Other moms know this, but they probably won't admit it.

Two things I have learned that no other mother has ever admitted to me.  I'm revealing ugly truths here people.  You're welcome.

Kids are annoying.

Before you have kids, you may not like them much.  They are loud and obnoxious and disruptive and just generally a buzz kill.  Other people’s kids are the worst.  Strange random kids in public, even more terrible than the wretched kids you know.  And then you have kids of your own.

Every mother (well, most mothers) are instantly in love with their kid.  That child is the most gorgeous, smartest, funniest, most adorable, most special kid EVER.  And that’s as it should be.  You may still find other kids annoying, but not your sweet, precious angel.  Oh no. That little nugget of joy could never, EVER, do anything wrong.

Lies.  Terrible, terrible lies that you tell yourself.

But here’s the thing.  You will feel all those delightful feelings of wonder.  You will think your child is the most amazing, awesome, totally fantastic thing to ever grace this earth.  And in that very same breath, you will also think that your child must have been spawned from demon seed because Oh My God, does he/she EVER stop/shut up/sit down/sleep?!?!?!  It happens.

Truth is, as wonderful as they are, kids are small mucous smeared, peanut butter coated, Cheeto dust sprinkled nightmares, out to destroy your sanity one moment at a time.  And you will actually, for the most part, be okay with that. 

They will make you late.  They will make you cancel plans at the last minute.  They will make you leave a party/restaurant/church (etc) early.  They will make you doubt your sanity in the grocery store.  And they will test the very limits of your patience at the playground. 

And just when you think you can’t take hearing your name another time that day without having a psychotic break, when you can’t possibly clean up another mess without sobbing in a heap on the floor, when there is just no conceivable way you can answer that same question AGAIN without putting your fist through a wall … that annoying little dirt covered creature will run up and hug you, tightly, and whisper that they love you, and all will be right with the world.

You will never again use the bathroom in private.

At first, you will put the tiny baby in the crib, and you will bring the monitor into the bathroom, and you will shower quickly as you listen for the slightest rustle or sigh on that speaker.  Then, you will get more comfortable.  You will put the baby in the crib or playpen and go take a normal shower, or poop in peace.  Then, they gain mobility.  Still, you can trap them in the playpen or crib long enough to run to the bathroom, and shower while they nap. 

But by now, vocal abilities have kicked in.  So, even though you are technically alone in the bathroom, you will still hear plaintive cries for your immediate attention.  Which will stress you out.  Because what if the baby is sick or hurt or neeeeeds you right that second.  You will adjust.  And still, there is some semblance of privacy.

By age 4, it is a lost cause.  You will settle the child in front of the TV, with the current most favorite cartoon playing to keep them occupied.  You will quietly, slowly, stealthily tiptoe away toward the bathroom.  As soon as you are out of their line of sight, you will sprint to the toilet.  You will sit down and commence with your business.

And there it is.  The Child.  There.  In the bathroom.  With toys.  Or a book.  They will not leave.  You will beg, bargain, cry, demand, yell.  But no.  They are steadfast.  They will build legos or color, you will read their favorite book.  If you are lucky, you will be able to distract them long enough, or send them on an important errand for a book/toy long enough to actually wipe your ass without an audience.  Other times, not so much.

At first you will be horrified.  Eventually, you will just accept it and go with it.  And as they get even older, you will learn to master this usage of time.  Because the child will run in, ask you what you are doing, and run out.

They will be back.  Running back and forth.  Telling you plot points of the cartoon.  Revealing random facts about what’s happening elsewhere in the house.  Demanding that you hurry so you can fulfill some need they have.  You will learn to gauge how much time you have between interruptions.  You will check your email, maybe play a level of Candy Crush or whatever the current thing is.  You will close your eyes, rest your elbows on your knees, your chin in your hand, and just take a few calming breaths.  It’s all you are probably going to get.

