Random Tuesday thoughts

1. Ahhh, randomness. It's lovely.

2. I am D. O. N. E. with school. Until the beginning of June, anyway. But the ugly classes are over. I wound up with a B in Anatomy, and I'm actually really pleased with that. Sure, my once perfect 4.0 is now a 3.8, but it's fiiiiine. Really. Super.

3. Who knew that over-achievement could start in your thirties?

4. I miss blogging. Hell, I miss a lot of things. Everyone should use me as a lesson and finish all schooling before you have children and a mortgage.

5. I switched from Firefox to Google Chrome recently, and I really like it. But you wanna know what's just stupid? You can't have the Google Toolbar with Chrome. WTF, Google? Should that just automatically come with the package?

6. Since I'm not a supervisor at work anymore, I've been manning the drive-thru more often. Can I please just suggest that when you drive up to a speaker that you roll your window down? Like all the way down. I know! It's crazy of me to ask. BUT I CAN'T HEAR YOU, DUMBASS.

7. Also, when you ask for extra whipped cream, you do know that I'll have to give you less drink, right? Sure, I can pile it on, but I imagine you'll be unhappy because I can't top your hot drink with a lid. And you might spill it on your Hummer's leather seats. Asshole. And sorry, I thought you were an asshole as soon as I saw you drive up in a Hummer. And yes, I am thinking your penis is small. Sorry.

8. I took my younger two with me yesterday to the grocery store. No, I don't know what I was thinking. But for future reference, taking a two and three-year-old to the grocery store by yourself is much like taking to wild octopi with you. They suddenly sprout six extra arms and are constantly ruining whole aisles of the store. Lesson learned.

9. And finally, I had to hide the bag of Flavor Blasted Goldfish from my children, and I'm sorry. But oh em gee, the mozzarella cheese stick flavored ones are much, much too good for them. Don't worry, I'll let them have all the fruit snacks though.

Two

Yesterday my youngest turned two.  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him eating lunch with his sister, slipping the dog his crackers, like nothing has changed.  But it has, because he's no longer a baby at all, but a goofy, snuggly, gorgeous TWO-year-old.  Completely different from a goofy, snuggly, gorgeous 23-month-old.  

He makes me so happy.  I wish he'd stop growing so damn fast, but he truly is the best third baby anyone could ever hope for.  

Because being demoted at my job is even extra, super-duper lame

I'm currently typing with a toddler draped over my chest. Something happens after nap that makes Boobers needyneedy, and I'm not allowed to put him down lest he emits ear-piercing shrieks. And just as I was about to get firm, to tell him I HAVE TO TYPE WITH TWO APPENDAGES, he wrapped his baby arm around mine and put his head down on my shoulder. Then I melted and decided I'd peck with my nose if I have to.

As of the week after next, I won't be a supervisor at work any more and I will drop down to barista. It means a pay cut, but I think it will more than make up for missing sanity. The whole company is going to pot (heh. I said pot), and to cut costs and save money and in general fuck with the employees, you have to be available NINETY hours a week to be a supervisor. Not that you have to work that much, just basically be available, ohhh, twelve hours a day. I can't physically do that. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be prudent to pay for daycare for two to three kids while I make my $9 an hour.

And then today I filled out applications online to a couple of hospitals I'd really like to work at when I graduate. I've heard it's good to have a foot in the door. I don't know if they'll call back, because I resisted the urge to type somewhere, "WILL MOP FLOORS IF I HAVE TO." Because really, at this point, I'd scrub toilets with toothbrushes if it got me out of the hellhole I'm at now.

I've come to the conclusion that this job is really, really bumming me out. I probably let it affect me more than I should, but I can't help it. Well, I guess that isn't true. I can help it by leaving. Which I hope more than anything happens soon. I have my toothbrushes and Comet ready.

What I've been doing the past almost three weeks

1. Painting Smella's toenails. I picked a soft, pale-pink and she balked and insisted on the whore red shade. I won out.

2. Working. All the time. Still dreaming of the place burning to ashes.

3. Finishing up loose ends for school. I have an anatomy final in two weeks and one more paper to write for sociology. Can. Not. Wait. Until. It's. Over.

