Say what?

There are some people (LESLIE HALL) who should not wear gold spandex one-piece outfits with fringe.

I'm just saying.

Like a gangrenous arm

Last Thursday I walked into work to start an eight hour shift and then promptly turned away and left after being told my store manager had to let go of two part-time employees. Since there aren't very many part-timers left, I was one of the lucky ones.

At first I didn't feel very fucking lucky. I was pissed. I have worked for Starbucks (Yeah, I said it. What? Are they going to dooce me?) for nearly three years. I've made some of the best friends any girl could want. I enjoyed recognizing regulars and their drinks and handing them out before the customers could even finish their order. It supplied a (small) income and health insurance for the family. There have been recent talks of transferring to another store, and when that didn't turn out, there was some major overhaul of my hours of availability so that I could even keep my job. So then, all surprise and sneaky-like (Because Starbucks is sneaky and shady, fyi. "'Just say yes!' to the customers. But those employees? Fuck 'em.") I was let go. The rug was completely pulled out from under my toes.

I let myself freak out for a good thirty minutes.

And then I got the fuck over it.

I hated that place. Or, I guess I should say, for the past six months or so, I've hated that place. The store manager is a controlling, lying lazy-ass. His one or two toadies are quicker to fill him in on gossip than a couple of fourteen-year-old girls. And then he liked to take that gossip, whether true or not, and base reviews and his whole idea of who a person is on it.

So that's that. May Howard and my manager and toadies all live happily ever after. Onward!

Because I plan to. After my short freakout, I went home, applied for unemployment, and then got to work applying for new jobs. I already have an interview scheduled at a local hospital next Friday.

What's more is that I feel...relieved. I don't have to dread going into work. And with unemployment coming steadily, I can be assured we won't lose a car or our house. The whole mood of the household has changed. It really has been like lopping of a gangrenous body part. That job threatened to take me down, to drown me in gallons of pus and other really gross bodily fluids.

Ew.

But really, I feel absolutely 100% healthier.

A word of warning

Do not walk up to people and say, "Smile, sweetheart!"

1. I am not your sweetheart.

2. I do not WANT to smile, asshole. For a plethora of reasons. Mostly because I'm at work, but there are plenty of others you aren't privy to. Suffice it to say, I'm not always extremely happy. Glasses are half-full and chipper people who think otherwise annoy me. I will be cordial, even pleasant, with you, but forgive me if I don't have a shit-eating grin on my face.

3. You are so getting decaf.

A birth story of sorts

K had her baby girl.  Which she named S because she's so hip and trendy that she can totally pull off naming her daughter a single letter.  

Kidding, of course.  She's not really that hip or trendy.

HA!

After a really disappointing afternoon appointment on Tuesday, where K thought for sure she'd be sent over to be induced but wasn't, K called me at 1:00 am on Wednesday morning where surprise! her water had broken.  I had just gotten to sleep when she called, so I jumped up, redressed, and booked it to the hospital.  

And then I cursed the store I work at and all of its other locations for being closed.  Some people DO want espresso at 2 am.  Asshats.

It was all fun and games at the hospital.  K was epiduraled and pain-free, and we all joked and giggled into the wee hours of the morning until the baby's heart rate kept dipping and taking too long to recover.  It started to be a little less fun.  And while I watched her nurse and doctor studying the monitors with worried looks and K cried out of fear and worry, all fun completely ceased.  In the end, they wheeled her out for a c-section.  

Then it was rushed and scary.  But it was so quick and went well, and really all that matters is that K is fine and now has one of the prettiest, healthiest baby girls ever.

And after the whole experience was over, I've come to some conclusions.

I want to be an L&D nurse so bad.  Still.  Like yesterday.

I want to work at that hospital.  I delivered my last two there and then got to watch them in action with K, and I love them.

After 24+ hours of not sleeping, I become deliriously goofy and then deranged and scary.  Who knew?

I really don't want to be pregnant again.  Ever.  

But I wouldn't mind another baby.  OMGWTF??!!!1!!

But really, cutest baby ever.  After my three.  And she has that soft, velvety baby skin and teeny tiny fingernails.  And teeny tiny eyelashes and makes teeny tiny squeaks.  I'm lucky I've been fixed, because it still crosses my mind occasionally that Smella could use a baby sister.  

The husband will read this, scowl and inform me I'm not allowed to visit K until S is two.  

That might not be such a bad idea.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. Hopefully this afternoon/evening, my bff K will be holding her new baby girl. This is after three very rough and tumble boys. And hopefully, I'll be able to be there with her and get to nuzzle her too. (The baby, not K. Although there IS something about childbirth that makes me want to nuzzle everyone in the room, soooo...)

2. So after much hoopla and crap and hatred, I'm moving to a different store for my job. Honestly, I think they're trying to make me quit. They've suddenly said they can't have as many part-timers as they do, so a few people have to go. Which, fine, whatever. I suppose that should be enough to make me quit, but I plan on keeping this job until I decide I'm done. So if they really want me to go, they'll have to fire me. Muhahahaha.

3. I should probably devote a whole post to it, but you know, I like these hit and run kinda posts. I think it's called " laziness," but that's irrelevant.  I gave Oscar dog back to my sister.  She wound up not moving out and could still keep him, and frankly, I think it was probably for the best.  Having him here was a good test run for having a fourth child.  He was a bit like a really ill-behaved two-year-old, and hey, I've already got one of those!  We miss him dearly, but we still get to visit with him.  When the kids are old and I don't feel like I'm flying apart into a million pieces, we'll try to get another puppy.  Probably.  Maybe.

4. Anytime I want to say the word "irrelevant," I want to pronounce it "irREVelant." And then I feel really stupid.

5. My mom gave me a really pretty milk glass vase a couple of weeks ago, and I had grand ideas about always having fresh flowers in it sitting on my kitchen table. I guess I haven't priced fresh-cut flowers lately, but this will not be happening every week because they're freaking expensive. I bought four chrysanthemums last night for $4. If these make it a week and I replace them, that's $16 a month. It's like another damn bill, for crying out loud. And what I really wanted were the pretty colorful springy bouquets that went for $10.

6.  You should totally vote for me for Best Local Blog on Parents Connect.  Since posting about it yesterday, I'm up %5!  Which is completely awesome.  I heart you guys.

For Local Blog
in Indianapolis

If you're feeling irrevelantly random, you should stop by Keely's.  She's the queen of random, and she also makes that nifty button at the top.  Go on.  She'll totally let you borrow it!

I should probably check email more often

Because then I would know when I'm nominated for stuff. I mean, I kept checking out my Sitemeter and wondering why in the world my blog was listed on here Parents Connect. I poked around a little and never did figure it out. So imagine my surprise when I checked my email today and found out I'd been nominated for best local blog. Jeez. Had I known that I would be entertaining extra readers I would've swept the cobwebs out of the corners and picked up all the junk off the floor and shoved it into closets. What? Isn't that what you do when company shows up?

Now that I'm alert,  aware, and MAYBE A BIT NERVOUS, I'd thought I'd throw out this button so you could vote for me. You know, if you wanted. Daily. Until mid-July. Not that I'll be checking votes continuously or anything.

For Local Blog
in Indianapolis
Did I mention that since I'm a fool who can't keep up with email that I'm WAAAAAY behind in votes?

And to the person that nominated me: Thanks. Seriously.

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

f
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.