The lack of privacy will also extend to the shower because there is always something super important that they have to tell you.  Once those tiny hands learn the art of doorknobs, it’s all over with.  Unless you are willing to actually lock the bathroom door.  Personally, I just can’t do it.  I’d rather have him barging in and out twenty times than have that locked barrier between us.  At some point, I know he will get better at respecting boundaries, and actually heed my pleadings of “please, for once let Mama poop in peace”.  But for now, my bathroom time is never private.  And I really try to be okay with that.  Most days I almost succeed.

Conversely, once the child starts to potty train, they will want you to give them their privacy and be nowhere near the bathroom door.  The Minion wants me to sit on the bed and wait until he calls out that he’s finished.  He will randomly call out my name or a question, just to verify that I am still there, where he has told me to stay.  Then he expects me to inspect his wiping capabilities, tidy up any messes, and help him figure out how the heck to get his pants back from being wrong side out.

My child is a naked pooper.

He must strip completely naked in order to go.  I have no idea where it comes from, but he has a deep rooted fear of pooping on his clothing.  So, it all comes off.  Fine at home.  Acceptable at grandma’s.  NOT COOL at Walmart.  He’s also a leisurely pooper, content to sit there for a good 20 minutes if I let him, reading books and just generally being weird about it.  He gives me a running commentary on how the poop is progressing, how many he’s done, how many he has left.  And, if left totally to his own devices, he will manage to use about half a roll of toilet paper and flush about 6 times.  He keeps me on my toes.

graduation, questionable antics with goats, and way too much crap in my house ...

Big development in the land of Eville.  We have totally switched from cow milk to almond milk.  It’s a shocking revelation, trust me.  POF has single-handedly consumed 4-5 gallons of milk, on his own, per week for years.    Which is …. Ridiculous.  So, yay us for making the switch.

What else is new?  Everything and nothing.

The Minion continues to amaze and confound at every turn with his hilarious comments.  Kindergarten registration is just a week away, and preschool graduation in a month.  Sometimes I look at him, and he looks so big and so grown up, and it just blows my mind that he’s 5 already.

Just the other night, he and POF were doing math together, and it was the cutest thing ever.  He loves numbers, like his daddy, so they can be math nerds together and leave me out of it.  Come see me when you have a paper to write, kid.  Math problems?  Go see your father.

I'm on the fence about this whole preschool graduation thing.  I mean, on the one hand ... tiny caps and gowns, seriously adorable.  But, really?  Don't I have to deal with kindergarten graduation next year?  Okay.  Maybe I am totally cool with the preschool graduation.  It's a different facility, different kids, different teachers.  Then it's off to the big school, doing the big kid, official school thing.  So, what the heck do we need a kindergarten graduation for?  Same school, same everything.  

What's the big deal?  I mean, why not a 2nd grade graduation?  Do they have a 4th grade graduation before going to middle school in 5th?  I don't think they do.  And they shouldn't.  It's school.  It's REQUIRED to succeed in life, even a tiny bit.  There should be no reason for graduation until you finish it and go to college. The reward is getting to go to the next grade with your friends and not stay behind for another year of life skills you half-assed the first time. 

What's the resale value on a pre-school cap and gown?  Chances are, it will end up sealed in a box, in the attic, next to my high school and college caps and gowns.  I have had approximately ZERO uses for them.  In fact, I have never opened the boxes.  They will stay there, sealed for future generations, until I die and The Minion has to go through all my useless crap ... then he can figure out what the hell to do with it.  Hakuna Matata and all that jazz.

We had our first zoo visit of the season recently, and I have decided that 5 is a good age to attempt the petting zoo thing.  Thus far, it’s been avoided.  Partly because I don’t really like to be assaulted by pushy goats.  And partly because of things like this:

The last time I let The Minion into a petting zoo type scenario, he kissed a goat.  Super cute.  But, ewwwww, goat lips. 

We have way too much stuff, and not enough room.  It’s getting overwhelming.  My dining room isn’t even a room for dining.  It’s a room full of crap.  It’s where all the crap I don’t have a place for gets tossed.  We are one cardboard box away from an episode of Hoarders up in this place.  So … the mission is to clean shit out.

The Minion has other ideas.  He LOVES every toy he’s ever been given.  He plays with them ALL (no, no he doesn’t), and he WANTS to keep every single one.  FOREVER.  Sigh.

