As Elton John said, so very eloquently, "the bitch is back."
I try to keep my language PG here. I know that "bitch" pushes the limit on PGness. Sorry.
But in my life, the bitch is all in my head. And her name is Migraine.
Aunt Flo is no fun for anyone, but I'd trade Aunt Flo for Migraine everyday of the week and twice on Sunday. Endometriosis and cramps have nothing on eyebrow-splitting, turn-off-the-lights-be-quiet-its-hot-in-here-but-I-must-be-under-the-covers-preferrably-w/o-clothes-don't-bump-the-bed-or-look-at-me Migraine pain.
I've had migraines since I entered the dreaded hormonal fluctuations of puberty and adolescence. They seemed to coincide with my periods. I simply laid in bed, suffering, the first few years. But they became more intense and more regular. Regular = every single month, every Thursday of that week and sometimes Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Typical migraine meds worked for me. Imitrex did the job, but after a while, I had to increase my dosage to a point that I felt was too high and too frequent. I tried the newer version, Relpax, and got GREAT results from it. But these were only treatments for AFTER the onset of the headache.
My ob/gyn and I tried different Pills and dosages and even the birth control patch. They all worked well for 3-6 months, but then the Bitch figured it out again and worked her way back into my life again. My best results were from the Pill without a break.
While pregnant with Stinkerbell, I had ZERO headaches. I thought pregnancy would be the end of migraines. However, my first trimester with Lucky was near constant migraines, with bonus trips to the ER for IV pain and nausea/vomiting medicines. Lucky me. They'd get me good and drunk and send me home. I remember trying to walk down the hall to the bedroom and bouncing against the walls.
With the passing of that painful, torturous first trimester went the migraines. By this point, I had my own stash of Tylenol 3 with codeine to eliminate the need to go to the hospital and be treated as a drug addict seeking my fix.
I'm still breastfeeding Lucky and have yet to have Aunt Flo to visit again. Yes, that's great. But I suspect she's on her way to my house.
Friday afternoon, I got a headache, but plain Tylenol helped it. Saturday, however, it came back and the movie feeteyur (theatre in Stinkerbell-speak) popcorn (Ratatouille - pretty good, cute, fun for the kids) made it worse. (I think I'm allergic to the butter or some preservative in the butter.) (Enough parentheticals.)
Sunday morning, she was still here and trying to plant her roots deep. I fought her off without resorting to the serious drunk-inducing medicines. But she's still here this morning.
And the Doodlebops are her conspirators.
GOOD LORD I hate the Doodlebops!
Monday, July 30, 2007
As Elton John said, so very eloquently, "the bitch is back."
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Technically, I'm still on my bloggy break. It's 2:05am. So, I'm not taking away time from Stinkerbell and the Countdown To School. (13 days BTW)
Why, you may ask, am I up at 2:05am?
Good question. I am up at 2:05am because Lucky had his 6 month well-baby appointment today. And you know what happens at well-baby appointments.
4 of them. He was so sweet and pitiful. I hold his little legs at the knees, and the nurse leans across the table and blocks his arms. He thought we were playing a game or loving on him. Grinning and cooing at us. Then the happy little eyes looked at me with fear and pain in them. It was pitiful.
He has felt good all day. But at bedtime, he began to act like he wasn't feeling well. At midnight, he cried and wouldn't nurse or take his pappie. His head was hot. His arms and belly and legs and feet were hot too.
101.1 F (rectal, so it's as accurate as possible.) In my fatigued, post-partum depression mind, I couldn't find the infant tylenol/ibuprofen. So, I dashed off to the Super W-M that is 2 miles from my house. I arrived on the night when the employees of W-M's everywhere get their paychecks. And they cash them. At the cash registers. Without buying anything else. Or sometimes buying 12 things and forcing them to do a price over-ride because K-Mart has the booster seat for $10. And there is only 1 cashier! working. And NONE of the self-checkout lanes were open (which I use all the time, because I am a better and nicer cashier than the ones they pay and I don't have to smell anyone else's bad breath while I pay for my baby's pain/fever reliever!)
So, I come home and give him his medicine. And am too worried to go back to sleep yet. I know he's ok. I just can't sleep when my babies have a fever. I've got to try though.
I noticed the other day that I have passed a milestone in my bloggy life.
