Overheard

The Boy and his friend were playing a heated game of Mario on the Wii.

Friend: ARG! What part of "don't" did you not understand????

The Boy: Uh, well, all of it. I didn't hear you say "don't."

Can't argue with that.


And now for something completely different. 

My 4-year-old daughter is a better 39-year-old woman than I am

The kids and I went on a play date with our old friends today. The hostess, who likes to cook, served Stromboli. (When I am the hostess, I serve Dominoes). I was concerned that my kids wouldn't like it. I thought that The Girl would avoid it for sure since she limits herself to just a few foods (her version of the food pyramid would have desserts on the bottom and vegetables in that little tiny section at the top). But I cut her off an end that was mostly crust (one of her favorite items) and just a little "stuff." When I delivered her the second helping she requested, she asked me if I knew how to make it. I said, "Well, we can ask Ms. Stefanie," to which she replied, "No, no, I know how to make it now." She proceeded to explain the recipe that she had already requested and received from Ms. Stefanie's seven-year-old daughter. 

So, I guess we'll be making Stromboli soon. Thank goodness one of us pays attention to this sort of thing. 

(Crap, what am I going to make for dinner tonight? Maybe cereal....)

Bare naked what???

(HAAA! Look what comes up with you type "Stromboli" into Amazon.com?)------>

Bare Naked What?

Some time ago, the Bare Naked Ladies (a band made up of men) were on the radio in the car.

Boy: Who sings this song?

Husband: The Bare Naked Ladies.

Boy: Who?

Husband: The Bare Naked Ladies.

Boy: But they sound like men.

Husband: Well, they are, but that's their name.

Fast forward to today, when the Bare Naked Ladies were performing in concert on a TV show.

Boy: Who is this?

Husband: The Bare Naked Ladies.

Boy: What?

Husband: The Bare Naked Ladies.

Boy: But they're not naked.

Husband: Well, that's their name. And they're not ladies either.

Are we making progress? I'm not sure. 




(And no, we aren't really Bare Naked Ladies fans. Well, there was that one song that was pretty good....)


Did you miss White Trash Wednesday? Clicky.

All y'all need to read this one! Clicky.

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It's White Trash Wednesday, y'all!

In the spirit of White Trash Wednesday, I give you a portion of the birthday card that I sent my dear cousin for her 40th birthday. I told her that I tried to find the tackiest thing possible that I didn't have to spend money on (a white trash comment, even).  Enjoy!

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be celebrating White Trash Wednesday pretty frequently here from now on. 

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Your kids need labels for their camping crap this summer. Go to labelitorloseit.com and use the discount code tiger to get 10% off. 

All y'all

I just referred to my dogs as "All y'all." As in, "Good grief! Why are you bothering me? ALL Y'ALL GO OUTSIDE!"

I've spent the last two days writing and editing fiendishly on many projects for magazines and the internet. Apparently my inner white trash had to seep out somehow.

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The last minute Easter Bunny

Yes, the time on the microwave clock is correct. But at least I didn't forget altogether. 

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Welcome to virus town

Last night I did my best to remain the only non-sick person in my house by disinfecting the sofa before sleeping on it. It tried putting a pillow over my head but that could not drown out the sound of my fish tank, which had such a low water level that the filter sounded like a waterfall was pounding down two feet from my head. So at 11:30pm I decided to unplug the filter, which led me to an extreme guilt attack (what if the two remaining fish died due to my selfishness?). So at 11:31pm, I was in the kitchen filling up water jugs, which took forever because my faucet seems to believe that it needs to integrate lots of air with water. Itt takes years to fill anything reasonable like a gallon jug. So, while I was waiting, I picked up my phone and checked the internet, which allowed me to read and respond to a work email. Multitasking!

After refilling the tank, I turned the filter on again, assuring that my ancient fish wouldn’t die due to my lack of falling water tolerance. I got comfy on the sofa and slept peacefully in my disease-free zone until 1:30, when I woke up to barf. Then I went to bed to join the rest of the sickies. Welcome to virus town.

Read another post about my sick family here.

I heart on you

The whole family has been sick over the last few days. The Boy got it first and recovered first, which means he's been insanely bored with the rest of us today. The Girl came down with it yesterday afternoon and has been possibly the most pathetic sick person ever. With dark circles under her eyes and unkempt hair, she reminded me of the waif from Les Miserables (you had that T-shirt in the 80s, right?).

The two of us spent a lot of today together in varying stages of sleep (and, on her part, doing a fair bit of weeping). But tonight, the tide has turned, and I think she's finally on the mend.

As I laid in her bed with her to say goodnight, I told her, "I love you."

She fumbled with her fingers, working to make a heart shape. "I heart on you too," she said, with a smile. "I made that up," she added.

"I like it," I said.

Read another post about our virus fiasco.

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If you have a girly girl at home you need this nail polish

I recently went shopping at Walgreen's, my favorite place to go when I need to pick up prescriptions and also desire to come home with a pile of crap I never knew I needed. I stumbled upon this nail polish (ON SALE!) and decided that The Girl and I had to have it.