Just to clarify - this is a screen shot from Two Broke Girls.  It's not NEARLY this bad ... but it could be.  I need to get my shit under control.

The worst part is, I have the same problem.  Doesn’t matter if I hate it, or if it no longer fits … if it has a significant memory attached (or if, God help me, it was a gift), I just have trouble letting it go.  I feel guilty, getting rid of something that someone gave to me.  Like they will think I don’t like them if I get rid of it.  Which is CRAZY.  So … behavior to work on … getting rid of shit you don’t need, because your house is a disaster area, and the world will not stop turning when you throw stuff out.  I get uneasy just thinking about it.

I need a dumpster, a week off, and the ability to emotionally distance myself from ‘stuff’.  The stuff isn’t needed, if anything it’s making life miserable.  So, yeah.  That stuff.  Fingers crossed I can wrestle my little inner demons and work some shit out so I can have a normal house that you can walk through in the dark without fear of injury.

The busy season is kicking in at work.  That means less time for stuff like this, and more time for actual work.  I love being busy - time passes quicker.  And I love the chaos of phones ringing and people yelling, and the pressure of "omg, gotta get this done FAST, and there are ten more just like it waitng".  But, it leaves less time for musings and postings.  I am determined to get some good stories out of it to share.

Until next time, may the Easter Pig bring you a bountiful cornucopia of chocolate delights.

The one where I get all preachy about kids and shots

Recently, a friend of mine posted an article about the outbreaks of measles in California and how it could all be prevented by simply vaccinating your child.  She’s a nurse, so she is definitely pro-vaccination.  As am I.  I have tried to see the logic and reasoning behind the anti-vaccination groups, and I just can’t wrap my head around it.

And … seeing as how I am one of those pesky liberals, I am also pro-choice.  Meaning, it doesn’t matter what my personal feelings and opinions and beliefs are about abortion and birth control and all that stuff.  It should be up to each individual woman, at each individual point in her life, to determine what is best for her at that moment.  I don’t know her, her life, her problems.  Therefore, it’s not my place to tell her what she should and should not be able to do when it comes to her body.

And so, here we are.  With this vaccine post.  Someone commented that she wished that they had an “ethical” vaccine for MMR.  That if they did, she would use it.  But since a portion of that vaccine was developed using embryonic cells from aborted babies, she would not use it. 

Let me tell ya … that has been sitting in my brain for days now, just tumbling around.  I have thought about it.  A lot.  And my brain says … That is just about the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  Seriously.

Don’t get me wrong.  I get that she is pro-life.  And that is totally okay.  That’s her belief, her choice.  What bothers me is that she is so all consumed by this stance that she can’t see beyond it.

First, all that I have been able to find about it says that the pregnancy was willingly terminated.  Meaning that the mother chose to abort.  Ok.  Now, some may think that is wrong, that she is a murderer, whatever.  But this was in the early 1960s.  Things were a lot different then.  We don’t know the story.  Maybe the baby had some sort of severe deformity or illness that would have led to its death shortly after birth.  Maybe the mother felt that it would be easier to end the pregnancy early than to carry to term, deliver, and then have the baby die in her arms.  Maybe she was just a flaky hippie chick who didn’t want a kid.  Who knows.  And that’s the point.  You can’t know, and maybe there was a valid medical reason to terminate.  Things were a lot different then, medical advances weren’t what they are today. 

Also, those same cells have been used, reproduced and regenerated in the lab, all of this time.  The same cells.  Aborted babies aren’t being taken every week to make a new batch of vaccine.  The very same cells from the early 1960’s are still used today. 

Now, assuming that you still feel that aborting, under ANY circumstance, is wrong, a sin, whatever … that leads us to this point.  Any bodily fluid or substance is considered a bio hazard.  Blood, urine, skin, fetus.  All of it.  So, after a surgery, or a birth, or an abortion, all that material is put into a bio hazard bag.  It is taken to a bio hazard disposal, and it is destroyed. 