This is my 252nd post.
You would think that I could have come up with something more profound, more important, more funnier, more better to write.
I definitely could have come up with a better title.
But, I'm on a break. SO shut up.
Good news. My Friend Rachel, who lives in Minnesota, is coming to visit her parents in Montgomery for a few weeks with her beeeuuuuuutiful baby boy. And I'm going to go see her and nibble his ears! I can't wait!!! I haven't seen My Friend Rachel since she got married!
I'll be back again soon. I'm going back to bed now.
I miss y'all. Funny things keep happening, and I think "I need to blog about this." But I don't do it immediately, and then I forget what in the crap it was that was so funny anyway.
I suppose I could write down the funny things to help me remember them!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I simply must share what just was said over our late Sunday morning breakfast.
The fact that this breakfast occurred at 11 am should tell you two things. 1. We did not go to church. SINNERS REPENT! 2. We slept very late but will still probably find a way to nap this afternoon. Even the Lord rested on Sunday. Who am I to argue against that logic?
So, The Mighty Hunter had the tv on, as it always is. And, naturally, it was tuned to the Outdoor Channel or the new hunting channel MOR - which I lovingly refer to as the MORON channel.
Odd to think that The Mighty Hunter doesn't laugh at that particular joke.
There is a commercial on these channels for some deer hunting lure. Let's just call it piss in a bottle.
Cause that's just what it is.
This particular commercial talks about collecting this piss at the moment that a buck deer has tried to, um, err, um, mount the doe.
For those of you not familiar with the life of a deer hunter, a buck is the boy deer; a doe is the girl deer; and the mounting of a doe is exactly what it sounds like. And the piss of doe at all stages of her fertility (estrus) cycle has different effects on the bucks.
But the piss of a doe who is, shall we say, ripe and ready is like beer goggles for the buck. It wil make the ugliest doe a complete hottie.
So, someone who has no dignity left and doesn't mind the extremely nasty and humiliating task of collecting said piss has developed quite a booming business.
And here is where I talk about the deer p*rn.
This one commercial has a picture of a buck mounting his hottie. Earlier this week, I told The Mighty Hunter that this was a disturbing commercial and didn't feel comfortable looking at a picture of deer "getting it on."
We had a good laugh. Neither of us needed a cold shower. Life moved on.
Then as we were having breakfast, this same commercial came on.
And Stinkerbell saw it.
And Stinkerbell saw the deer p*rn picture.
And I gave him "the look". You know the look. The one that says "where's the clicker? why do you have to watch deer p*rn? find the clicker FAST! oh crap. it's too late. she's already seen it. what do we do now? ignore it? explain it? wait. pretend to be deaf and blind. yes. deaf and blind. just don't laugh."
And Stinkerbell says "look at that buck! he's on the girl's back! what's he doing there?"
don't answer her
pretend she didn't say anything at all.
don't make eye contact.
isn't there ANYTHING I can point out to her?
We manage a good 30 seconds before The Mighty Hunter manages to say "and there went an uncomfortable silence."
What's this world coming to?
I suppose this is what we get for not getting our butts to church this morning. This is one of those times when being Catholic and having confession would be handy.
Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I've looked at deer p*rn 4 times this week. I didn't enjoy it. I promise, but I feel guilty all the same. I feel so dirty. Dirty and guilty.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Stinkerbell has been weepy of late. This big sister gig is not all coos and goos and giggles, like she thought it would be.
She turned 6 on Jan 20, and Lucky was born on Jan 25. She had our undivided attention and devotion for 6 years and 5 days and is now in full withdrawal. And her emotions are flashing red and purple and blue neon:
"Feeling left out and sorry for myself"
Yes, she's a wonderful, loving big sister. She is mature and responsible enough to care for him and entertain him when I need to shower or cook or go to the bathroom. She enjoys the approval she gets when she does these things for me and eagerly (sometimes) takes on the job.
Then there are times like yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
There are times when she cries at bedtime because she just wants me.
"me to do what?"
"yes. you. would you lay down with me please? without Lucky?"
There are times when I can let The Mighty Hunter entertain Lucky, allowing me to spend girl time with Stinkerbell. I am resolved to find these times and use them to their utmost. Screaming baby or no.
