12.28.2009

Momma. Momma. Momma.

That's my name, don't wear it out. Oops, too late, worn out beyond recognition.

I was really worried about becoming a mother of two. I was scared that it would make things different with my relationship with Madison or that I wouldn't have enough love. Whatever that means. My mom assured me that something just happens when you have another child, that there is enough love and to stop my whining and get her a glass of water, with lots of ice. Now.

As usual she was right. I can't explain what it is that happens, it just does. All of a sudden your heart has expanded and you love both of these babies so much and there is no 'one or the other', it's just both. This is not to say that I am not exhausted and that sometimes I would love for my hearing to fail and that at night even though I am so worn out that I have enough luggage for Paris Hilton occupying my lower eyelids I still stay up late just so I can get a little peace and quiet.

Like right now, it's almost midnight. I finally got Cooper to sleep, he has decided that sleeping on backs is for pussies and he wants to live dangerously and sleep on his stomach. So being the momma that I am and having a worry wart for a husband we bought one of those motion sensor baby monitors that even picks up on breathing movement, because it's great that Coop is sleeping three hours at a time but if he decided to open those eyes he would see one or two blood-shot eyed parents staring down at him and his reflection in the spoon in front of his nose because they are checking his breathing for the tenth time this hour. Every move that he makes has Joe shooting straight up in bed screaming "What's wrong!?". So, Coop is asleep, Madison is asleep after fifty questions regarding when is summer, when is Christmas (um, three days ago), when are we going swimming, when is spring, when is Thanksgiving in Canada, well, you get the drift. Thanks to an Ambien, Joe is asleep and I am currently sitting in the La-Z-Boy listening to his snoring on the baby monitor, eating some Dove candy (because I'm the adult, that's why) and about to enjoy a vigorous round of Plants Vs Zombies. Ahhh, this is the life. Wait, that's not right.

Long story short, I love my kids and I am exhausted. Wow, I do ramble.






Are You Kidding Me.

Attention makers of the bassinett that I have. I won't mention the maker, not sure if I could get in trouble for that. I will tell you that this company is known for good quality and also makes various "adventure-wear". Rhymes with Shmeddie Shmauer.

The bassinett is beautiful, just a peach to look at. The problem comes in when it's time to rock the baby to sleep. While rocking it makes a loud clicking sound, kind of like a cha-chung, cha-chung with every sway. That's not too bad because I think that Cooper has now gotten used to it and it lulls him to sleep.

The real issue arrives when you need to lock it into position because if you leave it in the "rocking mode" the baby will of course work it's way over to edge therefore smothering himself against the side because it will tilt and he will not be able to pull away. I'm a mom.

So, I'm done rocking him, he is FINALLY asleep and I postion the bed to lock it into place and I turn the knob and as it locks it sounds just slightly louder than a car backfiring.

You can only imagine the sight of my infant jumping out of his skin and clawing at his hair. I can only imagine that he must have gotten that move from me.

So, what do I do?

Bitch and complain. Piss and moan.


Merry Christmas!

It was "Baby's 1st Christmas" this year and it was a good one. Since neither of us are working, me by current maternal duty, him by...well, no choice of his own, we didn't go over-board like usual. It was nice. Madison got what she asked for, Joe went over our $100 budget for eachother (which was actually supposed to be a $50 budget) and I got Joe the things he asked for therefore he guessed every thing under the tree before he unwrapped it and in the process ruined Christmas.

Every year Morgan spends the night on Christmas Eve and he bakes cookies with Madison and we watch movies. On Christmas morning we unwrap presents and then head to momma's house to open presents and spend the day playing games and eating. I always get some sort of board game that I'd been wanting and we play. Mammaw attempts to play, she will yell out her answer about five minutes past her turn and her answer will be to a question that was asked three turns ago. This has me doubled over in laughter and her confused as hell. Momma has to have the instructions read and explained to her at least two times, we usually give up and give it a trial run. We hardly ever finish a game, we are worn out from laughter or someone pees their pants. I'm not naming any names...Morgan.

This Christmas Eve we had the new little one and on this night he chose to not sleep. At all. At about 5am I got to sleep for almost two hours and that was it. So, by the time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at 6pm on Christmas day I looked like I had been beaten about the eyes with a club. My eyes were open, you just couldn't see them beyond the luggage that had taken place below them.

Besides the sleep deprivation, Christmas was great. Christmas is always great, I love giving gifts and seeing the excitement on Madison's face on Christmas morning. I am usually the first one up due to the excitement and I have to wake her up! Incredible.

Wanna know what I got for Christmas? Do ya? I received a $50 iTunes giftcard, Black hi-top Chuck's (desperately needed these), a few games, Band Hero for my DS, pajama's, Grey's Anatomy Season 5, book light, scrapbooking supplies, babysitting certificates (thanks Morgie!).

I hope everyone had a great holiday (whatever religious or non-religious affilitation you may be). This is an equal opportunity blog.



12.20.2009

Best Commercial EVER.

Thank you Village Inn for the treat you have bestowed upon us.

Click This And Have The Best Day!

A Child Is Born

Alright, here it is, the story that you've been waiting for. Don't lie, you know you've been waiting to hear just how this kid finally arrived. So sit back, relax and get ready for some nail biting, nurse assaulting action. No, really, I assaulted a nurse.

Well, the kid actually listened. I said that he better not arrive before the premiere of New Moon and I would prefer it if he waited until after Thanksgiving. So both of those events came and went. If you can recall I was pretty damn sick and tired of being pregnant, I'm pretty sure I complained every day.

The day before my due date rolled around, it was Saturday. Joe and I figured we'd better get out and run some errands and get the Christmas shopping done since all hell was going to be breaking loose in the next week or so. So, we head out and run errands. We managed to fit in a small fight which derailed our Christmas shopping because I refuse to Christmas shop after I've been crying in the bathroom where someone is taking a massive shit in the stall next to me. Maybe it'd be fine for some people but for me that just doesn't scream Christmas spirit, that's just me though.

That night we're at home and we figured we'd head out in the morning, have some breakfast and do the Christmas shopping. We watched some TV and headed to bed. I was having some contractions, no pain or discomfort so I figured no big deal. There's no way this kid was going to arrive on his due date, that just doesn't happen. In my mind I figured he'd be coming during the next week.

Laying in bed I was of course grumbling about having to pee for the 237th time that day, I also had a split lip. Don't ask. Okay, you want to know why I had a split upper lip? Drool. When you're pregnant you drool in your sleep. Picture it, open mouth breathing, snoring, drooling. This dries out the mouth, so when I wake up a million times in the night I might yawn or move my mouth in some way and it splits my lip open. Fun. So, laying there I opened my mouth to tell Joe something and my split opened up so I said "Fuck, my lip hurts!".
Five minutes later I felt something strange, like a "POP" in my stomach to which I replied "Mother fucker". Joe laughed and said "What, split your lip again?" to which I replied....

"Nope, my water broke."

Joe: BLUR

Literally, he was a blur. I didn't actually see him again until we were sitting next to eachother in  the car, and even that image is a little shaky.

On the way to the hospital phone calls were made. Momma, Morgie Porgie and my friend Kathy were all on the way. As a matter of fact Kathy was on a date, he dropped her off at the hospital. My water broke at exactly 10:00pm on Saturday the 28th, we made it to the hospital by 10:30pm. I was cheery, everything we going smoothly, contractions weren't even painful yet and I was already excited about getting my epidural and taking a nap because dammit, I was tired.

Kathy is a doula and an RN, we agreed that I would wait until I was 4cm dilated to get my epidural. When I arrived at the hospital I was 2cm. No problem right? Sure, whatever you say "pre-painful contractions lady". So, the contractions started to hurt. Wow, I had forgotten what they felt like. Yup, painful. I had to remind people more than once to NOT TALK while I'm having a contraction and for God's sake DO NOT TOUCH ME, especially my face or hair. I didn't even want encouragement, don't tell me I'm doing great while I'm breathing through the pain that feels like my legs being ripped off of my body.