Back when I was a candy striper, the hospital had an incinerator onsite, and they burned it all there, every day.  Some places probably send it to a landfill.  It happens.  Either way, this material is trash.  Burned or buried.  So, regardless of how you feel about the process, the fact is, the fetus is trash, and it is destroyed.

But … instead of destroying this one, this time, doctors used that fetus.  They took cells and they used those cells to create a vaccine.  They took a decision that is tragic and painful and devastating, and they turned it into something positive that has helped millions of people in the past 50 years.  So … ethical vaccine.  Really?

If you can’t see beyond your personal belief about abortion being wrong to the fact that something very good and very beneficial to the world came from that decision, then – to me – that’s narrow minded.

There was some comment about how God should never allow blah blah blah.  Well, fine.  But guess what?  Shitty, terrible stuff happens every day.  Kids starve to death.  Kids are killed by their parents.  Kids are shot in the street.  Kids are beaten.  IT HAPPENS.

It shouldn’t.  But it does.  And God doesn’t stop it.  For whatever reason.  Good exists, but so does evil.  It’s a balance.  Some people believe in total free will – we choose and create our own paths.  Some believe that the basic path is already mapped out, and our choices … a or b … along the way determine where we end up.  And some believe that everything, every single act and decision, is already predetermined before we are born.  That we are just living the life that has already been foreseen and set in motion.  We think we have choice, but we are really just acting out the play in the Grand Plan that has already been created.

Regardless of which is true, the fact is, bad things happen.  Every day.  Sometimes to really good people.  Sometimes to kids.  You can hate it.  You can protest it.  You can condemn it.  But it happens.

The fact is, this one time, some doctor took a terrible thing and turned it into a positive.  This child that was never born, never grew up, never got to get married, never got to have a job, never got to be a member of society … that child made the most significant contribution to society that it could possibly make.  The very cells of that child created something that has saved the lives of millions of other children.  I would say that is probably a far greater contribution than the child would have ever made had it lived.  That is pretty amazing.

Maybe, if people could see beyond their own prejudices, their own preconceptions, their own blind devotions, they might see things in a new light.

There are millions of animals that have been harmed testing medicines and cosmetics for human consumption.  That’s not ethical, but I bet you are wearing/eating/taking them without even thinking about that.  There are millions of tiny children around the world that work in horrible and dangerous conditions to make the clothing and toys in your home.  That’s not ethical either, but I bet you don’t think twice about that.

You don’t want to vaccinate your kid.  Fine, your choice.  But doing it because the vaccine isn’t “ethical”.  That’s wrapping your belief in a pretty little bow to make you feel self-righteous and smug and better about your decision.  It has nothing to do with the truth.  It has nothing to do with the health and well-being of your child. 

It’s okay to stand up for what you believe it.  It’s okay to voice your opinions.  And it’s okay to disagree with the opinion of others.  But always, ALWAYS, keep an open mind.  Be willing to see the forest beyond the trees.  Be willing to consider the big picture, to go outside of your comfort zone.  Be willing to consider other options, to weigh pros and cons.  Don’t just make sweeping judgments based on your moral convictions.  They aren’t always correct.  Or in your best interests.

Thoughts?

If you are not dead, I need you to call me ...

I get spam from time to time.  You know the kind, where the Nigerian prince has eleventy million dollars and he wants to give you half, but he needs you to send him $1200 to cover fees.  Because, naturally, if I was a Nigerian prince, I would randomly pick some strange person from America to assist me.

Well.  Today I got one.  And it is possibly the most hilarious thing I have ever read.  I have copied and pasted the entire thing below, because really, it was too amazing not to share.  The fact that it appears that the writer thinks I am dead, yet is sending me an email is just .... well, it's ridiculously funny.  I would love to respond and say that unfortunately, I am in fact dead.  However, I have manged to amass enough energy from the spectral plane to generate this email response allowing Mr Smith in West Virginia to claim my vast and previously unknown fortune.

I won't even go into a diatribe about misspellings and improper grammar.  The mistakes just make it that much more fun.  And seriously, I am tempted to respond, just for amusement.  If I knew I could do it safely and securely I would.  But I have no idea how all that scary tech stuff works, so I don't want to open myself up to any further issues.  But still ...