There are more times when she will have to simply share my time and attention - "never my love" - with Lucky. And she will have to learn to not begrudge them.
But there are times when she could have more of my time and attention and I'm not giving it to her.
And many of those times, I'm here. With you. And as much as I like you and being here, I like her more and really I should be with her. And being here prevents me from being with her as much as she deserves.
No problem in choosing, right?
Except that I need some form of outlet for my pent-up anxieties and insecurities and worries and manias and giggles and hermitness. And that is what I get here.
20 days till school starts.
20 days till I take Stinkerbell to her first grade class.
20 days that I can devote maximum time and attention on her.
20 days that I can play with her, color a princess coloring book with her, water her tomato, pepper and eggplant plants with her, take her to the pool, play with play-doh, teach her to cook, take her to the OTHER library, go to the park, organize her room, watch "kids shows" with her, chase her with the waterhose, play dress-up, paint her toenails, make chocolate chip cookies, read stories to/with her, help her improve her writing and spelling, play horsey/doggy/kitty/bunny, watch her play...
So, although this may feel like I'm breaking up with you, we're really just taking a break. 'kay?
Ross and Rachel Break Up
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Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I think I've written before about T M H 's laugh. It's great. It's funny. It's more of a cackly giggle than an actual "laugh". It's the kind of laugh that will make you laugh just hearing it.
It's also loud.
Tonight, I was able to shower as part of my getting ready for bed routine. I'm more of a morning bather, but I made an exception since I potted some tomato and pepper and eggplant plants to humor Stinkerbell and also washed the sheets. Clean sheets deserve clean bodies.
After my shower, I returned to the living room in my underwear - I'm all exhibitiony that way - and checked my Reader to see what y'all had written this evening. I sat down on the loveseat and let Lucky start nursing.
Multi-tasking, mommy style.
Something on tv amuses The Mighty Hunter. As usual, after his nightly whiskey sour, he lets out his
cackle laugh. Have I mentioned his laugh is loud? Lucky whips his head around, stretching my nip about thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis far, to see what his daddy is doing.
The Mighty Hunter realizes he has gotten Lucky's attention.
Lucky turns back to his meal.
"I wonder if laughing like that will get him to look over again. cackle cackle cackle cackle cackle"
Lucky looks back at daddy.
"yup. Even better, I get to see Mommy's booby!"
Lucky turns back to his meal again.
"cackle cackle cackle cackle cackle"
Lucky looks at daddy.
Daddy ogles mommy.
Lucky goes back to mommy.
"cackle cackle cackle cackle"
Lucky looks at daddy.
Daddy ogles mommy.
Lucky goes back to mommy.
rinse and repeat.
Melzie tagged me for this one. It's what I need right now, in the Desert of Inspiration... Thanks!
6. the sexy singing ability of Harry, Ricky or Elvis.
2. Pierce Brosnan - The Thomas Crown Affair is one of the sexiest movies I've seen.
3. Ricky Martin - my Latin singing, dancing love
4. Dennis Quaid - much like a goofy laugh, I love me a goofy grin.
5. Last, but not least, the King, himself. I couldn't find a clip of "One Night With You". But lemmetellya, it's just a complete seduction for me. And, for the record, I have a crush on only the 1968 Comeback Special black leather Elvis. And if The Mighty Hunter only knew what it does to me to watch that. Well, let's just say we might have more than 2 kids, and he might just get enough - for one time.
5 bloggers I'd like to see do this also:
1. Bee at WillBlogForShoes*
2. Jennifer at PlaygroupsAreNoPlaceForChildren*
3. MrsReevesFarm at ForTheLove...AMamasMantra
4. Casey at MooshInIndy
5. Super B's Mom at TheAdventuresOfT&SuperB
Let me know if you play along.
*I know I tag you both for everything, sorry. You're just my bestest bloggy friends. ::snort::
Monday, July 16, 2007
Country Club - I wore a short skirt that barely fits my fluffy butt and a top with a cami under it. I felt like a dope. A dope from 1999. But at least I wasn't in my Hanes athletic shorts and tennis shoes. Dinner was delicious. It was a seafood buffet, with pork and chicken and something else I remember being too rare for me. We were pretty much the youngest families there and definitely the only ones with kids in tow. Lucky and Stinkerbell were the centers of attention.
