Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Educating the Youth

E is cutting her second tooth and I have the plague (again) and there is NO SLEEP TO BE HAD in this whole damn house (by me at least).

Also, the world is out to get me...

And now that we have THAT emo moment out of the way, here's a short short few words.....


I often get a kick at the various ways people get to my blog. Some people click on my comments to other bloggers. Others may find me on someone's blogroll under Favorite Blogs (thanks guys!). And some people find me by Google-ing.

Yesterday's data revealed that someone got here by Googling “roofie uses”.

I know, RIGHT?! Now I can add “educational” to my blog description.

Thanks little buddy! (you know who you are) I hope I was able to help you!

Now I can cross that off my bucket list.


I still get comments about how much cursing goes on in this blog. Ummmm, I don't know what to say?

I mean, it's my blog right?

When you're reading it in your head, can't you just self-bleep the dirty words? Or just skip over them and enjoy the content? Or stop reading maybe? I don't even know...

I appreciate the concern, I really do, and I know one day E will read this but isn't that a good thing? It's an honest look at her infanthood. Won't it be great to say “See? Look how crazy it was and we still all came out okay.” (Or alternatievely, "See? Mommy's always been that way.....")

I blame the Navy for all the foul-mouthedness and just so you know, I try to take out at least half the “fucks” and “shits” before I hit publish. Except the ones that are needed for content. Or humor. Which is like, most of them. But I TRY.

So everyone who disaproves can suck it. Eat a bowl of D's.

(Except the disapproving family. I would never tell family to eat a bowl of D's. Ever. Unless they continued to email me about said language. Multiple times. And then, well, maybe a bowl of D's with sugar on top. I'm not cruel. *blush* )


I know I haven't been updating my blog much lately but *sniffle* I'M SICK *sniffle*

Cue the sympathy plx :)

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Crazy and Need Roofies


Ok, so let's recap:

The Gramma was here and pampered us and then she left and we were all sad. We tried to guilt her into spending a few more weeks with us, but it didn't work. Next time she comes? She's gettin' roofies slipped in her coffee on the day she will (attempt to) fly out.... Problem solved.

Next problem: where does one buy roofies and what is the going rate for a roofy? Or is it roofie? And, also, what would the street term be for said roofies? I'm just asking because I don't want to be that dumb ass who uses the wrong drug jargon and gets shot. I watch Cops. I know how this shit works.

Then there was the plague we all tossed back and forth like Hot Potato: Germ Edition. It was gross. It was phlegmy. It was a horrifying documentary that could have been titled "What Happens When You Continually Tell People You Don't Believe in this Newfangled Hand Sanitizer Obsession, Thankyouverymuch”. Then all the germies and the bacteria feel they gotta prove themselves. Via flu-like symptoms.

Lizzie has fully accomplished the whole “sitting up” thing and can do so, unaided, everywhere but in the tub (kitchen sink) where I refuse to let her try. All I can think of is bashed baby brains on the spigot. We don't want her to slip and slide and lose a damn eye.

Also since we last chit chatted: food has become her latest obsession. She wants to try everything we eat or drink. She hasn't found a food she doesn't lurve and I'm fairly certain she got that from me. Poor baby. Also, she wants to feed herself. Nay, she DEMANDS IT. It gets messy but it's a hoot to watch.

Follow so far? There's gonna be a quiz at the end.

 Independant Baby says....
"I can dooz it Mah-SELVEZ!"


Three nights ago, Lizzie was up all night.

Allllllll Niiiiiiiight.

I have a friend with a son about Lizzie's age and he decided to start teething this past week. She was moaning and crying about how she didn't know how parents didn't eat their young and I'm all I KNOW, RIGHT?! Pass the salt and pepper and let's DO THIS! 

And she's like "You don't understand, he's been up all night and I think I'm gonna go NUTS!” to which I could only shake my head in agreement and mutter about how “people with gooder-sleeping babies just don't understand and need to STFU.”

But then she went on with “Seriously, he was up at 1 am and again at 5 am! I'm exhausted!” 

And that's when I lost it and I was all “WTF?!?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Lizzie gets up every night at 11pm and 2am and 4am and 6am. On a normal night. You call two night wakenings “up all night”? Shit, around these parts, we'd call that schedule SLEEPIN IN for a change. 


When I said Lizzie was “up all night”, I meant she was full-on wide awake; eyes buggin' out of their sockets while bangin' plastic toy rings in her chair, all awash in the colorful glow of late-night Disney Channel mess, playing at a moderately high volume in a house that's otherwise SILENT CUZ IT'S NIGHT NIGHT TIME GODDAMMIT. 