What's so great about this polish, you ask? IT CHANGES COLOR IN THE SUNLIGHT! So indoors it is a faint iridescent-looking pink, but outside it looks like this:

They have tons of colors, some that change from blue to green, lots of pink shades, and some that barely change at all (what's the point of that?). I can tell you for sure that my toenails are wicked happy about this whole thing, and The Girl can't stop looking at her fingernails when we go outside (this can be dangerous when crossing the street).

While I do accept ads on this site (not that I'm making any actual money from them, mind you), THIS IS NOT ONE. This is just one girly-girl's mom telling the rest of the world's girly girl moms: you need this polish.

(It's also good for moms that are girly girls themselves (would that be womanly women?), or people like me who just like weird toenail polish.)

Looky! You can buy it here on Amazon.com.* ---->
























*OK, so THIS PART kinda is an ad. 

We're in a lot of trouble here

A conversation between The Boy, who is seven, and Husband, who shared this story with me.

Husband: It's time to go to church, kids. Head to the car.

Boy: Let's not go! (Said while sitting in the car.)

Husband: No, we need to go to church. (Said while buckling The Girl in the car.)

Boy: We don't NEED to go to church. It's not one of our BASIC NEEDS.

Me: (Upon hearing this story.) HA! What did you say?

Husband: I shut the car door before I laughed.

Me: Geez.

Husband: He's WAY too smart for us.

This is the way my life works

This morning I walked The Boy into class at 7:30am, and then drove The Girl to school at 8:30. While in the car with The Girl, someone from The Boy's school called to talk to me about a recent evaluation. I asked if I could call her back since I was otherwise occupied.

After dropping The Girl off I went to the post office to mail our check to the IRS via certified mail. While there I forgot that there's supposedly a certified mail waiting there for me, so I'll have to go back later. That's ideal. On my way out, I got a phone call from my doctor's office, who very apologetically informed me that the lab screwed up and I need to come in and give more blood for another test. Excellent. I told her I'd be there at 1, right after their lunchtime, so that I could get in and out in order to make it to the library to drop off overdue books and to the store to buy more ant spray (that's another story) before picking up The Boy at two and then The Girl after that.

Then I came home and called the school to talk about the evaluation and finally sat down to work shortly after 10. I took a break in order to let the rabbits out but otherwise worked until, surprise! The phone rang. The Boy is sick. I cancelled the phone call I was supposed to make with an interviewee who would rather talk by phone than email and then went to get The Boy, who might not be all that sick but who did barf and who is so tired that he's currently sacked out on the couch.

I resumed working and clocked in another 15 minutes of billable time before realizing that, with The Boy asleep, there's no way I'll be making it to the doctor to have blood taken again at 1. Now I've got to call them and let them know I'll be coming sometime in the nebulous "later." Meanwhile, my lunch is ready, and The Boy's orange icy I made is back in the freezer. It's only 12:30. Wow.

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Potty mouth

"I want to smack your butt with diarrhea on it!" = the most naughty thing my daughter can think of to say.

The more you know 3, lucky me

Thanks to yesterday's torture procedure*, I'm still peeing fire and razor blades. Thank goodness the treatment for having a painful bladder and urethra is to jam large things into the same small, inflamed, excruciatingly painful area that you are asking the doctor to fix. Modern medicine is awesome.

I'm taking a medicine called Prosed, which is supposed to be a pain reliever designed for use when one does horrific things to one's bladder and related areas. It's hard to tell if it's working on account of the astonishing  amounts of pain I'm in when I urinate. Oh, wait....

The best thing about the Prosed so far is that it turns your pee blue. This is hella-cool and much better than the holy-crap-you're-bleeding-to-death red/orange of the over-the-counter version. It's only slightly blue, though, which is a little disappointing. When I read the package insert, I was hoping for Robin's egg blue, or maybe navy. Navy would have been outstanding.

I just called the doctor's office to confirm that fire-pee is still an expected side effect at this point of the game. The nurse asked me if I was seeing "Lots of blood." I had no idea that "lots of blood" was an option. Thankfully, I'm lots-of-blood-free, so I'm told to call back if I'm still peeing jalapeños tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

*If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about click here.

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Maybe it's the drugs

I had a horrifically painful day today, so maybe that's why I found these funny exam answers so hilarious. I'm pretty sure I dislodged something laughing at them. My favorites are "banana car," "I drew a lion," "giraffes are heartless creatures," "please enjoy the whale," "take out the centi," and "chompy." I love how creative the test takers are, showing that they are very intelligent even if not well-prepared/informed about the test topics. And I really appreciate the teachers who gave them credit for it. Awesome all around.