There was a table next to us filled with septuagenarians and octogenarians (words for the day) having a birthday. They shared cake with the kiddos. One older gentleman loved talking to the kids and kept calling Stinkerbell over and talking to her. (I had my eagle-eye on him the whole time, having been "mistreated" by an older man as a big kid.) He claimed to be a "movie star," which thrilled Stinkerbell. He gave her a dollar, which made me super-uncomfortable. How do you handle it when strangers give your children gifts/money?
Our friends had recently added on to their house. It looks great. It makes me sick though. They have all this stuff that I don't have and I know they make the exact same money as us. Actually a little less, since I get a small weekly check for the work I've done there since start-up - and still do. The difference between us and them is debt. We are debt-phobic. We owe for my Pimped Out Mamamobile and The Mighty Hunter's Mighty Truck and his Rhino. We live rent/mortgage-free in a nice, comfy home in exchange for its upkeep. (FIL's house. He travels year-round and owns the condo on Dauphin Island, plus his late mother's house.) The free house thing is great, except I have closets full of other people's stuff and pictures and decorations that belonged to FIL and the late MIL. It seriously needs paint and carpet, and The Mighty Hunter refuses to put money into this house - saving our money for our house. I get all that. I just want something that is mine.
back to our friends: They have to be drowning in debt. I know they don't put any money back for anything at all really. I just see what they have and know that if they can afford it, so can we.
I also wonder how they make all the monthly payments they must have.
I lit The Mighty Hunter's head on fire last night, twice. He thanked me.
Although I would love to just leave this hanging and all 3 of you wondering, my OCD requires me to explain... dangit
He found some "ear candles" left over from when his mother was still alive. After her diagnosis and up to the last 3 months of her life, she used a large amount of homeopathic/herbal/alternative treatments. (While snickering several of them, I must give credit to her discipline, determination and fighting for her life with most every method available to her. She was given 6 months to live and lasted 2 years.) Ear candling was one of the things she did that I snickered at. She actually came to our house and had me help her with it.
How many of you have had the distinct honor of burning a candle poked into your MIL's ear?
So, The Mighty Hunter keeps the tv turned up very loud, which causes me to complain a lot. He just thought it was me, but admitted last night that "others" have made the same complaints as I (me?). He thinks his ears may be full of wax. And decided to let me candle them.
I think he has damaged his hearing over the years shooting without ear protection. I know that loud music has done some damage to my ears.
I told him that he would probably wear hearing aids sometime over the next few years.
His response: "huh?"
Lucky is sitting up almost unassisted. He leans forward and props with his chubby hands. He raised himself up to a sitting position by pulling on my hands last night. He also learned to pull the blanket off his face for peek-a-boo.
He will be 6 months next week and is wearing 9 months and 12 months sized clothes.
Over the week of the 4th, he learned to wahwah. We pat his mouth with our hands/fingers and he says "ahhh", which sounds like "wahwahwahwahwah." This is my mom's favorite game with her grand-babies.
School starts on August 9.
Stinkerbell is not looking forward to school this time. She wants more time with me.
New spam subjects.
I've recently been getting a whole new theme of spam messages. The subjects are always a variation of a e-greeting from a generic someone who should know me.
My favorite is when I get an e-greeting from a worshipper. If you also worship me, you've picked the wrongest wrong of idols.
Also, I got an old-fashioned spam today with the subject "antelope racist."
Whodathunk that antelopes deal with things like segregation and Jim Crow laws and giving up seats on buses?
I need to do less blogging and more things with my family. Blogging is my addiction. If you notice fewer posts from me over the following days/weeks/months, please understand and don't forget me. I love writing and the friendships I have made here. I have my email address in my sidebar. Don't be a stranger.
See ya soon.
Friday, July 13, 2007
I haven't always enjoyed mowing the yard. There have been times that I'd rather have a rectal exam than get out in the heat and bugs and humidity and allergens and heat. But over the past few years, I've come to appreciate the amazing therapeutic quality of being alone for an hour or two - even if it is on a lawn mower.
Know what I mean? Sure you do.
Our yard is very big and takes me at least an hour and a half to mow. Sometimes, like yesterday, I let it stretch out longer. Also, the grass was thick in spots and had to be mowed over 2 or 3 times to get it short.