Finally at around 1am my wonderful, beautiful Godsend of a nurse, Dylan, checks me and I'm 4cm! "Get the epidural...NOW." By now the pain is radiating through me and I'm trying everything, breathing, meditation, distraction and nothing is working. That anesthesiologist couldn't have gotten there fast enough. But boy was I excited, I couldn't wait to get the sweet, body numbing medicine so I could take a nap. She arrived and it took awhile but it was in and the pain was starting to weaken. After a few contractions the pain was barely a purr but I didn't feel so great so I puked and felt better. That was when I asked momma and Morgan if they were going to just leave and come back in the morning. You know because I'm going to sleep now and this kid isn't coming for a while. They just kind of look at me and shrug and Kathy says she thinks he's coming sooner rather than later. I laugh. I actually laughed. Stupid.

I tell Dylan I'm ready to get some sleep and she says she wants to check me first. Fine, I say, but hurry up. She checks me and says, "No nap for you, it's time." I then commenced to slapping the shit out of her arm. "NO, I'm tired!" I explain, "I can't push now, "I WANT MY NAP!" Then I felt it, the pressure which is actually pain. This pain is something that the epidural can't cover up, this is the feeling of a human about to come out of your vagina. "Damn it." I then began pushing my epidural button like a maniac. It will only give you more medicine every 15 minutes but it felt good to push the button, I also wanted to make sure I got my next dose not one second over the 15 minute mark.

Joe, Momma and Kathy stayed in the room with me. We had to wait for the OB and the neonatal doctor to arrive so there I am legs up, all my business in the open and they are telling me not to push. I don't even know what the room looked like at this point, nothing could have gotten my eyes open. OB shows up, neonatal doctor not yet. So now she's just hanging out down at the end of the bed, everyone's eyes on the "baby arrival area" and they are all going on about how his head is "right there" and "look at all his hair" and I'm pushing a "magic" button which I'm sure wasn't plugged into anything and yelling "I'm not pushing!"

I'm not joking when I say, the second I heard the door open when the neonatal doctor came in I started to push and I didn't stop until that kids head was out and they made me stop. I pushed 3 times through 3 contractions and gave birth to Cooper Vaughn Wolf at 3:23am on Sunday November 29, his due date.
7lbs, 15oz, 19 inches long.

That's that. Now we are home and getting used to the sleepless nights, the endless parade of diapers being flung at the trash can, the midnight crying, the husband asking me over a screaming baby if maybe he's hungry or gassy or has a dirty diaper and me staring at him blank faced because how the fuck am I supposed to know, I can't read baby minds!

We are managing. Madison loves her little brother but can't quite grasp why it is I just can't jump up and do what she needs right when she needs it, even though I would love to, really I would. Given the option to play with Barbie's over having a kid attached to my boob for an hour straight I would totally go for those Barbie's.

Hopefully blog posts occurrence will pick up soon, it's just so hard to type and feed a baby. I tried typing while feeding myself yesterday and now my keyboard has chicken pot pie in most of the upper left keys. God, that Marie Callender is a real bitch.






12.16.2009

Never Again...

Will I eat at a Wendy's fast food restaurant.

Because of this.

Commercial That Ended My Relationship With Wendy's.

I mean it. Seriously.

I hate you...

Kit Kat candy bar.

Due to the new Kit Kat candy bar commercial where it is nothing but people biting into crunchy Kit Kat bars I will never again purchase a Kit Kat wafer bar. It's worse than listening to Bocephus eat dog food.

Suck it Hershey.



By The Way


I didn't mention this weeks ago, probably because I didn't want it to be true. Denial, it's a beautiful thing.

Joe was laid off again. He has now been out of work for about 3 and a half weeks.

Now you know some of the reason for my lack of hilarious and entertaining blog posts. Not only do I have a newborn baby in my household but I am in constant company of my dear spouse. He has been an amazing help with Madison and the new wee one but I just can't write when he's sitting around me. All day. Every day. All of it.

So, we are both not working, we have a newborn, a dog that eats loudly all day, a kindergartner who all of a sudden has to move constantly, it's a snowstorm outside and Christmas is next week.

Oh, I forgot to ask. How are you doing?



12.09.2009

Thanksgiving...That's the story you're waiting for right?

Oh, maybe you want to read about my birthing experience. Well, you'll have to wait, so there.

First of all you should know that I love Thanksgiving, it's my favorite holiday, well except for Christmas you know because of the presents and it being our Lord's birthday and the presents. Thanksgiving has food, not just any food but fattening, all buttered up food cooked by my momma. Dinner is usually held at momma's house where she has invited not only our family but anyone she happened to meet in the last 12 months. It's huge. There's at least 2 turkeys and a ham, these I don't care about.

Dressing. No, not stuffing, you sadist. Dressing. Cornbread dressing. It is delicious and if all we had was dressing I would be totally fine with that. Well, we need gravy. We always need gravy. It's a Southern beverage after all. My momma makes the best dressing in the entire world. You make think that the shit that your mom told you was dressing or stuffing (shudder) is the best, well, you would be wrong my friend, dead wrong. That is a fact.

Well, since this Thanksgiving I happen to be 15 months pregnant my mom didn't feel comfortable throwing the Thanksgiving hoo-haa, since my hoo-haa could possibly be in labor. So, instead of having it at her place we had it at my step-dad's brother's house. I let my mom know that this was totally fine as long as SHE brought the dressing. Oh, and the gravy. Plus, straws.

When eating at a family event there are things you need to know. You need to know who NOT to sit next to. Do not sit next to...well, a specific group of people (I won't name them so as not to hurt feelings and I'm positive that they have no idea it's them that I'm talking about. Oblivious.). Don't get me wrong, I love them all dearly but their eating methods do not agree with my gag reflex. It's basically the noise, the chewing and smacking will have my stomach turning and me pulling my hair out by the fist full. It is maddening.


When it was time we were all called to the table and like some sort of freak accident all of the loud eaters were seated next to eachother. The panic that ensued. I'm sure that noone understood why it was so difficult for us to sit our asses down, we were like stuttering morons. Morgan ended up having to sit directly next to the group...not sure how that happened. Joe was able to sit the farthest away and he still lost his appetite. Morgan at his meal with his face turned all the way to the left so that he would have to see the mouth action. I also employed this method. Didn't help much.


If I had to describe one of the eaters I would say it would be like standing Bocephus upright and giving him a fork.


Besides that mess,

*This section blacked out due to request of my mother. Carry on.


Thanksgiving was great! You know, because of the dressing and all that gravy.


I am thankful:

  • for my family, even the noisy eaters and loud breathers
  • for my daughter who can make anything hilarious
  • for my husband who has been so wonderful and has had to put up with my pregnant self for the past 9 months, it's a miracle we made it out alive
  • for sleep
  • for baby head smell

12.01.2009

Out Of The Office: Giving Birth

Sorry for the lack of posting last week and this week. Thanksgiving was awesome and the new baby finally arrived...on his due date of all days.

Some things I am doing:

  • Not sleeping
  • Enjoying laying on my stomach
  • Not peeing every 4 minutes
  • Smelling the best smell in the world: baby head
I will post soon about our Thanksgiving and of course about the new arrival.

11.25.2009

What's that Scooby Doo? Me? Cheat? No. Okay, Maybe.

Game night. Usually we pick an age appropriate game for a six-year-old, but on this night she really wanted to play Scooby Doo Monopoly. To be honest I've been wanting to play since I bought it for Joe for Christmas...last year.

We get it all setup, Madison is enamored with the piles of money that lay before her. The game starts, we play as usual. Buying real estate, passing go and all that jazz. Seeing how Madison would get so excited to buy the Scooby Doo real estate I figured we'd play "nice" and wouldn't buy the land that she was buying. So, if she bought a red 'land' then I wouldn't buy the other one when I landed on it. This went on for awhile and I realized that I had no real estate and Madison and Joe were basically moguls.

