Every closing of a year is the end of a chapter in ones life.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Here's a little story about a fancy party dress....
Never underestimate the changing fads of teenagers. Just when you think you may have mastered what it is that they like or possibly, foolishly, think you may have stumbled upon something that they may...do I dare say it...love...you will undoubtedly be making the drive of shame back to the store...broken hearted dress in hand from whence you purchased it.
See when you saw it there hanging ever so lovely upon it's silver rack you pictured your daughters adoring face staring back at you proclaiming how you "are the best mother ever" and "how did you know that this is the EXACT color and type of dress that I waswishing dreaming for". This is the trickery of motherhood.
So now just a few weeks past homecoming I accompanied my friends for that dreaded drive of shame. Of course we had to pull back the bag and admire the dress once more. First glances were for admiration. Second glances were to make sure the tag was still affixed and that there had been no harm to the garment that while we loved still needed to be in pristeen condition in order to return.
Thebitchy blessed teen swore that it wasn't worn other than to be tried on. We had born witness that the dress that was purchased by the mom was not the chosen one and was not worn to the dance, but still how can we predict what kind of diva dancin around with a brush in hand may or may not have taken place on late nights in her room as the dress SHOULD have been hanging in it's protective plastic bag cocoon. We did the once over, head to toe checks for any damage and came up with the all clear sign.
We made the drive across the lake talking all the while about how it was so pretty and how wonderful it would have been. Once we arrived the mom that had originally purchased it was terrified to go in and return it given the time that had gone by. I didn't understand her hesitation and nor did my other friend, but being the team players that we are we took her card, the dress and the receipt in for the return.
As we made our way to the formal department we began to feel a little uneasy as if we would be sent to the department store jail for trying to return a dress. Before we could really think too much about it we were front and center at the dress counter. The sales girl was polite and asked if we had the receipt. We handed it over. She pulled the dress out of the bag and began to locate both the tags that needed to be affixed in order to return a garment.
It was at that precise moment that my eyes fell upon a small stain that I hadn't noticed when we were back at the house. I didn't dare look to the left of me at my other friend who was doing the bulk of the talking. Another sales person walked up and bent down to grab something from underneath the counter. Out of the very corner of my eye I could see that my girlfriend was getting a little antsy. I was still VERY unwilling to look over at her.
As I began to get jittery the transaction was done and we were on our way. As we made our way to the exit of the store I could barely contain myself and said, "oh my God did you see that stain"?
Her eyes got as big as quarters and said, "the stain....my God did you see the rip"?
We double stepped it out of the store in hopes of not being dragged back in and thrown in the mall jail. Just another Wednesday in the land of parents with teenage daughters. It's glamorous and oh so exciting!
~JP
See when you saw it there hanging ever so lovely upon it's silver rack you pictured your daughters adoring face staring back at you proclaiming how you "are the best mother ever" and "how did you know that this is the EXACT color and type of dress that I was
So now just a few weeks past homecoming I accompanied my friends for that dreaded drive of shame. Of course we had to pull back the bag and admire the dress once more. First glances were for admiration. Second glances were to make sure the tag was still affixed and that there had been no harm to the garment that while we loved still needed to be in pristeen condition in order to return.
The
We made the drive across the lake talking all the while about how it was so pretty and how wonderful it would have been. Once we arrived the mom that had originally purchased it was terrified to go in and return it given the time that had gone by. I didn't understand her hesitation and nor did my other friend, but being the team players that we are we took her card, the dress and the receipt in for the return.
As we made our way to the formal department we began to feel a little uneasy as if we would be sent to the department store jail for trying to return a dress. Before we could really think too much about it we were front and center at the dress counter. The sales girl was polite and asked if we had the receipt. We handed it over. She pulled the dress out of the bag and began to locate both the tags that needed to be affixed in order to return a garment.
It was at that precise moment that my eyes fell upon a small stain that I hadn't noticed when we were back at the house. I didn't dare look to the left of me at my other friend who was doing the bulk of the talking. Another sales person walked up and bent down to grab something from underneath the counter. Out of the very corner of my eye I could see that my girlfriend was getting a little antsy. I was still VERY unwilling to look over at her.
As I began to get jittery the transaction was done and we were on our way. As we made our way to the exit of the store I could barely contain myself and said, "oh my God did you see that stain"?
Her eyes got as big as quarters and said, "the stain....my God did you see the rip"?
We double stepped it out of the store in hopes of not being dragged back in and thrown in the mall jail. Just another Wednesday in the land of parents with teenage daughters. It's glamorous and oh so exciting!
~JP
Monday, November 9, 2009
The problem with truth telling....
Before I ever thought of having kids or becoming a mother I had what I thought was a VERY wonderful idea about raising my imaginary offspring. I told myself that I would never lie about the important stuff. I'd never tell them that loved ones or pets don't die. I wouldn't lead them to believe that shots won't hurt and I'd never tell them that they'd always be happy and never have their heart broken.
Simple right? Wrong.
The easiest of my "promise" seemed to be the shots. From the time they were babies I'd tell them these words before shots, "big stick, bee sting, cuddles and then a prize". It served me well for the most part. The only time it truly backfired on me was when the girls needed to get their shots up to date for school here in Louisiana. I inadvertently mixed up who needed what shots when I was preparing them with the whole "big stick, bee sting...." yada yada yada. I had told Olivia she would be getting one shot and that Hannah needed three.
Olivia, while she was not overly joyed about needing any was completely over the moon with the idea of torturing her baby sister who'd have to be stuck not once, not twice but three whole times. "That's two more than meeee"...she sing songed all through our wait time. She'd reach over and pinch her baby sister which would send Hannah to wailing and then Olivia would say..."oh come on...that's just one stick...imagine three of those back to back", and so on and so forth.
There was two things that Olivia didn't count on and they were karma and my ability to keep the kids shot records straight. When Olivia galantly led her little sister to the slaughter...ergh, I mean chair, she all but passed out when the nurse stuck Hannah once then released her from the seat and handed her a lolly proclaiming that she had been a "very big girl" and that she was "all done". Those two phrases and the fact that Hannah knew the difference between her getting three and her only getting one. She'd done the quick math and trained her eyes on her sister. Olivia chose that exact moment to turn into a psychotic animal who first tried to run out of the building but was strong armed by Jon and then as she wailed like a banshee she attempted to hold onto the door while bracing her feet against the frame.
Yeah, my honesty about shots wasn't going too well on this occasion. All Jon and I could do after they were finally able to immunize her, was to walk out shaking our heads and apologizing to every one we came in contact with in the building. I do believe we apologized to a janitor that day and to be honest with the way our kid was screaming I think he appreciated it.
My first go around with using honesty in regards to death of a loved one was when my grandmother died and my oldest was on a Girl Scout camping trip. It's not that Olivia hadn't dealt with death before, on the contrary actually...the poor kid had her 7th birthday postponed because my grandfather, her great grandfather, bit the proverbial dust. Nothing like blowing out the candle on your one piece of restaurant cake while the entire family is gathered sniveling and trading stories of the dearly departed at an elongated table of a bar & grill that just happened to be conveniently located next to the funeral home. Well that and the fact that she was actually at the nursing home visiting him with my parents when he died. Yep, that's definitely one for the scrapbook!
While I rushed to Florida to console my mother and help with the funeral arrangements, poor Jon had to make up some kind of song and dance about where I was when she returned from camp so as to allow us both to be there to break the news to her. From that experience I learned never to wait 5 days until I am in the same state to break news of that magnitude. While she was upset about her great grandmothers passing she was more upset that she was not notified immediately. Jon and I learned that Olivia was not one of those kids that dealt well with being the last to know anything. Hell, if we run out of toilet paper you better go notify her first or else there will be an issue. That's just her thing. She likes to be in the loop.
On the other end of the spectrum is Hannah. When my first min pin Aden passed away suddenly over the summer while the girls were away we made a point to tell them both. Fearing a repeat of great grandma and the wrath of Olivia not being notified we figured that honesty when the event took place was the best policy. With Olivia that was fine. She took the news, was saddened and moved on. Hannah on the other hand who had been too young to really comprehend the news of her great grandmother's death, when it occured, was a bit trickier. She had a meltdown of unworldly proportions and we were almost deemed horrible parents for breaking the news while she was close to 600 miles away.
When we were plagued by a second pet's death less than a month later Olivia was back at home and unfortunately along with us had to bear witness to the little guy drawing his last breath. She was heartbroken as were Jon and I but seemed to process it and deal with it fairly well considering it was her dog. We didn't tell Hannah this time and instead saved the news for when Jon could be there with her. She was upset, but took the news far better because she had Jon there to hold on to.
So with death and shots my plan of honesty has been doing pretty good with preparing the girls with the realities of life. When it comes to heartbreak though, I've had a bit harder time sticking to my rule.
As the minutes and hours have turned into days, weeks and now months of Jon and I grappling with the state of our marriage, one of the things that has weighed heavily upon my mind and heart has been my kids. What to tell them and when. Olivia being older and of the mentality of tell it to me now and let me process it myself I chose to be a bit more forthcoming with her. Hannah being the baby and the one that would rather not know something until it's actual, factual and has already taken place has been pretty much left in the dark although I know she's not blind or deaf to the amount of tension and arguing that goes on between her father and I.
Tonight though I was backed into a corner while we sat at Sonic to pick up something to eat. Hannha had just returned from a weekend soccer tournament with Jon and I was taking her for ice cream. While we waited for our food she began to ask questions. I figured they would come seeing as Jon and I had a rather loud verbal exhange within minutes of him coming in the door. It's sad that after 30+ hours apart we couldn't make it a full 30 seconds without launching into a disagreement.
The questions came quietly and timidly from the backseat.
Hannah: Mom, are you and Dad angry at each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't lie, don't lie) Yes.
Hannah: How is that even possible...you like, just saw each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't get defensive, don't lie) Well Hannah ya know how sometimes you and your friends don't get along...even when you haven't seen each other in a day or two?
Hannah: Um, yea....
Me: (don't get defensive, be honest, don't snap at her) Well, me and your dad are like that right now...we aren't getting along....
Silence falls uncomfortably in the car and then the food comes. I contemplate just letting the discussion go but as I look into the rearview mirror I can see tears in the corners of her eyes and I know there is more she wants to say. Part of me wants to scream at her to just stop it and let it go, but then I have to remember that she is only 10yrs old and this very much affects her life. Be honest, I keep reminding myself. Be honest in 10yr old terms...don't lie.
I remember back to when I was younger, after my sister had been killed and my parents would argue so much that I thought they would never get along again, I take a deep breath focus on that feeling as probably the one that she is having at this very moment and hope for the best.
Me: Hannah, if you have something on your mind that you want to ask me or talk about you should just put it out there. No matter what it is, I will answer you honestly and I won't be angry...I promise.
Hannah: (hesitant but looking very determined) Are you and Dad gonna split up?
Me: I don't know Hannah and that's the truth.
Hannah: Ok. But....ummmm.....but.....
Me: Hannah whatever it is just ask me.
Hannah: Do you still love him?
Me: Very much.
Hannah: Does he love you?
Me: Yes.
Hannah: I don't get it. If he loves you and you love him then why do you fight ALL of the time.
Me: Because sometimes people that love one another have things that take place that make them so angry that it becomes difficult to just be happy loving the other person. You want to know that the person you love is being honest with you and if you think that they aren't or know that they aren't it tends to make it very difficult to just be happy being in love.
Hannah: Oh. Well, hmmmm.....do you think you guys could, ya know...just work it out or something cause I'm tired of listening to you not get along and I'm sure Olivia is tired of it and well....yeah....you guys should just work it out.
I sat quiet for a really long time. Hannah didn't even seem to notice because she was over the moon for her Oreo ice cream blast. Then she spoke again.
Hannah: Mom?
Me: Yeah Han.
Hannah: I'm sorry I asked about you and dad.
Me: Hannah, don't apologize. You have a right to know what is going on to a point. I know that these things affect your life.
Hannah: I know. But the reason I said that I was sorry was because you looked really happy before I asked you. Like...just sitting here you and me...you looked happy.
Me: Well I am happy just sitting here you and me (I let my face break into a goofy smile to get her to laugh).
Hannah: (she chuckels at my face and then turns serious again) I know....but I think you were happy because dad wasn't here.
Me: (unable to speak)
Hannah: It was nice to see you happy for once.
Silence became all consuming and the only thing I could hear was her scraping ice cream out of her cup and the wheels of the skating car hops.
See, that's the trouble with truth telling...it brings with it a whole new line of questions.
~JP
Simple right? Wrong.
The easiest of my "promise" seemed to be the shots. From the time they were babies I'd tell them these words before shots, "big stick, bee sting, cuddles and then a prize". It served me well for the most part. The only time it truly backfired on me was when the girls needed to get their shots up to date for school here in Louisiana. I inadvertently mixed up who needed what shots when I was preparing them with the whole "big stick, bee sting...." yada yada yada. I had told Olivia she would be getting one shot and that Hannah needed three.
Olivia, while she was not overly joyed about needing any was completely over the moon with the idea of torturing her baby sister who'd have to be stuck not once, not twice but three whole times. "That's two more than meeee"...she sing songed all through our wait time. She'd reach over and pinch her baby sister which would send Hannah to wailing and then Olivia would say..."oh come on...that's just one stick...imagine three of those back to back", and so on and so forth.
There was two things that Olivia didn't count on and they were karma and my ability to keep the kids shot records straight. When Olivia galantly led her little sister to the slaughter...ergh, I mean chair, she all but passed out when the nurse stuck Hannah once then released her from the seat and handed her a lolly proclaiming that she had been a "very big girl" and that she was "all done". Those two phrases and the fact that Hannah knew the difference between her getting three and her only getting one. She'd done the quick math and trained her eyes on her sister. Olivia chose that exact moment to turn into a psychotic animal who first tried to run out of the building but was strong armed by Jon and then as she wailed like a banshee she attempted to hold onto the door while bracing her feet against the frame.
Yeah, my honesty about shots wasn't going too well on this occasion. All Jon and I could do after they were finally able to immunize her, was to walk out shaking our heads and apologizing to every one we came in contact with in the building. I do believe we apologized to a janitor that day and to be honest with the way our kid was screaming I think he appreciated it.
My first go around with using honesty in regards to death of a loved one was when my grandmother died and my oldest was on a Girl Scout camping trip. It's not that Olivia hadn't dealt with death before, on the contrary actually...the poor kid had her 7th birthday postponed because my grandfather, her great grandfather, bit the proverbial dust. Nothing like blowing out the candle on your one piece of restaurant cake while the entire family is gathered sniveling and trading stories of the dearly departed at an elongated table of a bar & grill that just happened to be conveniently located next to the funeral home. Well that and the fact that she was actually at the nursing home visiting him with my parents when he died. Yep, that's definitely one for the scrapbook!
