My Brush With the B-List

So after a couple crazy busy weeks and a little laziness on my part, I am back.

We don't get many celebrities in these here parts, even b (or arguably c) list celebs, so when I ran into Geraldo Rivera yesterday in my local CVS I was shocked surprised bemused. Bemused because there is just something about Geraldo. Maybe its the big mustache or perhaps its just the cheese factor. He was in the shampoo isle when I first spotted him. Then, as I waited in line behind him, he was nice to the cashier who said, "I know you, how you doin' Geraldo?" He then was followed outside by 2 giddy CVS employees and was nice to them too. Having lived in New York I know how to handle myself around a celebrity and just watched from my vantage point in the check out line. As I left the store Geraldo was driving away in a black Honda CRV with local plates. Anyway, I had to call Ralph right away to leave a laughing my ass off message on his voicemail. I am still laughing my ass off. A little internet stalking led me to his reason for being in my suburban hamlet. His in-laws live about 5 minutes from me.

I love seeing famous people in everyday situations, it makes them seem so much more...I don't know, how do you say...HUMAN. Do you have any celebrity sightings? If so, post them in my comments.

P.S. Don't worry Geraldo, I restrict my stalking to the cyber type.

You'd Barf Too

I have written before of my wonderful dog. Seriously, I love her to pieces, Ralph and I have even talked about getting her cloned. But when I wrote of my wonderful little girl dog I left out her one nasty little habit. She eats her own poo.

Foul, I know, the vet said that she probably developed the habit when she was a homeless dog. They eat their own poo and their puppies' poo in order to make themselves less noticable to preditors. Hello, where I live she is more likely to run into a skunk or a squirrel than anything that would do her real harm.

I have tried to be sympathetic about it, I picture her trying to protect her babies (which were not found with her, so they probably didn't survive). But the whole thing just disgusts me (and we've tried a million things to stop it). Literally, if she could reach her head around while she is squatting, she'd eat it like soft serve. On the bright side, I figure that at least she is discerning enough to only eat her own shit, at least she knows where its' been.

So, for 5 1/2 years Ralph and I have diligintly watched her every time she does her business in the yard. But today, after more than half a decade of never being lazy about watching her, I was lazy.

I haven't slept well all week, and last night I did. I just wanted it to last a little longer. Ralph announced that he was going to sleep in before the dog jumped off of the bed. When The Nurse gets her narcoleptic ass up before she is told to, we know she means business, so Ralph and I argued about who would get up with her, and as usually I relented. But, I had a plan.

I let her out and went back to bed, as I told Ralph, what's the worst that could happen. He replied that she could get out and get hit by a car...not likely. She could have a poop eating feista...then I guess you should go get her, afterall, I let her out. Of course, neither of us got up to go get her and she was outside, unsupervised for maybe half an hour. Ralph let her in and she ran over to eat her food. Then she promptly ran upstairs and barfed up a big glump of mucus, grass and shit. That's right, my dog barfed shit.

So Ralph with his dainty delicate stomach announces that he can't clean it up, which means I HAVE to clean it up or I'm gonna have shitpuke sitting on my wood fucking floor all day. Must I even discuss what shitpuke smells like.

As I am cleaning pile 1, the dog barfs up some more shitpuke on the stairs. All I can say is thank god for this. So I ask Ralph to take her into the kitchen where we can trap her in with baby gates and she can shitpuke her little heart out all over the tile.

Which she did.

Is 9 a.m. too early for a cocktail?

Does this sound unreasonable to you?

Ralph works hard for the money. He works hard for it, honey. So, I try to treat him right.

He is one of the owners of his company. They have tons of work right now, and IMHO, not enough staff to do it all. Therefore, Ralph works a lot of hours. He usually doesn’t get home before 7:00 (Tuesday it was after 10), but he often tries to get home in time to see The Bug before he goes to bed. Then he works in his home office until all hours, but that is another story.

Since The Bug was born, I have had only 1 request. I would like Ralph to call before 7:30, so I can plan my evening. If I know he is coming home soon, I might wait to eat dinner with him, or I might keep The Bug up a little past his bedtime so he can get a night night story from Daddy. On the other hand, if he isn’t going to be home, I’ll eat when I want and I’ll put The Bug to bed on time.

I don’t think that it is such an out-of-line request. He gets into work before 9 on his latest day, so, I think he could stop whatever he is doing 10 hours later to call his family for 5 minutes. Even if he had an employee in his office, he could say, “I just need to take a minute to let my wife know that I won’t be home for dinner.” Not that tough.

But, it is a huge point of contention, because he often forgets to call, or, like Tuesday, he says he’ll be home at one time (he said he was leaving ‘soon’ when I called at 7:30) but then gets home significantly later (walked in around 10:30). I try to understand the stress that he is under and not be a naggy bitch (my words, not his), but it just bugs the shit out of me.

Ralph doesn’t mind if I call him, but I feel as if I’m disturbing his work. I’d rather he call when he has a break, or when he realizes that he’s going to be longer than he’d anticipated. Ralph thinks that I am being unreasonable, do you think this is an unreasonable expectation?

A Day of Ups and Downs

This morning I was walking around my school looking for a substitute that was supposed to relieve one of the teachers so she could come to a meeting. I never found the sub, but I ran into a parent who was very upset with me at the end of last school year.

I almost didn't recognize her because she was smiling and waving at me. I looked behind me...no one else there. I waved back, figuring I could pretend to have been waving to a student behind her when she yells that she WASN'T FUCKING TALKING TO ME (yes, parents do sometimes talk like this in my school, nice). But she was fucking talking to me! We had a nice conversation, and both spoke excitedly about her kid's prospects for this school year. The day started on a positive, I'm going to be able to help out her kid.

At dismissal my principal asked me to go find a student whose mother had come to pick him up. I went outside a door that I've never gone out before and, because I was paying attention to looking for the kid (who the fuck I thought I was looking for I don't know,since he's new to the school this year and I've never laid eyes on him in my life) anyway, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. Yep, in front of kids, parents, teachers...and I picked today to wear a skirt...I twisted my ankle and got a huge scrape on my knee...that's why they call me grace.

Later, as I was sitting in my lovely office looking at my thermometer, which read 91 degrees (um, hello, how are kids supposed to learn anything when it is 90 fucking degrees in their classroom. Could we puhhleezz have some air conditioning!)Ralph called and said that he had a meeting near home and was done for the day, would I like for him to pick up The Bug from daycare. Hey, that would be great, then I could sit here in my own sweat and stank for a little while longer. But, having Ralph home at 5:00 is a rare occasion, so I took him up on the offer.

It wasn't until I went to get my purse from its' hiding spot in my office that I realized that I had left it in the teacher's lounge all afternoon. Not smart, shit disappears around my school, and I had credit cards in there. Just what I need, identity theft again. When I walked into the lounge, there it was, right where I'd left it. I just hope that nobody took my credit card #'s.

Then, I fell asleep while Ralph was reading bedtime stories to The Bug. I guess that all the insomnia and late night house hunting have caught up to me. I think I could really sleep right now, so I'm gonna go night night.