4. Celebrating the husband's 33rd birthday. I not-so-secretly enjoy that he'll always be older than I.

5. Fretting over not posting. Fretting over having nothing to post about. Considering never posting again.

6. Cutting myself some slack on the blog thing and getting a grip.

7. Hyperventilating about the fact that I'll soon have a two-year-old next month.

8. Enjoying the weather. I briefly considered rolling in the warm grass and soaking in as much sun into my pores as possible.

9. Deciding the neighbors don't really wanna see that.

10. Sucking it up and finally posting. Hope y'all are okay. I think I'm finally seeing a faint, tiny light at the end of the tunnel.

Never once mentioned in that What to Expect book

I'm totally going to be a nurse. A registered nurse. Hopefully a registered nurse on a labor and delivery floor. There will be blood and amniotic fluid and barf and poo. I'm okay with all of that, believe it or not. I mean, I'll have gloves, and I can totally handle it.

Here's where I admit my Achilles heel: snot. I have major, major issues with snot. Literal gagging with watery eyes issues. I just hope and pray that a) there's not a lot of snot on a L&D unit (And please, don't comment to tell me you deal with snot on a daily basis. I don't wanna know right now) or b) I get used to it. Fingers crossed, eh?

The other day I had all the kids in the car on our way to my mom's house. We were peacefully driving, humming along to the radio when I hear Big D say, "Smella! What is THAT?"

I glanced in my rear-view mirror at Smella. There were...smeary, viscous marks on her window. I reflexively gagged.

"Smella, what did you do?" I asked. "Did you just wipe your nose on the WINDOW?"

She nodded and then I died.

"You can't ever, ever, EVER do that!" I shrieked. And at this point, Big D is chiming in with me. Perhaps snot phobia is hereditary?

"But mom," she says sensibly, "I didn't have a Kleenex."

I may have shrieked at her a little more about grossness and responsibility and asking for a motherfucking piece of paper or grocery bag or something before doing that again. I think she got it. I hope she got it. Or I'll have to seriously consider leaving her on the side of the road the next time that happens.

Big D will help me.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. Even though Keely doesn't, I have to center that button above. Have. to.

2. Did you all see Dooce on Oprah yesterday? Did you hear them mention she makes 40 grand a month in adverts? I would kill to make that in a year, people. My blog is just as good as her's, right guys? Guys? Hello...?

3. It rained all day long on Sunday, and wouldn't you know it, Oscar hates rain. As in, he would just stand still in one spot outside until he was soaked, and no amount of, "Go potty. Go potty. Go potty. Go Potty" would make him budge. Which is fine, awww, cute, the puppy hates the rain. But then he came in and shit on the floor. It stopped being cute then.

4. Incorrect use of punctuation annoys me. There's a pet store here called Pet Supplies "Plus." Like they don't really mean "plus." Or, yeah, it's "plus" all right. Snicker, snort, snicker.

5. For lunch, I had TGI Fridays. I ordered some kind of steak sandwich that was absolutely heavenly until I bit into a fried plantain. Mushy, sweet plantain with chewy, spicy beef. I just urped thinking about it again.

6. Guys? Right?

A day late

I meant to post this yesterday, but you know, whatever. I barely remembered it was April Fool's Day. Hell, I'm lucky I remember my name most days.

There were no big jokes yesterday, so I'll have to retell one from several years ago. I was pregnant with Smella and a stay-at-home-mom. The husband and I thought it would be heeeelarious to call and prank my mom. Because, you know, I didn't torture her enough by being an evil 14-year-old back in the day.

So I called her, went through some pleasantries and then informed her that the husband had lost his job. Yeah. She was upset of course, that meant no income or insurance for us. You just know she was wondering where the hell she'd put a family of soon-to-be-four in her house.

I didn't let it go on too long before I let her in on it. "April Fool's! Ha ha ha...ha..ha?" She sputtered a second and then HUNG UP ON ME.

I stared at the husband, open mouthed. I was hurt. It was just a joke! I didn't know whether to call back or write her out of my life forever.