Yesterday, I said that it hadn't been mowed since before Father's Day. This is true, but in my defense, it hasn't grown any until last week. We have had no rain at all until last week. And now everything is growing again. So, don't think I've just let the grass grow wild, all natural-like. I like our grass cut short and not snakey. Our yard is enclosed by a pasture fence, I even mow on the other side of the fence - inside the pasture - two mower's width, to keep it from being all snakey. And, yes, "snakey" is a term we use all the term here to refer to tall, grass where you can't see a snake hiding.
I strutted myself to the barn where the Kubota is kept, singing "Walk Away" with Kelly Clarkson. Then there was "Bitch" and "Redneck Woman" and "Heartbreaker", "Wild Night", "Cherry Bomb". Then "I Can't Do This" by Plumb, "Whatever" by Steven Curtis Chapman, and "Voice of Truth" by Casting Crowns. These 3 songs began to change my mood some, as you can imagine. Then as I listened to "Sometimes He Comes in the Clouds" and "Lord I Believe in You," I began to loosen up and was able to think past the anger and hurt and disappointment and stress.
I began to see that everyone will disappoint and hurt me. And it's ok.
I began to see that I can trust only one person will never hurt me or disappoint me. And that's great.
By the time I had finished mowing, I was smiling again. The tight grip I had on my bitterness was loosened, and you know how good it feels to let go of something you've been squeezing the life out of.
I realized that I should wash the cut grass of the mowing deck. I've been told that it should be done each time the yard is mowed. But my memory leakage has kept this from happening everytime this summer. Once, maybe. Anyway, as I was kneeling and spraying the grass and sticking my hands into dark places where there might be bugs and spiders and things that I don't want to touch, The Mighty Hunter snuck up on me.
He began to help with the removal of the grass and was pretty helpful until he got cute with me and sprayed me with the waterhose.
I got him back with a spray to his crotch.
A short truce while we finished cleaning the mower was ended violently with him spraying me from neck to knee with the hose and then promptly running for his life.
Thank you all so very, very much for the kind comments yesterday. It really helped to know that so many of you took the time to reach out to me with love and concern.
a note: I've taken anti-anxiety meds before. I'm OCD and have a very high tolerance for that type med, so I've hesitated to try anything because I know that a high dosage might be required. But I'm still thinking about it.
Lucky is beginning to sit up alone and when on his belly, will pull and push himself around on the floor.
School starts in 27 days. Thank you JESUS!
We're eating dinner with some friends at their local country club tonight. I'm not a country club kind of gal, so I'm a little stressed over this. Besides the stress of eating at a place that causes me anxiety, I have no clothes to wear. Thanks to this baby fluff I still have on my butt and thighs and stomach. I was talking to my friend that we're going with about what to wear and what they have to eat, and she commented on the yummy desserts they serve. I felt compelled to point out that the mass consumption of desserts will not aid in our fluff removal. We've decided that each bite we take of desserts should be followed by a pig snort to remind of us of our ultimate goals.
I'll let you know how successful it is.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I'm still partying. Nothing can make me smile. Lucky's coos are precious, but no smile from his mommy. Stinkerbell's singing is great, but no smile from her mommy. The Mighty Hunter kissed me good-bye as he left for work this morning; I forced myself to smile, lest he think I didn't want the kiss. But it was insincere.
I'm thinking of calling the doctor about that anti-depressant they've offered.
I'm thinking of a glass of wine or 7.
I'm thinking of all the clothes I have that I can't fit my fluffy butt into.
I'm thinking of the grass that finally started growing again and needs cutting for the first time since before Father's Day.
I'm thinking of the angry songs on my ipod that I'll listen to and sing along with while mowing the jungle that is my yard.
I'm thinking that eventhough it would mean a lot for The Mighty Hunter to sleep in the same bed as me tonight, I'm not sure I want him that close to me.
I'm thinking that I can't think of anything that can make me smile right now.
No smiles today. Just angry and hurt tears.
And poop. The red-faced, head-swelling, grunting, straining, poor-baby kind of poop. It suits my mood perfectly.
At least I got to eat my salad without juggling everyone else's lunch at the same time.
Where'e that doctor's phone number? Nevermind, I know it....
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
This evening, we went to Carl and Beboo's house for dinner. She has this amazing ability to get The Mighty Hunter to cook. And can he cook!