I had my eye on a color set that neither of them had bought yet and I had dibs, well, in my mind I did. Madison lands on it and wants to stake her claim. "I want it! How much?"

"You don't have enough, my turn." I roll the dice while she lookes stunned at my quickness. Joe was busy keeping his eyes in his head. On my turn I landed on a spot that had me collect a "Zoinks" card, it sent my ass straight to jail. Madison asked "Why do you have to go to jail?", Joe replies without hesitation, "Because that's what happens to cheaters."

After 3 hours of playing this never ending game. How quickly we forget that Monopoly is not a game but can compare only to purgatory. I decide that I'm sick of seeing Joe and Madison rack in the rent and I need a piece of that action so I'm going to buy the next available piece of real estate. Sure enough I land on the last available 'orange' estate, Madison owns the other two.

"I'm buying it!" I exclaim. Madison begins her explanation about how she is buying the orange ones so that one is hers, "You can't buy it! I have the oranges!" she says.

"I can to buy it, you aren't on it, I've been playing nice and not buying anything that ya'll were buying but screw that noise, I'm tired of not owning anything."

A glance at her broken face triggered me to look over at my husband who was at that moment reattaching his lower jaw.

My hysterical laughter didn't help anything, well, except my dialation I'm sure.

So, I had in the last 30 minutes cheated my daughter, my 6-year-old daughter out of real estate and taught her the phrase "screw that noise".

I'm about to have another child, I wonder what fun things we can teach him.



11.20.2009

It's a Family Tradition

Most families have traditions. We have quite a few, like we always open one present on Christmas Eve, momma still wraps presents to me and Morgan from Santa Claus, we decorate the tree together every year, on Thanksgiving we get to pick a dessert, my mom's cornbread dressing is a tradition in itself. We also have another family tradition of sorts, we like to scare the shit out of eachother.

I'm not sure when it started, I remember it a lot when I was a teenager but it may have even started when I was much younger. Typically it's the hide behind the door type of scare. My mammaw (she is in her eighties now) would hide behind a door or crouch down behind a chair for as long as she had to, probably didn't help her arthritis but she didn't care. Momma likes to wait outside of your bedroom door or bathroom door and as you open it she screams and bangs on it really loud, my brother likes this method as well. Madison likes to hide around corners or in closets, yes, the 6-year old partakes in the tradition. I have felt a mother's guilt for literally scaring the piss out of her on occasion. Just the one time, calm down. Joe will try and scare me on occasion, he typically uses the hide behind the door method. Other times he takes it to a whole new level and sneaks into the house and then when I hear stuff in the house I call him to see if he's the one making the noise and he tells me that no, he isn't home yet. This method is unacceptable. This method will eventually get 911 called on it.

My reaction to being scared is always a great topic of conversation. The stance I usally take is hands up by head, scream, put one knee into my stomach and crouch into a ball. FYI: This is ineffective in the event of a real attack. I will most certainly be killed if there is ever an actual "bad-guy" hiding in my bathroom.

My method of "scaring" is equally ineffective. I'll paint a picture for you with a recent situation. At momma's house, I see her walk out to the garage so I take my chance and hide behind a corner. While standing there with my hands up in attack position (why? I don't know) I of course start picturing her scared reaction and that makes me giggle a little inside. Well, that little inside giggle eventually erupts into pure hysteria and by the time she makes it back from the garage I am halfway to an unrecognizable heap on the floor. She walks by and the look on her face is pure confusion, and disappointment. I mean, here I am, heir to the throne and I can't even mutter out a "gotcha!"? Useless.

I also had the same situation with Morgan recently. I was already on the floor this time because I was going to grab his ankles as he walked by, bad move. By the time he walked by I was laughing hysterically and pawing at his legs. His reaction was similar to what it would be like to walk past a pile of dog shit, step to the side slowly and look down in disgust.



11.18.2009

Happy Birthday Morgie Porgie!

Today is my little brother's birthday, he turned 21. Finally, now he can drink legally...whoops.

Born on this day in 1988 Samuel Morgan Wade was a small town boy, son to a farmer and his wife. No, that's not it. He was born to our parents and was blessed to have a kick ass sister like me. Well, he would know how kick ass I was until just a few years ago because until then we fought constantly. When he was a baby I was very protective over him, then he grew up a little and started talking back, holy shit, I didn't know he was going to do that.

Pretty soon he would look at me and then I would yell at momma that he was looking in my general direction and then she would yell at us that we 'would both be gettin' our asses whooped'.

"You're brother's name is Samuel, why the hell do you call him Morgie Porgie?" Because I want to that's why, shut up. No, seriously, that's my answer.

I could write all day about our lives growing up. That one time that I let him drive the golf cart at the farm house and he ran over his tricycle and we were practically pushing eachother over to tell momma because we figured whoever told first would be in the least amount of trouble.

That time that he got hit in the forehead with a pipe while playing baseball (don't ask), wound up with 18 stitches in the middle of it and he looked like Harry Potter for months (taped up glasses to boot).

Oh, how about that time that he was being such a brat and he pulled my pants down in front of the general store!

Though we fought like brother and sister for so many years in between I am so happy to have such a great relationship with him now, he's a great friend and brother and I don't know what I would do without him.

Okay, that's all the sentiment you get. Asshole.



11.16.2009

Lesson 1: Walking In Public

Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to today's lesson, "How To Not Walk Like an Asshole in a Parking Lot", or as I like to call it "Stay Home Dumbass".

As you all know I have seen my fair share of parking lots and while I carry a full assortment of colorful comments and complaints about the cars/drivers themselves, today I would like to focus the attention on the walkers. You know, the people that park and then get out of their cars and seem to stumble aimlessly among the vehicles that are attempting to park in said parking lot.

The main complaint for the day is why do they feel the need to walk in the longest diagonal line possible? Therefore keeping any passing car waiting until their trek is finished. Obviously never heard of the phrase "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line" they live by the creed "Derrrr...wha?".

Please see this figure. That demonstrates a parking lot and a person crossing the lane of traffic.






Fuck. What am I thinking? This is what a parking lot really looks like, sorry for the confusion.






11.12.2009

What Can I Get For A Dollar?

Commercial judging time. I know what you're thinking, "what the hell does this chick do with her free time?". Well, don't you fucking worry about it.

Anyway. New McDonald's commercial. This guy is going from place to place with a dollar and asking "What can I get for a dollar?" as he holds up this dollar bill. He goes to a travel agency, where he gets a little palm tree; he goes to a dry cleaners, where he gets a hanger; he gets in a cab, then promptly gets out; he goes to a tanning salon, where he gets a little brown dot sprayed onto his cheek. See evidence below.



Wait a minute. What's that? He has all these goods in hand but he is still holding on to that same measly dollar bill. So, his plan was to distract the vendors with his stupid ass question, get them to give him free shit and while they are wondering what medication he is obviously NOT taking he walks out without paying the one dollar for the palm tree, hanger, etc. Asshole.

So, he arrives at McDonald's and asks the over zealous cashier "What can I get with this?" and the cashier promptly lists all of the things that cost a dollar. This makes the man happy. The next shot we see of him he is scarfing down about $4 worth of food. So, in fact this lunch did not cost $1, it probably cost about $4 you fucking cheapskate.



What can I get for a dollar? Apparently whatever the hell you want.

11.11.2009

You Know What Causes Weather? Me.

I have reason to believe that inside of my body is some sort of magnet that attracts forces of nature. Or it could be that I am so large and pregnant that I have thrown the earth off of its axis and now I am the center of the universe, yeah that's it.

This morning was calm, a little cold no big deal. Taking Madison to school I decided not to put my coat on because A) it's not windy or that cold and B) I'm a whale and don't need one more layer on. Again, I will mention that it was calm, no wind, not even a hint of wind coming around.