Internet House Hunters Annonymous

I’ve spoken before of my addiction. You know… the one that made me start writing this blog in the first place. I had to stop looking for houses on line, and blogging curbed the habit, for a long time (it was at least a month people!).

I admit that I am powerless over internet house hunting. Somehow, I’ve fallen off the internet house hunting wagon. I don’t even know how it happened, but all of the sudden, all of my free time has been spent NOT blogging, NOT emailing my friends and colleagues who I need to email, NOT even buying cute shoes.

I’ve been looking at houses on realty websites, looking at sheriff sale houses (WTF? I saw that movie with Ben Kingsley and Jennifer Connoly. I don’t think I’ll be going down that road any time soon). I look at vacant lots too, I even drove past one with Ralph last weekend. Then I look at house plans online because, I had better hurry up and find a house to build on that piece of land that I don’t even own.

I can’t stop. I look at the same listings over and over again…it isn’t as if I think something will have changed since the last time I looked. I obsessively go from the realtor’s listing to the county auditor’s website to zillow in order to find out if it is listed at a good asking price. I have been up past 1 a.m. for the last three nights looking at this shit.

I think I need an intervention. Seriously, I looked at the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. Seriously, but there is just a little too much god in them for me. Then I had an epiphany. Maybe I just need a new house, if I got a new house fix, I would surely be able to stay on the wagon for longer than a month. Ummm hmm, that’s going to be my new plan with Ralph. “Honey, a new house is integral to my 12 step program.”

The Good News, The Bad News & The Ugly News

It is not news here at Casa de NoMommy that I fell in love with Ralph’s house before I fell in love with him. To be honest, I fell in love with his living room, and the rest I figured I could mold into what I really wanted. Hmmm, sort of like Ralph…

Anyway, soon enough I was in love with Ralph too. I moved in, and the molding began.

We started in our 1970’s family room addition. It had ugly fake wood paneling that had to go. We ripped it off of the walls and found mold underneath. Great! We ripped out all of the walls, the ceiling and the floor. We replaced all of the studs in one wall ripped out another in order to put in a French door and then put it all back together again. Then we set about remodeling our 1940’s kitchen. We ripped out all of the cabinets and designed and installed all new ones. We put in a new sink, dishwasher, and a new countertop. We have waterproofed, put in new windows and doors, we’ve painted in and out, carpeted, had our tub refinished. To make a long story short(er), there is always something to do in a 65 year old house. And, as I’ve mentioned, I have had enough of it.

That is why I was so furious a few months ago when I went into my basement to do laundry only to find water all over the floor. We knew basically where it was coming from, but not exactly. It happened sometimes, but not every time we used one of the water producing mechanisms in the Casa. Around the same time we started smelling a nasty sewer gas odor coming from our linen closet. We knew that it happened when we ran the upstairs bathroom sink, but we couldn’t figure out why or how. I called a plumber.

The plumber came out and looked at both bathrooms, he went down to the basement, he looked at the linen closet… nothing. It was like when your car acts up just until you pull into the mechanic’s shop. No leaking water, no smell. The guy acted like I was out of my fucking mind. If something was going on it would be going on all of the time. If I wanted him to really figure out what was going on, he’d have to start opening up walls. Uh, no thanks, I’ll just wait for…something else to happen. Then it did.

Last week I had to shave my legs in the bathroom sink, I just didn’t have time to get back into the shower. When I was done I realized that the shirt I wanted to wear was in the basement. Fuck! There was water on the floor and it was dripping from the ceiling. On the bright side, I knew what had caused it, and I knew where it was coming from.

So, the other day when The Bug was spending the night with his grandparents, Ralph and I opened up the spot in our ½ bath ceiling that we thought would give us access to the problem above it. If it didn’t, we’d have to rip out more walls, which was a cluster fuck that I totally didn’t want to have to deal with.

We open up the spot and, lo and behold, the fucking PVC pipe isn’t even connected, there is daylight between one end and the other. So, every time we have run the sink in our full bath, the water has been going….who the fuck knows where.

The good news: we were able to fix the problem with minimal cost and construction
The bad news: this is what my bathroom ceiling is going to look like until I can get somebody in here to fix it.

Belly Achin' Part 3, The Conclusion.

The Bug started the morning a little clingy, but otherwise, fine. I was even thinking that I was silly to have stayed home today. Then, around 12:30, he woke up from his nap inconsolable, complaining of the belly again, and he just couldn't get comfortable. We went to the doctor.

After asking questions about what sort of pets we have and if they have been healthy (OK, now I'm scared shitless) the pediatrician announced that The Bug's belly felt good. He wanted to just try a strep test, for fun, and if it isn't that it is probably just a little virus. Ten minutes later we had our answer. STREP.

I had no idea that strep could be associated with a tummy ache in kids. So, we are armed with antibiotics and ready to kick this extra little bug outta here!

Belly Achin' Part 2

Since my last post The Bug has managed to puke all over my living room rug. Mmmm, yummy. But, there is no more questioning what it is, he is sick.

So I called my building to let everyone know that, yep, that's right, 2 days in to the school year and I'm takin' a sick day tomorrow.

And I am currently drinking a beer to help me sleep tonight because the damn insomnia is back, and I haven't slept since Friday night, NOT a good thing if you are going to be dealing with vomiting kiddos all day (of course, drinking might not be the best thing for that either...).

If recollection serves, The Bug got sick the first week of school last year too. If I didn't know that he would far prefer to spend his days with fun fun grandpa and Even funner grandma rather than spending them with mean old NoMommy, I would think that he was getting sick at the thought of me going back to school. Yeah, he is going to miss spending every waking moment with me sooo much that it just turns his little stomach.

I don't know, maybe that's getting a little too munchauseny for me.

Belly Achin'

The Bug has been complaining that his belly hurts since Saturday. At first, I thought that he was trying to be like The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which is one of his favorite stories and therefore gets read 1,000,000 times a day.

The Bug had never said his belly (or anything else that hadn’t recently hit the floor or some other solid surface) hurt before, so I wasn’t sure that he even knew what he was saying. Besides, his behavior wasn’t any different than usual, he didn’t have a fever, and when he said it on Sunday he had consumed 2 bananas, a bowl of Cheerios, a grown-up size blueberry waffle, mannacotti, broccoli and popcorn. It wasn’t yet 3:00. So, Ralph and I chalked it up to The Bug learning how to express that his belly is full.

When I came home from work yesterday afternoon, my dad said that he’d been saying that his belly hurts again. My dad wasn’t concerned, he said that he’d played hard and was getting tired. When I asked him he said that his belly didn’t hurt.

I put him down for a nap. He woke up sobbing, which is unusual. He said that his bellybutton hurt. Well, of course it does, he shoves everything that isn’t nailed down into that thing. Literally, I pick food, lint (that he has picked off of a blanket to put in there), stickers, everything out of his bellybutton.