I AM SORRY TO SHOW YOU THIS IF IT'S NOT TRUE BUT I HAVE SENT YOU SO MANY EMAIL

THROUGH OUT LAST WEEK AFTER I HEART HIS BUT YOU COULD NOT ANSWER ME. I RECEIVED

AN EMAIL FROM BEARNARD WILLIAMS SMITH,

 HE CALLED THIS OFFICE YESTERDAY WITH THIS TELEPHONE NUMBER: +17038879002

INFORMED E THAT YOU ARE DEAD AS THE RESULT OF YOUR THREE DAYS SICKNESS AND HE

SAID THAT I SHOULD SEND HIM YOUR FUND IN ATM TO HIS ADDRESS AND HERE IS HIS

ADDRESS: AND HOME INFORMATION WHICH HE HAS PROVIDED AS FOLLOWS,NAME MR. BEARNARD

WILLIAMS SMITH Address:   #6 Chateau Grove Lane, Barboursville, West Virginia

25504: United States

  ACCORDING TO HIM ON OUR PHONE CONVERSATION AND EMAIL,

HE STATED  THAT HE IS YOUR NEXT OF KIN BENEFICIARY, AND HE ALSO TOLD US THAT YOU

INSTRUCTED HIM TO CLAIM YOUR PROPERTIES INCLUDING YOUR MONEY IN CASE IF YOU ARE

NO MORE TO BE FOUND ON EARTH AND THE AMOUNT IS US$7,5MILLION UNITED STATE DOLLAR

IN YOUR (ATM MASTER CARD)

I AM VERY SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOU ARE NO MORE TO BE FOUND ON EARTH AND I DON'T

KNOW THAT THIS IS THE REASON WHY YOU HAVE NOT REPLY TO ALL THE EMAIL I SENT TO

YOU REGARDING THE TRANSFER OF YOUR FUND.

BUT IF YOU ARE NOT DEAD I WILL NEED YOUR CALL TO BE SURE AND MAIL (D.H.L)

BECAUSE HE PROMISE THAT HE WILL PAY ALL THE DELIVERY FEE WHICH IS $105 TO ENABLE

US DELIVER THE (ATM MASTER CARD). TO HIM AND I WILL NOT RELEASE THIS FUND TO ANY

BODY BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW MR WILLIAMS SMITH, AND YOU DID NOT TOLD US THAT HE IS

YOUR NEXT OF KIN SO PLEASE THAT IS THE PROBLEM WE HAVE HERE RIGHT NOW SO GET

BACK TO US NOW AND ALSO TRY TO CALL US WITH THIS

HERE IS WHAT HE FORWORDED TO US ABOUT YOUR DEAD

Coffin being taken out of the cathedral

Pavarotti's coffin

YOURS FAITHFULLY

REV.DR. DOUGLAS MORRISON

E- MAIL (  okolojos@yahoo.co.jp )

Telephone Number +234 81 78553972 CALL US RIGHT AWAY

This is what my reply would be:

Dear Rev. Dr. Douglas Morrison,

I appreciate your concern for my mortal remains.  Alas, Mr. Bearnard Williams Smith is correct, and I have departed this realm for the celestial heavens.  I apologize for the delay in responding, but it has taken me considerable time and effort to amass the energy necessary to manipulate electronics from the spiritual plane.

As I am no longer in the mortal world, it would appear that Mr. Bearnard Williams Smith will claim his rights to my fortune.  A fortune that I was previously unaware existed.  However, since I have taken the time out of my busy spectral schedule to communicate with you, I thought I would share a few other details I have become aware of here in the Great Beyond.

It appears that Mr. Bearnard Williams Smith lives at Chateau Grove Senior Living.  However, the number given above is for a Verizon cell phone in Arlington.  For obvious reasons, I do not plan to call that number. Just know that if I did call it, I am pretty sure that the person answering it would not be Mr. Bearnard Williams Smith.  I should also add that it appears that this Senior Living Center is nestled behind a trucking company and a Steak N Shake, with the interstate running behind.  Bleak enrivons indeed.  I can completely understand why he would want to claim my vast fortune to escape his surroundings.