While I rushed to Florida to console my mother and help with the funeral arrangements, poor Jon had to make up some kind of song and dance about where I was when she returned from camp so as to allow us both to be there to break the news to her. From that experience I learned never to wait 5 days until I am in the same state to break news of that magnitude. While she was upset about her great grandmothers passing she was more upset that she was not notified immediately. Jon and I learned that Olivia was not one of those kids that dealt well with being the last to know anything. Hell, if we run out of toilet paper you better go notify her first or else there will be an issue. That's just her thing. She likes to be in the loop.
On the other end of the spectrum is Hannah. When my first min pin Aden passed away suddenly over the summer while the girls were away we made a point to tell them both. Fearing a repeat of great grandma and the wrath of Olivia not being notified we figured that honesty when the event took place was the best policy. With Olivia that was fine. She took the news, was saddened and moved on. Hannah on the other hand who had been too young to really comprehend the news of her great grandmother's death, when it occured, was a bit trickier. She had a meltdown of unworldly proportions and we were almost deemed horrible parents for breaking the news while she was close to 600 miles away.
When we were plagued by a second pet's death less than a month later Olivia was back at home and unfortunately along with us had to bear witness to the little guy drawing his last breath. She was heartbroken as were Jon and I but seemed to process it and deal with it fairly well considering it was her dog. We didn't tell Hannah this time and instead saved the news for when Jon could be there with her. She was upset, but took the news far better because she had Jon there to hold on to.
So with death and shots my plan of honesty has been doing pretty good with preparing the girls with the realities of life. When it comes to heartbreak though, I've had a bit harder time sticking to my rule.
As the minutes and hours have turned into days, weeks and now months of Jon and I grappling with the state of our marriage, one of the things that has weighed heavily upon my mind and heart has been my kids. What to tell them and when. Olivia being older and of the mentality of tell it to me now and let me process it myself I chose to be a bit more forthcoming with her. Hannah being the baby and the one that would rather not know something until it's actual, factual and has already taken place has been pretty much left in the dark although I know she's not blind or deaf to the amount of tension and arguing that goes on between her father and I.
Tonight though I was backed into a corner while we sat at Sonic to pick up something to eat. Hannha had just returned from a weekend soccer tournament with Jon and I was taking her for ice cream. While we waited for our food she began to ask questions. I figured they would come seeing as Jon and I had a rather loud verbal exhange within minutes of him coming in the door. It's sad that after 30+ hours apart we couldn't make it a full 30 seconds without launching into a disagreement.
The questions came quietly and timidly from the backseat.
Hannah: Mom, are you and Dad angry at each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't lie, don't lie) Yes.
Hannah: How is that even possible...you like, just saw each other?
Me: (don't lie, don't get defensive, don't lie) Well Hannah ya know how sometimes you and your friends don't get along...even when you haven't seen each other in a day or two?
Hannah: Um, yea....
Me: (don't get defensive, be honest, don't snap at her) Well, me and your dad are like that right now...we aren't getting along....
Silence falls uncomfortably in the car and then the food comes. I contemplate just letting the discussion go but as I look into the rearview mirror I can see tears in the corners of her eyes and I know there is more she wants to say. Part of me wants to scream at her to just stop it and let it go, but then I have to remember that she is only 10yrs old and this very much affects her life. Be honest, I keep reminding myself. Be honest in 10yr old terms...don't lie.
I remember back to when I was younger, after my sister had been killed and my parents would argue so much that I thought they would never get along again, I take a deep breath focus on that feeling as probably the one that she is having at this very moment and hope for the best.
Me: Hannah, if you have something on your mind that you want to ask me or talk about you should just put it out there. No matter what it is, I will answer you honestly and I won't be angry...I promise.
Hannah: (hesitant but looking very determined) Are you and Dad gonna split up?
Me: I don't know Hannah and that's the truth.
Hannah: Ok. But....ummmm.....but.....
Me: Hannah whatever it is just ask me.
Hannah: Do you still love him?
Me: Very much.
Hannah: Does he love you?
Me: Yes.
Hannah: I don't get it. If he loves you and you love him then why do you fight ALL of the time.
Me: Because sometimes people that love one another have things that take place that make them so angry that it becomes difficult to just be happy loving the other person. You want to know that the person you love is being honest with you and if you think that they aren't or know that they aren't it tends to make it very difficult to just be happy being in love.
Hannah: Oh. Well, hmmmm.....do you think you guys could, ya know...just work it out or something cause I'm tired of listening to you not get along and I'm sure Olivia is tired of it and well....yeah....you guys should just work it out.
I sat quiet for a really long time. Hannah didn't even seem to notice because she was over the moon for her Oreo ice cream blast. Then she spoke again.
Hannah: Mom?
Me: Yeah Han.
Hannah: I'm sorry I asked about you and dad.
Me: Hannah, don't apologize. You have a right to know what is going on to a point. I know that these things affect your life.
Hannah: I know. But the reason I said that I was sorry was because you looked really happy before I asked you. Like...just sitting here you and me...you looked happy.
Me: Well I am happy just sitting here you and me (I let my face break into a goofy smile to get her to laugh).
Hannah: (she chuckels at my face and then turns serious again) I know....but I think you were happy because dad wasn't here.
Me: (unable to speak)
Hannah: It was nice to see you happy for once.
Silence became all consuming and the only thing I could hear was her scraping ice cream out of her cup and the wheels of the skating car hops.
See, that's the trouble with truth telling...it brings with it a whole new line of questions.
~JP
Saturday, October 10, 2009
In search of new....
Just recently my husband and I "celebrated" 12 years of being together as a couple. And by "celebrate" I mean that we had it pointed out to us by a friend of ours that it just so happened to be that day and so we kissed and toasted with the drinks we had been sipping on for the past two hours. This is what our relationship has come to. We are reduced to having our milestones pointed out to us by others. It's really pathetic if you ask me.
Another occurance was when I was driving my oldest daughter home from theater practice and she was dancing in the car to the mixed cd that she had made me in an attempt to prove that I "truly have lame taste in music". I stated how I really, really, REALLY am in need of a night out dancing. She looked sideways at me and said..."yeah, me too". I laughed and said non chalantly how in just over 3 years I can take her to 18 & up clubs and we can go dancing. She gave me that look of sheer terror and death of embarassment that would ensue if I was to truly attempt this most heinous of ideas.
Before I could even elaborate on this topic she said the most hurtful thing outside of telling me that I shouldn't be wearing these pants because YES they do truly make your ass look HUGE! She said..."in 3 years...you'll be like....ya know....O-L-D!" I tried hard not to slam on the brakes or slam her head into the dashboard. I proceeded to ask her how old she actually thought I was. She did that long hard pause that kids that fear they may never see a penny of allowance or be told yes they can do or have something that they want ever, ever....EVER again if they answer this question wrong.
People....in 3 years I will only be 35! What the shit?!? I am NOT old. I am NOT OLD! Jesus...most people are just now getting started on their childbearing years and me. I mean, us. Jon and I...we are at the half way point. This time in 10 years we will be the proud parents of two full fledge adults. This time in 10 years I will only be 42...so take that and suck on it!
But these two events coupled with some other things that have occured over the past few days, weeks, months....year...have made me realize that it's time to go in search of the newness again. I've begun to make a list. Jon teases me about these list. Mainly because I write them and then when I mess up I rewrite them. But I tend to keep the messy one just in case I forget to carry over some items and then I end up with two list. Two lists that usually never end up finished. I get accused of that a lot and rightfully so because I am SO not a start to finish kind of girl. I'm more of a get really excited about the start and lose all interest in the finish part. About the only things that I stay COMPLETELY interested in from start to finish are FarmVille, this season of Fringe and having sex with my husband. Not necessarily in that particular order. Although I have said the words "just let me check my crops" when Jon has given me that look of "let's get it on"!
Again...perfect example why it is time to find the new again. It's time to get back in tune with my body and to actually locate that body underneath all the layers of baby fat from the last baby (10 years ago) and those pints of Hagaan Daaz that have found their way maliciously into my mouth at 2am when I am depressed as all hell about the state of my life and the unhappiness that I have found myself in. It's just time.
For the past few days I've felt this overwhelming antsy feeling. This urge to just throw on my shoes and run. Run hard. Run fast. Run far. Probably wouldn't be a great idea if I actually allowed it to come to fruition. I'm pretty sure that I would make it to the end of my street and my family would find me dead or at least unconscious on the ground beneath the stop sign. Since running...and I must admit that every time I say, think or type that word...running...all I can think of is Forrest Gump saying it. "And I started running."
Anyways...since running is out of the question at this particular juncture I decided to have a little conversation with my inner self. At a little after midnight when all the house was quiet I pulled myself into first position (rockin the ballet), closed my eyes and just calmly explained that it's time to take back my life and ALL the things that I used to be so passionate about.
It's gonna be a tall order...a slow process...but a challenge that I must take on. For my sanity. For my self. I will not let another milestone go by uncelebrated or at least unremembered and I certainly will not allow my teenager or tweenager make me feel old. It's up to me to preserve the new. Game on bitches...game on!
Another occurance was when I was driving my oldest daughter home from theater practice and she was dancing in the car to the mixed cd that she had made me in an attempt to prove that I "truly have lame taste in music". I stated how I really, really, REALLY am in need of a night out dancing. She looked sideways at me and said..."yeah, me too". I laughed and said non chalantly how in just over 3 years I can take her to 18 & up clubs and we can go dancing. She gave me that look of sheer terror and death of embarassment that would ensue if I was to truly attempt this most heinous of ideas.
Before I could even elaborate on this topic she said the most hurtful thing outside of telling me that I shouldn't be wearing these pants because YES they do truly make your ass look HUGE! She said..."in 3 years...you'll be like....ya know....O-L-D!" I tried hard not to slam on the brakes or slam her head into the dashboard. I proceeded to ask her how old she actually thought I was. She did that long hard pause that kids that fear they may never see a penny of allowance or be told yes they can do or have something that they want ever, ever....EVER again if they answer this question wrong.
People....in 3 years I will only be 35! What the shit?!? I am NOT old. I am NOT OLD! Jesus...most people are just now getting started on their childbearing years and me. I mean, us. Jon and I...we are at the half way point. This time in 10 years we will be the proud parents of two full fledge adults. This time in 10 years I will only be 42...so take that and suck on it!
But these two events coupled with some other things that have occured over the past few days, weeks, months....year...have made me realize that it's time to go in search of the newness again. I've begun to make a list. Jon teases me about these list. Mainly because I write them and then when I mess up I rewrite them. But I tend to keep the messy one just in case I forget to carry over some items and then I end up with two list. Two lists that usually never end up finished. I get accused of that a lot and rightfully so because I am SO not a start to finish kind of girl. I'm more of a get really excited about the start and lose all interest in the finish part. About the only things that I stay COMPLETELY interested in from start to finish are FarmVille, this season of Fringe and having sex with my husband. Not necessarily in that particular order. Although I have said the words "just let me check my crops" when Jon has given me that look of "let's get it on"!
Again...perfect example why it is time to find the new again. It's time to get back in tune with my body and to actually locate that body underneath all the layers of baby fat from the last baby (10 years ago) and those pints of Hagaan Daaz that have found their way maliciously into my mouth at 2am when I am depressed as all hell about the state of my life and the unhappiness that I have found myself in. It's just time.
For the past few days I've felt this overwhelming antsy feeling. This urge to just throw on my shoes and run. Run hard. Run fast. Run far. Probably wouldn't be a great idea if I actually allowed it to come to fruition. I'm pretty sure that I would make it to the end of my street and my family would find me dead or at least unconscious on the ground beneath the stop sign. Since running...and I must admit that every time I say, think or type that word...running...all I can think of is Forrest Gump saying it. "And I started running."
Anyways...since running is out of the question at this particular juncture I decided to have a little conversation with my inner self. At a little after midnight when all the house was quiet I pulled myself into first position (rockin the ballet), closed my eyes and just calmly explained that it's time to take back my life and ALL the things that I used to be so passionate about.
It's gonna be a tall order...a slow process...but a challenge that I must take on. For my sanity. For my self. I will not let another milestone go by uncelebrated or at least unremembered and I certainly will not allow my teenager or tweenager make me feel old. It's up to me to preserve the new. Game on bitches...game on!
Monday, September 28, 2009
And the countdown to 10....concludes....with Part 7
Part 7: It's not the destination....it's the journey!
The beauty of motherhood is lost on those who can't seem to smell anything past the vomit that seems to get into places you never thought imaginable. It's also lost on those who are pretty sure they would sell a kidney or lung JUST to gain a full night of uninterrupted sleep. I was TOTALLY that person.
What am I saying....I still AM that person! I may no longer have to sustain my children's life by feeding them from my own body, but believe me you, they are busy sucking other things out of me like sanity, my ability to retain information, my will to live at times and the capacity of my ass to reside in the lower two digit numbers. Oh hips...where have you gone?? Oh wait...that's right, you now reside on my curvacious daughters. Ugh!
Even with all that I've had some of my best moments being their mom. I've also had some of my most embarrassing ones as well.
Those are the stories that Jon loves me to focus on. He's sadistic that way.
When Hannah was approximately 3 to maybe 3 1/2 months old I had breastfed her on the couch while watching television. It's was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and we were busy just passing the day by being completely in love with every sound and face that she was making. It's these moments...these memories that make you want to have more children. What happened next is what makes you think twice about motherhood and possibly how easy it may actually be to mame your spouse.
Jon: Wow she's a little piggy.
Me: I know. I think this is the most she has eaten in a while. She usually just snacks.
Jon: I think I'd snack if I was down there too. It'd give me more reasons to snuggle up to your boobs.
Me: You'd have to get in line behind your infant daughter.
Jon: Why ya gotta be so mean?
Me: Why do YOU have to be such a pig? I'm busy feeding your daughter and your making sexual inuendo's.
Jon: I'm just saying...I support breastfeeding.
Me: You're just saying that because you want me to breastfeed you.
Hannah begins to make gurgly faces as I am burping her. It kind of looks like she's rolling her eyes at Jon's lame attempts to dig himself out of this hole but that's just my interpretation of the memory.
Finally she lets out a huge burp and follows it with a toot and then seems completely content to just sit there and check out the world.
Me: (singing to Hannah while blowing bubbles on her tummy) I love you...mommy loves you. Who loves you...mommy loves you.
Clearly she is digging this.