When I picked him up he started to gag and spit out some saliva, but no throw up. I consulted Dr. Spock…that made me even more nervous, basically everything could be appendicitis: fever or no fever, pain or not so much pain, even most doctors can’t tell without an x-ray. Just Fucking great!

Soon after my consultation with Dr. Freekoutthemommy, The Bug pooped. Eureka! He must just be constipated. After the poop he said that his belly didn’t hurt, and since he still didn’t have a fever, I set off to take him to my in-laws where he stays on Monday nights during the school year.

I told the in-laws about the belly issues and told them to call if they noticed him acting out of character. When we called to say goodnight (they, of course, were still playing well past his bedtime) they said that he had complained of his belly hurting, but that they thought that either he was just telling them that he was full, or that he just really liked all the attention that he got from saying that he wasn’t feeling good.

When they called 2 hours later I was panicked. Ralph’s dad was trying to tell me stuff, but since Ralph was running the shop vac (which I will discuss further in my next post) I couldn’t hear anything, so I called back. When I got back on the line, Ralph’s mom said that she’d told Ralph’s dad to call so that I wouldn’t worry. The Bug was fine.

I called to check on him 3 times today before I picked him up at 2:00. He was fine, no complaints. When I got to their house, The Bug was still napping. When he woke up, he was cranky, but then Ralph’s dad got him up at the first sign of stirring, where I would have let him wake up more fully before going to get him.

As we were getting ready to leave, which The Bug REALLY didn’t want to do, Grandpa picked him up. The Bug gagged, and threw up a little. He whined and cried the whole way home (a 40 minute drive) and has been lying on the couch for most of the last hour, poor guy.

I feel like such an ass, such a bad mommy.

Date Night With Old Married Me

Ralph and I went to a wedding over the weekend. I love weddings. Somewhere in my wildest dreams I quit my job and become a wedding planner. Anyway, this wedding was a bit different for me, this wedding made me feel OLD.

First, we were not friends of the bride, or the groom. We were invited to this wedding by the bride’s parents. When I saw the groom my jaw dropped, he couldn’t possibly be a day over 14. Since when did grown men start looking like little kids to me?

At the reception, Ralph and I sat at a table with his business partners. None of us danced, in fact, hardly anyone moved their ass from the table the entire night. Ralph and I were the last couple from our table to leave, and we were home before 8:30. I had a babysitter, and I was at home in sweats by 8:30. WTF!

Ahhh, the life and times of an old married couple.

What a Difference a Day Makes!

Is it possible that my 2 year old is reading my blog? I’d better watch my language. The Bug got his teeth brushed without a fuss this morning. The trick, I brought the loaded toothbrush down to him while he watched his favorite show. Then I asked him, “which sticker do you want when you’re done brushing your teeth?” He pointed to a sticker and SMILED! I brushed his teeth and it was over. No screaming, no crying.

My tears today are for another reason, tomorrow is the last day of my summer vacation. I know those of you who work outside of the home 12 months of the year are really feeling sorry for me, but I think I will really miss being at home with The Bug. I have never before thought that I would enjoy being a full-time SAHM, but after this summer, I think that I might like it. The other 2 times that I have gone back to work after extended periods of time at home with The Bug (after maternity leave and after last summer vacation when he was 1), I was ready to have a break from him. This time is different, this time I will really miss all the time with him.

Oh well, quitting my paying job just isn’t possible right now. Maybe when we finish paying off Ralph’s partnership…or, maybe when we finish paying off my grad-school loans…or, maybe when we finish paying….Yeah, it’ll never happen.

So, today I’m regretting all of the things that I had intended to do with The Bug this summer (not too many things, but a few), and I’m freaking out about all of the things I had intended to do for work this summer and didn’t do (a ton of things).

I was going to do some stuff for work today, really I was, but, what the hell, I’m on vacation!!!

Yo Breaf Stank!

There is a question on an IQ test that I use frequently that asks kids to describe why people need to brush their teeth. I love this question because 1) I can usually get a laugh out of the kid, and towards the end of an IQ test we both need one. 2) I know that there is a high probability that the kid is going to have a decent answer.

Unfortunately, I am beginning to wonder if my own kid will have a decent answer for this question when he gets older. Recent events make me believe that he will say one of 4 things:

• Because if you don’t do it on your own, your mom will hold you down and do it for you
  
• Because if you don’t, your mom and dad will incessantly talk about how much your breath stinks
  
• Because your mom will give you stickers if you do
  
• If you put up enough of a fuss and there is nowhere important to go to, you don’t need to brush your teeth.

We have struggled with the toothbrush since he began getting teeth to brush.

Out of concern for his developing little dents I asked a parenting coach that I know. “How do I get him to brush his teeth?” She suggested that I let it go for a while, he was still very small, and if he ate enough apples and carrots, that would be good enough, "it isn’t worth a fight." she said

I asked our pediatrician at his one year checkup and she said to only do it once a day, and make it a part of our ritual.

On my own I started giving him stickers as rewards when he brushed his teeth. I bought him an Elmo toothbrush and a Thomas one that plays that fucking song I can never get out of my head. Finally, something that works…sometimes. He may brush his teeth for a sticker and he may not, it really just depends on him and his 2 year old mood.

At our 2 year checkup I asked the pediatrician again, and again she said to brush only once a day, make it a ritual, and provide a reward…Gee, thanks.

I am ashamed to say that many days I just let it go, I am not up for the fight and I am the only one who will smell his stanky breath anyway. But then I worry about his oral health and the lessons I am teaching him about his future oral hygiene.

When we have something important to do, The Bug just has to brush his teeth. This usually consists of:

• him running away screaming “NoMOMMY!” when he sees the toothbrush
• me trying to reason/plead/bargain with him
• him screaming “NoMOMMY!”
• me laying him down on his changing table holding down his arms and brushing his teeth

He cries, I cry, I tell him that he just has to brush his teeth, I tell him that Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa….everyone he knows brushes their teeth. Shit, I’ve even brushed the dog’s teeth to show him that EVERYONE does it.

I just don’t know what to do about it anymore. On the one hand, I cannot allow my 2 year old to run around the world with foul smelling breath and a dirty mouth. On the other hand, the only way that I can get his teeth brushed feels tantamount to abuse, and is surely just reinforcing his dislike of having his teeth brushed.

The reality is....

Yes, that was me in Amish country where everything is supposed to be ‘plain’ flying down the road in a fucking bright ass red convertible. I didn’t have any choice in the color people, and if you don’t like country crafts (like me) then there ain’t shit else to do but drive around with the top down smelling all the lovely smells of farm country.

BTW, when riding in a convertible, if you have curly ass hair, make sure that the 'fro is dry before getting in the car or you will look like a crazy person by the time you reach your destination. And your husband with his straight hair will look all cool and windblown and may not want to sit with buckwheat at the restaurant.

Ralph and I had a lot of fun doing nothing, and if I had his phone right now I’d even show you the pictures.

We had a nice couples’ massage. At first, Ralph was pissed because the male masseuse was going to do my massage and he didn’t think that a chick could have the hands to give him a good massage. After the masseuses left the room, Ralph says, “Paula put a hurtin’ on meeee.” That’s what you get for underestimating a girl, Ralph.