It would also appear that you sir are all over the globe.  Your email address is a Japanese exchange, though I have discovered that it is fairly simple to get a foreign email address with just a few clicks of the mouse, regardless of where you really are.  (God Bless Google at it's abilities to be manipulated in the supernatural realm).  Since the phone number provided has a Nigerian country code, I am guessing you are probably not in Japan.  Clever attempt though.  If I still had appendages, I'd give you a smattering of courtesy applause for your efforts.

I will close the the fact that I have never told you that Mr. Bearnard Williams Smith is my next of kin because, well, I have have never spoken with you. And, as I do not know anyone by that name, I am going to say that I am confident in my assessment that he is a stranger.  As are you.  I will also guess that there is in fact no US$7, Million, United State Dollar (ATM Master Card) for me.  And even if there was ... who besides possibly Beyonce would have a Master Card with a $7M limit.  And why would I claim it, given it's a CREDIT CARD, and I would be liable for the charges.  Even in the afterlife, I am not an idiot.  Nice try. Perhaps you would have more success with actual gainful employment.  Some refresher courses in proper spelling and grammar would also be a good idea.

Finally, I am, at this very moment, putting a hex on you from the grave.  Bibbity bobbity boo.

Sincerely,

Miss Hermoine Granger

Bachelor and birthing babies

This morning I had three specific things I wanted to talk about.  Now, I can only remember two.  I hate that.  So, here goes, and maybe the other one will come to me.

First, let me say that I do not watch The Bachelor.  Have never had the urge, don’t care for any of that nonsense.  My reality shows lean toward alligators and loggers … classy stuff.  But, I have seen and heard all the media the past few weeks about what an apparent douchemonkey the guy has been during the show.  And it made me wonder … maybe it’s intentional.

The show has been around forever.  It’s a formula, not a lot of deviation.  Doing the nice guy thing hasn't worked since there haven’t been a dozen happily ever afters.  And, from what I can vaguely recall, a few of the “nice guys” actually turned out to be assholes.  And that gets attention.  So, why not purposely enlist a jerk of douchey proportions to change it up a bit.

I can totally see the people on the show being like – Well, he’s good looking, but he’s kind of a dick.  What if we let him just be that way, or even encourage him to be an even bigger twatwaffle than normal.  It will be ratings gold.  And of course, no one else will know about it.  Let’s get everyone’s reactions to him being such an ass, so it seems more natural.

I’d believe in that possibility.  He gets paid.  He gets to screw around with a bunch of hot chicks.  And in the end, he doesn’t have to do all the fake romance engagement bullshit.  He takes his cash and goes on his merry way.  And maybe, a few of the women saw through it and walked away with no damage done.  And maybe, the one still standing at the end actually saw through the bullshit and really liked him for him.  Or not.  I mean, he’s pretty unlikable.  But, it could happen.

The Minion is in birthday countdown mode.  He is VERY excited to be turning 5.  Naturally, he is loving the conversation about him being born and being a baby.  So far, he has zero curiosity about how he got to be Minion-In-The-Belly.  But he definitely wants to know how he came out of the belly.  This morning he asked if, when he was born, he came out of my mouth.  I laughed and said no.  He was being giggly and silly, so I assumed that was the end of it. 

But, no.  Now we have Serious Face.  And he want to know, well, then where did he come out of my belly?  Did the doctor cut him out?  I said no, they didn't cut him out, though they did help him out.  From where?  Well … let’s just say that Mama was NOT prepared to have this conversation at 7 AM.  It’s possible I might have just stood there, blank faced, staring at him for a good minute or so, trying to decide what to say.