I decided to man up and call her back. If anything I was going to holler at her for hanging up on me when obviously it was a really, really, really funny joke, dammit.

I dialed, and when she answered, she was laughing uncontrollably.

"What?" she said. "You thought I was serious? April Fool's ME, bitch!"

(Yes, my mother and I name call each other. Our relationship's a tad different, I'll admit that.)

And so ended my career of April Fool's pranks. I was so traumatized for those two minutes that I've completely learned my lesson.

Don't fuck with my mom.

This dog

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Oh my god. He'll be the death of us, I'm sure. (Or at least our financial ruin.) I know, I know...you look at this face and think, "How could that precious wittle puppy wuppy get on anyone's nerves?" Cha. Right off the bat, that spot on his nose is from him neurotically trying to get out of his crate. He's crated maybe once or twice a week. Seriously. (The ear bows are just for pretty. And my, isn't he pretty?)

Yesterday he got a hold of a nearly empty Desitin tube. He chewed on in just a little before I got it away from him, but I honestly didn't think too much of it. But later, when I gave him dinner and he proceeded to blow chunks all of the kitchen floor, my heart almost stopped. I told the husband what had happened and pondered if it was all related.

I wound up calling an emergency vet since it was after hours. I explained what had happened and they told me to keep an eye on him but to bring him in if there was any more vomiting. I had a tiny breakdown and went to work, texting the husband often to make sure he was still okay. He seemed just fine, and he seems okay this morning. He finished breakfast without incident and he's running around like crazy again, stealing the babies' stuffed animals and waiting for Boobers to drop his sippy cup so he can lick the few dribbles off the end.

This is all important because it was last night that I realized that I really, really, really like this dog. He is such a pain in the ass, but man, I'm attached. The thought of him not feeling well or something worse happening just about breaks my heart. He's a good boy, and chewed tubes of butt cream or not, I love him.

He's still humping the kids though.

De-balled

Oscar did swimmingly yesterday, and I've never seen him light up the way he did when I went to pick him up last evening. They did send him home with a lampshade collar, but he's luckily left his, uh...droopy pouch alone.

But Big D saw the collar and exclaimed, "They gave you a lampshade for Oscar? Cool!" He asked what it was for. I glanced at the husband, who offered no help. I told him it was in case he wouldn't leave his incision alone on his tummy.

"But why does he have an incision?"

I cleared my throat and threw a look to the husband again. Big D just turned eight, and even though I've been pregnant twice around him, he's never asked about sex or babies or birth. So I've waited on telling him the gory details. I know I need to do it soon, and I will, but man. I was not in the mood last night.

"Oscar went to the vet today to be neutered." Yeah. I was hoping it would fly, too. No dice.

"Neutered?"

This time I kicked the husband. He sniffed and said, "Yep. We got him fixed today. He's all fixed!"

Big D actually accepted that answer, believe it or not. I could tell him that babies are conceived by nose rubbing and are birthed by sneezes, and he would completely buy it. I'm really dreading the time when we have to really hammer out the nitty-gritty aspects.

But how awesome would it be if that were true? Nose rubbing is so much more dignified, I think.

Random Tuesday thoughts

It's Tuesday! I purposely wait for Tuesdays just to spew randomness everywhere. You can thank Keely for that.

I took Oscar to the vet today to be neutered. I'm really hoping this helps his humping problem. It's awkward to watch your friend's three-year-old and have to tell her that yeah, my dog humped your baby A LOT while you were gone. Sorry!

Since this whole morning was screwed by waking up late and then getting the dog to the vet's late, I didn't drop the babies off at my mom's today. So it looks like I'm turning to Dora and Blue for some baby-sitting back up.

I got lost on the way back from the vet clinic this morning. It's on a side of town that I'm completely unfamiliar with, and I got turned around, and wouldn't you know it? I'm not equipped with a fucking compass. I'm thinking about having one implanted into the back of my hand. I resisted calling the husband to help me out, even though there were a couple of panicky, near-tears moments. So there's that.