As for my massage, I realized something about myself halfway through. Every time I get a massage (which is not nearly often enough) there is a point in the middle, when I am face down with my face in that little catcher’s mitt, that I am totally relaxed, and then become completely tense with the realization that I am totally fucking drooling. I swear that I sucked up a spit stream that was long enough to be pooling on the floor. Then I wonder if the masseuse saw said spit string? did I drool on the poor guys shoes? Oh well, just suck up your spit and enjoy it. Because that big noisy toot that I had after the massage was over, you know, the one that made Ralph fall on the ground laughing…I’m sure that was the masseuse’s way of getting back at me for spitting on his shoes.

Soon enough it was back to reality, we traded the speedy little convertible for the grocery getter mommy mobile with its fucking check engine light on…didn’t I just have $500 worth of work done on that fucking car.

Then there was The Bug, who, after 2 days of not seeing his father and me, was so nonplused that he barely looked up from his lunch when we walked in the room. Oh well, at least he didn’t run to see Ralph. That would have really pissed me off.

So, this morning, instead of waking to room service, I woke to Mommy Out! Out! Out! and a diaper full of shit. But I gave The Bug an extra little squeeze, because the reality is that all of the convertibles and massages in the world don't compare to one hug from my little bug.

Thank god it's Fwyyyday!

Ralph and I are packing up The Bug and sending him to Grandma & Grandpa’s for the weekend.
The Bug, for one, is ecstatic. He has been talking about going to Grandpa’s ‘Fwyyyday’ all week long.

Ralph is pretty excited too, but for a different reason. He thinks that our weekend away will be filled with all sorts of crazy shit he's seen on some dirty website romantic lovemaking(that is the first time I've ever used that word, and it just makes me giggle).

I am a bit less enthused. Firstly, I feel like shit. The noxious fumes that have been coming out of my ass since dinner…let’s just say Ralph should be thankful we’re driving a convertible. Then there is the thought of leaving The Bug. Sure, he’s slept over at Grandma & Grandpa’s a million times, he stays there 1x/week during the school year. But we’ve never gone anywhere before. Granted, we’re only going to be gone for 2 days and we’ll be less than 2 hours away, but, I can’t help but feel a little nervous. Oh, and then my aunt Flo came this morning, and I'm sure she's gonna tag along on our little trip (Sorry Ralph, but you did change the date of this little vacation).

Other than those things, I think that the trip is a great idea. Ralph needs a break so he can stop acting like such an ass relax. And, frankly, we need to reconnect. I don’t know that 2 days in the middle of nowhere will be enough, but having a couple of nice meals in a restaurant, a massage, and getting 2 days of sleeping in is a good start in my book.

The Toddler Drinking Game

A while ago, I some fucking idiot thought that it would be really cute to teach The Bug how to do cheers.

Now at dinner time (or any time that he has a cup in his hand, his line of sight or his thoughts) he screams CHEERS! And jovially wrenches his arm around like a little drunkard. He repeats this little exercise over and over and over again.

If you are unfortunate enough to have a glass nearby, you’d better drink up, ‘cause he only gets louder if you don’t.

Of course, recently, after a day that made me want to rip my eyeballs out blissfully perfect day with the boy, I completely forgot about his favorite new pastime and had a beer with dinner.

Literally, the kid did cheers like 7,000,000 times in five minutes. And, like an ass, I chugged each and every time.

Thanks to Ralph for doin' the whole night night time alone whilst I lay on the couch watching the room spin and thinking of the stories my little Bug is going to tell his friends someday about how he was playing drinkin’ games with his mom when he was 2.

Where, oh where is my mother of the year award?

Squeeze Me

Since my decision to go off the pill, I have noticed something strange. Various sized volcanoes have begun projecting out of my face.

Seriously, I have more fucking acne now than I did when I was a greasy 14-year old. WTF?

I wouldn’t be so alarmed by it if I had started taking the pill when it was normal to have zits, then I might think that this is how my skin is. But when I started taking the pill in my early 20’s I had clear skin and the few times that I went off the pill between then and now (when I wasn’t getting any and when I wanted to get pregnant) I didn’t have this crazy ass mushy pimple face.

And heeellooooooo, I’m old. This should not be happening to me at this age.

Does having a baby mess with your hormones so much that it makes you revert back to pubescent hormone days when the pimple factory worked overtime to make your life a living hell?

I went to bed last night with so much zit shit on my face that the SMELL woke up Ralph who can literally sleep through me kneeing him in the stomach anything.

I don’t know if I should start using proactive or go to the dermatologist or what, but this is fucking ridiculous.

Where I eat my words...Sort of

The 10 hour ride to my brother’s house was perfect; The bug only had one tantrum (in which he hit me. How does he always find the perfect spot to smack me to make my glasses fall off?).

We only needed to watch 1 movie in the car, and grandma saved me from having to watch The Polar Express for the 100,000th time.

When we got to my brother’s new house (which the GPS totally f*cked up in finding) it was beautiful and huge, and The Bug and I had our own 900 square foot suite on the 2nd floor (The Bug ran back and forth in that room so much that I never had to worry about him sleeping).

The Bug didn’t go to bed until 9:30 Thursday night, something that would never have happened at home, but then he didn’t wake up until 9:00 the next morning…he has never slept that late in his life. I got to enjoy a couple cups of coffee on the deck with the other grown ups without any interruptions. The Bug repeated this pattern the next day too, heaven.

My niece’s baby daddy was beyond all expectations, he called my brother sir, he was incredibly attentive to the baby, and he obviously loves my niece. What more could I ask for.

My only complaints, 1) that it was so f*cking hot that we couldn’t do anything 2) That my brother’s new house is so nice that it makes me want to build one myself, only it would cost 2x as much to build it outside of the south

The ride home was a reminder that we would soon be returning to our real lives. The Bug woke up at 6:30 the morning of our departure, he was cranky in the car, and then the poop started. And, of course, I don’t have extra clothes accessible in the car. The Bug rode much of the way home in a t-shirt and diaper.

As soon as my dad and I switched drivers it started to pour down rain, lovely. I adore driving the curvy West Virginia highways and seeing a big drop-off on one side of me to begin with (did I mention my fear of heights), and the rain just makes it perfect.

At one poop cleaning stop, The Bug has a fit about going back into his car seat. I can’t blame him; by the time the trip was over he’d spent around 24 hours in the car, that’s a lot in 4 days. Thankfully, we were parked in a Dairy Queen parking lot, ahh, the ice cream bribe.

After I dropped my parents off, The Bug and I headed home. As soon as we got to the point on the highway where there are no exits for a long time, we’re stopped in a traffic jam, Shit. I call Ralph to tell him not to call our dinner order in yet, and I’m telling him about the traffic, and in this nasty voice he says, “What do you want me to do about it.” WTF? One of the reasons I took this little trip was to give Ralph a little space to miss me. Oh well, 4 days later he’s still acting like an ass.