Grill, actually. He has given himself the nickname "Grill Master." Yeah, I know he's not the only one out there, but he thinks he is. As long as he grills, I don't care what he thinks. So don't tell him.
So, he grilled the chicken and we ate it like we were Mary-Kate on a binge. (tacky, I know. sorry.)
After dinner, Stinkerbell tried to play a Playstation game that Carl and Beboo got for her. (background: I don't ever want a Playstation in my house. I am intrigued by the Wii, but will probably resist it also. I'm not a Nazi about it for other people. I just am realistic about the addictive tendencies that The Mighty Hunter and I have about games. ie: He spent a couple of nights with Carl and Beboo while kids and I were out of town and played the PS Friday evening until Sunday night, stopping only to potty and eat.) Needless to say that Stinkerbell's inexperience in using the controller led to frustration. And, just so you know, her frustration is expressed in the most weepy, whiny, teary-eyed, screechy, woe-is-me way you can imagine.
Well, The Mighty Hunter handled it in a way that I didn't like. Instead of doing it my way, which I admit wouldn't have accomplished any better results. Still, I didn't approve.
I did NOT call him on it in front of her.
I waited until we were away from her and well out of ear-shot and still spoke softly.
He didn't agree. And he didn't like it. He really didn't like my "correcting" him.
I pissed him off. And when he is pissed off, he rarely turns back.
I didn't want to let it go. I wanted him to understand my point. To let up on Stinkerbell. To do it my way.
I'm the Mommy. I know that girl. I know what she was thinking and saw the hurt in her eyes when her daddy was frustrated with her and said what he did.
I felt it my duty to put him in his place.
I will fight anyone, including him, for my babies. But he wasn't wrong.
Now, for one of the few times in our marriage, he's sleeping in a different bed than me.
I'm sitting here in bed. TV's on, Lucky's asleep next to me. Crying. Blogging. Wishing this wasn't happening.
I don't handle things like this well.
Why do I take a disagreement like this and let it explode and be about everything that bothers me about everything in my life?
Why do I equate his disagreeing with me as lack of respect?
Why do I equate his sleeping in another bedroom as if we won't make it through this?
I'm not sure how we'll get through this, but I know we will.
Just as I clicked Publish, I remembered.
Shut up. I have someone who sucks my brain cells out my nips every day.
Last night, the Auburn Family went to the local Super W-M to restock the fridge. Nevermind that we didn't buy the first thing that would actually qualify as a meat item or major ingredient in any dish. We will have clean clothes and Lucky and the Auburn Pets will eat.
The Mighty Hunter was being a real pain in the keester. Between the constant poking me in the ribs and tickling my arms (major pet peeve) and the indigestion/gas and overflowing bladder, I was full of vim and vigor and ready to get even.
All I needed was the cooperation of the pretty little college-aged girls buying french fries and ice cream and eye shadow. You know the necessities of being 20 and slim and baby-free.
I ditched The Mighty Hunter and Lucky to pee. Stinkerbell was roaming the store with Uncle Carl and Aunt Beboo, begging them to buy her everydarnpinkandpurpleponypuppykittything in sight.
When I found my boys again, they were somewhere around the cucumbers. There's probably a joke there, but I'll let it go. The pretty girls were also in the produce, probably the melons.
I hid behind a sign and, on an impulse, stepped in front of the girls.
sad, saggy mom with dark circles under her eyes: "Hi."
giggles "hi" beautiful, shiny smiles
"see that guy over there with the baby. he's my husband. will y'all play a joke on him with me?"
"like, what kind of joke?" the wind whistling from their open mouths
"go over to him and flirt with him. pinch his butt."
"yeah. it'll be so funny. it's ok. it's a joke."
the third girl with the curly hair steps up "seriously?"
"yeah, he's really my husband. walk by and brush his butt, pinch it, grab it. just get him."
The Mighty Hunter begins to walk toward the frozen foods. I scoot the girls on their merry little way and overhear, "I've never had anyone's wife ask me to..."
I head toward the end of the coolers to try to catch his expression as they goose him.
They walk past me and say they chickened out and overhear "he's got a baby with him. how cute."
Cowards. I would have totally done that, back in the day.
I so wanted to see him get embarassed. Or excited.