A guy walked into work yesterday and said he needed help. The three of us that were there looked at him attentively, and when he said he needed a topic to write a persuasive paper for school, I audibly snorted. I couldn't help it. I can barely keep up with my own homework, and I'm sure as hell not helping him.

Did you know sometimes I'm evil? Because now that I've typed that out, I look like a huge asshole. Huh.

There's no warm doggy body keeping my feet warm. No cold doggy nose poking me. No puppy eyes begging for a snack. I think I adore that damn dog.

Okay, I think I can wrap up the randomness here. I really wish every day was random Tuesday.

Ahem. Hi.

So.

I may have taken a little hiatus there. Sorry about the lack of warning.

I've been...uh, busy? Yeah, we'll go with that. Also add in a touch of uninspired, PMSy, and real tired and that about sums it up. But I thought I'd come back to let you know:

Boobers is talking up a storm and will be TWO in a couple of months. Ow.

Oscar. Ugh.

Big D got on Google Maps the other day to show me his whole entire bus route. Fascinating and it cracked me up.

Smella? Screamy. Girly. Has door-slamming down pat.

The husband has been obsessing over the new Dora. She's not nearly as hot as Barbie though.

I really, really, really hate my job. Before every shift, I dream some one calls to tell me not to come because the store burned down. No luck yet.

I can't wait until summer break. For a multitude of reasons.

So there's that. I think the hiatus is over, but no promises. After all, some day the store might really burn down. And think of all the free time I'll have!

Reasons why I may lose my shit

The dog snatched Boober's pop-tart and scarfed it. I dropped a tortilla chip and then he promptly scarfed that.

About ten minutes later, the dog barfed on the floor.

Boobers bopped Smella in the nose. She cried hysterically. (And no, she wasn't hurt that bad.)

The dog licked Smella. She cried hysterically.

Boobers snatched a fruit snack of Smella's (because she was PLAYING with them, not eating them). She cried hysterically.

Apparently my insurance only covers two well-baby visits during the child's second year of life. Because I had Boober's one-year check up six days after he turned one, he's had three check ups in his second year. Luckily, the insurance company will reprocess it. Fuckers.

Big D's school called me yesterday because he was running a fever. So my Tuesday, where I usually have no kids, was totally interrupted by an eight-year-old who didn't really seem all that sick to me.

Big D is home today so I can take him to the doctor because he says his ears are plugged up.

My house is a wreck and there are piles of laundry multiplying.

I still need to study more for anatomy. (And Keely, bone doohickies are supposed to be there. Like the deltoid tuberosity on the humerus. Except there are more doohickies than bones, I think.)

Smella just "accidentally dropped" a chicken nugget on the floor. Guess who snarfed it down. And then guess who cried hysterically.

I fucking give up.

Random Tuesday thoughts

Thank god for Keely and her excuse to be all willy-nilly. I think I can thank her for keeping this blog going.

1. I have a huge test in anatomy and physiology this Saturday over bones. And even though humans have 206 bones, that's not the problem. The problem are all the bone accoutrements like fossas and foramens and doohickies galore. Seriously. Bone doohickies.

2. Life with Oscar is going swimmingly, thanks for asking. He's eaten a few plastic dinosaurs here and there, but other than that, he's not too bad.

3. My mom has the babies today and has been keeping them for me the past several Tuesdays. It's so awesome I can barely stand it. And quiet. I can actually hear myself think.

4. I'm sure everyone's seen this already, but I'm slow on the uptake. So here. I giggled and then was a little perturbed.



5. What's it all about when you pull up to a red light and don't line up head-to-head with the car next to you? Like there's an unwritten rule that your windows can't line up so you can look at the driver next to you. And how awkward is it when someone breaks that unwritten rule? You start to feel a little panicky and weird. "OMG! Someone's RIGHT THERE. Do I look? No. Stare straight ahead. Wait. Are they looking at me? EEEEEEK. WhatdoIdo, whatdoIdooooo? Whew, light's green."

Or is that just me?

For those considering a smooshyfaced puppy

Get a short one. They can't reach the trash can and they can't do that awkward crotch sniffing thing to your guests.

They encourage your kids to keep their toys picked up. No one likes their toys slobbered on.