We get out of the car and walk about 5 feet when all of a sudden we are swept up in a wind storm. Snow is flying everywhere and by everywhere I mean that the direction of every flying object was aimed at my face. Madison has her coat over her head screaming for me to guide her. We're lucky we weren't run over by an SUV or that a house didn't fall on our heads. Now, this is how I know that it's me, that I am the reason for this freak of nature weather. (Well, this and I just know that everything is about me, so there.) We get within one foot of the door to the school and it stops. The wind just stops. Fine, mother nature, good morning to you too.

I get her into school, to her class and I'm looking outside through the windows and it's still calm. Cool. I walk out of the door and I shit you not I am 5 feet outside and the wind picks up again. Practically pushing me down the sidewalk toward the car. Now I'm getting pissed. I get to the car after walking safely to and from the school, being bullied by the wind and I lift my foot to step into the vehicle and down I go. I happen to have stepped on the one patch of black ice in the whole parking lot. I'm sorry to all of the parents and children who had to witness this maniac screaming and cussing while trying to climb into her car.

Watch out world, tomorrow I'm going to dress in full winter gear. Get ready for a heatwave.



11.09.2009

Wax On....Wax Off

Joe: "Oh, did they mess up your eyebrow there in the middle when you got waxed? Whew."

Me: (through gritted teeth) "No, that's a pregnancy zit, a third eye, a gunshot wound. Thanks for noticing."



Well Hello There Pregnancy Hormones, Did You Have a Nice Vacation?

They're baaaaack. It's been a couple of months since I've cried multiple times a day, I should've known that those days were waiting behind the door to jump out and scare the living shit out of me when I least expected it. That day was Sunday. I love Sunday's, it's my favorite day of the week but the way my Sunday's have been going lately I'm about to vote it off of the calendar.

Of course we went to Costco. The trip itself wasn't that bad, I was having a million contractions (not the real kind) and had to pee about 6 times but not too bad. We checked out and I vetoed getting boxes because we have the big Costco reusable bags in the car, I usually just cart everything out there and then I load the bags up. We get to the car and dear husband is complaining about me not getting boxes and then he said something and I only remember it sounding like "Please dear, let me sit here and let you punch me in the face; and so you don't hurt your pretty hands please use this tire iron." It was something like that, can't quite get the words right. So, I took a step back and went and sat in the car. Made me cry. (FYI, he did apologize)

We get home and as I'm doing the Hunchback of Notre Dame walk to the house so I can go pee the dear husband yells "Hey!" so I turn around just in time to see keys flying at my skull. I throw my hand up but the key hurt me. Wah. So I go pee and cry.

All day I've been waiting for a call or text from my brother, we typically talk or text about 50 times a day so it was weird that I hadn't heard from him. I had also been trying to call my mother and I could never get to talk to her for more than 2 seconds. So finally, I'm talking to momma and I hear Morgan in the background, he had just come home from work. So I demand an answer on why the hell he hasn't contacted me ALL FUCKING DAY? Busy at work. Whatever. I call him and he doesn't answer! I call my mom back and he had just left to go somewhere. I start crying. (FYI: He did call right back and explained his horrifically busy day.)

My mom called and said that when Joe came out to her house he left without grabbing the bag that I'm borrowing to use for our hospital bag. I blacked out. When I came to she was laughing hysterically, fortunately for both of them she was kidding. Cry again.

Finally, it's the end of the day. I'm exhausted, I need a hot shower, my feet hurt, my back hurts, my cervix hurts, my head hurts. I laid down in the bed just so I could rest for a little bit before jumping in the shower. Husband has million things to ask and say and it's just too much. Cry. Cry. Cry.

As he sleeps I lay there and notice that I'm having like a million contractions, honestly I'm too tired to really care or count them but I do know that I'm having a lot. So, I lay there for a while. I get up to go pee and realize that I need to poop. I had been laying there in bed, counting poop contractions. Fabulous.

Yeah, remember that post from a few days ago about how I hardly ever cry? Shut up.



Pajama Day

I'm sure when you were in school you remember days like pajama day, spirit wear day, wear red day, etc. The one that always sent me into a panic was pajama day. I would spend the whole night before checking the calendar to make sure that yes, in fact, the next day is pajama day. Making sure that the pajama's I picked out were cute and there was nothing waiting to embarass me. All night I would worry that I had the wrong day. In the morning, after checking the calendar for the millionth time I would finally leave the house. All the way to school I would be in a comatose state of panic until I saw that my friends were in fact wearing their pajamas. I would then vomit into a bag.

Madison had pajama day at school this week. Same thing. I spent all weekend making sure that yes, in fact, it is going to be pajama day. Spoke with other parents about it, they had the same fears as me fortunately. Who wants to be the mother that ruins their child's life by dressing them in pj's on a non-pajama day at school, might as well just give them a trench coat and stop washing their hair now. So, I check the calendar, confirm that it is indeed the day. She is dressed in her super-cute and warm pj's. We pull up to school and are walking to the doors and I notice that not a single kid has their pajama's on. Luckily Madison hasn't noticed this, I of course am in a state of panic on the inside and am talking nonsense trying to distract myself away from the trainwreck that I feel is about to ensue. We get to her classroom, the longest walk of my life and see that all of the kids in her class do have their pajama's on. Phew. It was just a thing that her class is doing, not the whole school. I kiss her goodbye, wish her a good day and as soon as I'm in the car, I vomit into a bag.



11.06.2009

Marie Callender, You Heartless Bitch

I don't cry much. I might whine and bitch a whole lot, but seldom do I cry over things. My best friend of 12 years can cry at the drop of a hat, she knows it so I'm not saying anything hurtful here. It would come in handy when her dad would say she couldn't do something. She could turn on those waterworks faster than I could shrug my shoulders (my general response to anything) and he would change his mind. I guess it was a survival instinct for her, she grew up knowing that this thing worked for her so she had to employ it. I mean, if we couldn't go hang out at the bowling alley our lives were o-v-e-r, over. For serious ya'll.

That being said, there is something that can make me cry every time.

Food.

Does it to me every time. For instance, a while back momma made beef tips and rice for dinner and I was over along with some other family members. Well, while I was helping to get the table set everyone was making their plates and I walked into the kitchen to find that the rice was gone. They had taken all of the rice. Now, how the hell do you eat beef tips and rice, with no rice? Momma, seeing the panic on my face and tear about to fall, yells "Don't cry! I'm making more rice!" Too late, already crying.

While on vacation we went to a Marie Callender's restaurant. You know her right, she makes the bomb ass chicken pot pies. So, we all sit down and of course I know that I want a chicken pot pie, so that's what I order. The waiter comes back a short time later to tell me that they are out of chicken pot pie's. Out. Gone. No more. What? This is a Marie Callender's RESTAURANT right? You're not microwaving frozen pot pies back there are you? No ma'am. See, at Ms. Callender's restaurants they only make a certain amount of pies per day and when they are gone, they are gone. Momma sees my panic, it's too late. Sobbing.

Last weekend I sat in the chair by the window crying. Joe asked "What's the matter?", to which I replied "I don't know what to have for breakfast!"

These are only three stories out of a lifetime of food ordeals, there have been plenty more. I can't explain why food is my crying trigger but it is and by God if I order something and you bring it to me wrong or tell me that your out, well, you better have your method of self defense already picked out....and kleenex.

Also, Madison cried yesterday when what she wanted for breakfast was french toast sticks but we were out. Let's face it, I gave birth to myself.



11.04.2009

It's Getting Cereal Around Here

I am 36 weeks and 3 days pregnant. I know right? You had no idea I was pregnant because I haven't complained or contemplated murder at all. It's all good.

Oh, wait, no it's not because right now my hips are seperating from my body. The little tyke is at a 0 station, for those of you that don't know what that means it means that his head is way down there, way down like "Hey mom look what I can do!" down. My nurse midwife says she highly doubts that I'll make it to my due date, 3 weeks from now. In the same breath she also says, well you never know you could still go all the way.

I like those odds. You'll go early or you'll go late. Sounds good to me.