From 2am to 7am. 

I don't even think she blinked that whole time...
That's “up all night”. 
Can't make meh sleepz!


Today, on the telephone with Rhiannon, I mentioned something about “maybe when things get less crazy around here” and I suddenly realized that OMFG the crazy is never going to end. And this was a revelation to me. An eye-opener. 

I guess I thought I would eventually fall into a routine or maybe I would just get used to the crazy but I was wrong. You never get used to the crazy. The crazy just IS. The crazy does not abate from here on out. It may wear a different hat or walk a little funny but it is here to stay. 

The crazy can not be tamed. It will konk you on your butt and drag you around by the hair on your head, caveman-style, and you have to just submit and survive. 

Crazy is the new “Calm”. Embrace it. Wallow in it. And try to look at the bright side: You may be Crazy's Bitch but at least.....

yeah, I got nuthin'......

 The crazies haz just begun Momma.


Stephen was putting the dishes away yesterday (GO HIM! Thanks Honey!) and he was putting away the silverware. He always saves them for last because he hates them the most (I can relate).

As he is gathering them all up, he turns to me and asks me “Did you use all these spoons?”

I just stared blankly at him.

“No Honey, you got me. I like to throw clean ones in there just to fuck with you.”

I still have no idea what he was asking...

 "Dad, I need to tell you something. Mom's trying to fuck with your head."
"I know Sweetheart. I've known for awhile."


After E's “up all night” incident, I kept her awake most of the day and then she returned to her normal schedule the next night. All was forgiven.

Then LAST NIGHT we fought. She went down around 8ish and was up at 11 for milk. Normally I try to catch her before she wakes up fully and then I shove the bottle in her mouth to slam a few quick ounces in her tummy before she knows what hit her. This keeps the whole incident under 10 minutes in duration and everyone one goes to bed happy. Score!

But LAST NIGHT, she refused the bottle. Chewed on the nipple and spit it out. Contorted her body backwards and attempted to gnaw on my boobies through my shirt. I resisted her and tried to force the bottle. She would have none of it and so I dumped her back in her crib and said “Okay, then no milk if you won't take it from the bottle.” I am desperate to have her switched to expressed milk at night so maybe I can share the late night feedings. 

I said “Night Night” and “I love you”, as always, and shut the door. I waited for her to cry so I could offer the bottle again but she went back to sleep, the little heifer. Which she has NEVER done after getting up for milk and being denied. When we finally went to bed, I laid awake in the bed, listening for the next wake-up and cry for milk. 

I must have fallen asleep soon after that because I don't remember a thing and she slept until 6am this morning. Ummm, HOW DARE SHE?! She is unable to go more than a few hours without milk at night but when she is pissed off and needs to be defiant she can sleep all night long JUST TO PROVE A POINT? This is why I don't trust her. 

She is just like me...

 Finally taking the bottle.... but on her OWN TERMS.


I have been trying So. Hard. to get to the computer and bang out a blog entry. There have been days lately that I go to the New Blog Post page and just. can't. do it.

I have also made a huge commitment to working on my health and well-being this year so I have invested in some good running shoes and filled trash bags full of processed crap-food from my cupboards and tossed them. Yesterday my P90x system arrived and I wanted to pop in one of the DVD's right then and there to start but I didn't because I really need to start it off right by reading the material and making out a plan of attack. So I waited.

Until today. Because today was my first “finally motivated to get this shit on the road” day and I was all “Ha! Your days are numbered, Fat Cells!” I was ready to sweat and grunt and generally heave my body into dangerous and unattractive poses in the comfort of my own living room until Lizzie got up and bitch-slapped that idea right off the table.

When I got her out of her crib, she was flushed and whiney and hot to the touch. The thermometer said 102.3 and she was cuh-RANK-y! 


We are currently Motrin-ing and napping and nursing every hour or so. It's rough, but the silver lining is that I can't commit to anything for more than 40 minutes or so at a time so Random Tuesday thoughts is perfect! So much better than working out. There's less sweat tears embarrassment …. 

shit, I lost my train of thought....

 See mah cuteness?
There is no other goal than to maintain this cuteness.
Your junk no matter.


I'm trying to text my neighbor about our babies. Well, not our babies, but my baby and her baby. You know what I mean...

We aren't the “closest” of friends because we literally just met a few months ago and even though we live across the street from each other, we never really cross paths. I think we are both flakes. Which is okay. If anyone can understand a flake, it's another flake. 