Me: (beginning to wiggle her arms and legs in a vague dancing motion)
Jon: You probably shouldn't do that she just ate.
Me: I am not doing anything. I am just moving her about. My god she is barely moving.
Jon: I don't think you should do that. You always yell at me NOT to do that. You say she'll puke.
Me: (clearly he doesn't understand that him doing what I say and me doing what I say are two totally different things) *rolling my eyes* Okay.
Jon walks out of the room and the coast is clear to go back to the dancing. I proceed to move Hannah about. She's going from slightly subdued moves to busting out her show stoppers. I decide to end with a little airplane and a kiss....
BIG FUCKING MISTAKE
Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay...
Jon: (no response...)
I can somewhat hear Jon moving around in the kitchen
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay BAY.....
Jon: Are you calling me? You know that I can't hear you...speak up.
Me: (trying desperately NOT to swallow what has been launched into my mouth by my once beloved infant daughter) bay bay...BAYYYYYY...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo....
Jon: (sounding more than a little aggrivated) WHAT??
Me: (really trying not to puke while trying NOT to swallow what is being swished around in my mouth with every attempt to speak) I sa...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo......
Jon (choirs of angels come down from heaven and sing as my husband in all his fucking brilliant retardedness who can't hear me scream from another room has now deciphered the god damn Da Vinci Code of "baby vomit speak") I'm sorry...did you just say that you need a towel because the baby puked in your mouth? (laughter)
Me: BAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY......a men a...hu up n ga m a tow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jon: (attempting NOT to piss himself, because clearly that could be used against him in this completely embarrassing moment of me choking back a mouthful of my own regurgiatated breastmilk) Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ok, ok....oh my god....oh my god...my sides hurt....ok, ok...here...give me the baby...here....oh my god...oh this is too funny...oh my god...here's the towel...
Stuff like that...10 years later...still funny.
I remember a time years later when Hannah was 3 years old and she learned how to use air quotes.
Correctly.
Neither of us know how she learned this. It definitely wasn't something that we had done. We aren't big air quote people...I mean really, who is??
I was coming up on a jaw surgery to treat chronic migraines, worsened by TMJ, which had completely debilitated me. Poor Hannah had gotten very used to sitting in semi quiet, semi dim rooms with mommy by this time. We had her in Mother's Day out programs so she wasn't a complete shut in, but there were still those few hours between when the program ended and Jon came home.
She was perched on the end of our bed watching Disney Channel. I, as usual, had my head wrapped in a towel to shield my eyes from light and an ice pack on top for good measure. I heard her crawling to the top of the bed towards my head so I peeled back my shroud.
Hannah: Momma?
Me: Yeah babe.
Hannah: Momma...when dinner is?
Me: (slighty out of it...trying to angle head to see the clock) Ummm. Soon babe...daddy will be home with it in just a little bit. Okay?
Hannah: Tay. Cause we need dinner is. It's "night time".
Me: (slightly baffled by the air quotes, I decide to press the matter) Hannah what do you mean by "night time" (repeating the same air quotes)
Hannah: (cocking her head to the side and squinching her eyese at me as if I am possibly the silliest person she has met in ALL her 3 years of life) Momma..."night time" is when it "dark outside"! (she then puts her hands in fist down on her sides as if this gesture combined with the double air quotes will of course drive her point right on home)
Very true Hannah dear. Very true indeed. Thankfully she did a repeat performance for Jon when he got home and we both had a good laugh at how sassy she was.
Life with girls is NOT all frills, bows and pink sparkliness. Nope...life raising Hannah so far has been a manic mixture of Sporty Spice, Power Puff Girls and Disney Channel girls that are clearly 20 playing 10 year olds who my daughter wants more than anything to mimic.
Welcome to my hell. The water is warm...jump on in.
Hannah can be rough and tumble like the time we had gone shopping for new jeans. She had picked out 4 that she absolutely loved and "mom I will never ask for another thing if you only buy me THESE pants". Oh lord...go sell your lies somewhere else sweetheart...my grandmother didn't buy those lies with my mother, my mother didn't buy those lies with me and HELLO I'm not buying them from you or your sister.
Not more than 48 hours later Hannah is on our front lawn with one of her friends playing. Another few minutes after that she is at the door crying and the friend is trying not to laugh. Clearly something embarrassing has befallen our daughter. Days like this make parenting so magical. Days like this make all the moments they make you feel like a jackleg by standing in the middle of Wal-mart screaming "you're not my mommy...I wan't my mommy" because you have denied them the Pokemon card, Power Puff Girl, Barbie, Coloring book, speck of dust...whatever...and now they are going to make you pay with public humiliation and maybe, just maybe a few dicey moments in the back of a police car explaining exactly why it is the little girl is so insistent her "real" mother lives in Pennsylvania and raises horses. Yes...your childs embarrassment at the fact that they and not you has done something to bring said embarassment...those moments are the lottery of parenthood.
Jon: Hannah what's the matter?
Me: Why are you crying? Are you hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*
Me: Hannah...speak up...what happened?
Hannah: (quivering lip) *sniff...sniff*
Jon: Hannah Michel...you have until the count of 5 to tell me what is going on. 1....2....3....
Hannah: (bawling)....*sniff*....I....was....playing....and, umm...and I thought I'd be....ummm...I...*sniff*....I thought it would....*crying*....*sniff*...umm...I thought it would be fun....to umm...(becoming quieter)...fun to be a....(barely audible)...fun to be a dog....
Me: Huh...you thought it would be fun to be a what? Babe...we can't hear you? (I clearly had heard her, but I wanted to make completely sure I heard her)
Hannah: *sniff*...I thought it would be fun to be a dog....
Jon: Uh...huh. And how does that factor into the crying??
Me: Did you get hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*...ummm...*sniff*....not exactly
Me: Okay then what "exactly" is the problem?
Hannah: *sniff*....I RIPPED MY PANTS....(complete hysterical bawling)
Jon: You ripped your new pants?
Hannah: Yyyyyeeeessssssssssss....*sniff*
Me: (completely incredulous that this is in fact the truth) How? How did you rip your pants? Show me.
Hannah: Well...I had her (pointing the unsupecting and very uncomfortable looking friend) hook the lead for the dogs to my belt loop.....and then I ran around in a circle...playing like a dog....*sniff*.....and my pants....well...they ripped.
Jon & Me: (stiffling laughter) (unable to stiffle laughter) (about to choke as we realize we can NO longer stiffle laughter do the only thing we can possibly do which is turn our backs on our crying child in the door)
Me: (from over my shoulder) Have a seat on the porch Hannah and your dad and I will be out in a moment to deal with this.
We shut the front door. High tail it back to our bedroom. Lock ourselves in the bathroom and bust out laughing for a good 10 minutes.
We made her wear those pants until they were highwaters. Every....single....time she came out in them we had to fight not to pee ourselves laughing at the day she decided to play dog.
These are just a few of the moments in my 10 years raising my sweet baby girl. I'm sure there will be many more. I record them to use as blackmail later.
As Jon and I watched her blow out the candles on her cookie cake covered in too much make-up from the make overs they were performing on one another for the sleepover we realized that all those moments have led us to this one. All the tears, fears, laughter, joy, pride, guilt, sleeplessness and so many more have culminated in this one little girl.
Motherhood...hell parenthood is one hell of a ride. The admission isn't free. The side effects are permanent and the pay is...well, it sucks. But the moments of shear madness that lead to some of the bar none, hands down most amazing memories you will ever create while sober are worth the journey. If you haven't jumped on this train I highly recommend it. Plus, it's kind of like a pyramid scheme...the more of you that I get to do it, the better the prizes for me. Get to it people...make babies. Make memories. Make me not be the only crazy lady.
~JP
Even with all that I've had some of my best moments being their mom. I've also had some of my most embarrassing ones as well.
Those are the stories that Jon loves me to focus on. He's sadistic that way.
When Hannah was approximately 3 to maybe 3 1/2 months old I had breastfed her on the couch while watching television. It's was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and we were busy just passing the day by being completely in love with every sound and face that she was making. It's these moments...these memories that make you want to have more children. What happened next is what makes you think twice about motherhood and possibly how easy it may actually be to mame your spouse.
Jon: Wow she's a little piggy.
Me: I know. I think this is the most she has eaten in a while. She usually just snacks.
Jon: I think I'd snack if I was down there too. It'd give me more reasons to snuggle up to your boobs.
Me: You'd have to get in line behind your infant daughter.
Jon: Why ya gotta be so mean?
Me: Why do YOU have to be such a pig? I'm busy feeding your daughter and your making sexual inuendo's.
Jon: I'm just saying...I support breastfeeding.
Me: You're just saying that because you want me to breastfeed you.
Hannah begins to make gurgly faces as I am burping her. It kind of looks like she's rolling her eyes at Jon's lame attempts to dig himself out of this hole but that's just my interpretation of the memory.
Finally she lets out a huge burp and follows it with a toot and then seems completely content to just sit there and check out the world.
Me: (singing to Hannah while blowing bubbles on her tummy) I love you...mommy loves you. Who loves you...mommy loves you.
Clearly she is digging this.
Me: (beginning to wiggle her arms and legs in a vague dancing motion)
Jon: You probably shouldn't do that she just ate.
Me: I am not doing anything. I am just moving her about. My god she is barely moving.
Jon: I don't think you should do that. You always yell at me NOT to do that. You say she'll puke.
Me: (clearly he doesn't understand that him doing what I say and me doing what I say are two totally different things) *rolling my eyes* Okay.
Jon walks out of the room and the coast is clear to go back to the dancing. I proceed to move Hannah about. She's going from slightly subdued moves to busting out her show stoppers. I decide to end with a little airplane and a kiss....
BIG FUCKING MISTAKE
Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay...
Jon: (no response...)
I can somewhat hear Jon moving around in the kitchen
Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay BAY.....
Jon: Are you calling me? You know that I can't hear you...speak up.
Me: (trying desperately NOT to swallow what has been launched into my mouth by my once beloved infant daughter) bay bay...BAYYYYYY...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo....
Jon: (sounding more than a little aggrivated) WHAT??
Me: (really trying not to puke while trying NOT to swallow what is being swished around in my mouth with every attempt to speak) I sa...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo......
Jon (choirs of angels come down from heaven and sing as my husband in all his fucking brilliant retardedness who can't hear me scream from another room has now deciphered the god damn Da Vinci Code of "baby vomit speak") I'm sorry...did you just say that you need a towel because the baby puked in your mouth? (laughter)
Me: BAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY......a men a...hu up n ga m a tow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jon: (attempting NOT to piss himself, because clearly that could be used against him in this completely embarrassing moment of me choking back a mouthful of my own regurgiatated breastmilk) Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ok, ok....oh my god....oh my god...my sides hurt....ok, ok...here...give me the baby...here....oh my god...oh this is too funny...oh my god...here's the towel...
Stuff like that...10 years later...still funny.
I remember a time years later when Hannah was 3 years old and she learned how to use air quotes.
Correctly.
Neither of us know how she learned this. It definitely wasn't something that we had done. We aren't big air quote people...I mean really, who is??
I was coming up on a jaw surgery to treat chronic migraines, worsened by TMJ, which had completely debilitated me. Poor Hannah had gotten very used to sitting in semi quiet, semi dim rooms with mommy by this time. We had her in Mother's Day out programs so she wasn't a complete shut in, but there were still those few hours between when the program ended and Jon came home.
She was perched on the end of our bed watching Disney Channel. I, as usual, had my head wrapped in a towel to shield my eyes from light and an ice pack on top for good measure. I heard her crawling to the top of the bed towards my head so I peeled back my shroud.
Hannah: Momma?
Me: Yeah babe.
Hannah: Momma...when dinner is?
Me: (slighty out of it...trying to angle head to see the clock) Ummm. Soon babe...daddy will be home with it in just a little bit. Okay?
Hannah: Tay. Cause we need dinner is. It's "night time".
Me: (slightly baffled by the air quotes, I decide to press the matter) Hannah what do you mean by "night time" (repeating the same air quotes)
Hannah: (cocking her head to the side and squinching her eyese at me as if I am possibly the silliest person she has met in ALL her 3 years of life) Momma..."night time" is when it "dark outside"! (she then puts her hands in fist down on her sides as if this gesture combined with the double air quotes will of course drive her point right on home)
Very true Hannah dear. Very true indeed. Thankfully she did a repeat performance for Jon when he got home and we both had a good laugh at how sassy she was.
Life with girls is NOT all frills, bows and pink sparkliness. Nope...life raising Hannah so far has been a manic mixture of Sporty Spice, Power Puff Girls and Disney Channel girls that are clearly 20 playing 10 year olds who my daughter wants more than anything to mimic.
Welcome to my hell. The water is warm...jump on in.
Hannah can be rough and tumble like the time we had gone shopping for new jeans. She had picked out 4 that she absolutely loved and "mom I will never ask for another thing if you only buy me THESE pants". Oh lord...go sell your lies somewhere else sweetheart...my grandmother didn't buy those lies with my mother, my mother didn't buy those lies with me and HELLO I'm not buying them from you or your sister.
Not more than 48 hours later Hannah is on our front lawn with one of her friends playing. Another few minutes after that she is at the door crying and the friend is trying not to laugh. Clearly something embarrassing has befallen our daughter. Days like this make parenting so magical. Days like this make all the moments they make you feel like a jackleg by standing in the middle of Wal-mart screaming "you're not my mommy...I wan't my mommy" because you have denied them the Pokemon card, Power Puff Girl, Barbie, Coloring book, speck of dust...whatever...and now they are going to make you pay with public humiliation and maybe, just maybe a few dicey moments in the back of a police car explaining exactly why it is the little girl is so insistent her "real" mother lives in Pennsylvania and raises horses. Yes...your childs embarrassment at the fact that they and not you has done something to bring said embarassment...those moments are the lottery of parenthood.
Jon: Hannah what's the matter?
Me: Why are you crying? Are you hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*
Me: Hannah...speak up...what happened?
Hannah: (quivering lip) *sniff...sniff*
Jon: Hannah Michel...you have until the count of 5 to tell me what is going on. 1....2....3....
Hannah: (bawling)....*sniff*....I....was....playing....and, umm...and I thought I'd be....ummm...I...*sniff*....I thought it would....*crying*....*sniff*...umm...I thought it would be fun....to umm...(becoming quieter)...fun to be a....(barely audible)...fun to be a dog....
Me: Huh...you thought it would be fun to be a what? Babe...we can't hear you? (I clearly had heard her, but I wanted to make completely sure I heard her)
Hannah: *sniff*...I thought it would be fun to be a dog....
Jon: Uh...huh. And how does that factor into the crying??