This seems so wrong, but I was so disappointed.
I'm behind on stalking my favorite bloggers. Which will explain to some of you why you haven't seen a hit on your counter where I opened up your blog and was interrupted and forgot to close my browser for several hours, ahem.
But, during my much-appreciated and seriously-enjoyed vacation last week, I was given an award. TWICE!
I'm all worked up about it. More than you can imagine. More than is normal or healthy. And the sheer volume of excitement I am experiencing over it should tell you how very, very disgusting and boring and sad and lonely I am. Think: dork to the 10th degree.
Bee at willblogforshoes and MrsReevesFarm at forthelove have nominated me for
I've told you before how I've won only a handful of things in my life. And most of them are of no monetary value and questionable sentimentality.
I have now to do the most difficult part of this bloggy bling and tag 5 others. But herein lies my quandry (my word for the day thankyouverymuch.) I read all the same blogs as everyone else. I'm terribly un-original and not at all creative. I simply follow all of you around and read the blogs you link to and laugh my butt off and add to my Reader.
And, worst of all (or best of all), all of you have already been given this same award.
So, if I were to actually tag 5 others, they've already been tagged.
Therefore, I'm cheapening this whole bloggy blingy award thingy by awarding everyone out there. If you're reading this, then YOU rock!
Watching my stat counter go up is one of my biggest thrills - somewhere on the list under my first lap dance. My blog is my way of presenting myself as the person I really am, and you all accept me that way. Here, I go on and on about the boring, mundane, messy things of being me. I wallow in self-pity and rejoice of little things. I fall in and out of love with The Mighty Hunter and tell you all about it. I daydream about ways of silencing the blabber-mouthed Stinkerbell and have determined that gouging a pencil through my eardrums would probably be the most effective. I share the beauty that is my son and the joy that is my Lord. I can flesh out the craziness of my life and wonder whether I will make it through the day or not. I travel down the TMI highway and question whether I should shave my knuckles.
And, since you tolerate me and return again and again for reasons I can't dream, I am making the Rockin' Girl Blogger award for everyone. You ALL rock.
Now, go forth and blog.
I actually have a few titles for this post and couldn't decide. There was "Paper Gowns, Lap Dances and Nappus Interruptis." And "Paps and Pappies." And, last but not least, "I think the wrong one of us was naked."
Yesterday was my annual gyno humiliation. Oh, the joys of being a woman with health insurance. I had made my appointment several weeks ago and didn't write it down. No, that would be too helpful and too much like planning. So, when I called the doctor's office to find out when I was scheduled and heard "this afternoon at 3:40," imagine the excitement I felt.
I did as much cleaning as possible and waited on our plumber/family friend to come fix our annoying toilet that required us to stand and wait so that we could have the pleasure of jiggling the handle to make it stop running constantly. (This running toilet just may have contributed to the record draught here in North Alabama. I'm just sayin'.)
Now, I don't know if I've told you before that The Mighty Hunter is a plumber. Oh, yeah. He's quite the handy guy to have. Except that he hates plumbing and would rather pay someone else to do it. There's another story about how his wide range of skills and talents have not been particularly, um, handy after all.
Toilet fixed, lunch consumed, baby sleeping, big kid watching something on Disney Channel. Time to shower and shave.
I arrange for The Mighty Hunter's aunt Margaret to stay with Stinkerbell while I take Lucky with me for the torture that is modern female health care.
As I pull into the parking space, this strange liquid stuff began falling from the sky. I have a memory of things like this, and we used to call it "rain." But surely I was hallucinating. But those hallucinations got my umbrella wet.
I was actually entering the exam room close to my appointment time, which gave me hope that it might be a quickie. snicker. But when I realized that I no longer heard a doctor's voice in the hall, I decided that he must have walked over to the hospital to check on a momma laboring. I decided that I should get comfortable.
I dangled my foot in front of Lucky and let him scratch my toes until it lost its entertainment value. I sat on the step to the exam table and sang to him until he was sick of "You are my sunshine" and "Itsy Bitsy Spider". I then did the thing I'd been procrastinating the whole time, I got him out of the stroller. I did this knowing that he'd probably want to nurse and scream when I tried to distract him from it. I did this knowing that he'd probably be nursing when the doc finally walked in the room. I did this knowing that I'd probably regret it.
