am home by 10. Good grief I am exhausted, I wouldn’t have stayed awake for a movie anyway. Yay! Hubby got the girls to bed so I don’t have to do that I can put on my pj’s or any pants without a zipper and crawl into bed.
Hubby gives me “the look”; he is hoping to get lucky. No thanks, I didn’t shave my legs, I have my jammies on and I am really tired, maybe tomorrow?
The next morning I wake up at 6, quickly get dressed and head out the door. The minivan pulls up and we head over to grab our friend from last night, there is a big sale at K-Mart and we need to get there early to take advantage of the deals.
My head hurts; I think I have a hangover from that second glass of wine. I need a cup of coffee and an Advil. Won't be doing that again for a while.
I think this quote pretty much sums it up:
“I used to carry a pair of spare panties with me in case I got lucky, now I carry them with me in case I sneeze” - A wise woman who obviously had a kid
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