Category Archives: TMI

Da Doo Run Run

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I’m not entirely sure how long it will last (because, you know what they say about the best laid plans) but I am currently enjoying my new-found passion, running.  I’ve done it before in the past, done it for years, actually. Somehow I always fall off after a few months and end up back to walking (BOOOOORRRRING!).  I’m beginning to think there might be some sort of pattern.  Bugaboo goes to school, I suddenly get sleep, eat well and have tons of energy to exercise.  Bugaboo has three weeks off, I get two hours of sleep a night, barely scrape appetizing meals together and gain weight.  Hmmmm…pattern?  I WONDER WHAT THE PATTERN IS.

After gaining twenty-five pounds and feeling like a slug, I up and decided I’m taking back my life.  I’m gonna do things for myself, gosh darn it.  I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and GOSH DARNIT, People like me!  Finding a way to fit it in will be interesting.  But I want to do this. I NEED to do this.  My sanity needs it and my family needs my sanity.  Sad, depressed, couch-potato mommy is no fun, doesn’t clean and makes yucky food for dinner.  Happy, energetic mommy cleans the house, does nice things for her family and makes awesome dinners for her family. And eats more potatoes.

Little, blue happy pills suck. I’ve finally decided I’m done with them. I am tired of how they make me feel.  They make me feel…numb.  Not myself.  I cannot follow conversations because I’m too busy looking at cloud formations and staring straight ahead like a deer in headlights.  Little, blue happy pills also give me problems sleeping, give me a gag reflex and make me very, very apathetic.  And they interfere with…erm…you know.  Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.  Stuff.  Husband and Wife stuff. YOU KNOW, RELATIONS?????  Sheesh.

Wanna know what always carries me through when I’ve had it with the little, blue happy pills?  Exercise.  The one and only time in my life I felt TOTALLY AWESOME was a few years ago when I was regularly going to the gym, taking good care of myself and in good shape.  According to my doctor, the only thing wrong with me medically (besides the fact that I am pre-diabetic and have two degenerative discs in my back.  You know, little stuff) is the fact that I don’t get enough sleep and I don’t get enough exercise. Those are the sole reasons I gained weight. Those are the reasons I feel BLAH.  I know, you’re asking the same thing I asked.  HOW THE F@ck am I supposed to get sleep?  How the F@ck am I supposed to get exercise? Seriously?

Ancient Chinese Secret.

Turns out that Bugaboo’s school schedule this year is much more conducive to carrying on a “normal” life. I get to take naps, I have time to clean my house, I have time to run errands AND I CAN EXERCISE ON A REGULAR BASIS.  And?  Bugaboo no longer has 3-4 week breaks!  Bugaboo has 3-5 DAY BREAKS. As in, one full school week at a time. THAT’S IT. Except for Christmas, which kinda turns out to be ten days.

Y’ALL!  I am getting a life!

I’m going to be babysitting more, volunteering more, exercising more…just the thought of it makes me giddy as a school girl.  Wanna know what else makes me giddy as a school girl?  RUNNER’S EUPHORIA. It’s the most amazing thing in the world. It makes me feel great!  I have energy!  I can’t nap because I feel so good!  Next time remind me not to run before I nap!  Ok?!?!!!!!  OMG!  Anyways, this euphoria?  I missed it. It’s good to have “ME” back. Super-energetic, happy, optimistic, super-giddy me.  The old me.  And you know what else is back?

Erm.

You  know.  Stuff.  THAT kind of stuff. Husband and Wife stuff. You know.  RELATIONS, MMKAY?

Yeah.  Loving this running.  Betcha Husband is, too.