Where we all Realize the Depths of my Insanity

This will be my last post until Monday.

Why? You ask...

I have signed The Bug and myself up for 16+ hours (round trip, I'm not that f*cking crazy) in a car with my dad and step monster.

AAAAHHHHH! WTF was I thinking?

Oh yeah, that it would be nice to see my brother and that I need to support his 19 year old daughter who just had a baby.

That's what I'll be muttering under my breath as I rock myself uncontrollably in the backseat.

That long in a car with my dad & step mom is enough to make me run screaming, but add a cranky 2 year old to the mix.

OH, sh*t.

I can't take my laptop with, because then I would have to explain that I am blogging, which would necessitate my explaining what a blog is, which would lead to the 'rents wanting to see said blog.

Given the fact that I have literally heard my dad swear twice in my 33 years on this earth, while I have been able to successfully keep him from knowing that I swear like a f*cking pirate, I'm thinkin' that the whole blog conversation ain't a good idea.

So, Tah for now, have a great weekend!

I am not Sponge Worthy

A few months ago I decided that I would go off The Pill. Don’t worry darlin’ NoMommy’s come down from the euphoria of 1 perfect day with The Bug. I have rescinded the offer to play host to another Bug anytime soon.

But, I have been thinking that I’ve been on The Pill long enough, and with my sister’s recent breast cancer diagnosis, I don’t want to put any extra estrogen in my body.

So, I headed over to drugstore.com, since, despite the fact that I have a wedding ring on and usually a baby in tow, I am totally embarrassed to purchase any items that suggest that I might actually ‘do it.’

Ever since that hilarious Seinfeld episode way back in 1995, you know, the one where Elaine tests her boyfriend for ‘sponge worthiness’, I have had Elaine’s favorite birth control method in the back of my mind. But, of course, they were on backorder.

Instead of just waiting, I decided to try some gel insert thingy. I’d never heard of anything like it, but the description sounded good, so I figured what the hell.

When they arrived, I recruited Ralph for some scientific investigation. The problems started almost instantly:

1)You have to wait 10 minutes after you put the thing in your hoo haw before you can do the deed. Anyone with little kids knows that you may not get 10 minutes of doin' the deed time in the first place.
2)Here’s where I give TMI. When the deed is done, there’s just a whole lot of extra fluid down there. I guess it’s the gel, but it feels guhhhhrooooossss!
3)If you go for round 2 (or 3 or 4) of bow chicka wow wow, you have to use another insert and wait another 10 minutes each time.

This shit was just way too high-maintenance for me.

Back to drugstore.com, where they have the sponge in stock, Yippee! I buy it, and soon it arrives in that happy little box that just leaves my mailman guessing.

Since the sponge has been put out there as the holy grail of birth control, I was so excited to finally have a box of my very own, that I ripped into it like a kid opening a birthday present.

When I started to read the directions, I felt like I had gotten socks. WTF, I have two graduate degrees people and I have no f*cking idea what these directions are saying!

Bend your wrist and point the end of the folded sponge toward your vagina. Be sure that you can see the fold when you look down at it and that the string loop dangles below.

They go on to say:

Check the position of the sponge by sliding your finger around the edge of the sponge to make sure your cervix is not exposed.

Are you f*cking kidding me! I need a fracking anatomy lesson just to know how to get this sh*t into my hoo haw.

Thankfully, the next section of the directions say, “to use this method effectively, it is important for you to understand your anatomy.” No sh*t! Then they add several lovely drawings of the female anatomy.

Folks, I am still lost.

I think to myself, maybe it is something that you have to just do in order to understand what to do. You know, like…well I don’t know, but I’m sure that there is something.

So I go into the bathroom armed with the directions and a sponge, and wait for the Ahaaa! moment.

It never comes.

Oh, sure, I got the thing in my hoo haw, I’m pretty sure that I even have it facing the right way, but, since I am not a gynecologist, I really couldn’t be sure if my f*cking cervix is exposed or not.

I guess I’ll know if I passed my anatomy test around the middle of next month.

Stop the Insomnia!

***Disclaimer - I am working on very little sleep here***

When I was in high school I noticed something strange about myself; I couldn’t sleep. For nights on end I would lie in a darkened room and try with all my might to just go to sleep; but it wouldn’t happen. I counted sheep, read books, drank warm milk (disgusting by the way), nothing seemed to help.

In college, my roommate thought it was hilarious that she would go out to party when I was going to bed and when she got home I would be laying awake in the dark of our room to greet her. She thought it was funny, I didn’t find it funny in the least. To this day I wonder why I didn’t just go out with her. After all, I wasn’t going to sleep anyway; I might as well have had a little fun. Stupid, stupid college me…

While living in New York and San Francisco in my 20’s, the insomnia took a break. I’m not sure if it was due to climate, being in love, the fact that these were some of the happiest (and saddest) times of my life, having the daily exercise of walking everywhere, or being relatively stress free, that put insomnia into remission, but it lasted into the early part of my relationship with Ralph.

However, after those make you want to slit your wrists happy early months of motherhood, when you aren’t sure if it is night or day, just that you have woken up to crying every two hours for as long as you can remember, the insomnia was back.

Ralph has never understood my inability to sleep. He is one of those irritating amazing people who are able to fall asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow and then sleep through most any noise only to be awakened by their enraged loving wife shaking them to let them know that their alarm is going off. Ralph proceeds to hit snooze every ten minutes for the next hour, needing to be alerted to said alarm by me each time. Is it any wonder that I fantasize about ripping the clock out of the wall and braining him with it?

The insomnia comes in waves that last a week or so. This latest round began last Thursday night. Ralph had a meeting at 11:00 p.m. and didn’t get to bed until around 1:30. For those of you wondering WTF anyone would have an 11pm meeting for that is on the up and up, I assure you that, while it adds to my suspicions that Ralph is a super secret agent, this meeting was on the up and up. I know this because: A) Ralph would never cheat B) I confirmed it with a coworker who was also at the meeting (I asked him what time he got home in front of his wife) C) without giving away to much of Ralph's true identity, it does make sense with what he does and D) after Ralph’s company picnic over the weekend I am sure that he is surrounded by more Dilberts than Jack Bauers.

Anyway, I have a hard time sleeping when Ralph is not snoring his ass off sleeping beside me, so I had just drifted off when he came to bed at 1:30 (waking me up of course). Then at 3:00 The Bug woke up. It only took me ½ hour to get him back to sleep. 6:00 and the damn dog needed to go outside. Ralph further infuriated me the next morning by saying he had no idea either incident had happened.

Between Thursday and last night my sleep had been so-so. But last night was miserable. Ralph and I had a couple of arguments yesterday. I am trying to make myself believe that these arguments were because of my fatigue, but that is for another post…I had decided to sleep on the couch because I was pissed off, but after 45 minutes I decided it was too hot. I went to bed and was hot there too (could we get some f*cking central air please!), so I went back to the couch.