They have bad breath. The husband insists this is because they lick their balls, but I'm thinking if their balls smelled that bad that they'd smell like dog breath all over.

My floors have never been cleaner.

On a related note, Boober's face has never been cleaner either.

They'll chase your cat around. I guess this isn't a huge bonus, but Scout is getting some exercise and it's hilarious.

They're always so happy when you come home. Even if I've just stepped away to go take a pee real quick, Oscar does his happy puppy jump thing when I come back.

They give you something to blog about.

When their nails are a tad long but you can't find the damn nail clippers, they make a neat tippity-tap noise when walking around on linoleum.

And when all else fails and they're getting on your very last frayed nerve, you can stick 'em in a cage! I'm pretty sure it's illegal to do that to kids.

Ohhh, my puppy has a first name...

Meet Oscar.



Or Oscard if you're Smella.

If you'll recall, Oscar was my sister's puppy. But the sister has to move, and where she's moving doesn't allow cute, snuggly, smooshyfaced puppies.

Which is a damn shame because this is the best puppy ever.

The sister dropped him off on Friday, and since then he's had one accident. He doesn't chew things he's not supposed to unless there happens to be one of the kids' stuffed animals lying around. He really enjoys gnawing on Boober's stuffed Mickey Mouse.

But other than that, the dog's a dream. He adores the kids, and they are over the moon about having a dog. And me too. He's the first dog I've ever had, and I've always wanted one. But for various reasons (mostly laziness) I never got one.

The opportunity to adopt Mr. Smooshyface was too good to pass up though.

Scout would beg to differ, and I'm pretty sure she's going hoarse from all the hissing and spitting she's been doing lately, but I'm sure she'll come around eventually.

Until then, I have a loyal study buddy. He loves to keep my lap warm while I try not to pass out reading sociology.

I think he's probably a keeper.

Eight years ago

They took him away after that initial meeting. They always do. They take him away with the promise that they'll bring him right back. They just need to do this, and one of these, and some of that.

They wheel you to another room, your now slightly jiggly belly, empty. And you sit and wait, alone, because your husband has went with the new baby, torn between staying with the woman who just birthed his first offspring and following the helpless offspring. The shiny new offspring always wins.

And you wait. Patiently at first, because you want him to be safe, to be healthy, to be thoroughly checked out. But then you start to worry. And you start to feel a little lonely. And then it turns into an all-out panic.

And finally, after two hours, a nurse wheels your shiny new offspring back to you, followed by a giddy if not exhausted dad. And she drones on and on about feeding and diapering and poops and umbilical cord care...and it's all you can do to not rip her face off and demand she give you the baby. NOW.

And then she finally shuts up and hands over the goods. And he's there. Warm and pink and soft and blond. So much blond hair. And you finally get to nuzzle the sweet, soft spot of his neck and examine every toenail and fold, and get to whisper his name into his ear, and you break into sobs.

And when your husband asks if everything's okay, you nod and assure him you're fine, excellent in fact, you just missed the baby.

What you don't tell him is that it's more than missed, it was an ache. A frantic, panicky ache. But now that he's here, and you have him in your arms, everything in the whole world is just fine.

***

Big D turned eight years old yesterday.

For some reason, all day long, while I baked cupcakes and wrapped presents and anticipated the look on his face at chocolate chocolate chip frosting, that frantic, panicky feeling would come. He's eight, well on his way to being taller than I am, smarter than a kid should be, still has a ton of blond hair, and I adore all of that.

But I think I miss that warm and soft and pink baby something fierce.

Customer of the day

A young woman came up to the counter last night and ordered her usual tea. Before I rang her up, she told me there was something she wanted to tell me.

She said that the day before she had been in to get a drink really quick and she had parked in the handicapped space in front. I was automatically thinking, "I'm probably not going to be on your side with this story, but go on..."

She said that yeah, she shouldn't have parked there, but she was feeling lazy, and she was in and out. She said that when she went out to her car, there was a note on the windshield that said, "You're not handicapped, ho."