Just Sayin’, Memorial Edition

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Say for the sake of argument you’ve gained, I dunno, Twenty-two pounds?  So you listen to your friend’s advice and try a cleanse, in case you are bloated and have stoopid stuff stuck in your colon (like red meat, ’cause you stopped being a vegetarian).  You go to the store and get, I dunno, a SEVEN DAY RAPID CLEANSE?  So, like, be careful because when they say RAPID they mean FREAKING FAST and when they say cleanse they mean YOU WILL EITHER BE SITTING ON A TOILET or SITTING IN A BATH TUB trying to get clean.  And then you might stop taking it after four days, due to severe bloating and won’t be able to go to the bathroom for three days after (not. even. kidding.).  And when you step on the scale to see if you at least shed some of your colon, you find out your weight…didn’t budge.  Twenty-two dollars well spent, doncha think?

There’s this show I like to call I’M AN ATTENTION WHORE.  I’ve never, ever watched it or paid attention to it until this season, for some strange reason.  I think it might have something to do with the final two contestants.  There’s my fav, Boy-next-door-conservative-Christian-married-guy-with-cute-dimples and then there’s glamberace-guyliner-wearing-former/current-drag-queen-blurring-the-lines-of-gender-with-his-badarse-black-nailpolish-and-falsetto.  I don’t know who I want to win more.  Cutie-pie with the dimples (because he’s my style, not because he’s conservative, because HOOBOY y’all know I’m not exactly conservative) or Guyliner Guy (because it will be really hysterical to see America’s reaction to this guy. Gal.  Person.  Can’t wait.  I might even watch it live. Or the next day on Yootoob, as I’ve been known to do.  Once. I swear it was only once.  Once thing’s for certain. The blind guy was cool, the Janice Joplin wanna be?  Not so much.  I wanted her to clear her throat. She sounded like she had a goiter.  And then there’s this. Just Sayin’.

Six Day weekends are the devil.  One word:  Bugaboo. That is all.

Another one of the neighborhood kids learned to ride a bike last night.  That makes SEVEN kids between five and ten (HA!  FIVE AND TEN!) riding their bikes at the same time, up and down the sidewalks, all summer long.  Which means I need to go buy more plastic bandage strips and antibiotic spray.  Their knees will never be the same.

They are paving roads around here. Naturally, they are paving the stretch of road between two other roads that is probably the smoothest and flattest in town. Not the other six streets that are pothole ridden.  Or the ones where the blacktop is crumbling.  Or the intersections where the road dips and my minivan bottoms out.  Nope. They are paving the nicest street in town. Makes perfect sense. It goes right by borough hall.  Just sayin’.

I still don’t have a deck. Just a mudpit.  And the mudpit is slowly making its way inside my house.  This makes me insane.  Because I’m a Domestic Engineer and I can’t figure out how to keep dirt out of my house.

It stinks not being able to give my kid sinus medication or allergy meds or decongestants because saline and natural stuff only goes so far.  When you have a kid who eats grass (which he is allergic to) and stims on dirt (which goes directly up his nose) and doesn’t know how to blow his nose, it becomes a teensy bit of an issue.

Two weeks ago I was pulling out shorts and slathering my kids with sunscreen because it was, like, ninety degrees.  This morning they are in sweat shirts and lined pants.  It went down to the forties and I turned my heat back on.  WTF, Mother Nature?  It was July in April and now it’s April in May.  If June ends up being May I’ll be REALLY TICKED OFF.

It would be really, really, REALLY nice if my kid would start sleeping in his room, instead of refusing to go to sleep and ending up in my bed, with his feet stuck between my knees and his hands on my head or in my hair.  Because it would be really, really, REALLY nice if my husband and I could, you know, sleep in the same room?  OR IN THE SAME BED?  Because last night?  We actually had some quality snuggle time and I wouldn’t exactly mind it so much if that happened SLIGHTLY MORE OFTEN THAN ONCE EVERY TWO MONTHS.

Ahem.

Not that you needed to know that. Just sayin’.