Unfortunately, this happened to be one of the rare moments when Ralph wakes up in the night. He followed me downstairs, turned off the window A.C. that I had turned on and proceeded to come into the family room to ask me why I was sleeping on the couch

Me – “I was hot upstairs.”
Him – “well, you’re not going to sleep down here with the air on”
Me – “okay, it still feels cooler to me than upstairs”
He of the 5 blankets when it is 80 degrees outside – “it’s not hot in our room, so that’s not why you are down here, just admit it”
Me – watching The Simple Life and Little Miss Sunshine until 3:00 thinking A) what an ass he is B) how it isn’t always about him C) how he’s just an eensy bit right because initially I was going to sleep on the couch because I’m pissed at him D) why hasn’t that damn supposed to make you drowsy pill kicked in yet.

Oh well, who needs sleep when there are blogs to read.

I am so conflicted….

Two minutes into the car ride I know that he will be quietly content. When we pull into the parking lot I know that a cat-that-ate the canary grin will cross his lips. As we walk into the building I know that he will greet everyone he sees with a shy “hehrow”. Upon entering the classroom I know that his classmates will raise a collective shout of his name as if signaling to one another that Norm has come to take his place at the bar on Cheers. That will make me smile outwardly, and, on the inside it will make me beam with pride to know that my sweet, cautious little guy is so well-liked by his 2 & 3 year old peers. I will be comfortable leaving him to go spend the day with my sister because I know that he is in a high-quality daycare where he is looked after by women who love him; almost to a fault. I know that when I go to pick him up this afternoon I will be there for at least ½ hour trying to get him to leave. But right now none of that matters.

Right now, he is having a fit to end all fits.

Until I took out his daycare shoes he was having a typical morning. But upon seeing the shoes that he only wears to daycare, he slumped down onto the couch. He said the ubiquitous, “No, Mommy”. Then, he lay down on the couch and proceeded to kick his feet in order to make it more difficult to put the shoes on. When we aren’t going to daycare he asks to wear the cool Elmo sneakers that light up as he walks, but on daycare day, they are a signal, a red cape in front of a bull. Maybe I am too matter of fact about putting the shoes on, perhaps I should hold him and tell him that it will be o.k., but I think that might just make things worse, so I don’t. He says, “No, night night”, and I ask him if he’d rather go back to bed than go to daycare. I am astonished every time that he says YES. I get his things together and carry him out to the car. I put him down as I struggle to get all of his gear inside. He falls to his knees in the wet grass in protest. I pick him up and try to put his rigid body into the car seat. He screams, he cries. I am sure my neighbors are commenting on what a horrible mother I am.

As my time with him...with 2 days per week to myself...without being torn between giving too much time to my outside job or taking too much time from my outside job...all dwindle as the summer winds down, I wonder whether sending him to daycare this summer was a mistake. At the time, we thought it would help him stay in the routine. This is what the psychologist in me says to do, but the mommy? She just wants to tell her little boy that it’s all right; he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. Maybe that is what I should do for the next three weeks, but then what happens four weeks from now when he has to go back?

BlogMe2007: Me in 10 Seconds

My house is such a mess that it is making me crazy, and if it is making me crazy I can only imagine what Ralph, the Felix of our Odd Couple, is thinking.

So, today I am going to spend my blogging time cleaning (I am wincing at the thought). To that end, I am not going to be my typically wordy self. Instead, I will give you a quick 10 second introduction to NoMommy via the BlogHer Meme from Mocha Momma. Here goes….

• My son just turned 2. He is named after one of my favorite cousins, who was named after my great uncle, who was named after my great grandfather
• Two graduate degrees later, I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. Right now I am a part time school psychologist (Oh, now I’ve gone and scared you. But its true, most psychologists are just as nuts as I am)
• I lived in San Fransisco for a few years, and I would move back in a heartbeat.
• I over-think everything (I'm a psychologist, its my job, damnit!)
• I’ve been a vegetarian for 17 years
• When I was 3 years old I had open-heart surgery
• In my opinion, the DVR is one of the best inventions….ever
• I have insomnia (that damn thinking thing again)

Since I am brand spanking new at this whole blog thing, I won’t be going to BlogHer. But, I thought this might help you get to know me a little better.

Please feel free to do yourself in 10 seconds (hey! get your mind out of that gutter!). Its nice to hear about the people in blogland. Besides, she says to.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer

I lost my mother to breast cancer when I was 4 years old, so I will put in a personal plug for doing self-exams and being aware of changes.

The following post was written by Whymommy at Toddler Planet...

We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer?

I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams, and found no lump, I’d be fine.

Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN because my breast felt funny. It was red, hot, inflamed, and the skin looked…funny. But there was no lump, so I wasn’t worried. I should have been. After a round of antibiotics didn’t clear up the inflammation, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist and did a skin punch biopsy. That test showed that I have inflammatory breast cancer, a very aggressive cancer that can be deadly.

Inflammatory breast cancer is often misdiagnosed as mastitis because many doctors have never seen it before and consider it rare. “Rare” or not, there are over 100,000 women in the U.S. with this cancer right now; only half will survive five years. Please call your OB/GYN if you experience several of the following symptoms in your breast, or any unusual changes: redness, rapid increase in size of one breast, persistent itching of breast or nipple, thickening of breast tissue, stabbing pain, soreness, swelling under the arm, dimpling or ridging (for example, when you take your bra off, the bra marks stay – for a while), flattening or retracting of the nipple, or a texture that looks or feels like an orange (called peau d’orange). Ask if your GYN is familiar with inflammatory breast cancer, and tell her that you’re concerned and want to come in to rule it out.

There is more than one kind of breast cancer. Inflammatory breast cancer is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there, and early detection is critical. It’s not usually detected by mammogram. It does not usually present with a lump. It may be overlooked with all of the changes that our breasts undergo during the years when we’re pregnant and/or nursing our little ones. It’s important not to miss this one.

Inflammatory breast cancer is detected by women and their doctors who notice a change in one of their breasts. If you notice a change, call your doctor today. Tell her about it. Tell her that you have a friend with this disease, and it’s trying to kill her. Now you know what I wish I had known before six weeks ago.

You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

P.S. Feel free to steal this post too. I’d be happy for anyone in the blogosphere to take it and put it on their site, no questions asked. Dress it up, dress it down, let it run around the place barefoot. I don’t care. But I want the word to get out. I don’t want another young mom — or old man — or anyone in between — to have to stare at this thing on their chest and wonder, is it mastitis? Is it a rash? Am I overreacting? This cancer moves FAST, and early detection and treatment is critical for survival.

Thank you.

Middle-Class Suburban Mommy/Pit Bull Owner

I do not intend to use this blog as a place to proselytize about pet (no pun intended) issues. However, the recent indictment of Michael Vick (I just barfed a little in my mouth) has led me to feel the need to tell the long boring story of how I became a pit bull owner, and to share insights I have gleaned from being a responsible suburban mommy/pit bull owner.

Six years ago, Ralph mentioned that he'd always wanted a dog. I grew up around dogs, so I appointed myself official dog finder. I found a great national website that lists all kinds of animals for rescue. That is where I first saw The Nurse.