Me: Did you get hurt?
Hannah: *sniff*...ummm...*sniff*....not exactly
Me: Okay then what "exactly" is the problem?
Hannah: *sniff*....I RIPPED MY PANTS....(complete hysterical bawling)
Jon: You ripped your new pants?
Hannah: Yyyyyeeeessssssssssss....*sniff*
Me: (completely incredulous that this is in fact the truth) How? How did you rip your pants? Show me.
Hannah: Well...I had her (pointing the unsupecting and very uncomfortable looking friend) hook the lead for the dogs to my belt loop.....and then I ran around in a circle...playing like a dog....*sniff*.....and my pants....well...they ripped.
Jon & Me: (stiffling laughter) (unable to stiffle laughter) (about to choke as we realize we can NO longer stiffle laughter do the only thing we can possibly do which is turn our backs on our crying child in the door)
Me: (from over my shoulder) Have a seat on the porch Hannah and your dad and I will be out in a moment to deal with this.
We shut the front door. High tail it back to our bedroom. Lock ourselves in the bathroom and bust out laughing for a good 10 minutes.
We made her wear those pants until they were highwaters. Every....single....time she came out in them we had to fight not to pee ourselves laughing at the day she decided to play dog.
These are just a few of the moments in my 10 years raising my sweet baby girl. I'm sure there will be many more. I record them to use as blackmail later.
As Jon and I watched her blow out the candles on her cookie cake covered in too much make-up from the make overs they were performing on one another for the sleepover we realized that all those moments have led us to this one. All the tears, fears, laughter, joy, pride, guilt, sleeplessness and so many more have culminated in this one little girl.
Motherhood...hell parenthood is one hell of a ride. The admission isn't free. The side effects are permanent and the pay is...well, it sucks. But the moments of shear madness that lead to some of the bar none, hands down most amazing memories you will ever create while sober are worth the journey. If you haven't jumped on this train I highly recommend it. Plus, it's kind of like a pyramid scheme...the more of you that I get to do it, the better the prizes for me. Get to it people...make babies. Make memories. Make me not be the only crazy lady.
~JP
Saturday, September 26, 2009
And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 6
Part 6: I'm all for jokes...but really, is this the time??
Once I was firmly situated on the operating table I began to feel really, really...REALLY nervous. I know it sounds like a moment of brilliant retardedness but at that exact moment it all seemed real. It was like the past 40 weeks didn't even happen. Like I had just showed up at the hospital and they announced, "hey you look like a nice woman who'd enjoy a new baby...come on back and we'll cut one out of your belly".
When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.
When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.
The anesthesiologist began to push the meds and they made sure I was good and numb. I was elated because when I'd had Olivia I had an epic failure of an epidural. They didn't insert the catheter properly and when they went to push the meds I could feel them leaking down my back. Unfortunately, the monitors began to signal that Olivia was in fetal heart distress and she needed to be out. NOW. So they couldn't take the time to try and reinsert the epidural and I had to be put completely under. I was the absolute last person to greet the arrival of my daughter. I didn't want the same thing to happen with my the delivery of my son.
Once the drugs began to take affect I began professing my love to the anesthesiologist...the nurses...some dude that was bringing in gloves. They figured that was a perfect time to bring in my husband.
They laid out the rules of how he was NOT to touch the sterile curtain that shielded him from a full view of the surgery that was about to reveal the baby. I secretly wished them luck with that endeavor because I'd been telling him not to touch stuff in doctor and hospital settings through this whole pregnancy and HE WOULD NEVER LISTEN TO ME. You have no idea how scary it is to watch your husband screw with a piece of equipment that probably cost as much if not more than a years salary.
They provided a stool and he took it...just in case. I was worried that he would pass out. He didn't do very well with blood. Or surgery. Or gore in general. But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.
They provided a stool and he took it...just in case. I was worried that he would pass out. He didn't do very well with blood. Or surgery. Or gore in general. But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.
Then the doctor came in. He explained that I'd feel some tugging and pressure but if I began to feel pain that I should just let the anesthesiologist know and she'd fix me right up. I felt like saying, "dude...you do your job and don't you worry bout me and Sarah (that was the first name of the anesthesiologist) will be JUST FINE over here".
He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes. For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no. Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"
He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes. For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no. Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"
Jon asked how long it would take before the baby was out. The doctor explained that since their was no distress he could have the baby out in about 3-4 minutes. I was amazed. Made me ask how fast they could have a baby out in times of distress and was floored when he said less than a minute if need be. Holy crap. He said that getting the baby out was the easy part. Putting everything back in was the long part. Hmmmm...could have gone without the last part of info.
And so it began...
Jon says that he remembers seeing smoke from the laser. I don't have any memory of it. All I remember is feeling tugs and the anesthesiologist asking "are you okay"..."are you hurting"...the haze of her pushing more meds because apparently I said yes and then the sound of crying started.
Next came the voice of the doctor..."congratulations....IT'S....A.....GIRL!"
WHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT?????
I turned to Jon willing him to verify that the doctor was in fact the King of Bad Jokes!
Jon looked down at me with misty eyes...."babe....it's a girl"!
I think I actually uttered the words, "stop joking...that's not funny" before finally looking up and seeing that in fact I was the proud momma of a beautiful baby girl.
Garren Jesse....was in fact a beautiful...perfect...10 fingers, 10 toed...little Hannah Michel!
I kissed Jon and told him to please follow the baby to the nursery. I didn't want her out of our sight and since I obviously wasn't going anywhere...that left him on baby watch.
I got some more magical pain meds and the doctor continued with bad jokes saying first, "let me just make sure there aren't any more babies in there" and then asking "sure you don't want me to tie up any loose ends while I am down here". To the last one I actually said yes...but he said, "no".
Next moment I can remember is waking up in the recovery room with my nurse checking my vitals. I asked if I could see my daughter. I then asked if it was in fact a daughter that I'd had and not just a dream. She confirmed that it was in fact a girl and that I could see her once I was back in my room.
A few minutes later Jon strolled in all proud papa like. Feeling drunk with the love of his first born or maybe just drunk he decided to be a jokester.
Me: Hey...hey...is she okay.
Jon: She's beautiful. And don't worry about the whole boy thing...doc says we can try again in like 8 weeks!
Thankfully...for him I was numb from the chest down so I couldn't physically get out of the bed and kick his ass. However, my recovery nurse who was 3 months pregnant herself actually told Jon to, "go ahead and start running now...I'll give you a head start".
He left to go back to Hannah's side and I waited, albeit impatiently, for the moment when I could finally be properly introduced to my baby girl.
A few hours later I was rolled back to my room and in came the little lady of the day.
She was beautiful. Absolutely captivating. I was in love. Everything that had taken place to get to this day just faded away. I had my husband and two beautiful daughters...life, in this moment was perfection.
When we began making phone calls to announce our new baby we had a lot of "are you shitting me" and "no...come on...stop joking" to deal with. Even my mom was blown away by the fact that we had absolutely NOTHING for a baby girl and rushed to buy something pink and frilly to bring home our newest family member home in.
Three days later we were heading home with our newly nicknamed Hannah "Banana" Michel Pettus. I know...super original, right? Well shortly after birth we noticed that she had jaundice so until we could do the sunlight treatments like the doctor prescribed we'd have a little Banana to love on.
I made Jon stop at the store because apparently my craziness hadn't stopped with delivery and I was intent on buying as much pink stuff for my new daughter as a woman who has just given birth can manage to get her hands on. Once we got home this pretty little girl would be inundated in mass amounts of blue and Paddington Bear. I needed something to break up the masculine undertones until I could feminine it up!!
Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home. She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital. First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"
Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....
~JP
Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home. She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital. First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"
Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....
~JP
Monday, September 21, 2009
And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 2
Part 2: You wanna try growing a human and then call me back?
I was at about 4 weeks post op from my appendectomy which made me approximately 6 1/2 weeks pregnant and it was time to go back to work. I had only been at my job for less than 1 month when I had to have emergency surgery and I was completely freaked about having to return to my position and announce to my boss that I was pregnant. Another reason that I didn't want to announce it right off the bat is we had cause for concern with the fact that surgery had been done while I was so early on in the pregnancy and I had a fear that a miscarriage might occur.
After much consideration Jon and I decided that it would be best to be honest with my boss. The day that I returned back to work I asked to speak to her in her office. First words out of her mouth sucked my breath out of my body.
Boss: You're gonna tell me your pregnant aren't you?
Me: Ummmm...haha (nervous laughter)...
Boss: Go ahead just tell me.
Me: How do you know?
Boss: Just a guess. I've already had one other person come in today and tell me she is pregnant.
Me: Ummm...okay...is it that obvious?
Boss: No. Not at all. Just figured it was pregnancy.
Me: Oh thank god...I thought I was looking pretty good.
Now that the news was out there...to my boss at least. I breathed a bit easier. Next it was time to break it to the family. We decided to tell Olivia first. At 4 1/2 her care was all about space. She just wanted to know if she would need to share her room.
This brought up a good point. We would need a bigger place. While our townhouse worked for the 3 of us, the 2 bedroom 1 1/2 bath with barely 950 sq feet was a tight fit for an extra body. Not to mention my expanding belly and the difficulty in navigating the many, many stairs. Our townhouse started on the second floor which meant our bedrooms were on the third floor. Our search for a new place began immediately.
The lease on the town home was up in two months and we were not going to renew so the hunt began. A few days after breaking the news to my boss we decided it was time to let our parents know. Jon's mom took it all in stride. She is not one for dramatics. Thank god, because I've got that shit covered with my family.
I tried to just call my parents to invite them to dinner so we could make a joint announcement. That was a failure. Apparently my mom can sense pregnancy a mile away. I wasn't but two words into asking her out to dinner and she was like, "are you pregnant". What the shit Martha?? Damn.
Now that family was notified we held off on any other announcing until we had another ultrasound. There was still worry about how this little one was doing seeing as he/she has spent a good 3 days jacked up on meds.
At 8 weeks we went in for another ultrasound. This was the first time Jon had to deal with the wrath of my hormones in connection to having my urge to pee being restricted. I was a raging bitch. I can't go more than a couple hours at best without peeing. Factor in having to drink your weight in water and then hold it...and I was a force to be reckoned with.
Jon tried to be funny. I shut that shit down real quick. He would say, "oh it's not that bad" or "it will be over before you know it"...I was like really, REALLY...umm, hello growing a human here...this shit doesn't happen over night. It takes like 10 months and I will lose my body, my mind and my boobs will become vessels of milk and NOT pleasure! Lets not even discuss the size that my ass will become. Did I mention hemrhoids?? Oh yeah...real sexy. How's that for NOT SO BAD or IT WILL BE OVER BEFORE YOU KNOW IT?!? Why don't you try all that on for size then have to sit with your bladder full of a million gallons of water so that we can catch a glimpse of the life swimming within and then call me back jackleg!
Jon tried to be funny. I shut that shit down real quick. He would say, "oh it's not that bad" or "it will be over before you know it"...I was like really, REALLY...umm, hello growing a human here...this shit doesn't happen over night. It takes like 10 months and I will lose my body, my mind and my boobs will become vessels of milk and NOT pleasure! Lets not even discuss the size that my ass will become. Did I mention hemrhoids?? Oh yeah...real sexy. How's that for NOT SO BAD or IT WILL BE OVER BEFORE YOU KNOW IT?!? Why don't you try all that on for size then have to sit with your bladder full of a million gallons of water so that we can catch a glimpse of the life swimming within and then call me back jackleg!
The ultrasound tech was all tiny and sweet. I wanted to break her neck. She told me that I could go and "release some fluid from your bladder". I tried to explain to her that when I break this seal there will be NO stopping so she should just do her thing. The quicker she gets it done the quicker I can pee and thus end the hormonal rage of water torture.
I wanted to break Jon's neck too just for guilt by association because when she said that he was all like "yeah, just let a little out and you'll feel much better". I was almost positive that Little Miss Suzy Ultrasound had NEVER had a baby or an ultrasound because she CLEARLY HAD NO FUCKIN CLUE!
I wanted to break Jon's neck too just for guilt by association because when she said that he was all like "yeah, just let a little out and you'll feel much better". I was almost positive that Little Miss Suzy Ultrasound had NEVER had a baby or an ultrasound because she CLEARLY HAD NO FUCKIN CLUE!
Once we were in the room and I was on the table with gel on belly and lights dimmed I became calm as the sounds of the heartbeat filled the room. I looked over at Jon and it was like we were frozen in this stare of complete and utter perfection. My water tortured bladder was rewarded with a picture of what we deemed our "little bean". Too early to see the sex what we had was a little fluttering bean.
We found a new place that had 3 bedrooms and the move commenced. Since I was "with child" I was spared from the heavy lifting but my mouth handed out twice the orders. Once we were settled in it seemed as though things were just falling into place. Feeling confident and with ultrasound pic in hand we began spreading the exciting news of our expanding family. We figured we better since people were either gonna think I had REALLY let myself go or that I was indeed trying to hide a pregnancy. Most people didn't seem shocked...maybe we waited too long.
Work was going well and it was the perfect place to be while pregnant. I was a birth registrar so I got to be around babies and baby names all day long. This made me realize one thing. People have anywhere from 35 to 40 weeks (if you don't count the preterm laborers) and they still can't figure out a name for their kids.
Day after day I was perplexed by the excuses I would get from people about their lack of namesake for the kid they just brought into the world. Of course their were the ones that had to wait for an elder from their family in Russia to call after consulting some tea leaves or smoke from a cigar to advise them of what they should name the little babushka. There was the woman who already had 5 kids and this was #6...I cut that one slack cause seriously...after 6, I would need to think about a name for a bit longer too.
When they were prepared I was handed everything from Aniken (Star Wars was HUGE) to Koda which was what the lady that popped out baby #6 named him. She said it meant "last born". I wanted to ask her if she was having a tubal in order to guarantee that he would remain true to his namesake. I decided against it and about shit myself when hand to God she walked back into the Labor & Delivery ward 13 months later with all 6 in tow asking to see a nurse. Turns out she was just friends with the woman and there to bring her lunch, but still I was like...holy shit lady...get a hobby!
One of my favorite naming moments was a phone call I got from a patient. When there were strenuous birthing conditions it was customary to do the Q&A portion of the birth certificate over the phone and then bring the copy to the parents to revise and sign. This was not how I liked to conduct the process because 9 times out of 10 I would get something wrong because trying to understand a woman after she has labored for ANY amount of time and then is forced to talk on the phone does not a good combo make.
*ring - ring - ring*
Me: Birth Registrars office this is Jessica how may I help you?
New mom: Did you say birth registered office?