I told her the my hips have been killing me and she laughed and said well they should, there's a baby's head in there. So funny. Oh, she's a knee slapper I tell ya.

So, any day now OR in three weeks. I guess I better pack my hospital bag OR not.



11.02.2009

Here It Is...

This is it, this is where you get to make fun of me and all that jazz. I don't care though. Well, I care a little so please be gentle. You may have noticed the new heading for the blog this month. Yes, that is an image from the movie New Moon. Yes, I am a fan.

I generally keep this secret, only a handful of people know how much I love this series. I've read the books and am now reading them AGAIN. My sister-in-law, we'll call her B, turned me on to the books. I wasn't going to read them but she insisted and I finished all 4 in about five days. I couldn't stop. Then I watched the Twilight movie (disappointed in the Director, but I won't show my true geekiness) and it is now a constant in my 5-disc player.

I then turned my brother onto the books and movie. Morgan resisted at first but now he is totally into it and we are partners in the insanity. I have also recently found another FAN here at work, we'll call her E, and she is awesome because we are equally geeky about it and agree on everything. It's terrible I know but I just can't help it. Okay, I'm going to stop now because this will just go on and on and be a ridiculous diatribe about how Catherine Hardwicke totally screwed up the first movie though it was still great but New Moon is going to be fan-fucking-tastic and it doesn't matter that I am having a baby this month and that Morgan is turning 21 because those two life milestones don't matter at all because New Moon is in theatres on the 20th and if this kid decides to come that weekend he is starting life out on the the wrong foot.

Okay, I'm done.


I Own the Rights to All of the Crazy..Well, What Lady GaGa Doesn't Own Already

I somehow managed to get past the firing squad that is my common sense and sanity and I ventured out into the world on Saturday afternoon. I needed to go to Target for a couple of things which included nursing bras and nursing tanks. Yes, those. I was also craving the Geneva type Pepperidge Farm cookies. Those things are fucking delicious.

Please join me on this trip. Have a seat in the passenger's seat and enjoy the ride.

Here I am, I need to turn left so I am in the middle lane which is a turning lane. I see that there are three cars in oncoming traffice that are going to be turning onto the street that I need to turn onto. I also notice that if they hurry up and turn that I can also turn before the next 500 cars come through. IF they hurry up and turn. Not, slow to a crawl and then turn. The first two cars turn, not too slow but they could have definitely picked it up a bit. Here comes the third car, going to slow that I could have walked to her car and opened the door and got in. So begins my crazy hands, flailing my arms I'm screaming "COME ON!". This genius thinks that I am waving at her because I know her and basically stops to wave at me.

I'm still cleaning my brains off of my windshield.



10.30.2009

Kids Don't Float, Beer Cans Do Though

I am lucky to be alive. Well, we are all lucky to be alive. Especially with all the drunk drivers and psycho's running around. Oh, and my mother.

The majority of my serious injuries have been dolled out by my mother. Though I have never broken a bone I have suffered a few concussions. Holy crap, stop freaking out! She wasn't abusive, well, not on purpose anyway. She's probably reading this right now and I can bet you a dollar that the word asshole has come out of her mouth....right...about...now. Hi momma. Sorry momma.

So, let's run down the list shall we.

While at a company picnic for her employer all of the kids were outside playing soccer (i.e. mindlessly kicking the soccer ball, we're from Lousianan, we don't play soccer). Someone kicked the ball into one of the efficiency buildings, these are aluminum and are on wheels so they are about 3 or 4 steps up. I of course being super helpful and cute run up the 3 wooden steps and step into open doorway, just as my mother was raring her leg back to kick that ball all the way to sweet heaven. Right? Because we were only like 10 feet outside the building, she wanted that ball to go places. All I see is blur of black and white and BAM right in the face. I woke up on the hood of someones car with everyone staring down at me. "She's fine" someone yells and back to the BBQ they went.

Next, swimming in the lake. We were having a grand time, that is until momma lost her footing and decided to use her 5-year old daughter as a life saving device. Kids don't float lady, especially if you are continuously pushing them under water. I wouldn't let her near me even in the bathtub for months. I quickly learned to wash my own hair.

Once my daddy was leaving for work so I ran outside to tell him goodbye and while running back to the house I tripped on one of those concrete stepping stones and was knocked the fuck out. Now, this one isn't directly her fault but I'm sure she said something like "Hurry your ass up", so basically she pushed me down.

Playing softball, I always refused to pitch while she was at bat because I could never catch her line drives at my head. After being called a pussy I reluctantly pitched to her. BAM. Well, yeah, you know what happened.

There are many others that I can't remember, we'll blame the concussions.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, because I have a daughter now and after poking her in the eye this morning I realized, it's the circle of life and this kid has no idea the amount of concussions she is due for.



10.29.2009

Who Do I Look Like?

After not so much searching we found Madison a halloween costume. She wants to be a vampire. I just took the easy way out and bought the "costume-in-a-bag" version. Give me a break, I'm making a person here!

Amazingly enough we got it home and it didn't hang off her limbs like a trash sack, it actually fit, it didn't drag the floor either. Like I said, amazing. So, it's a vampire costume. Black dress, long red hangy things from the sleeves, a weird dracula collar that sticks up all around. You get the picture, vampire. Vampire.

Madison: (dancing in circles) Who do I look like?

Me: Um, a vampire.

Madison: No, now, like with this on like this. Who do I look like?

Me: Vampire?

Madison: With the collar down like this. (dancing side to side now) Who do I look like?

Me: (searching for whatever the hell the right answer is so that this back and forth can cease) Princess?

Madison: Which one?

Me: Oh my God. Snow White? (praying that this is the correct answer)

Madison: (dancing, humming)

She never did confirm if I was correct. Either way, vampire.

Right?



10.27.2009

Gonna Burn This Mother Down

I haven't posted this weekend because I jacked my neck all up by sleeping the wrong way I guess. I'm assuming that "wrong" way would be the way that I am forced to sleep due to my ever expanding abdomen. Now that I am upright I can fill you in on my Sunday. In case you didn't already know this I love Sundays. I would love them more if it meant I didn't have to work on Monday but I deal.

Babies 'r' Us ruined my Sunday. Wait, ruined isn't the right word. They murdered my Sunday. They took on the identity of one of those sexual psycopathic sadists that are always being portrayed on Criminal Minds and totally fucked my Sunday all up.

Let me back up so you can get the entire picture, before it became all bloody with the ruining murder.

I registered for my baby shower at Babies 'r' Us. It's one of the only places to register here and it seems logical. Babies R Us. They are babies, they deal in the needs of babies and all things baby related. Makes sense right? So, I registered for all this stuff that we/the baby needs and I was told that I would get 10% off to complete my registry after my shower. Great, because you hardly get everything from your registry. I was also told that if my coupon didn't come in the mail that I could just come in and they would give me one.
So, Sunday I was going to take the time to spend the money that we don't have and get the rest of the stuff we need since if I don't the baby will come early demanding his bouncy chair, where the hell is my bouncy chair! I started grabbing things, couldn't find half of it, they didn't have most of it so I just made do and grabbed what I could. The last thing I needed was the carseat/stroller.

Well, they don't carry the one we registered for anymore. In fact they didn't even have anything that I would want my dog to ride in much less my kid. FINE. Whatever. So, I see the lady at the registry counter has finally decided to show up and I ask her about my 10% off. She asks "When are you due?" Um, November 29th. "Okay, you'll get your coupon two weeks after that."

...,...,...

"We need this stuff now, not two weeks after he shows up demanding his fucking bouncy chair, and by the way this is not the carseat that I wanted."

She says sorry that's the policy. Sorry, that's the policy. Sorry. That's the policy.

Believe it or not I just turned and walked away. My neck was killing me, my feet felt like they were bleeding into my shoes, good friend sciatica showed up, I had to pee again, kids were screaming, people were in my way, and my eye started to twitch. I checked out at the front and I let them know that I would not be returning to their lovely store to be murdered ever again and as I walked out of the door I said "suck it", because I'm gangster like that.