Brace Yourselves, It’s a Sensitive Topic

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If you are easily offended, NOW would be a great time to stop reading.  I’m serious.  Srsly. I decided yesterday that I must get on my soapbox and rant for a few minutes.  This is a very sensitive subject and I know it is very personal.  No one ever wants to talk about it.

It’s about toilet paper, y’all.

The reason for this rant?  I’m so freaking sick and tired of going into a public restroom and finding sand paper to wipe myself.  Lady parts are delicate flowers, no?  And worse yet?  When you are in a hurry, you go about a gallon and then reach to grab paper and…one sheet comes off.  Worse than that?  Half of the sheet comes off. And rips. And then you rip sheet after sheet off until you become so frustrated you’ve dripped dry at this point and wad up what you have and use it and then storm out of the stall, over to the sink, turning on the water so that it splashes all over you and you reach for the paper towel (also dispensed one sheet at a time) and it RIPS IN HALF, TOO.

This is purely hypothetical.  It’s not like it actually happened yesterday at the Wawa in Folsom or anything.  And it certainly didn’t happen at six o’clock EDT.

And it isn’t like I went to Mecca Tarzhay and had to go pretty badly (I’m pushing fluids, I’ve had a rotten cold, yo) and the cleanest stall was actually open for a change and so I go in there, yank the undies down and squat (never sit on a public toilet) and realize there ain’t a sheet of paper in there. And even if there was, that stuff is like using a piece of cardboard on your hoo-ha and who wants that?  Certainly not me.

I’m fairly certain that the board of directors at toilet paper manufactors are ALL MEN.  See, they only wipe about a fifth as much as we gals do and therefore they don’t care if it works like sandpaper.  I bet there’s a grand conspiracy at foot and they actually have, say, Cottonelle or Charmin in their loos.  Seriously.  I’m going in there next time. I bet it’s cleaner, too.  There’s always a line at the ladies’ room.  I never see a man go in a public restroom.  Not even my man. Not even my boys.  But that may be due to the fact that my boys don’t use public restrooms and prefer to actually go by the nearest tree or, say, wet themselves in THE MIDDLE OF NEBRASKA when you yourself are running a fever of, say, ONE HUNDRED FOUR and there aren’t any rest stops for two hundred miles because you passed one and stopped twenty miles ago and he SWEARS, HE DOESN’T HAVE TO GO AND NOTHING WILL COME OUT.

Just sayin’.

Whatever You Do, Do NOT Give DG a DONUT!

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Alas, my friends, this is not information that the teachers had at the appreciation brunch at Bug Boy’s school this morning.

Today was the annual Volunteer Appreciation brunch. The teachers set it up as a way to say, “THANKS!” to the parents who volunteer and help out at school. The parents run a pretty freaking awesome Home and School Association that runs everything from fund raisers to picnics to parent information nights and so on.  And being a card-carrying member of the Too Stoopid to Say No Club, I attended.

They had everything from bagels to fruits to pastries and donuts.  Not just any donuts. The ones I grew up with. The ones that my parents bought nearly every Sunday after church and CCD.  The ones that are like crack for your eyes. Oh yes. I’m talking about this:

Do you see it there on the lower right?  There it is in all of it’s perfection, the Vanilla Kreme Donut.  There ain’t nothing like it. I mean, if sugar were crack, this would be the mother load.  And sugar IS crack, what do you know!  At least for me.  I don’t buy it when folks say that they don’t think sugar and high-fructose corn syrup cause hyperactivity. Apparently, these people have never met MY FAMILY.

I mean, why bother eating it?  We could just inject the sweet goodness into our veins. Might as well, because it’s going straight to my bloodstream, right?  But then you’d miss the best part about that donut, in all of it’s powdered-with-even-more-sugar glory.  Biting into it, carefully, while the cream OOZES OUT INTO YOUR MOUTH.  And slides down your throat, instantly making you gasp for water. And the cream oozes out of the side of the donut, while the powdered sugar sticks to your hands and somehow ends up on your jeans, even though you’ve been really careful and put a napkin under you and you have NO IDEA how it got there.

