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!