She was listed as an American Staffordshire terrier mix, and, at the time, I didn't know that Am. Staffs and pit bulls were the same thing. That is until my cousin who is 1/2 ghetto fabulous and 1/2 Martha Stewart (seriously, picture Lil' Kim loving life in Stepford), set me straight. I didn't care; she was adorable and sounded sweet. I was hooked.

The Nurse's foster parents brought her over to meet us, and I was in love. Ralph did not share my sentiment, as he could not fathom living with a dog that was so afraid of men she wouldn't go near him. Of course, I convinced Ralph that everything would be fine once she got used to him, and The Nurse was ours.

Our first night with The Nurse, we put her in her crate in the kitchen as her foster parents had suggested, and went up to bed. Anyone who has ever had a new dog knows the rest of the story, she cried and cried. Ralph ended up sleeping all night on our kitchen floor with because she broke his heart. They have been inseparable ever since.

Life with The Nurse hasn't always been easy. She is afraid of most every man, child (with the exception of The Bug) and dog that she sees. Early on she had severe separation anxiety which caused her to poop on our living room floor if we left her alone too long. (What is it with my f'ing living room!). Thankfully, that chapter in our lives has ended.

Because of her fear of children, we were concerned with how she would react to The Bug. To our surprise, she was in love with him from day 1. She always wants to be where he is, not in a protective way, but in a loving way. In fact, as I write this, she is sitting outside of his door while he naps. Because she is so attentive to The Bug (potentially more than we are), we nicknamed her The Nurse. As for The Bug, he thinks that she is a great pillow for watching TV.

In public, we are faced with people who are afraid of the breed our dog happens to be. People cross the street when they see us walking towards them. A woman once told her son, "We don't pet those kinds of dogs", right in front of Ralph. We laugh to ourselves when people give us strange looks because we walk our pit bull right next to The Bug's stroller.

When people ask us if she is a pit bull, I tend to get on my soapbox and tell them how pit bulls used to be one of the most popular family dogs, and that Petey on The Little Rascals and the RCA dog were both pit bulls, and that they used to be called "Nanny dogs" in England because they were so tolerant of children climbing and tugging on them. I say to them that horrible people who exploit a breed's tendency to be loyal and shy and then abuse them and starve them are the real bad guys. I tell people that The Nurse is the best/most well trained dog that I have ever know, and that they should be leery of any dog that isn't well trained, not just one that looks a certain way. Ralph, on the other hand, tells people that she is just a mut, not a pit bull, he just doesn't want to hear their sh*t. People's typical reaction when they talk to Ralph is to say how cute she is and then ask to pet her.

The bottom line, please don't judge a dog just by her breed. Responsible owners make for good dogs and irresponsible owners, of any type of dog, put others at risk.

Weekend in Review

I got this from Why are you Stalking Me? and thought it was so right on that I would share it.

How You Life Your Life

You seem to be straight forward, but you keep a lot inside.You are always tactful and diplomatic. You let people down gently.You tend to have one best friend you hang with, as opposed to many aquaintences.You tend to dream big, but you worry that your dreams aren't attainable.

How Do You Live Your Life?

On to the Weekend in Review

Normally, my weekends are nothing to write about. Literally, open a vain boring. But, last weekend we actually did some fun stuff and I will be doing stuff each weekend from now until I go back to work in August (shivers go down my spine at the thought of it).

My dad is one of those has everything, can't buy him anything sort of guys, so, buying him presents is always a lesson in creativity. This year was a snap because one of his favorite artists has an exhibit at the Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh. So, on Saturday, Ralph, The Bug and I picked up my dad and the monster (my step mom who I really do love) and drove to Pittsburgh to see the exhibit.

Ralph and I were both quite nervous about how The Bug would handle a whole day off of the schedule that we are all such slaves to, and Ralph even suggested that he stay home with The Bug. Of course, that was never really going to happen, and to our complete and utter shock, The Bug was amazingly good. He didn't have a single meltdown despite being 4 hours late for his nap by the time he conked out in the car on the way home. Kudos to Ralph as well, for driving 4+ hours roundtrip and spending his entire Saturday with his in-laws, while only having 1 meltdown in the process!

The exhibit and the Conservatory itself were both amazing and everyone had a great time. My parents and Ralph and I are all planning to go back to see the exhibit at night sans The Bug and probably sans the other couple as well. I highly recommend that anyone who lives near Pittsburgh go to see it.

The entire day was so nice that, Saturday evening,while I was washing our dinner dishes, I thought that it might actually be time to add another bug to our nest. The problem, of course, is the much b*tched about current nest. I broached the subject with Ralph Saturday night, with the caveat that we would have to buy a bigger house sooner rather than later. Apparently, Ralph liked the idea of having another baby. Ralph and his sister are only 11 months apart, and Ralph has always said that he thinks that siblings should be close together in age. Being exactly 18 years younger than my closest sibling, the host of any such future bug sibling and the one ultimately in charge of most of the rearing of said sibling, I tend to disagree. He said that he would crunch the numbers to see if we could afford to move soon AND on Sunday he started cleaning the sh*t that I have been asking him to get rid of for years out of our spare bedroom. If only I had known that it was as easy as having another baby...

Hair Today....

I am excited today because I began laser hair removal treatments yesterday; I am on my way to being forever facial hair free! Don't be too grossed out Dear Reader, it is not as if NoMommy could pass for a circus sideshow act. I keep up with the few little spots that would otherwise surely sprout hair like the back of that man at the beach who insists on wearing a speedo. But, as any woman with dark hair and fair (or in my case not-so-fair) skin on which said dark hair is noticeable when not plucked, waxed, or otherwise removed knows; even a little bit is a pain in the ass to continually remove. To that end, when a doctor acquaintance of mine offered to do laser hair removal at a reduced rate (again, not because she was like, 'holy sh*t do you need some laser hair removal'), I asked Ralph for a combined birthday/anniversary/mother's day gift (because even the reduced rate was a little steep for such vanity) and, despite not getting it at all, and thinking that I am completely insane for being so excited about never again having to pluck the gross little ickies that seem to grow out of my face overnight to wave hello to the world, Ralph shelled out the cash.

Doing this is completely out of character for me, I am not a girly girl; in fact, I only wear make-up when we are going out (which only happens a handful of times/year). However, I have had this image from childhood in my head ever since said creepy ickies started to appear, it is an image of my 90 year old great aunt sitting in front of me at church. She had beautiful long thick white hair that was worn in a perfect bun at the back of her head, she was smartly dressed in a navy blue suit and heals (I can barely walk around in heals now, but at 90!). I was admiring how put-together and classy she looked when she turned to the side, ahhhhh!!!! A carpet of wild ass little curly q's of the same white hair that was on top of her head were coming out of her chin. Since I have inherited the same thick hair as hers on top of my head, you can imagine my trepidation when I began to produce the chin hair too! To make a long story short, I don't want to be sitting in church someday (like that would ever happen) with my great whomever behind me only to hear a loud thud as she jumps back and smacks the back of her head on the pew in shock and horror as I turn to expose my goatee.