Some of you out there are nodding. You know what I mean.

Word to my Homies.

In our texting, we are talking about our efforts to get shopping and such done. I offered to take her little boy if she needed to run some errands. She has offered to watch E if she doesn't feel better by tomorrow, so I can run to the store. I like her. She's “good people”. Even if I don't know her that well.

I am pretty sure E will feel better tomorrow and I can take her with me, but if not, then I will more than likely leave her with the neighbor because there are a few things on my shopping list that have been sitting there for awhile and MUST be replaced. Rather important things like shitter-paper and milk and COFFEE. So I really appreciate her offer.

I texted back:

“God, I hope so! (hoping E would feel better after Motrin and a nap) I really really need to get some THONGS from Target tomorrow so crossing my fingers it's just a 24 hour thing. I don't know what I'm gonna do if I can't make it out there soon. I've put it off too long now.”

Sometime like an HOUR later, I look at my text messages and realize I meant to say THINGS, not THONGS (caps for emphasis) and I suddenly cringe at what this woman probably things about me. It's bad enough I just told her I must buy butt-floss underwear at Tar-jay, but it's infinitely more humiliating to say so with a complete sense of urgency.

I need skimpy panties. I need them now. I don't know what I will do if I don't get them by tomorrow!

Ummm.... I hate to ask, but...... what will happen if you can't get one before then? Hmmmm? Never mind the fact that, clearly, your ass would completely absorb such a tiny piece of linen and also, have you not considered the fact that perhaps they don't even make “those kind” of undies in size M(ammoth)? I'm pretty sure they only go up to “Really Fucking Big” so you'd kinda be shit out of luck.


She hasn't texted back yet....

 Good one Mom.
1 house in the neighborhood alienated, 17 more to go....

Okay, I lied, there's no quiz. Everyone passes. See you next time....


((Extra Credit if you score me a roofy a roofie some roofies to knock my Mother-In-Law out on her ass.))

((((Don't tell the cops. They'll never understand.....))))

((((((Or her husband.....  for the same reason.....))))))

Sunday, March 14, 2010

I'm not dead....

So thanks for asking...

And OMG I'm back. For good this time. Well, you know, until something else MAJOR comes along.

My MIL came to stay with us for 2 weeks (YAY!). I fully intended to utilize that time to spruce this pig sty up a bit and then spit out post after post of self-deprecating potty humor for your utmost enjoyment, but that did not happen (obviously).

I always have big plans when The Gramma comes down but all that goes by the wayside in favor of Sleep! Gossip! Showers! Sleep! She takes E and I spend my baby-free time by consciously exerting as little physical and mental energy as possible. Seriously. I fold my loyal to-do-list into the most intricate of origami swans and then plot and scheme against the Gramma to keep her in her jammies as long as possible. Let's slum it up together so I don't look so bad. Take one for the team Gramma!

We also got deathly ill with whatever the newest SARS/BirdFlu/H1N1 crap was going around. I don't know exactly what I got but it sucked balls. My throat hurt and my intestinal tract roiled uncontrollably. I felt like my head was full of cotton and maybe I was high, but, like, without any of the good feeling..... that I've read about.... you know, on the interwebz.....

I was also going to finally unpack the last of our moving boxes and finish some sewing I had on the back burner but that didn't happen either. Not that you care too much about my domestic deficiencies, I know.

Surprisingly enough, I didn't receive a single email about “O HAI, I noticed yur house haz gone to shitz and wuz just worried if you wuz doin ok or not.”

But I DID get the “Remember back in the day when you updated your blog more often and everyone loved to read your new shit and gawk at your funny pics? THAT DAY HAS APPARENTLY PASSED. Unfollow.”

Whatever, fair-weather followers. REAL LIFE HAPPENS.

Now look at me, getting all defensive and guilty conscious-y and stuff. Most of you probably didn't even notice my slackerness. My lack of posting. Disregard all that yelling and pay no attention to that psycho lady flailing around and blaming the world for her issues. She just needs to take her Zoloft.

After the Gramma left, I went through a week or so of the unavoidable depression that always follows her departure. After all the chatting and laughing and baby help, I find the house particularly quiet and uneventful when Stephen goes to work and I am left alone with E. It takes some getting used to again.

Soooooo... that should catch us up. I am in dire need of beauty sleep (nodding your head in agreement is NOT necessary) and I spent tonz of time updating Daily Lizzie tonight so we will resume this discussion in the morrow. (I know, you can HARDLEY WAIT! Me neither!)