And I managed not to laugh in front of her! Aren't you proud of me? Instead I assured her it wasn't me or my coworkers. I shrugged and told her I thought the note was kind of harsh; her being a ho or not was completely irrelevant.

I'm still not sure why she told me. I felt slightly accused, but really, even if one of us did leave that note, she should feel lucky. Because parking in handicapped spaces when you're an able-bodied ho is illegal.

I would still love to know who left the note.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. If you have a four-wheel drive vehicle and it's snowy out, do you feel it's kind of your duty to drive in the untouched snow on the roads for other people? Like, wussy rear-wheel drive can't smoosh down that annoying pile of snow in the middle of the lane, so you'd better take care of it. Or is that just me?

2. I love the words "epitome" and "rendezvous." I like the way they're spelled and roll off my tongue. There are others, but I can't think of them right now.

3. I have to watch either The Terminal or Dances with Wolves for my interpersonal communications class and then write a paper. I've seen The Terminal, and from what I can remember, it was Tom Hanks does Borat or something. And the other movie is FOUR HOURS LONG. Gah.

4. When I'm at the grocery store and some dipshit is blocking the whole entire aisle with their cart while price checking peas, I dream of ramming their cart with mine while shouting "MOOOOOVE" like Jimmy Fallon in this SNL skit.

5. Do you ever sit and think about how much money we give away to insurance companies for absolutely nothing in return? I mean yeah, they'll be there in case something happens, but for the most part, we just give them money for free! For nothing at all in return! I've never made a claim on my car insurance in all the fourteen years I've been driving. It hurts my head.

6. I wish I had blueberry cheesecake for breakfast again.

7. I have to go watch The Terminal now. At least Tom Hanks doesn't wear a g-string in the movie, right?

Tips on what not to say to your hysterical wife

I was headed home this morning from school and hopped on the interstate. A few minutes into my trip, my mini SUV started to shudder and sound like it might explode. I turned down the radio to hear better and nearly barfed. I was sure the engine or transmission or some other Major Car Component was about to blow. Except even I know most Major Car Components are located in the front, you know, under the hood, and this wasn't coming from there. I slowed down, and as I did, I figured out it had to be a tire.

In a sheer panic, I slowed down even more, frantically checking mirrors to see if I could get over. By luck, I was near an exit and wobbled over to get on it. I was hoping beyond all hope to get off the exit to a gas station or something, but the shuttering and gawdawful noise was worse, so I stopped where I was.

Upon further inspection on the side of a goddamn interstate with cars going way too fast, I saw it was that same tire that was flat in September. The tire place fixed that tire instead of giving me a new one which I still say is fucking stupid. It had a big, fat screw in the tread. Why risk patching that shit?

And did I mention that this tire blew? It wasn't just flat, it was completely shredded. Like, a wheel with large pieces of rubber hanging off of it. Like, if I'd kept going, there would've been sparks. Like, a rhinoceros had decided to use my tire as a chew toy. Like, I COULD HAVE DIED.

So when I called the husband, nearly hysterical and all shrieky, he told me he'd be there in just a few to help me change the tire. Because yes, I'm a dumb girl who can't do it herself. I know the mechanics, I've seen it done a ton of times, but hello...hysterical, way too fast traffic, shredded rhino tire. Come on.

Anyway, here's the lesson of this whole post: When your nearly hyperventilating wife whose pants may be a little wet calls you in a panic because of rhino tire, traffic, blah, blah and she's mad and upset and says, "I hate this fucking car! Hate it!" it is NOT appropriate to say all logically and superior-like,

"Well, it's not the car's fault, and that's totally irrelevant."

I mean really.

Feeling sheepish

Remember yesterday when I made fun of the weathermen's boners about a couple of inches of snow?

Well.

Big D has no school day, the husband is probably coming home early because only he and one other guy showed up at his job. My job is likely to call and tell me not to come in this evening. And all the major public universities are closed. I'm not sure I've ever seen that happen.

We're up to about eleven inches, and it's still snowing.

So sorry, weathermen. I guess you were right, even if your predictions were a few hours off. You sport those boners proudly while gushing about record snowfall totals. You've earned it.