Me: (inaudible sigh) Yes. How may I help you?
New mom: Yes I need to name my son.
Me: Okay...(goes through the general Q&A and verification of birth facts)...does all that sound correct?
New mom: mmmm....hmmmm
Me: Okay and the baby's first name.
New mom: (mumbling)....ake
Me: I'm sorry did you say Blake.
New mom: No...I said (mumbling)...ake.
Me: I'm sorry I still didn't catch that.
New mom: I said....(speaking up but still mumbling)....ake
Me: Okay...I think you said Blake. B-L-A-K-E.
New mom: No...it's Lake. L-A-K-E.
Me: Uh...huh...okay Lake.
New mom: Yes.
Me: Middle name??
New mom: George.
Me: Okay I have George. G-E-O-R-G-E.
New mom: yes
Me: Last name?
New mom: Fisher.
Me: (trying NOT to say...are you fucking kidding me) Okay so it's Lake George Fisher?
New mom: Yes.
Me: Okay I'll be down for you to sign and make any changes.
I wanted to say I will take my time so you can think this one over and possibly contemplate all the ways your kid is gonna get his ass kicked on the playground for being named Lake Fisher. Seriously...you are not a superstar. This kid will not be playing with other kids with fucked up names like Apple, Banjo and Moxi Crimefighter. You really need to think long and hard about this one.
I didn't say what was screaming out in my mind. All I could do was smile as she signed the record. I tossed a quick look at the baby as I made my way out of the room and quietly wished him luck in the great wide and cruel world.
I'd like to say that this was the only time that bad names happened but it wasn't. Sadly this stuff happened on a weekly if not daily basis. Outside of being exposed to all the names that are swirling out there to pick from I had the pleasure of being surrounded by some top notch nurses and doctors. They were constantly popping heads into my cubicle to check on me. I also worked closely with a staff social worker. We became friends and she was a mother hen to me. She would pop in to check how I was in the morning and then come back by around lunch time to make sure I had eaten.
One day right at about 28 1/2 weeks I was making my way from a patients room and she was following behind me. I kept pausing every few steps, placing my hand on the wall and swaying. Before I knew it she was right beside me. She asked if I was doing okay. I waved her off with a hand saying, rather breathlessly, that I was fine. In truth I felt like poo but I didn't want to be fawned over. After politely arguing that I was indeed fine I tried to make a dash for my office but only managed a slow meander that was punctuated by painful cramps. I wasn't even completely settled back into my office before there were two nurses at my doorway. I asked if there was a record to do because my pager hadn't gone off. The nurses said that there wasn't a record but that the social worker, Tracy, had brought it to their attention that I may be contracting.
I thought they were being ridiculous and I was more than willing to argue that point if they would just wait until this excruciating pain in my abdomen subsided. They agreed that they would LOVE to hear that argument AFTER they had me strapped to a fetal heart monitor, another monitor for contractions and having the doctor check me.
I relented after two more cramps had me almost in tears. I wasn't going to be delivering at this hospital because as much as I liked these people I didn't want all my junk on display and then have to come back and work with them on a daily basis. So while I knew the docs on shift it wasn't as a patient. Within 10 minutes of being on a monitor the doctor calmly suggested that we contact my husband. Then he suggested that we contact the hospital that I would be delivering at since the NICU at the present hospital was not set up to handle a pre-term birth at this gestational age.
I went into sheer panic mode. NO ONE HAD SAID ANYTHING ABOUT DELIVERING!! Apparently it doesn't matter what you want to do...the baby has an idea that is all their own. I was contracting and dilating. Not a good combination at this early stage. They suggested an ambulance to transport me but Jon was there within minutes and the hospital was already aware I was on my way, so with the doctors consent to "go directly there...do NOT stop for any reason" we went directly to the hospital I would be delivering at.
I was crying. Jon looked like a tie between terrified and the verge of vomitting. I was afraid to call anyone whether it be family or friends because I had no idea what to expect. We had just celebrated our 1yr anniversary and now we were rushing to the hospital all movie of the week style. This was NOT part of my birth plan. Fuck we didn't even have a birth plan. We hadn't even done lamaze yet. The nursery was only partly started.
I was mentally calculating all the births that I had recorded where the baby was born at this gestational age. There were 7. I tried hard to remember what the outcome had been...I couldn't focus. Jon was saying something about how it was going to be okay...everything was going to be okay. I wanted to throw up. I was feeling angry at the fact that my body seemed to be failing me at the most important time ever. Attack of the broke down lady parts strikes again!
We pulled up to the hospital and after waiting out another contraction we made our way up to the Labor & Delivery floor.
I didn't even have to wait...I was whisked to a room and placed on what felt like a million monitors. The room filled with the sound of the baby's heart and all I could think was, "God...don't let this be the last time I hear this"...
~JP
One day right at about 28 1/2 weeks I was making my way from a patients room and she was following behind me. I kept pausing every few steps, placing my hand on the wall and swaying. Before I knew it she was right beside me. She asked if I was doing okay. I waved her off with a hand saying, rather breathlessly, that I was fine. In truth I felt like poo but I didn't want to be fawned over. After politely arguing that I was indeed fine I tried to make a dash for my office but only managed a slow meander that was punctuated by painful cramps. I wasn't even completely settled back into my office before there were two nurses at my doorway. I asked if there was a record to do because my pager hadn't gone off. The nurses said that there wasn't a record but that the social worker, Tracy, had brought it to their attention that I may be contracting.
I thought they were being ridiculous and I was more than willing to argue that point if they would just wait until this excruciating pain in my abdomen subsided. They agreed that they would LOVE to hear that argument AFTER they had me strapped to a fetal heart monitor, another monitor for contractions and having the doctor check me.
I relented after two more cramps had me almost in tears. I wasn't going to be delivering at this hospital because as much as I liked these people I didn't want all my junk on display and then have to come back and work with them on a daily basis. So while I knew the docs on shift it wasn't as a patient. Within 10 minutes of being on a monitor the doctor calmly suggested that we contact my husband. Then he suggested that we contact the hospital that I would be delivering at since the NICU at the present hospital was not set up to handle a pre-term birth at this gestational age.
I went into sheer panic mode. NO ONE HAD SAID ANYTHING ABOUT DELIVERING!! Apparently it doesn't matter what you want to do...the baby has an idea that is all their own. I was contracting and dilating. Not a good combination at this early stage. They suggested an ambulance to transport me but Jon was there within minutes and the hospital was already aware I was on my way, so with the doctors consent to "go directly there...do NOT stop for any reason" we went directly to the hospital I would be delivering at.
I was crying. Jon looked like a tie between terrified and the verge of vomitting. I was afraid to call anyone whether it be family or friends because I had no idea what to expect. We had just celebrated our 1yr anniversary and now we were rushing to the hospital all movie of the week style. This was NOT part of my birth plan. Fuck we didn't even have a birth plan. We hadn't even done lamaze yet. The nursery was only partly started.
I was mentally calculating all the births that I had recorded where the baby was born at this gestational age. There were 7. I tried hard to remember what the outcome had been...I couldn't focus. Jon was saying something about how it was going to be okay...everything was going to be okay. I wanted to throw up. I was feeling angry at the fact that my body seemed to be failing me at the most important time ever. Attack of the broke down lady parts strikes again!
We pulled up to the hospital and after waiting out another contraction we made our way up to the Labor & Delivery floor.
I didn't even have to wait...I was whisked to a room and placed on what felt like a million monitors. The room filled with the sound of the baby's heart and all I could think was, "God...don't let this be the last time I hear this"...
~JP
Friday, September 18, 2009
For once I was speechless....
Every one dreams of rasing well adjusted, strong minded and happy children. Jon and I just hope we can get both the girls safely into their adult years without having to be commited. We keep our expectations low.
It amazes us when the girls will react in much more mature way then say we would have had we been in the situation. I know this is the part where I am supposed to add that I mean in the sense of how we would have acted when we were were that age. Ummm...yeah, that would be a bald faced lie. I don't exactly know how we accomplished raising these two girls but when I do figure it out I am writing it down, publishing it, selling it, putting the word "Dr." in front of my name, having a meeting with Oprah and giving that big southern drawl of a man Phil a run for his money.
Monday night I had made dinner and we all sat down as a family. At the dinner table. It's amazing that you can have a whole meal there when it isn't buried by laundry. Completely fascinating find.
Within moments of sitting down and beginning to eat the standard litany of questions began, "how's your day", "what did you learn today", "do you need any help with homework", "anything exciting going on", "anything planned for the upcoming week that we need to know about"...etc.
Both Jon and I were prepared for the ho hum answers of "nope", "nothing", "stuff" and blank stares that come at our childrens bewildermint that all meals aren't consumed at the coffee table in front of the precious flat screen. But tonight was bound to be anything but ordinary. I don't know if Olivia was inspired by the fact that I had made her favorite fettuccini alfredo or if she was fed up with a situation at school....
Me: So how was your day?
Hannah: It was okay.
Jon: That's it Han...just oka??
Hannah: (nods her head and takes a bite of pasta)
Me: What about you Liv? How was your day??
Olivia: Crap.
Me: Okay. Why was it crap?
Olivia: Because of the whorefaces.
Jon: (trying desperately not to spit out or choke on the water he has just drank)
Hannah: (aww struck...drops fork)
Me: (trying to hide shock) Uh. Huh. Well...would you like to elaborate on that?
Okay seriously...let's take a pause here...what the hell would you have said?? Part of me wanted to admonish her for the word but the other part of me was damn curious at what could possibly drive her to use this phrase.
Olivia: Ugh. I just hate girls that are all like...ya know...talking stupid, putting "a" on the end of EVERY word, hanging on guys...especially one that I am dating and they are just putting their "no no squares" out there.
Jon: (really choking now)
Hannah: (completely dumbfounded but still absentmindedly eating)
Me: (having spit out my own drink and now wiping it up) Ummm...okay...I was kinda following at whorefaces and the long "a" thing...but ya totally lost me at...what is it that you said last??
Olivia: (laughing) "no no squares"...you've NEVER heard that??
Jon & Me: (nodding no in unision and looking at Hannah to see if possibly our 9 1/2 yr old is more in tune with the language of the moment)
Me: (internal sigh at the fact that Hannah seems oblivious and is now consumed with making sure she gets equal pieces of garlic bread) Would you care to elaborate Liv?
Olivia: Well there are these girls that I see around school and they are all flaunting themselves pushing out their "no no squares" (motioning towards her chest) and being all...well...just all whoreface.
Me: Ummm...okay. Well do you...ummm, uh...put out your "no no squares"? (gesturing meekly at my chest)
Jon: (begins to die a slow painful death at the amount of estrogen flowing around the table...still speechless)
Olivia: Mom...it's not just your boobs....you have two "no no squares". Ya know like...(begins singing) "no no don't touch me there..these are my no no squares" (gesturing towards her private areas).
Me: (beginning to feel mixed joy at her awareness and illness at the fact that husband has now been subjected to this...slightly aware that 9 1/2 yr old is still at table) Hannah...I am sorry that you had to hear all of this.
Hannah: Don't worry, I don't even have any "no no squares".
Laughter erupts at the table and Jon is on the verge of tears from sheer hysteria.
Me: Oh god. (realization has set in that I may need to point this stuff out to her)
Olivia: Hannah...yes you do...
Me: (complete fear sets in at what is about to come out of her mouth but not able to react fast enough)
Olivia: ...your bathing suit covers them. Hello?? You learned this in school.
Me: (huge sigh of relief only last a second as extreme fear that Olivia will begin teaching Hannah the song and Jon will spontaneously combust at the table) Okay. Okay girls. I think we have to give your dad a break.
Olivia: Well don't you even want to know why these girls that are all pushing out their boobs and vaginas out at people...mostly guys...and talking like idiots...don't you want to know why they are aggrivating me??
Jon & Me: (completely aware that the house has become painfully silent and that there is no possibility that Hannah didn't hear that whole comment...we stare at one another as to how we should proceed)
Me: (I find my voice first) Ok...well, hmm...(trying to think when I EVER said the word vagina in front of my mom let alone my dad and coming up blank...nope 32 yrs and NEVER SAID THAT WORD) yeah...ok...part of me wants to know what happened but part of me thinks this conversation should take place when your sister isn't around. (gesturing with my head to Hannah)
Olivia: What? What did I say?
Hannah: Mom it's fine...I've heard that word before.
Immediately I am wishing I had wine. For some reason I feel like this situation can only be softened with some kind of alcohol. Jon looks as though he is one breath away from death and I...for once...am completely speechless.
Those hopes of showing up Dr. Phil have been killed by one dinner time conversation. It was so close...and yet so far away.
~JP
It amazes us when the girls will react in much more mature way then say we would have had we been in the situation. I know this is the part where I am supposed to add that I mean in the sense of how we would have acted when we were were that age. Ummm...yeah, that would be a bald faced lie. I don't exactly know how we accomplished raising these two girls but when I do figure it out I am writing it down, publishing it, selling it, putting the word "Dr." in front of my name, having a meeting with Oprah and giving that big southern drawl of a man Phil a run for his money.
Monday night I had made dinner and we all sat down as a family. At the dinner table. It's amazing that you can have a whole meal there when it isn't buried by laundry. Completely fascinating find.
Within moments of sitting down and beginning to eat the standard litany of questions began, "how's your day", "what did you learn today", "do you need any help with homework", "anything exciting going on", "anything planned for the upcoming week that we need to know about"...etc.
Both Jon and I were prepared for the ho hum answers of "nope", "nothing", "stuff" and blank stares that come at our childrens bewildermint that all meals aren't consumed at the coffee table in front of the precious flat screen. But tonight was bound to be anything but ordinary. I don't know if Olivia was inspired by the fact that I had made her favorite fettuccini alfredo or if she was fed up with a situation at school....
Me: So how was your day?
Hannah: It was okay.
Jon: That's it Han...just oka??
Hannah: (nods her head and takes a bite of pasta)
Me: What about you Liv? How was your day??
Olivia: Crap.
Me: Okay. Why was it crap?
Olivia: Because of the whorefaces.
Jon: (trying desperately not to spit out or choke on the water he has just drank)
Hannah: (aww struck...drops fork)
Me: (trying to hide shock) Uh. Huh. Well...would you like to elaborate on that?
Okay seriously...let's take a pause here...what the hell would you have said?? Part of me wanted to admonish her for the word but the other part of me was damn curious at what could possibly drive her to use this phrase.
Olivia: Ugh. I just hate girls that are all like...ya know...talking stupid, putting "a" on the end of EVERY word, hanging on guys...especially one that I am dating and they are just putting their "no no squares" out there.