Why does that donut have to be so good?

I’ve had others. I’ve had homemade ones, KK donuts (OMG a HOT FRESH Donut is super-duper delightful and decadent and DEADLY.  ALLITERATION! GO ME!).  They’re awesome.  But there’s something about that Vanilla Kreme donut that I just cannot resist.  I fully intended to go to this function this morning, chat with the teachers about Bug Boy’s placement and what I thought would be a good fit (and PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE don’t put him in the same class as Little Miss, ’cause they are like sister and brother and they’d get sick of one another) and then have some healthy fruit salad and a hot tea and maybe munch on half a bagel with some light cream cheese. Because I’m all healthy like that.

BUT THE DONUTS CALLED MY NAME.

I heard it.  They were whispering, “DG!  DG!  C’mon up here and scoop us up.  You know you want to.  It’ll make you feel good…good…good…”  I just could resist. I waited until the teachers went to meet their classes, grabbed a donut when no one was looking and bolted for my car.  There I devoured that donut in about two seconds flat.  Completely without guilt.  I enjoyed every drop of that oozy, sticky, yummy, unhealthy, nutritionally deficient food.

And then two minutes into the five minute car ride home?  I felt like someone had just given me an upper. My heart was racing, my limbs were trembling and I felt slightly nauseated. Which is why I eat one of these things about once a year, and usually only a half, and usually only after I’ve eaten some protein. Otherwise I’d end up downtown in some rat-infested and abandoned building, selling my worldly possessions to buy donuts, because they are like drugs to me.  Yummy, sticky, oozy drugs.  MINE, ALL MINE!!!!

She Finally Caught One

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So.

We found a handful of rabbit fur in the backyard this morning.  Or should I say, a mouth full?  Either way, it had blood on it. And it was in Shadow’s mouth.  Ew.

I don’t want to think about it.  I am proud of her, however.  This dog, in all of her nine years, has never come close to catching a rodent in her backyard.   Believe me, it isn’t for lack of trying.  She tries. She chases, runs, gallops and prances. They outrun her.

I’m wondering if since she’s recently lost the weight that has been bogging her down and she has this new-found energy, if she is finally coming into her own!  GO SHADOW.

Poor rabbit.

Because It Isn’t About Poo or My Backyard

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It’s aboutpuke.

As in, dog puke.

As in, I was groggy, stumbled into the family room to open the slider and let her out this morning (because she was whining to go out, a rarity).

As in, stepped in the dog puke that was RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR.  And my curtain (the ones I took down and spent the entire weekend washing) was hanging into it.  And I washed the rug for the dog foot prints, so she puked on the high-end wool area rug.

Sigh.  Never a dull moment.

Hygeine Skills? Who Needs ‘Em?

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A sampling of what we encountered this weekend:

Bugaboo:

  • Using the bathroom cup as a dipper to drink (yeah!  He’s learning to drink out of a real cup!).  Except that he was drinking the water out of the toilet.  And someone (AHEM!  Bug BOY!) did not flush it.
  • Licking the ground at the soccer field to feel the gravel on his tongue.
  • Licking the floor at Tarzhay, because he loves Tarzhay.
  • Refusing to allow me to blow his nose, then sneaking up behind me and doing it anyway on the back of my shirt. Which then touched my skin.  Ew.
  • Spitting out a piece of chewed-up sandwich and then picking it up and tossing it on my plate. Guess he wanted to share.

Bug Boy:

  • Picking his nose during church and reaching out to shake hands during the sign of peace
  • Going to the bathroom and then sitting down immediately to finish his lunch. I sent him back in to wash his hands and he put his sandwich down on the toilet. Sigh.
  • Picking up food on the ground at the fun fair and asking if he could have it.
  • Finding a water bottle someone else left behind and taking a swig before I could catch him.

There’s no hope…