After that experience I was forced to go to...Burlington Coat Factory's Baby Depot. This may be a pleasant experience in your town but not here. Here, they put the carts in the center of the store so you have to hunt for them and the cashiers are always in-training. I got my shit, found a carseat/stroller I could deal with and got to the check-out stand.

You know what's coming. Of course the last item in my basket didn't have the Burlington price sticker on it. It had a UPC but the sku lookup system was down so she couldn't look it up on her computer. This last item, what was it? So, she pages for someone from Baby Depot, do they call her to see what's up? No, they walk ALL THE WAY up to her check out stand. Then that person didn't know what to do so she called someone else to give her the item number. Do they tell her the item number over the phone? No, they walk ALL THE WAY up to her check out stand. After 25 minutes of this I was able to leave this nightmare and continue on with the regular nightmare that is life.

Oh, what item was it that didn't have the fancy Burlington price tag? You really want to know?

The fucking bouncy chair, so help me this kid is going to live in that thing.



Lost It.

All of it.

After peeing every 15 minutes all day I ended up a bawling mess on the toilet last night. When Joe asked what was wrong all I could say was "The pee! All of the pee!"

Then, at midnight when I hoisted my fat ass out of bed to visit the toilet he asked "Where are you going?"

Grasping at every rational response I could think of I replied:

"WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M GOING?"

Joe: "I'm sorry."



A Sight For...Well, Not For the Weak That's For Damn Sure

Considering now that I am 89 35 weeks pregnant...well, nothing. I'm 35 weeks pregnant, it's getting close and it's going faster than all the weeks previous that's for sure because on Sunday I will be 36weeks pregnant, and then I will be 36 weeks pregnant and then...well, you get the idea.

The point is I have to pee. I have to pee, all of the time. All. The. Time. Right now as a matter of fact. I can go pee, pick up Madison from school (10 seconds away), pee at her school, go home and have to pee again. I see more of the bathroom in any given day than any other room in my house or office.

This of course carries on in to the night. Please picture this with me. Eyes shoot open, groan, roll over to the edge of the bed (this takes about an hour), fling myself into a sitting position (I'm certain that this is how the baby will arrive, I will be flinging myself up and the kid is going to shoot out like a cannon, I will still have to pee), signal the workers to bring the crane over to hoist me out of bed, stumble in the dark to the bathroom, break a toe, get into the bathroom, pee, don't bother flushing I'll be back in an hour, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and let out a shriek because I look like a lunatic (my hair is jumbled into a crazy mess, my tshirt is above my belly, sweatpants are sagging, dried drool, red eyes), stumble back to the bed, break another toe, lay down, stare at clock, repeat at 12, 2, 4, and 6am.

No, I do not drink a gallon of water right before bed. I'm convinced that when I'm asleep my husband hooks me up to a saline drip. You know, because it's funny.


10.20.2009

He's Got Skillz

Last night I was talking with the dear husband about our weekend plans. We have a friend coming over on Friday night and he is bringing his new girl. We'll call him R, you know because I'm sure he doesn't want me talking about his love of alcohol, XBox, Battlestar Galactica and his lack of any dance skill on the inter-tubes. So, I guess I will be meeting this new girl on Friday. Since I am pregnant I will not be able to drink to numb the awkwardness that is having a stranger in my house, I'll survive. They may not, but I'm pretty sure that I will.

So, Joe has never met this person he's only heard what R has told him about. He begins filling me in on all of her interests and attributes: she's short (good because R is about 4'9", okay maybe 5'), she's outdoorsy, likes to hike and whatnot, she has a daughter, she likes to play hackey sack, she....

What?

Hackey sack, she likes hackey sack.

How is that something to list on a get to know you list? Hackey sack? Good God.

I like hackey sack, why do you have to shit on everything I do?

Um, we've been together 6 years and I've never seen you play hackey sack. So, I'm hardly shitting on everything you do.

I have a hackey sack in my truck.

And?

Well, this conversation went on waaaaaay too long and was highy focused on how could I not like hackey sack. What is wrong with hackey sack? Why don't you like it? You just aren't coordinated enough to play that's why you don't like it.

True. If I ever did try to play I would inevitably kick myself in the head and the person next to me in the balls. I've also seen enough adolescent boys play this ridiculous "game" in a circle that I know that I wouldn't enjoy it. I'd rather play 4-square, now that's a game.

This converastion ended with me saying that if he ever did play hackey sack in the yard I would take that ball and throw it over the fence.

Joe: Blink...blink...IT'S NOT A BALL!

Me: Falling off the bed in hysterics.



10.19.2009

Glutton...For Punishment

I consider myself to be an intelligent person. I have common sense. You can disagree all you want. At least I know which side of the parking lot aisle to drive on and I also know that in a store that is about 20 acres in size having more than one bathroom just might be a good idea.

If I am intelligent, if I do have this common sense that everyone is going on about, if so, then why, why, just why the hell did I of my own free will choose to go to a Costco Warehouse of a Saturday afternoon?

Why, Lord, why do I do these things to myself?

It was a normal Saturday, I had a few errands to do, drop off my wedding ring to be cleaned and dipped, pick up the crib, have lunch with Morgan and pick up some stuff at...Costco. Sounded good to me, I was husband and child free and I was glad to be out of the house. All went well until I pulled into the parking lot of...Costco.

First of all, what is it about this place that scrambles the minds of normally competent drivers? People were driving on the wrong sides of the aisle, running through the stop signs, parking in places that obviously weren't parking spots. I spent the whole time in the parking lot screaming at everyone around me. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic pulling my hair and waving my hands at strangers but at least I was following the correct traffic patterns.

Now, I get in the store, after getting the LAST cart. Literally. The. Last. Cart. If there had been no carts I would have left right then. Me, being ever so smart decide that I should go pee now so I can shop and not have to stop and run to the bathroom. You know, because Costco only has the one bathroom, at the front of the store with the back of the store being 2 miles away. Also, because I am 33 months pregnant and have a toddler resting on my bladder.

I then begin my shopping experience. Not so bad at first, typical people cutting in front of you at the last minute, little old lady walking so very slowly across your path, lady stopping in front of you to reposition her cart, then back up, then go forward, then go sideways, then back up, well you get the picture. I'm headed to the back of the store because that is where I start my shopping, I like to work my way to the front, toward the check-out stands. As soon as I get to the back I realize, I have to pee. "Hold it!" I tell myself. Yeah, that only lasted for about 3 aisles, by then I was in so much pain that I was practically hunched over trying to make it back to the front of the store to go pee, again. Of course, this little old lady chooses the precise moment when I can see the bathroom, it's in my reach, to walk across my path at a glacial pace. I finally make it to the bathroom, phew.

Continuing my shopping, I go back to the aisle I left off, I believe it was cereal, and here I go. Same old, same old. Kids are screaming, a little girl is literally bouncing from side to side down the aisle and I had visions of just maybe letting my foot slip out a little bit to make contact with her leg. You know, just to slow her down. I figured it best that I get the hell out of that aisle. I'm almost done! I only need a few more things. My back is killing me, the blister on my left foot I'm sure is bleeding into my shoe, my right ankle is probably bruised and swollen, oh, I didn't mention that I twisted my ankle earlier in the day? Then the realization thing happens again...pee. PEE! I need to pee again! I cannot hold it this time, I have to go NOW. So, I head on up there and lo and fucking behold there is that little old lady again. How the hell does she find me?

While peeing I actually prayed that someone would steal my cart so I could just give up and go home. No such luck. I limp along and grab the last of what was on my list, this list that I forgot in the car, this list that I am now shopping from by memory. Yeah, that one.

I am d-o-n-e! I head to the check out and by some miracle I was not stuck in a super long line, I quickly unloaded my cart and waddled myself up to the credit card machine to pay my fortune for frozen food and canisters of Kool-Aid.