Grandfathers and Sons

My dad is the best. He was a great father to me and is a fantastic grandpa to The Bug. During the school year he watches The Bug 1/2 a day each week and my little guy looks so forward to Papa Mike coming over that if I have that day off he repeats "Papa Mike" over and over.

Since I have the summer off, Papa Mike hasn't been coming over to watch The Bug, and I think that they are missing one another terribly. To that end, my dad called the other day to ask if he could come over to watch The Bug. Hmmm, an afternoon all to myself, let me think about it....

Papa Mike picked up The Bug and took him to a little spot where they put down their lawn chairs and waited to see The Bug's favorite thing in the world, a train! I can just picture my dad and The Bug sitting beside this railroad crossing waiting for a train to come. Later, Papa Mike called to ask if I would join them for dinner. Papa Mike picked the restaurant, one that has a train table for kids to play at while they wait for their dinner, and the table itself, one with a great view of a railroad track.

The Bug insisted on sitting next to Papa Mike and tugged excitedly at his arm when a train rolled by the window. Despite the fact that we were past his dinner and bed times, The Bug was on his best behavior for Papa Mike.

What a beautiful sight, to see my dad and my son so happy enjoying one another's company, it was even worth the 1/2 hour of hearing The Bug scream "Paaapaaa Miiiike" at the top of his lungs as we drove home.

Rumpelstiltskin

Ralph is mortified that I wrote about his recent problem in my last post. No offense Ralph, but a 36 year old man who wets the bed (unless he has a physiological problem) should be mortified.

Ralph’s embarrassment led to a conversation about the anonymity, or lack there of, the blog. You see dear reader; Ralph is very concerned that one of you will be able to find out his true identity.

Although Ralph did apply (and was accepted) for the FBI once, he told me that he turned them down. Maybe it was all just part of the clandestine nature of the organization that he had to tell me that he said no. Perhaps I am married to Jack Bauer or James Bond and don’t even know it! But I don’t think so. I went through all of his clothes today and found no tights (thank god), or capes, so I’m pretty sure that he isn’t batman or some other super hero.


As far as I know, Ralph (whose name isn’t really Ralph) is a 36 year old white guy who lives in the Midwest with a wife named No Mommy!, a son named The Bug, a neurotic dog and a cat who pees in bed just like him.

My challenge to you dear reader is to guess Ralph’s real identity.

If only it were just a dream

I am outnumbered in my house. My dog and I are the only females. Ralph, The Bug, and my cat are all male. Unfortunately, that is not the only trait that they share. They all pee where they aren’t supposed to.

I forgive The Bug his accidents; he is after all only 2 and just learning that the toilet is where his peepee goes. So, when I prematurely put him in choo-choo train big boy underpants and he pissed all over my couch, I only had myself to blame.

The cat, well, he is another story. For I don’t know how long, the cat has made a habit of periodically mistaking my living room couch for his litter box. This has been a huge point of contention between Ralph and me. Ralph thinks it is no big deal, while I think it is completely gross and the thought of The Bug finding one of The mad pisser (as he has become known)’s little yellow pools on the couch just makes me cringe. So, every time the mad pisser does one of his little deeds, I put him in the basement in order to separate him from my son and my furniture and Ralph brings him back upstairs and tells me how mean I am. That all changed, however, the night that the pisser pissed on Ralph while we were reading in bed, totally laid down on Ralph pissed and left. Then as we were turning off the lights, Ralph says, “What the fuck is all wet here?” The pisser has been in lockdown ever since.

Then there is Ralph. This morning I wake up obnoxiously early because I am the lightest sleeper in the world and Ralph is walking across the creaky wood floor to the bathroom. He walks back into our room and then, a few moments later I hear the floor creaking again and open my eyes to see Ralph’s naked ass walking towards the bathroom. He takes a shower and then comes back into our room. I ask if he is okay, since he normally doesn’t get up before 5. Ralph then explains to me that he had a dream that he was in a public restroom peeing and then woke up because he was peeing on himself in our bed. WTF!!! Then he asks if this has ever happened to me. Uh, no, I don't think so, not since I was 8!

Hi, I'd like a tall estrogen latte please.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

We knew that the day would come. Honestly, given the fact that Ralph and I both swear like sailors who’ve been out to sea for a long…long time, I am shocked that it hasn’t happened before now. Yes, The Bug said his first swear word last night. I am soooo proud!

Actually, he says shit all of the time, but he doesn’t mean it. I have been translating bugese into adult for several months now, explaining to grey-haired old ladies with their mouths agape that my adorable little boy really only intends to say sit (or yell it, which is usually the case) or to yell at his dog Blue (which he pronounces something like bull) to sit, not SHIT or BULL SHIT! Which he screams over and over at the dog who is surely in on the joke since she refuses to just sit her ass down!!!!

Anyway, last night, I was giving The Bug a bath when Ralph walked in and spilled q-tips all over the floor. Of course, he said, “Oh, shit!” which The Bug then repeated several times just perfectly.

Happy Birthday Ralph.

Happy Anniversary!

July 11th was my 4th anniversary with Ralph. It started out nicely, The Bug slept in long enough for me to wake up at 8:00 (which never happens) and take a shower before hearing “Ouuut Mommy Ouuut!”, which is how he usually alerts me to the fact that it is awfull ass early. Because it was a daycare day I even got to spend the day doing what I wanted to do (and yes, I know how fing awesome that is).

Fast forward to Ralph getting home from work. I should preface that I am completely obsessed with moving out of my house. Since The Bug hatched, it has just become way too small and I’m super sick of my obnoxious neighbor. Ralph claims to want to move too, but he bought the house before we met, and I think he is more attached to it than he wants to let on. Anyway, I have been obsessing lately about this adorable house that is right across the street from an elementary school with a kick-ass playground in an adorable neighborhood.

Sooo, Ralph comes home without even an f’ing card (but I have to forgive him because I recently ranted to him about how expensive cards are and how I’m going to start making my own on the computer or some shit like that…yeah Ralph, you coulda made me one!) but I forgive him because he bought me a combined birthday/anniversary present so I wasn’t expecting a gift, and he says he wants me to drive him by this house I’ve been telling him about.

On the way home, several of his comments make it clear that he is not as into the house as I am, so after The Bug is asleep I say, “so I guess you didn’t like the house?” He completely gets pissed off and is yelling about “didn’t we talk about staying in this house until The Bug goes to kindergarten” and all of this shit and we’re up fighting until 11:30. He keeps invoking this crap about some conversation that would keep us in this house another 3 years until The Bug is 5, but I recall a more recent conversation that prompted us to do $10,000 worth of renovations to this house to get it on the market by June 1 of this year. Given the fact that I have receipts to back up my recollection, I think that my memory is a hell of a lot more accurate than his.

Having taken one completely pissed off and hostile day, I have come to realize that Ralph was right about many of the things that he said on our anniversary. One of the things Ralph ‘suggested’ was that I stop looking at houses for sale online and find a new hobby. Thus, here I am, blog sweet diversion.