It’s not that I don’t want to get technical with him, but he is only (almost) 5, so I know I need to keep it pretty simple.  I told him boys and girls have different private parts, and that girl parts were special so that babies could be born, so that’s where he came from.  He thought that sounded pretty weird and kinda gross.  I felt like I came out of the conversation dodging a major bullet, and dreading the next phase when he finally decides to ask HOW he got in my belly to begin with.  The stork theory seems mighty appealing right now.

my sky obsession knows no bounds

So, as I might have mentioned ... I sort of have an obsession with taking pictures of the sky.  Sunrise, sunset, clouds, etc.  It's all just so damn amazing, and every single day I see about a hundred cool shots in my head as I am driving.  It's both frustrating and elating.

Last night, I went out into the backyard and spent 45 minutes playing with the camera.  It seemed like 5.  I could easily be lost in taking pictures for hours.  One Saturday, I am determined to get in the car and just drive the country roads, pulling over to shoot whatever catches my eye.  I'm gonna need a bigger memory card.

Here are a few shots of last night that I have to share.  Because they capture something to beautiful to keep to myself.  Enjoy.  Maybe I will work on figuring out how to make an income from them.  Surely someone, somewhere could use them for something.

Poop, and dreams, and changes suck

So far this year we have had health scares and car accidents and legal troubles and relationship troubles and I am ready for spring to be here and for everyone to just be happy and okay.  And by “we” I mean that my large extended family of relatives and friends alike.  Because their problems affect me too.  I worry and cry and stress right along with them, over all their troubles, just as they do mine.

So, I am ready for all the crap to be done and for the good stuff to kick in.  I have Spring Fever for sure.

Speaking of crap …

Because I apparently have the mind of a ten year old boy, I find poop hilarious and fascinating.  My child is a Super Pooper.  Once he was fully potty trained and pooping like a champ on the toilet, his big boy bowels apparently kicked into high gear, and that child is amazing.  I cannot believe that so much can come from something so small.  There are times when I want to take a picture just for proof.

But then common sense kicks in, and I realize I am weird enough as it is.  If I go around showing people pictures of my kid’s bowel movements with comments like, “Look at the sheer volume! How is that possible?!” … well, I don’t need to draw any more attention to my questionable sanity.  It’s a strange state of being amazed and oddly proud of his pooping prowess.

He can pee like a champ too, and I am convinced that he could hit the toilet from a good ten feet away.  It’s impressive.

Maybe it’s because I am a girl and don’t have all the dangly bits.  Or maybe he’s like supernaturally gifted in bowel/bladder elimination.  Either way, I am constantly impressed and horrified by his accomplishments.  Especially since he “doesn’t like the sound” of the toilet flushing and I have to practically beat him to get him to flush when he’s done.  I told him this morning that he needed to get over it because he would be flushing the toilet for the rest of his life.  He looked at me, totally deadpan, and said “nuh uh”.  It would not surprise me at all to discover he has already conceived a plan for getting others to do the flushing for him.  He’s diabolical like that.

This morning, we were laying on the bed, and he was telling me about his dream last night.  We are ALWAYS running late in the mornings, and I know we need to get better at this because it is just not acceptable for him to be late to kindergarten every morning.  But I figure we have till August to get that worked out.  So, in the mornings, we run late.  Because, if he wants to lay there for ten minutes telling me about his dream … Well, then I will lay there and cuddle him and listen.  That’s Super Important Stuff.  And yes, I will work on earlier wake-up times that will allow this to continue while still getting us out the door on time.  But for now, I don’t stress it.

It always starts the same … “Mama, guess what I dreamed about last night?”  And I will ask what, and he will tell me.  This time it was Star Wars.  Always a cool dream, and worthy of hearing.  He was a Jedi with Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader was a good guy and they were fighting the stormtroopers.  And Princess Leia did not have a lightsaber, but she got a gun from one of the stormtroopers, so she was shooting them.  Then she dressed up in a stormtrooper suit and snuck into the stormtroopers lair (Yes, he used the word lair.  God I love this kid.), and was blasting them.  And Han Solo was there somewhere.  I guess just hanging out, looking cool.  I really didn’t get the specifics.  It was a very detailed telling, and I love that he has such a big imagination.  My dreams are never anywhere near being that cool.

Sweet dreams … or not …

I remember a lot of my dreams.  And I do have some dreams frequently.  Same scenario, or even exact same.  Which is a little freaky.