I'm pushing my cart out the door and I'm actually thinking to myself, "wow, I made it and I didn't even kill a single person". Walking to my car I notice a man walking behind me. Not like, a few feet behind me but right behind me. Like, if I were to stop he would get swallowed up in my ass. Right as I was about to turn around and tell him to back the hell up he veered off and went another way. He'll never know how lucky he is.

I get to my car, loading everything up and oh, what's that? THAT IS HOTDOG JUICE. Hotdog juice spraying out of the package that has been punctured. Perfect.

Please picture this with me. Very pregnant lady, covered in hotdog juice (shut up), screaming at said package of hotdogs, throwing hotdogs in the bag, loading bags with huge bulky groceries, every corner of every box getting hung up on every possible thing, woman screaming at everything happening, tufts of hair and drool flying about.

This ladies and gentleman was my Saturday.



10.16.2009

Call Now!

My daughter is a very literal person. If you say that someone is green with envy she will demand to see this green person and she needs to know what's going on and now! I shouldn't have been surprised when she started paying attention to infomercials and using their propaganda as gospel.


Me: Taking a shower, trying to get a few seconds of peace so I can wash my hair and maybe, just maybe  shave my legs...or not.

Madison: Frantic knocking on the bathroom door, words that I cannot understand.

Me: "What?"

Madison: "Phone.......Call.......Hurry......."

Me: "Is someone on the phone? I'll call them back, I'm in the SHOWER!"

Madison: "Hurry.....Now....Time......."

Me: Getting out of the shower, legs unshaven (whatever, it wasn't going to happen anyway), gets dressed and proceeds to the living room to answer or return this very important call
"Who is it Madison?"

Madison: "Debbie Meyer!"

Me: "Who?"

Madison: "Momma! We need Debbie Meyer's Green Bags! We have to call now, they said to call now and we get the Green Bags and then extra Green Bags! We need them so our vegetables don't go bad and soggy. We have to call now!"

Me: "No more TV."

Thank God she didn't know where the credit card was or we would be knee deep in green bags.



10.15.2009

Yes. Yes, I did.

Operator: "Last name please."

Me: "Wolf. W-o-l-f."

Operator: "Did you say W-o-o-f."

Me: "Yes."



Great Balls of Fire

If you had a super power what would it be? I cannot count how many times I have been asked that in my life. Why do people always ask that? It's like asking, "For a million dollars would you eat that turd?". Well, do you have a million dollars to give me? So, if I say I want to fly will you be able to grant me that power?

Didn't think so.

I never had an answer to this question that I was happy with. I hate heights and I'm a klutz, why would I trust myself as a human dart? There's super strength I guess, but that never really satisfied me. Invisibility would be cool I guess, I could hang out and listen in on people or hide from bad guys. Laser vision, what would I do with that? Sometimes I would answer that I would like super speed because I'm super impatient and would just like to get to wherever the hell I was going but then again, I am trusting myself not to plow through a concrete wall. It would be inevitable.

After a post that I made recently about my pregnancy anger and how things seem to set me ablaze I finally have my super power answer. I would like pyrokinetic abilities.

Yes. This is it. Except it's not so much the setting fire to objects like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter. I would like to burst into flames like Liz Sherman of Hellboy. Compared to all of the other lousy strengths this one seems to be beneficial to me.

Not only will be able to deter villains but I can also light the campfire. Handy. The main purpose I believe that it could serve would be to warn other of my mood. A lot of the times husbands have no clue that their wives are mad, ignoring the slamming of doors and dishes, looking past the items being thrown at their skulls. With this strength there will be no question that shit is about to go down and you, you there, husband with the remote acting like nothing is wrong, you better back the fuck up.



10.13.2009

Conversations With Momma

My momma has been one of my best friends for a long time now. Skip over the hellacious teen years though, her description of me for that time was plain and simple.

"You were an asshole."

I will go into more detail about Momma in a post coming soon. I just have to get this small one out because it has made my day, no wait, made my life. She has struggled with her weight for a long time and has recently been told by her physician that she HAS to lose the excess weight for her health. She's been working really hard for the past month or two and is eating right and doing all the right stuff. I am really excited for her. Here is a sample of our conversation today.

Momma: "I'm ###! I haven't been under ### in a long time." (What? You thought I would broadcast a woman's weight all across the intertubes? I'm not rude. Also, I want to live.)

Me: "I know! I am so excited for you!"

Momma: "No you're not. You want me to die."

Me: Peeing my pants, hysterical laughter.

Her: Most certain that she has also peed her pants, hysterical laughter.

The things that woman says.

I love her so much.


10.07.2009

Yes, Please Do That

Please, please I am begging you! This is what I want you to do:

In the morning, when I am really irritable and I'm trying to get myself ready and a 5-year old, I want you to gobble up all of your dog food as loud as you can. Yes, as LOUDLY as you can. THEN, don't forget to do this part! Then I want you to walk to the bathroom where I am and stand next to me and smack your mouth! Smack it like your life depends on it, just really work that tongue all around your mouth and make as much mouth-smacking noise as possible.

Because I love it when you do that exact thing.


50 Percent of the Time I Am Wrong 9 Times Out of Ten

Typical conversation featuring Madison and me the wrong one.

Me: **Words**

Madison: What did you say?

Me: **Same Words**

Madison: NO! The other thing.

Me: I didn't say anything else, I only said **Same Words Again**

Madison: *slaps herself on the forehead because her mother is d-u-m-b.*

--

Madison: How does that song go?

Me: **Singing the line or humming the tune, correctly by the way**

Madison: NO! That's not it!

Me: Okay, I don't know then.

Madison: *slaps herself on the forehead because her mother is d-u-m-b.*



10.06.2009

Go Here.

Thinking of gaining weight? Want to get grossed out so you don't get up and get that second helping of cheeseburger pie?

This Is Why I'm You're Fat.

Click it. Do it. Now.


Spontaneous Abdominal Combustion, I Don't Have It

I have been having a pain in my stomach. A real pain, like "ouch, that really fucking hurts" pain. I lay awake at night and think of all of the terrible things that could be wrong. My uterus has torn open and the baby is playing with my intestines. I have a blockage in my stomach and it is slowly growing and will soon explode, leaking toxins into my abdominal cavity. I have a blood clot the size of a sweet potato that will soon break loose. In any of these instance I'm pretty much dead so you can just imagine how well I sleep at night.

I also wake up in the night and my chest hurts when I breathe, which of course means I have a blood clot in my lungs. Of course, now I will just lay back down and get some more rest.

At my appointment today I mention all of these things because that is what you are supposed to do. You are supposed to sit in front of a professional and tell her all of these things that are going on with your ever expanding body and try not to sound like a psychopath. The doctor nods and smiles and lets me know that these "pains" are just a normal part of pregnancy. A normal part of pregnancy. Normal. There is no "normal" when you are pregnant, every pregnancy is different and every person is different. I may have said this before but in case you didn't retain that little piece of information, there you go. You're welcome.

So, I don't have a free-floating baby in my abdomen, my stomach is not on the verge of combustion and my lungs are free of clots.

Also, she said that I should only gain about 10 more pounds.

I don't know about you, but that sounds like a dare. I'm going to gain 11 just to show her.


Walking out of the doctor's office I noticed a numb area on my left leg. Great. I'm going to be an amputee.

10.02.2009

I Have To Do What?

I am 31 weeks pregnant this week. When I was 8 weeks pregnant I thought that time was creeping by but now that I'm this far it seems that it has flown by. This pregnancy has not been without its fair share of annoyances.
  • Raging hormones
  • Acne that only a pregnant woman can understand
  • All-day sickness
  • Sciatic nerve pain that at any moment could send a person to their knees
  • Heartburn
  • Barely controllable urge to claw out my own eyes as well as anyone within a 5 foot vicinity
  • Gas, oh come on, like you didn't see that one coming
I understand that these can be considered mild compared to what some women go through, but I'm going through these so that makes them the worst. See how that works? I also have "something wrong with my stomach". That's what the doctor said. Seems pretty broad to me. I just know that it hurts in the one spot really really bad. She also told me to try and stay away from foods that gave me heartburn...