Jon: (really choking now)
Hannah: (completely dumbfounded but still absentmindedly eating)
Me: (having spit out my own drink and now wiping it up) Ummm...okay...I was kinda following at whorefaces and the long "a" thing...but ya totally lost me at...what is it that you said last??
Olivia: (laughing) "no no squares"...you've NEVER heard that??
Jon & Me: (nodding no in unision and looking at Hannah to see if possibly our 9 1/2 yr old is more in tune with the language of the moment)
Me: (internal sigh at the fact that Hannah seems oblivious and is now consumed with making sure she gets equal pieces of garlic bread) Would you care to elaborate Liv?
Olivia: Well there are these girls that I see around school and they are all flaunting themselves pushing out their "no no squares" (motioning towards her chest) and being all...well...just all whoreface.
Me: Ummm...okay. Well do you...ummm, uh...put out your "no no squares"? (gesturing meekly at my chest)
Jon: (begins to die a slow painful death at the amount of estrogen flowing around the table...still speechless)
Olivia: Mom...it's not just your boobs....you have two "no no squares". Ya know like...(begins singing) "no no don't touch me there..these are my no no squares" (gesturing towards her private areas).
Me: (beginning to feel mixed joy at her awareness and illness at the fact that husband has now been subjected to this...slightly aware that 9 1/2 yr old is still at table) Hannah...I am sorry that you had to hear all of this.
Hannah: Don't worry, I don't even have any "no no squares".
Laughter erupts at the table and Jon is on the verge of tears from sheer hysteria.
Me: Oh god. (realization has set in that I may need to point this stuff out to her)
Olivia: Hannah...yes you do...
Me: (complete fear sets in at what is about to come out of her mouth but not able to react fast enough)
Olivia: ...your bathing suit covers them. Hello?? You learned this in school.
Me: (huge sigh of relief only last a second as extreme fear that Olivia will begin teaching Hannah the song and Jon will spontaneously combust at the table) Okay. Okay girls. I think we have to give your dad a break.
Olivia: Well don't you even want to know why these girls that are all pushing out their boobs and vaginas out at people...mostly guys...and talking like idiots...don't you want to know why they are aggrivating me??
Jon & Me: (completely aware that the house has become painfully silent and that there is no possibility that Hannah didn't hear that whole comment...we stare at one another as to how we should proceed)
Me: (I find my voice first) Ok...well, hmm...(trying to think when I EVER said the word vagina in front of my mom let alone my dad and coming up blank...nope 32 yrs and NEVER SAID THAT WORD) yeah...ok...part of me wants to know what happened but part of me thinks this conversation should take place when your sister isn't around. (gesturing with my head to Hannah)
Olivia: What? What did I say?
Hannah: Mom it's fine...I've heard that word before.
Immediately I am wishing I had wine. For some reason I feel like this situation can only be softened with some kind of alcohol. Jon looks as though he is one breath away from death and I...for once...am completely speechless.
Those hopes of showing up Dr. Phil have been killed by one dinner time conversation. It was so close...and yet so far away.
~JP
Monday, September 14, 2009
They have books for that you know?
When my kids were little...after the tiresome 3's (for some reason we didn't get terrible 2's...I'm thinking years 5 to present have MORE than made up for this) we would read them books that my MIL or my mother (one of the garage queen maven's) had gotten for them that went over manners and the basics of common courtesy. There was one on biting, which I really wish I had gotten round about the breast feeding time. Not because I'm looney enough to think that it would have worked to coax them from chomping on my nipples, but because I would have used it as a shield. Think guillotine...but the baby would maintain her head and I would maintain my nipple. Win, win situation.
Others were on choosing your words, sharing, hitting, kindness...etc.
After watching the MTV VMA's tonight it is clear that Kanye West is in need of those books. The way that this 32 year old man behaved towards a 19 year old Taylor Swift was downright...well...it was fucking rude!
I sat watching with Hannah and the reaction was one of utter disgust. Out of the mouths of babes....
Hannah: Oh. Oh. Oh my god...mom, mom...MOM do you really think Taylor will win??
Me: I...
Hannah: (unwilling to let me finish thought...have no idea where she gets this from) Mom...oh ma gawd...they are about to announce the winner! Oh, oh ma gawd! Do you think she will mom? Do you??
Me: I re.....
TV ~ Taylor Lautner announces: "And the moon man for Best Female video goes to.....Taylor Swift."
Applause...applause...applause...Taylor Swift looking surprised in WAY too red lipstick but still beautiful.....
Hannah: Oh, ma gawd...."why can't you see...you belong to meeeee"(daughter singing and bopping around my bed)....
....Taylor Swift begins voice breaking speech....
Hannah: Oh ma gawd mom, mom I love this....huh...what??
Me: What the hell?? (secretly proud I didn't say fuck)
...Kanye jumps on stage mumbling some shit about Beyonce and how "Single Ladies" was the best video of all time...
Hannah: What is his problem? Why is he being so mean? Mom, mom...MOM it's not his turn...tell him it's NOT HIS TURN?? Is he making her cry??
Me: (trying to calm a very pissed 9yr old) Maybe it's just a skit...maybe she is gonna rip off her dress and reveal some little frock and her and Kanye are gonna break it down country/rap style!
I am not really believing the shit that I am trying to sell. Unfortunately, I had a daquiri earlier and this put me completely off mom guard and I really didn't think that I was gonna have to dig deep for life leasons so I had to act quickly to explain away the douchebaggery that was taking place on my television. I watched as my very caring and passionate child turn into someone who looks as though she is ready to commandeer my Honda, book it to NY and kick some Kanye ass!
Hannah: Mom that doesn't look like part of the show. Mom they wouldn't let her cry if it was part of the show...would they?
Me: (now I am not only pissed at Kanye...I have to add MTV to my shit list because they are allowing my thin skinned baby to be hurt...if anyone is gonna fuck up this kid it's gonna be me...I call dibs damnit) No hun...I don't think it is part of the show. I think he is just a moron.
Hannah: Well he needs to say sorry. You would make me say sorry.
Me: You're right Han...if your sister was uber successful and making me a butt load of money and you got up on stage and pissed on her speech I would make you apologize.
Hannah: Yeah. You would. I wouldn't mean it...but you would make me say sorry.
I decided that it was best to send her to bed after that for fear of what else may come along. I gave her cookies first to soften the lunatic blow that Kanye dealt. After brushed teeth she padded off to bed.
It wasn't until later that we saw that Beyonce stepped up to the classiness plate and gave her moment on the award stage to Taylor Swift to finish her earlier, rudely interrupted, acceptance speech. I'm beginning to think that before Momma Knowles taught her girls to flaunt their Destiny Child goodies and began creating that House of Dereon clothing line which would surely require one to have thick skin, she was a purveyor of the very books we read to our own girls.
It gives me hope that some day...years from now...my kids will befamous well adjusted. They will have gained millions in cold hard cash life lessons from books, people and situations. I take comfort that for tonight...in this moment at least one of them has deciphered right from wrong.
Yes, it took a television show. Yes, it was about a musician.
But you take your victories where you can get them. And this is one to go down in the victory column.
Of course tomorrow it will all be washed away as one kicks on the door to the bathroom as the other stands behind it screaming, "well...YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU USED MY STUFF". When I attempt to ask what the argument is about I get a unanimous, "NOTHING" or "NEVERMIND". Then the door opens, the sound of a slap echoes down the hallway and it ends with a slammed door.
Time to bust out the damn books again. I think instead of making them read them over again I am just gonna slap them upside the head and hope that the lessons get in there by osmosis...kind of like that bump ap for iPhones. We'll call this the "life ap".
If anyone knows how I can get to Kanye I'd be more than willing to put him on my "life ap list". Think of it like aversion therapy for jacklegs.
You're welcome.
Also...I am willing to add Congressman Joe Wilson (R-SC) to my list. I think he could use some "life ap" time as well! It's not nice to call people...especially the President of the US...a liar!
Just one more way I'm trying to make the world better. Eliminating negativity...one douchebag at a time!
~JP
Others were on choosing your words, sharing, hitting, kindness...etc.
After watching the MTV VMA's tonight it is clear that Kanye West is in need of those books. The way that this 32 year old man behaved towards a 19 year old Taylor Swift was downright...well...it was fucking rude!
I sat watching with Hannah and the reaction was one of utter disgust. Out of the mouths of babes....
Hannah: Oh. Oh. Oh my god...mom, mom...MOM do you really think Taylor will win??
Me: I...
Hannah: (unwilling to let me finish thought...have no idea where she gets this from) Mom...oh ma gawd...they are about to announce the winner! Oh, oh ma gawd! Do you think she will mom? Do you??
Me: I re.....
TV ~ Taylor Lautner announces: "And the moon man for Best Female video goes to.....Taylor Swift."
Applause...applause...applause...Taylor Swift looking surprised in WAY too red lipstick but still beautiful.....
Hannah: Oh, ma gawd...."why can't you see...you belong to meeeee"(daughter singing and bopping around my bed)....
....Taylor Swift begins voice breaking speech....
Hannah: Oh ma gawd mom, mom I love this....huh...what??
Me: What the hell?? (secretly proud I didn't say fuck)
...Kanye jumps on stage mumbling some shit about Beyonce and how "Single Ladies" was the best video of all time...
Hannah: What is his problem? Why is he being so mean? Mom, mom...MOM it's not his turn...tell him it's NOT HIS TURN?? Is he making her cry??
Me: (trying to calm a very pissed 9yr old) Maybe it's just a skit...maybe she is gonna rip off her dress and reveal some little frock and her and Kanye are gonna break it down country/rap style!
I am not really believing the shit that I am trying to sell. Unfortunately, I had a daquiri earlier and this put me completely off mom guard and I really didn't think that I was gonna have to dig deep for life leasons so I had to act quickly to explain away the douchebaggery that was taking place on my television. I watched as my very caring and passionate child turn into someone who looks as though she is ready to commandeer my Honda, book it to NY and kick some Kanye ass!
Hannah: Mom that doesn't look like part of the show. Mom they wouldn't let her cry if it was part of the show...would they?
Me: (now I am not only pissed at Kanye...I have to add MTV to my shit list because they are allowing my thin skinned baby to be hurt...if anyone is gonna fuck up this kid it's gonna be me...I call dibs damnit) No hun...I don't think it is part of the show. I think he is just a moron.
Hannah: Well he needs to say sorry. You would make me say sorry.
Me: You're right Han...if your sister was uber successful and making me a butt load of money and you got up on stage and pissed on her speech I would make you apologize.
Hannah: Yeah. You would. I wouldn't mean it...but you would make me say sorry.
I decided that it was best to send her to bed after that for fear of what else may come along. I gave her cookies first to soften the lunatic blow that Kanye dealt. After brushed teeth she padded off to bed.
It wasn't until later that we saw that Beyonce stepped up to the classiness plate and gave her moment on the award stage to Taylor Swift to finish her earlier, rudely interrupted, acceptance speech. I'm beginning to think that before Momma Knowles taught her girls to flaunt their Destiny Child goodies and began creating that House of Dereon clothing line which would surely require one to have thick skin, she was a purveyor of the very books we read to our own girls.
It gives me hope that some day...years from now...my kids will be
Yes, it took a television show. Yes, it was about a musician.
But you take your victories where you can get them. And this is one to go down in the victory column.
Of course tomorrow it will all be washed away as one kicks on the door to the bathroom as the other stands behind it screaming, "well...YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU USED MY STUFF". When I attempt to ask what the argument is about I get a unanimous, "NOTHING" or "NEVERMIND". Then the door opens, the sound of a slap echoes down the hallway and it ends with a slammed door.
Time to bust out the damn books again. I think instead of making them read them over again I am just gonna slap them upside the head and hope that the lessons get in there by osmosis...kind of like that bump ap for iPhones. We'll call this the "life ap".
If anyone knows how I can get to Kanye I'd be more than willing to put him on my "life ap list". Think of it like aversion therapy for jacklegs.
You're welcome.
Also...I am willing to add Congressman Joe Wilson (R-SC) to my list. I think he could use some "life ap" time as well! It's not nice to call people...especially the President of the US...a liar!
Just one more way I'm trying to make the world better. Eliminating negativity...one douchebag at a time!
~JP
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Failure is only kid deep....
So the 3 day weekend is over for you working folk. For me...it's just a continuation...cause I no worky! But I must say I was very proud of myself because when the alarm clock that husband clearly forgot to set didn't go off this morning to alert the hubby that he needed to go out and earn a good day's pay I was the conquering hero that got him up and out the door on time. Yea me!! Then I continued the fabulous streak by downing a cup of coffee and filling out FAME forms only to realize that tween left them on corner of sofa instead of putting them in backpack to tote off to school as whined about night prior when she realized we (meaning both hubbster and I were shitty parents) hadn't taken the time to lovingly fill them out the moment we received them on Friday even though school was out until today. But whatever!
Apparently we will be solely responsible for the downfall of her extra curricular activities and her social ranking in the cut throat society of 5th graders the world over. God...we are SO irresponsible!
But I am not gonna take the hit for the fact that she forgot this paperwork. I will totally take the blame for corrupting her morals or abandoning her in order to watch a weeks worth of Young & the Restless that has been stored in my DVR, but I draw the line at remembering to staple aforementioned dance team try-out form to her forehead so she doesn't forget them. And...by the way...if I "had" stapled the form to her head...I would have been accused of child abuse, so really I did her a favor by allowing her to forget the forms.
But outside of the form mishap, the day is going surprisingly well. Probably has a lot to do with the good time we had on Sunday. We took a little "daycation" (if this word hasn't been coined yet...I am totally claiming it...I have a flag and everything) to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It was a little gloomy but we really had fun.
The gloom was probably a good thing seeing as my skin hasn't seen the light of day in like 3 months. If I had been exposed to a sun drenched day I may have combusted entirely. The girls, more so Han because Liv in her total teen angst refuses to show extreme excitement over anything, seemed suprised that we would take them to the beach. We've lived here for over 6 years and this is our first time going to the coast to actually go to the beach for the day.
After making the little over 30 minute drive we settled on a long stretch of sandy beach in Long Beach, Mississippi. Sure it's not the bluish green glory that we are used to from our days of living in Clearwater, Florida but who cares, we shrug off our clothes and drop our bags and towels before heading down to the water.
There were chaise lounges with umbrellas for rent, but we're cheap so when we found one that looked completely dilapidated and without a red "for rental" sign, we decided that this sad little Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a chaise was perfect for us to park our gear. Before we could be chased down by the chaise nazi's we hauled tush for the water.