But, it wasn't so bad. He stood in my lap and discovered the noise that a paper gown makes when it is flicked back and forth very. fast. my a baby's hand. He grabbed and pulled and twisted it till it began to tear.
Then he discovered that Mommy had given him the same fun clothes to play with beneath his feet. And the dancing began. I'm sure the nurses in the hall were wondering what I was laughing about.
He fell asleep without nursing, but not without getting his big eyes and drooling (more) when he ripped open the paper gown and flashed my bare chest.
After my lap dance, we took Uncle Carl and Aunt Beboo to dinner for Carl's birthday. I remembered the baby food and the plastic bib. But I forgot the baby spoon.
And I thought you all would like to know the solution I came up with...
Use the handle end of a spoon or fork to feed a baby! It held the baby food and fit into his mouth and worked perfectly.
Genius. Sheeeer Genius.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Bullet updates - because I can't manage much else! And, to make things interesting, in reverse chronological order!!
- Lucky is falling asleep in his swing - oh! the sweet reunion of baby and the swing. He has leaned forward and mouthed all over the little ball toy on the tray for the last 30 minutes. Now he's falling asleep with his head hanging forward. When I tried, just now, to lean him back, he complained. Sleeping peacefully with pappy in mouth, now.
- Returned last night from a trip to Dauphin Island. (remember? FIL owns a condo down there.) A 6-hour drive took 9 hours. Let's just say there was crying, screaming, inconvenient-for-travel meals, diapers, poops and an exhausted supply of baby food.
- Oh, and a Interstate FULL of others leaving the beautiful Gulf Coast and returning home for work and regular life today.
- Yes, I know I'm spoiled, getting to go to the Island 3 times this year already. But I suspect this will be my last trip for the summer. But I am hoping to go again later in the year when the weather is cooler.
- The Dauphin Island Estuarium is a neat (if very small) aquarium type place. Good for an hour of entertainment for a hyperactive 6 y-o. Lots of "lookmommymommylooklookmommymommylook!"
- The Mighty Hunter came home without us on the 4th. My dad drove down and delivered my mom so that she could stay the rest of the week and become all islandy too.
- The Mighty Hunter had washed the sheets and was putting them back on our bed when we got home. (Oh, yeah, he'll get rewarded for that one.) He had also washed his own clothes too.
- The sky may just fall later today.
- It's raining here. More evidence that the sky may fall.
- The condo lacks very little. But among the things it lacks are king-sized beds, jacuzzi/hot tub and some form of internet connection. I tried to borrow a connection from anyone nearby, but everyone there has their connection secuuuured. (Say that in your head with a whiny voice and your nose wrinkled up and kinda pissy.) So, I haven't read my blogs since Tuesday night and have, obviously, not written anything since before we left.
- I should have warned y'all that we were leaving town and don't worry and feed the animals, but I forgot.
- Toyota replaced the seatbelt mechanism in my Pimped Out Mamamobile before we left. My husband and daughter are seatbelt impaired. They, especially he, are prone to twisting the seatbelt and getting it stuck. On Father's Day, he did it for the second time and actually broke the stupid thing. Don't ask me how. I don't know. I've just threatened that if he ever does it again, that I'll just cut the seatbelt off and beat him with it.
- We ate some decent food. Mostly sandwiches and chicken tenders from every fastfood place that sells that sort of delicacy. But we did take Stinkerbell to her favorite place to eat down at the Gulf - Lamberts. It's a ritual for her, what can I say? And for those of you who enjoy laughing at people falling down or tripping or swatting at invisible spider webs - I got hit by a hot roll. Smack. in. the. face. But the mosquito bites I got while waiting somehow make up for the black eye.
- I didn't really get a black eye, but there are probably 25 mosquito bites on my ankles alone.
- Stinkerbell was stung by another jellyfish and is now afraid of the ocean. crap.
Now, looking over my Google Reader, I see that you've all been busy. I need to get busy reading, but things like dirty clothes and no food in the fridge and bills that need to be paid might cause significant delays.
Just know, I've missed you all terribly. More than is normal or healthy. I could probably benefit from some friends who are, you know, in my own town.
Anyhoo... I'll be posting more now that I'm all connected again.
And, I missed you. sniff sniff