I also dream about snakes a lot.  Or being bitten by snakes.  I know there’s got to be some sort of big Freudian analysis there, but whatever.  I think it’s probably stress.  When I am subconsciously worried about something, I dream of snakes biting me.  Maybe one snake, maybe dozens.  Always different events, different places, different things happening around me.  But always with the snakes.  Considering that snakes creep me the fuck out, it’s not pleasant. 

For years, my mental cue that I was troubled about something was my high school boyfriend.  He would pop up in a dream, and I would know that my brain was definitely worried about something.  I very rarely ever had interaction with him, he would just sorta be there, in the background.  I actually prefer the snakes.

I also dream about my teeth falling out a lot.  Not just like, loose tooth falls out, but like they crumble in my mouth and I am spitting out chunks of tooth.  This is definitely a stress dream, according to various dream interpretations.  But I don’t seem to have them when I am stressed … that’s the snakes.  Dear Lord, with the snakes.  I would definitely prefer the teeth to the snakes.  Although the teeth thing is also pretty disconcerting and always leaves me feeling sort of unsettled when I wake up.

One of the best, and most frustrating, things is flying.  Not like superhero flying.  More just like hovering about 6 feet off the ground and sort of floating around.  Actually, it’s a lot like The Gentlemen from Buffy.  Only, I don’t have the scary face and I am higher off the ground.  But the movement is similar.  I would LOVE to be able to hover in real life.  Or teleport.  I’d give a boob to be able to do that.  Seriously.

And of course, there’s the all too common “I didn’t finish 5^th grade social studies so I have to go back and do that” type dream.  I actually like these, because they are so funny.  I actually stress in the dream about how am I going to go back and take 10^th grade geometry again when I have to work.  I find that funny.  And it’s ALWAYS a math class.  I really, really dislike math.

For the longest time, any time I got in a car to drive, it would turn into a bicycle.  Now, it stays a car, but it’s more of an open sided go kart kind of vehicle than an actual car.  And I do generally have trouble navigating in it.  No idea what that’s about.  I drive all the time, only had a couple of accidents, none too traumatic or with serious injuries.  One of those little brain quirks that amuses me.

The one dream that I don’t have much anymore, than goodness, is the one where my grandmother is still alive.  It’s always that she left and we thought she was dead, but she comes back and she’s alive, and I spend most of the time asking her why she left and what took so long to come back and why she wants to leave again, and I always wake up crying and sad and I just really, really hate those dreams.  I’ve heard some people say that when you dream of someone that has died, it’s them visiting you in your dream.  And I am cool with that.  By all means, come see me.  But stop making it so damn traumatic, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.  It’s just too damn hard to deal with.

And how in the world did I just totally digress into all that nonsense?  Not at all what I had planned.  Seems to always happen that way.  That’s the joy of just starting to type and seeing what falls out of your brain.

I struggle sometimes with what to write.  Should I be a “mommy” blog type, even though there are so many of those and I am not that girl?  Should I try for the funny?  The smart?  The statement?  I don’t know.  I don’t have a genre or a goal or a target audience.  So, I just sit and start typing and go with what happens.  Sometimes it’s funny, or serious, or sad.  But it’s all me.  And I can live with that.  I’m not fancy.  Pretty goofy.  A little odd.  Kinda like this place. 

Parting is such sweet sorrow …

Somehow, I have become the Office Mom.  I am cool with that actually.  I have the “Mom Box”, which is the box full of aspirin and Tums and band-aids and all that good stuff.  I also have favorites.   My favorite Newman (I didn't watch Seinfeld regularly, but I know Newman.  He’s totally my Newman), that I just loved to hate, left at the end first of the year.  I miss his smart-ass remarks, though I have seen him several times since he left.  But today is a sad day because Mom’s favorite kid is leaving to go on to bigger and better things.  I will miss him.  He’s the one that I cut up with and text smart ass comments back and forth with.  The favorite. 

So, now I have to find a replacement for him.  Big shoes to fill.  Not looking forward to it.  He walked out the door ten minutes ago, and the first interview to replace him is in two hours.  I dread it already.