With the way the weather looked the girls thought the water might be cold. They don't seem to realize that the Gulf tends to always be balmy like that area of the pool that your little cousin tends to piss in and then swim quickly away from. My immediate anxiety approached at the fact that here you can't see beneath the waters surface at all. Not even at the shoreline. Don't get me wrong...I love to swim. It's probably my most favorite outdoor activity. What I don't like is the scarey world that I imagine lays lurking just underneath the surface. It's not even a fear of big things like sharks. It's the way the sand is all squishy. It creeps me out. I don't know why but it erks me beyond belief. I'm a consistency girl....squishy things...I no likey! So within moments of crashing through the whitecapped surf I was clinging to Jon in hopes of using him to hold me up until we were deep enough where my feet would no longer touch the sand.
Immediately Jon was laughing hysterically at me. He kept saying he didn't understand what my problem was because he had never seen me act like this. I tried to think of the times that we may have possibly been to the beach together and I was coming up blank. He came out with our trip to Mexico. I was like...uh, of course I didn't act like this in Mexico. I was drunk when we were in Mexico. Tequila trumps fear of squishy sand! God...what a jackleg! Jaws could have come and drug me under and I wouldn't have given a flying shit because I was wasted.
So each time I squealed he would erupt in a fit of laughter.
Jon: Babe why are you squealing like that?
Me: Ewwww....cause I don't like the sand.
Jon: Seriously?
Me: Yeah. Seriously.
Jon: Okay you can't lean on me like that I am gonna drown. (head begins to slide under surface as waves crash around us)
Me: Stop moving away from me. (grasping at his neck like a drowning woman)
Jon: Girls. GIRLS...look at your mom, she's freaking out because she doesn't like the sand. Hahahahahaha.....
Hannah: Mom. Seriously? You're scared of the water?
Me: No I am not scared of the water. I like the water. I don't however, like the sand. It's squishy. I don't like squishy.
Hannah: So does this freak you out. (brushes by me with her hand to mimic a fish)
Me: No...but stop doing it anyways.
Hannah: Really??? (brushes a foot by me)
Me: Hannah, I mean it stop.
Olivia: What about this? (comes at me from the other direction brushing lightly against me under the water)
Me: I mean it. Stop it. Both of you.
Jon: (still laughing and clearly not helping)
Me: (seriously pissed off...gets up and makes my way out of the water braving squishy sand and secretly hating family)
I sit gingerly on the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a chaise and start drying off. I'm mid sand brush off when the chaise nazi comes to ask, "do you plan on renting that". Still out of breath from my quick jaunt out of the gulf I am not in the mood to come up with a witty quip to answer this completely ridiculous question so I instead nod my head no and start to move our stuff. Unfortunately, it is so friggin windy that I am unable to actually lay out our beach blanket in a neat fashion and instead end up sitting on a crumpled up clothes pile looking situation.
About 20 minutes later husband and both kids come trailing out of the water. Both children have been stung by something in the water. I look up at the sky and know that God has punished both of my children for being spiteful to my sand fear and I silently promise to give to one of those charities that keeps calling my house as a sign of appreciation.
After tending to their little welts and assessing that they are not jellyfish stings therefore negating the personal humiliation that would have come with their parents peeing on them and being thankful that I didn't have to make my bladder perform on command we decide to pack up and head on down the coast. This decision came with a pout fest from Han who had her heart set on renting a jet ski. I was like...ummm, I don't think so...those freaks want $45 for 1/2hr and they can't promise flying fish like when we were in Mexico...no thank you! She didn't see that as a draw back and continued her cry fest for a good 15 minutes.
We began driving as she continued pouting. A sign in the distance that boasted a "Hurricane Katrina Clearance Sale" definitely got our curiosity peaked. The fact that they sold fudge was all Jon needed to make a u-turn and pull in for a look see. Hannah found a new thing to whine about with hermit crabs. She hung by the tank while the rest of us spent time looking around the store. There wasn't really anything special about the touristy shop and nothing that had anything to do with the storm, which was fine by me especially since I think I am definitely among the masses of people that would love to wipe the images seared into my memory about the days, weeks, months and years now following the aftermath.
Bumming around like tourist can make one pretty hungry. Liv had a request of chicken fingers. Big shocker there. We saw a Hooters in the distance and since Jon was soley responsible for planning this day I felt it only fitting that he should get his favorite chicken wings (and it met the chicken finger request) as a reward. Han launched another whine fest and all I could think was "I NEED A DRINK"!
Once inside she calmed down when she realized that she liked the chicken. Well hallefrickinlujah! Wouldn't want to put the little princess out or anything. Ugh...kids! Once the moping was done then came the questions.
Hannah: I don't get why they call this place Hooters.
Me: (trying desperately to NOT have to have this conversation) So do you want chicken wings or chicken fingers?
Hannah: No really, like, umm....like why do they call it Hooters?
Me: Do you want mozzarella sticks? Or maybe a salad? You want a salad?
Hannah: Okay, like..umm, like there is an owl on the menu and, but...umm...what does that have to do with chicken?
Me: Daddy asked if you want to try the cajun seasoning, do you want to try it?
Hannah: So why do the o's look so funny on the menu?
Me: Huh? It's really loud in here...did you say something? Where is the waitress? I need a drink.
Hannah: Ummm, mom...so why DO they call it Hooters? And why are all the girls in the pictures in bathing suits or tight shirts?
Me: OMG...where is the waitress?? I REALLY need a drink?
Hannah: Are you gonna get alcohol? I don't think you should do that.
Me: Jon you want to explain to your daughter why the place is called Hooters? Do you want to help me out here?
Jon: So do you want to get 20 or 50 wings?
Me: You're NOT helping me.
Jon: What?? What am I doing?
Hannah: Mom that drink looks like a smoothie. Can I have some? Are you gonna tell me what Hooters means?
Olivia: Can I have your lime?
Me: Seriously. Jon...help me out here.
Jon: What? What do you need?
Hannah: Does that drink have alcohol in it? Cause you just gave Olivia the lime. Why didn't you give me the lime? If it's got alcohol in it you shouldn't have given Olivia the lime. If it doesn't have alcohol in it then why can't I have half the lime. I want a lime.
Me: Seriously...Jon...help me out here (slurping longily on the straw...wishing that the alcohol would be infused directly into my veins)...JON!
Hannah: So can I have a sip? Can you get another lime? I really want a lime too.
Jon: What? What??
Hannah: Mom are you listening to me...is there alcohol in there? Can you get another lime? I really, really, REALLY want a lime...mom...mom. Mom?? Mother are you listening to me??
Me: Hooter's are boobs! There are no other limes. (flagging down waitress) I'm gonna need another shot of rum in this drink ASAP!
After dinner it was time to head home. The skies were turning dark with night and more rain approaching. We drove along the coast line before making our way back inland. Olivia announced that she REALLY needed to use the restroom so Jon found a gas station.
We all piled out of the vehicle and made our way into the gas station. Both girls were doing the pee pee dance so Jon scoped out the mens bathroom which was just a single room with a door much like the ladies room. I ushered Han in there and Liv took the ladies room. Jon and I were on door duty. Seconds turned to minutes and then the smell came.
I didn't know which child was responsible but was mildly impressed by the fact that either of them could create that much of a stink, so to speak. I knocked on the ladies room door and asked Liv if she was okay, because I needed to pee. She opened the door and I made my way in. My daughter...in all her brillance, couldn't figure out how to get the paper towel dispenser to work. I stiffled laughter as I used the bathroom. Right in my line of sight was what looked like a femine product dispenser but on closer inspection was actually a condom dispenser. This time I couldn't hold back the laughs as I realized she was following my gaze.
Olivia: What does that say?
Me: Ummm...I think it says erotic. (trying to maintain calm...I've just survived explaining Hooters to my 9 1/2 year old and now I'm face to face with condoms with my 15 year old...waitress...waitress...where the fuck is a drink when you DEFINITELY need one)
Olivia: Does erotic mean what I think it means??
Me: Yes. Yes it does. (I don't really know what her mind has decided it should mean, but anything will be better than what I have to make up and deliver at this moment)
Both of us erupt in laughter at the shear embarassment of the situation. As we make our way out of the bathroom Jon looks puzzled about what could be so funny about being in a bathroom together. I just shake my head, unwilling to revisit the conversation.
Pulling out of the gas station witty banter ensues between Jon and I.
Jon: Man that light only lasted about 3 seconds long.
Me: Hmm...must be a man.
Jon: Oh you're funny.
Me: I know.
Back at home the rain is coming down in buckets and we are cozied up on the couch watching a DVD and I am sipping on Firefly Sweet Tea vodka. If you haven't tried it...run out right now...right this very instance and buy it! It is soooooooooooo good. I honestly thought that between the beach, a little sun (between the gloomy clouds) and the fact that I had actually been up early on Sunday would find me able to fall asleep but it was a no go.
Monday came around and of course I slept way beyond the original wake up call of 11am that Jon attempted to enforce. He let me sleep in. I really must try not to be horrible to this man because more times than not he gives in and lets me sleep without major bitching sessions. Yeah, like that is gonna happen.
When I ginally did make it out of bed we sat and watched DVD's. Then it was time to clean. I HATE cleaning. I helped Jon gather up some laundry to be washed and found myself exhausted. Not really, it was more like adult ADD...I just can't stay focused when it comes to cleaning. Jon asked if I wanted to take the kitchen or the bedroom. I picked bedroom. It meant I could hide out and use my laptop. Seriously...I had MAJOR farming to do on facebook, so the cleaning was just gonna have to wait. It's all about priorities people.
Two hours later...and my farm had been plowed, planted and expanded I realized that I had absolutely nothing, in the way of cleaning, to show for my time cloistered in the bedroom. Quick thinking and feeling slightly buzzed from the 1 1/2 drinks I had consumed during my "cleaning" time made me realize that I had only one option. I went out and made a deal with the husband. I totally prostituted myself out. I figured trading sex for a pass on cleaning was a win win situation for all. Well everyone except our house and our laundry. I did however make sure my kids and the husband had clean clothes for the next day before making the deal, which I think is really responsible on my part. It's called being a good wife and mother. You're welcome family!
Thankfully my husband still finds me wildly attractive and was totally on board with my offer. I'll spare you all the intimate details save for the fact that once it was all said and done I found myself quoting a Disney movie to commentate just how good it was. So sad...so very, very sad. The only thing that eclipses using a line from the Incredibles to describe a passionate exchange is the time that Jon and I had a night out by ourselves after Hannah was born and we drove for 30 minutes listening and singing along with the CD for Bear in the Big Blue House. The worse part of that moment was when we realized we were listening and singing along was when we wouldn't turn it off until we could play our favorite song "Otter Love". Ah huh..."otter love...just can't get enough of that otter love"...oh yeah...mood setter.
The long weekend ended on a great note for us and I even got a full 6 1/2 hours of sleep. Thank you liquor and post coital bliss!! Must have been really good because the hubby forgot to set the alarm. I don't know how I was the one to wake up unassisted, but I did.
After the debacle with "letting" Hannah forget her FAME forms I was hell bent on being a better mother to the other kid. I made sure I asked if she had all her stuff for the impending school day. She just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Apparently the cup of coffee I made her hadn't seeped into her brain yet. For those that wonder why I not only allow my child to drink coffee but I actually make it for her...well it comes down to the pure and simple fact that she's 15 and about 1/4 of inch shorter than me. I'm hoping that plying her with mass amounts of caffeine will stunt her growth thus allowing me to still be able to say to her "watch it little girl...I'm your mother and I'm bigger than you"...if I don't stunt her now...I will lose that....FOREVER. Probably should have thought of this before mating with a guy that was well over 6 foot at age 16. Ugh...I suck at thinking ahead!
As we made our way out to the car to head to the school Olivia announced that she had made a mixed CD for the morning drives to school.
Me: What is that?
Olivia: A mixed CD.
Me: Hmmm...okay...why?
Olivia: Well cause your music kinda sucks.
Another failure and it wasn't even 8:30am. Apparently I can't manage to make sure my kids take forms to school or pick out appropriate music to play while carting their asses everywhere and anywhere. Just when I thought I had accomplished something and started to make strides towards becoming a better person I am brought back down to the reality of my inability to do the simplest of things. Thanks kids...thanks so much for making mommy want to curl up in the fetal position and cry while watching mass amounts of Lifetime "Not Without My Daughter Who is a Street-walking Drug Dealing Baby Stealer" movie which is the only thing that makes me realize I haven't sunk to the depths of hell....yet.
But I can't go into coma mode...I have to clean. Apparently sexual favors can only buy you a day off from domestic servitude *sigh*....if only I still had the body of a 20 year old...I'd never have to clean again! Thanks again kids...for totally fucking up my life!
~JP
Apparently we will be solely responsible for the downfall of her extra curricular activities and her social ranking in the cut throat society of 5th graders the world over. God...we are SO irresponsible!
But I am not gonna take the hit for the fact that she forgot this paperwork. I will totally take the blame for corrupting her morals or abandoning her in order to watch a weeks worth of Young & the Restless that has been stored in my DVR, but I draw the line at remembering to staple aforementioned dance team try-out form to her forehead so she doesn't forget them. And...by the way...if I "had" stapled the form to her head...I would have been accused of child abuse, so really I did her a favor by allowing her to forget the forms.
But outside of the form mishap, the day is going surprisingly well. Probably has a lot to do with the good time we had on Sunday. We took a little "daycation" (if this word hasn't been coined yet...I am totally claiming it...I have a flag and everything) to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It was a little gloomy but we really had fun.
The gloom was probably a good thing seeing as my skin hasn't seen the light of day in like 3 months. If I had been exposed to a sun drenched day I may have combusted entirely. The girls, more so Han because Liv in her total teen angst refuses to show extreme excitement over anything, seemed suprised that we would take them to the beach. We've lived here for over 6 years and this is our first time going to the coast to actually go to the beach for the day.
After making the little over 30 minute drive we settled on a long stretch of sandy beach in Long Beach, Mississippi. Sure it's not the bluish green glory that we are used to from our days of living in Clearwater, Florida but who cares, we shrug off our clothes and drop our bags and towels before heading down to the water.
There were chaise lounges with umbrellas for rent, but we're cheap so when we found one that looked completely dilapidated and without a red "for rental" sign, we decided that this sad little Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a chaise was perfect for us to park our gear. Before we could be chased down by the chaise nazi's we hauled tush for the water.