Breathing air gives me heartburn. I think she's trying to kill me.

This being my second child I thought that I would know what to expect. I was wrong, yes I can admit when I am wrong. I can also admit when you are wrong and I am very right, rub it in your face and then have a shirt made that says "I am right and you are wrong" and wear it everytime we are together.

That being said, you never know what to expect. Every pregnancy is different. I also have heard that every labor and delivery is different. I let Joe know that we are due in less than 2 months and that maybe he should get around to browsing through the labor and delivery section of our "What To Expect.." book. He tells me that since it's my second time that's what he has me for. I then let him know that while I'm in labor the last thing that I will be doing is answering any of his questions or keeping him up on the goings on, that if he wants to know what the hell to expect I suggest he take a look at that damn book.

After he gets it removed from a certain orifice of his body of course.

Around this time of carrying a fetus around in your abdomen every woman comes to a realization. This realization is scary, sometimes paralyzing. It is brought to your attention that this baby has to...come out.
Yes. Oh, you didn't know that? How weird. It usually goes something like this:

Me: peeing

Me: thinking while peeing

Me: thinking that, "wow, next month we are having a baby!"

Me: thinking that "Wow. Next. Month. I. Am. Having. A. Baby."

Me: Blink.Blink.Blink.

Me: realizing the exact process that must take place to have said baby

Me: ...epidural please



9.28.2009

I'm So Hot

Getting ready for a baby and just being pregnant in general opens yours eyes to some things. For some people these are beautiful, flowering, amazing things. For others it just brings forward with a severity the things that really piss you off. The things that can literally set you on fire right there in the middle of the kitchen because you are simply loading the silverware basket but the fucking fork will not go in and bounces out and of course falls through the wire drawer and when you try to move it the fork catches it so it won't budge and you are left there a flaming mess and then you realize that you have to pee and your head explodes.

We won't even have to use our heater this winter.

We spent Sunday getting our bedroom ready because that is where this baby will be sleeping. There's a nook in our room that is the exact width of the crib so it works out. Our closet was a mess and now that we have to share it with a baby that already has more clothing than Paris Hilton we had to get it in order. Did I mention that Joe also has more clothing than Paris Hilton. Like father, like son. We finally got it done and it looks pretty good, we just have to be careful what we bump into or the whole thing could implode.

Now that Joe is not working on the slope I have to get used to him being around. Home. All. Of. The. Time. It's great, I'm happy that he's going to be home and not miss holiday's and birthday's. It just takes some getting used to. Especially now that I'm in that nesting phase and a person really can't "nest" properly when her husband is hovering and asking if she still wants this notebook, this notebook here in the trash, do you want this trash notebook, the one here that is in the trash?

I love you my dear, sweet  husband. Welcome home.



9.24.2009

The Better To Brew You With

ModCloth.com is my new favorite online shopping experience. They have clothing, accessories, shoes and home decor. They also have a vintage section where they carry unique, authentic vintage pieces. They add at least one piece per day according to the website. Another bonus: $7 shipping!

Now, if I could only find that trust fund...

I will leave the fashion reporting to my brother, Morgan, that's his field of expertise. I will however share a few of my favorite things from the decor section, but you really have to look for yourself. There are tons of items and there's no way I could do it justice with my few picks.

Mod Cloth Decor Quick Picks
  • The Better To Brew You With Teacup - $30
  • I Am Not a Paper Cup - $20
  • One Tough Chick Wall Hooks - $20
  • Feed the Birds Kitchen Towel - $14
  • Kawaii Bacon Air Freshener - $2.99 (don't try to lie that you wouldn't love the smell of bacon when you get in your car, I don't believe you)
  • Better Than Beauty: A Guide To Charm - $16
  • I Am Not a Paper Towel - $14
  • St. Petersburg Pillow - $28
  • Telegraph Hill Pillow - $25
  • Bear Bottle Opener - $14
So, have you gone to the site yet? Why not? Go now. Click now.

Yes, Please Do That

While turning left on the green arrow please back up all of the cars behind you by stopping in the middle of the fucking intersection for no apparent reason. Other than you are a complete moron.

I love it when you do that.


9.23.2009

Gotta Have It

Being pregnant requires certain items. For everyone this is different. For me these things are specific and I have listed them below. I cannot survive without these things, do not even think of telling me that we are out of ice or you will find yourself missing a vital appendage.

I did not put prices on here because prices can vary widely depending on where it is purchased on some items.
My Pregnant Needs


  • Bella Band - I have a black one and a white one
  • Blackout Curtains - Need to have these for the Alaska summers
  • Arbonne NutrimenC Re9 Serum - Prevents stretch marks, helps to diminish existing stretch marks
  • Ice - The freezer bin better be full of delicious ice at any given moment
  • Blackberry Curve - Sorry to say I can't live without it, I have been spoiled by the full keyboard
  • Always Pantiliners - Are you kidding? I laugh/cough/sneeze, I pee. Part of the pregnant territory.
  • MAC Studio FX Foundation - Perfect for covering up Pregnancy Acne, it is so different than regular acne. Comparison would be...hmm. Being tickled lightly and being stabbed in the eye.
  • Flats - Don't even ask me to try and tie a shoe
  • Laptop - You mean some people remove themselves from the couch to use their computer, gaffaw
  • What To Expect When You're Expecting - I love this book and it doesn't instill that blinding fear that some other books do, so nice.
  • Arbonne Ginger Citrus Body Butter - One of the only scents I can stand while pregnant and it's only available September-December so I stock up and you should to!

So Proud

I have been blessed with a musically inclined child. She loves music and needs to have it on all the time and not just on but, "Louder, please.", "louder", "Hey, Momma, I said louder, please".

I figured I should start keeping a list because when she's 16 she will never believe me when I tell her about how she used to sing "Sweet Home Alabama" nonstop for hours.

This list is just songs that I remember her specifically requesting, over, and over again. Quite the medley. I will add to it as I remember more or as she adds to the list.

  • George Strait
    • Baby's Gotten Good At Goodbye
    • Overnight Male
      • When she found out that George Strait had a movie (Pure Country) she flipped out!
    • Lovesick Blues
  • Johnny Cash
    • Ring of Fire
    • Jackson
  • Jim Croce
    • Bad Bad Leroy Brown
    • You Don't Mess Around With Jim
  • Don McLean
    • American Pie
  • Jon Bon Jovi
    • Wanted
  • Lynyrd Skynyrd
    • Ballad of Curtis Lowe
    • Sweet Home Alabama
  • Classical Music
    • I have no idea any titles or composers but she could listen to classical all day
  • Billy Idol
    • White Wedding



Definition of a Psycho

A psycho by definition is someone afflicted with psychosis. Psychosis by definition is any severe mental disorder in which contact with reality is lost or highly distorted.

Now that I have that out of the way I would like to draw your attention to a commercial that has recently been aired on television. It is a commercial for Clorox Disinfecting Wipes. Click the link to watch the video.

Now, it seems like a normal morning. Mom and son brushing their teeth together, how sweet. Then, THEN, she takes the electric toothbrush out of her mouth only to spray the mirror and her son with her saliva and toothpaste. Please re-read that last sentence. The mother, the adult, the carer of young children. She was the one smart enough to pull a toothbrush out of her mouth and then press the button only to spray the unsuspecting mirror and young child.

After the spraying occurs, she looks down at the boy and shrugs her shoulders as if to say "Hmm, weird, didn't think that would happen."

No, not weird you fucking lunatic! You did that! You stood there and sprayed your spit everywhere and now you have no idea what happened? Please remember this when your son shows up with his knocked up sixteen year old girlfriend and he gives you shoulder shrug like, "Hmm, weird, didn't think that would happen."

Lady, you are a psycho. Afflicted with psychosis and all that jazz. No Clorox Wipe is going to clean up your mess.