With the way the weather looked the girls thought the water might be cold. They don't seem to realize that the Gulf tends to always be balmy like that area of the pool that your little cousin tends to piss in and then swim quickly away from. My immediate anxiety approached at the fact that here you can't see beneath the waters surface at all. Not even at the shoreline. Don't get me wrong...I love to swim. It's probably my most favorite outdoor activity. What I don't like is the scarey world that I imagine lays lurking just underneath the surface. It's not even a fear of big things like sharks. It's the way the sand is all squishy. It creeps me out. I don't know why but it erks me beyond belief. I'm a consistency girl....squishy things...I no likey! So within moments of crashing through the whitecapped surf I was clinging to Jon in hopes of using him to hold me up until we were deep enough where my feet would no longer touch the sand.
Immediately Jon was laughing hysterically at me. He kept saying he didn't understand what my problem was because he had never seen me act like this. I tried to think of the times that we may have possibly been to the beach together and I was coming up blank. He came out with our trip to Mexico. I was like...uh, of course I didn't act like this in Mexico. I was drunk when we were in Mexico. Tequila trumps fear of squishy sand! God...what a jackleg! Jaws could have come and drug me under and I wouldn't have given a flying shit because I was wasted.
So each time I squealed he would erupt in a fit of laughter.
Jon: Babe why are you squealing like that?
Me: Ewwww....cause I don't like the sand.
Jon: Seriously?
Me: Yeah. Seriously.
Jon: Okay you can't lean on me like that I am gonna drown. (head begins to slide under surface as waves crash around us)
Me: Stop moving away from me. (grasping at his neck like a drowning woman)
Jon: Girls. GIRLS...look at your mom, she's freaking out because she doesn't like the sand. Hahahahahaha.....
Hannah: Mom. Seriously? You're scared of the water?
Me: No I am not scared of the water. I like the water. I don't however, like the sand. It's squishy. I don't like squishy.
Hannah: So does this freak you out. (brushes by me with her hand to mimic a fish)
Me: No...but stop doing it anyways.
Hannah: Really??? (brushes a foot by me)
Me: Hannah, I mean it stop.
Olivia: What about this? (comes at me from the other direction brushing lightly against me under the water)
Me: I mean it. Stop it. Both of you.
Jon: (still laughing and clearly not helping)
Me: (seriously pissed off...gets up and makes my way out of the water braving squishy sand and secretly hating family)
I sit gingerly on the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a chaise and start drying off. I'm mid sand brush off when the chaise nazi comes to ask, "do you plan on renting that". Still out of breath from my quick jaunt out of the gulf I am not in the mood to come up with a witty quip to answer this completely ridiculous question so I instead nod my head no and start to move our stuff. Unfortunately, it is so friggin windy that I am unable to actually lay out our beach blanket in a neat fashion and instead end up sitting on a crumpled up clothes pile looking situation.
About 20 minutes later husband and both kids come trailing out of the water. Both children have been stung by something in the water. I look up at the sky and know that God has punished both of my children for being spiteful to my sand fear and I silently promise to give to one of those charities that keeps calling my house as a sign of appreciation.
After tending to their little welts and assessing that they are not jellyfish stings therefore negating the personal humiliation that would have come with their parents peeing on them and being thankful that I didn't have to make my bladder perform on command we decide to pack up and head on down the coast. This decision came with a pout fest from Han who had her heart set on renting a jet ski. I was like...ummm, I don't think so...those freaks want $45 for 1/2hr and they can't promise flying fish like when we were in Mexico...no thank you! She didn't see that as a draw back and continued her cry fest for a good 15 minutes.
We began driving as she continued pouting. A sign in the distance that boasted a "Hurricane Katrina Clearance Sale" definitely got our curiosity peaked. The fact that they sold fudge was all Jon needed to make a u-turn and pull in for a look see. Hannah found a new thing to whine about with hermit crabs. She hung by the tank while the rest of us spent time looking around the store. There wasn't really anything special about the touristy shop and nothing that had anything to do with the storm, which was fine by me especially since I think I am definitely among the masses of people that would love to wipe the images seared into my memory about the days, weeks, months and years now following the aftermath.
Bumming around like tourist can make one pretty hungry. Liv had a request of chicken fingers. Big shocker there. We saw a Hooters in the distance and since Jon was soley responsible for planning this day I felt it only fitting that he should get his favorite chicken wings (and it met the chicken finger request) as a reward. Han launched another whine fest and all I could think was "I NEED A DRINK"!
Once inside she calmed down when she realized that she liked the chicken. Well hallefrickinlujah! Wouldn't want to put the little princess out or anything. Ugh...kids! Once the moping was done then came the questions.
Hannah: I don't get why they call this place Hooters.
Me: (trying desperately to NOT have to have this conversation) So do you want chicken wings or chicken fingers?
Hannah: No really, like, umm....like why do they call it Hooters?
Me: Do you want mozzarella sticks? Or maybe a salad? You want a salad?
Hannah: Okay, like..umm, like there is an owl on the menu and, but...umm...what does that have to do with chicken?
Me: Daddy asked if you want to try the cajun seasoning, do you want to try it?
Hannah: So why do the o's look so funny on the menu?
Me: Huh? It's really loud in here...did you say something? Where is the waitress? I need a drink.
Hannah: Ummm, mom...so why DO they call it Hooters? And why are all the girls in the pictures in bathing suits or tight shirts?
Me: OMG...where is the waitress?? I REALLY need a drink?
Hannah: Are you gonna get alcohol? I don't think you should do that.
Me: Jon you want to explain to your daughter why the place is called Hooters? Do you want to help me out here?
Jon: So do you want to get 20 or 50 wings?
Me: You're NOT helping me.
Jon: What?? What am I doing?
Hannah: Mom that drink looks like a smoothie. Can I have some? Are you gonna tell me what Hooters means?
Olivia: Can I have your lime?
Me: Seriously. Jon...help me out here.
Jon: What? What do you need?
Hannah: Does that drink have alcohol in it? Cause you just gave Olivia the lime. Why didn't you give me the lime? If it's got alcohol in it you shouldn't have given Olivia the lime. If it doesn't have alcohol in it then why can't I have half the lime. I want a lime.
Me: Seriously...Jon...help me out here (slurping longily on the straw...wishing that the alcohol would be infused directly into my veins)...JON!
Hannah: So can I have a sip? Can you get another lime? I really want a lime too.
Jon: What? What??
Hannah: Mom are you listening to me...is there alcohol in there? Can you get another lime? I really, really, REALLY want a lime...mom...mom. Mom?? Mother are you listening to me??
Me: Hooter's are boobs! There are no other limes. (flagging down waitress) I'm gonna need another shot of rum in this drink ASAP!
After dinner it was time to head home. The skies were turning dark with night and more rain approaching. We drove along the coast line before making our way back inland. Olivia announced that she REALLY needed to use the restroom so Jon found a gas station.
We all piled out of the vehicle and made our way into the gas station. Both girls were doing the pee pee dance so Jon scoped out the mens bathroom which was just a single room with a door much like the ladies room. I ushered Han in there and Liv took the ladies room. Jon and I were on door duty. Seconds turned to minutes and then the smell came.
I didn't know which child was responsible but was mildly impressed by the fact that either of them could create that much of a stink, so to speak. I knocked on the ladies room door and asked Liv if she was okay, because I needed to pee. She opened the door and I made my way in. My daughter...in all her brillance, couldn't figure out how to get the paper towel dispenser to work. I stiffled laughter as I used the bathroom. Right in my line of sight was what looked like a femine product dispenser but on closer inspection was actually a condom dispenser. This time I couldn't hold back the laughs as I realized she was following my gaze.
Olivia: What does that say?
Me: Ummm...I think it says erotic. (trying to maintain calm...I've just survived explaining Hooters to my 9 1/2 year old and now I'm face to face with condoms with my 15 year old...waitress...waitress...where the fuck is a drink when you DEFINITELY need one)
Olivia: Does erotic mean what I think it means??
Me: Yes. Yes it does. (I don't really know what her mind has decided it should mean, but anything will be better than what I have to make up and deliver at this moment)
Both of us erupt in laughter at the shear embarassment of the situation. As we make our way out of the bathroom Jon looks puzzled about what could be so funny about being in a bathroom together. I just shake my head, unwilling to revisit the conversation.
Pulling out of the gas station witty banter ensues between Jon and I.
Jon: Man that light only lasted about 3 seconds long.
Me: Hmm...must be a man.
Jon: Oh you're funny.
Me: I know.
Back at home the rain is coming down in buckets and we are cozied up on the couch watching a DVD and I am sipping on Firefly Sweet Tea vodka. If you haven't tried it...run out right now...right this very instance and buy it! It is soooooooooooo good. I honestly thought that between the beach, a little sun (between the gloomy clouds) and the fact that I had actually been up early on Sunday would find me able to fall asleep but it was a no go.
Monday came around and of course I slept way beyond the original wake up call of 11am that Jon attempted to enforce. He let me sleep in. I really must try not to be horrible to this man because more times than not he gives in and lets me sleep without major bitching sessions. Yeah, like that is gonna happen.
When I ginally did make it out of bed we sat and watched DVD's. Then it was time to clean. I HATE cleaning. I helped Jon gather up some laundry to be washed and found myself exhausted. Not really, it was more like adult ADD...I just can't stay focused when it comes to cleaning. Jon asked if I wanted to take the kitchen or the bedroom. I picked bedroom. It meant I could hide out and use my laptop. Seriously...I had MAJOR farming to do on facebook, so the cleaning was just gonna have to wait. It's all about priorities people.
Two hours later...and my farm had been plowed, planted and expanded I realized that I had absolutely nothing, in the way of cleaning, to show for my time cloistered in the bedroom. Quick thinking and feeling slightly buzzed from the 1 1/2 drinks I had consumed during my "cleaning" time made me realize that I had only one option. I went out and made a deal with the husband. I totally prostituted myself out. I figured trading sex for a pass on cleaning was a win win situation for all. Well everyone except our house and our laundry. I did however make sure my kids and the husband had clean clothes for the next day before making the deal, which I think is really responsible on my part. It's called being a good wife and mother. You're welcome family!
Thankfully my husband still finds me wildly attractive and was totally on board with my offer. I'll spare you all the intimate details save for the fact that once it was all said and done I found myself quoting a Disney movie to commentate just how good it was. So sad...so very, very sad. The only thing that eclipses using a line from the Incredibles to describe a passionate exchange is the time that Jon and I had a night out by ourselves after Hannah was born and we drove for 30 minutes listening and singing along with the CD for Bear in the Big Blue House. The worse part of that moment was when we realized we were listening and singing along was when we wouldn't turn it off until we could play our favorite song "Otter Love". Ah huh..."otter love...just can't get enough of that otter love"...oh yeah...mood setter.
The long weekend ended on a great note for us and I even got a full 6 1/2 hours of sleep. Thank you liquor and post coital bliss!! Must have been really good because the hubby forgot to set the alarm. I don't know how I was the one to wake up unassisted, but I did.
After the debacle with "letting" Hannah forget her FAME forms I was hell bent on being a better mother to the other kid. I made sure I asked if she had all her stuff for the impending school day. She just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Apparently the cup of coffee I made her hadn't seeped into her brain yet. For those that wonder why I not only allow my child to drink coffee but I actually make it for her...well it comes down to the pure and simple fact that she's 15 and about 1/4 of inch shorter than me. I'm hoping that plying her with mass amounts of caffeine will stunt her growth thus allowing me to still be able to say to her "watch it little girl...I'm your mother and I'm bigger than you"...if I don't stunt her now...I will lose that....FOREVER. Probably should have thought of this before mating with a guy that was well over 6 foot at age 16. Ugh...I suck at thinking ahead!
As we made our way out to the car to head to the school Olivia announced that she had made a mixed CD for the morning drives to school.
Me: What is that?
Olivia: A mixed CD.
Me: Hmmm...okay...why?
Olivia: Well cause your music kinda sucks.
Another failure and it wasn't even 8:30am. Apparently I can't manage to make sure my kids take forms to school or pick out appropriate music to play while carting their asses everywhere and anywhere. Just when I thought I had accomplished something and started to make strides towards becoming a better person I am brought back down to the reality of my inability to do the simplest of things. Thanks kids...thanks so much for making mommy want to curl up in the fetal position and cry while watching mass amounts of Lifetime "Not Without My Daughter Who is a Street-walking Drug Dealing Baby Stealer" movie which is the only thing that makes me realize I haven't sunk to the depths of hell....yet.
But I can't go into coma mode...I have to clean. Apparently sexual favors can only buy you a day off from domestic servitude *sigh*....if only I still had the body of a 20 year old...I'd never have to clean again! Thanks again kids...for totally fucking up my life!
~JP
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Is this Plan B?? Oh god...
When it became increasingly apparent, as I hacked up a lung while sitting on the toilet...because alas motherhood makes you have a leaky bladder when your coughing hard enough to dislodge an organ...that Jon was going to TOTALLY shirk his parental responsibility of taking the kids to school in lieu of going to work in order to make money to support the kids he was unwilling to take to school I felt it best to hatch a back-up plan.
First thought was to let the teenager who has had 3 (count them 1...2...3) driving lessons and doesn't even possess a learners permit to drive her younger sister to school and then drive herself. Of course she would be supervised. I'm not totally irresponsible. I would be in the car...hopped up on NyQuil and no sleep.
I realized that was a TOTALLY ridiculous idea.
See, I'm not a total loon here. I figured letting Penny (yes, the dog) drive was a MUCH better idea.
After dropping off both the kids Penny had one thing on her mind.......
First thought was to let the teenager who has had 3 (count them 1...2...3) driving lessons and doesn't even possess a learners permit to drive her younger sister to school and then drive herself. Of course she would be supervised. I'm not totally irresponsible. I would be in the car...hopped up on NyQuil and no sleep.
I realized that was a TOTALLY ridiculous idea.
See, I'm not a total loon here. I figured letting Penny (yes, the dog) drive was a MUCH better idea.
Penny is very responsible. Looking both ways before nearly running over the jackleg students that walk in front of us in the carpool line.
Hello...you obviously aren't that smart if you are willing to walk in front of a woman under the influence of cold meds who has determined that it is safer to let her dog drive. Thank god for your sorry asses that my dog is super smart and cares that you live.
After dropping off both the kids Penny had one thing on her mind.......
Of course she really didn't think McDonald's would be this damn busy at 8:45 a.m. on a Wednesday! Come on...is the economy so bad that NO ONE has a job! Seriously it can't be that bad because They have the money to get their grub on! I just want a sweet tea....I'm dying here...I'm coughing up other organs that I am pretty sure I may need later. Oh, yeah...and Penny wants a biscuit!
Finally...I got my tea...Penny got her biscuit (seen above licking her snout) and we can head home and go to bed like NyQuil intends us to do.
Thankfully neither of us has to be responsible again until 2:45 p.m.
~JP
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