Which made you laugh the hardest?

http://www.uniquescoop.com/2011/04/funny-exam-answers-30-pics.html

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The lighter side of awful*

Tomorrow I plan to spend thirty thrilling minutes with a camera snaking up places I'm going to wish it couldn't go. My companion in this experience will be a man I've only met once but whom I've already determined is extremely talkative (although very nice). Perhaps when your profession is urology, you find that lots of light chatter puts uncomfortable patients at ease. This might be true, as long as he doesn't talk with his hands or otherwise pause the action while conversing. If he dawdles, my half of the conversation is likely to be less-than-polite. (Oh, who am I kidding? You can't be rude to a guy with a camera in your bladder. That won't turn out well at all.)

I've spent an unfortunate amount of time making conversation with strange men while lying down on a table, half-naked. This sounds more exciting/lucrative than it actually is. (I think the stirrups are what make the difference.) But I do find that having a normal conversation while being poked and prodded in my nether regions alleviates some of the discomfort and embarrassment of the situation. I like to exercise mind over matter when I can, and if I can chat pleasantly, I don't feel miserable. This even applies when having an unplanned gynecological exam with two small children in the room. Don't ask me why I know this.

I once met a doctor for the first time while naked from the waist down, lying on a table, with my feet in the stirrups. I offered my hand and said, "So sorry to be meeting you like this." We both laughed. He didn't help me much, but he was a nice enough guy.

Thankfully, times have changed in the last few years at urologists' offices and some of them actually treat women on a regular basis now. Fifteen years ago, it was me in a waiting room full of aging men, trying not to look too closely at the diagrams of the inner workings of the penis that hung on the walls. I spent eight years visiting urologists while trying to figure out why I felt like I had a bladder infection all the time, and eventually, when the pain stretched from my thighs to my ribcage and I was wondering how I was going to keep going through my life like that, I found a urologist who specialized in women's issues. 

After a two minute exam (which didn't involve cameras or catheters or anything else I'd had done 10 times already), this amazing doctor told me I had a muscle spasm problem in my pelvis ( "pelvic floor dysfunction," which sounds like it might be a description of a bad disco dancer) and prescribed physical therapy and a variety of life changes that I took on wholeheartedly. Things got a lot better, and eventually I was pretty much normal. So normal that I often forgot that I ever was not normal. Since my previous tests had ruled out this (at the time) new, incurable disease called Interstitial Cystitis that also had similar symptoms, I figured had nothing to be worried about. I'd defeated my problem forever. Victory was sweet!

Except now, Interstitial Cystitis (IC) is not so new, and they've decided that only 5-10% of the people who have it passed the test that they used to rule out the disease for me. The rest of them, apparently, were just like me. And here I sit, no longer healthy, with blood where it shouldn't be and pain where I don't want it to be, on the eve of a new journey into urologist visits that start out with me on a table half-naked. And it sounds as though the most likely (and probably best case scenario) outcome will be the incurable, chronic pain disease. The other, fortunately less likely outcomes, involve the big "C," although there's a slim chance that I've just got some rogue stones or something. The doctor's banking on the IC.

I guess if I knocked it into what I assume was remission before, I can do it again, right? Because I'm a lot older now, and I've got a lot more stress to deal with, and I don't have time to be crippled over in pain, with my pants undone because the pressure drives me crazy, panicking over finding the closest bathroom because the pain is ridiculous if my bladder is full. "Holding it" might cause waves of spasming, firey hot pain that lasts for days. No, there's just not time for that.

Of course, I'm not sure where I'm going to find the time to treat it either. Going to physical therapy for my disc pain nearly did me in earlier this year since it took up so much of my work time and I had to work many late nights to stay reasonably caught up. But not working while getting treatment isn't an option either, since I've grown fond of eating dinner and clothing my children. Physical therapy really helped during my first bout with this problem, as did giving up my beloved caffeine, so it might be the prescription for relief again. Along with some kickass drugs (I can only hope!).

On the upswing, if I get any kind of answers tomorrow, I'm going to have the doctor write me a note that I can flash in the face of anyone who makes fun of me when I tell him/her I have to find a bathroom (again), even if we are in the car in the middle of nowhere. It's not nice to pick on someone with a disease, right?**

Wish me luck tomorrow at 9:30 EDT!

UPDATE: Just went back in the bathroom before leaving for my appointment to put on more lipstick, and then I laughed really hard because I'm pretty sure that the last thing my urologist cares about is how my make-up looks. Seriously.

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: I've survived my visit, although I'm going to be feeling it for a while.  The good news is that, I most likely do not have cancer although the doctor is sending off some slides "just in case." I also might not even have IC; we'll discuss that in six weeks after we see how well the treatment I had today and a long course of antibiotics work (plus I'll be seeing some other doctors as well). In extra good news, if I ever become a spy with some "too outside the rules to be named" agency and I need to torture someone to get information for the good of our country, I know how to do it. It involves his or her urethra and a collection of progressively bigger rods. I've no doubt that it'll work. NO. DOUBT. 

*Goodness, why didn't I name this whole blog The Lighter Side of Awful? Damn, that would have been brilliant! Can I have a do-over???

*Most of the people in my life are super awesome and don't give me (much) trouble for my frequent, often inconvenient use of public restrooms. Thankfully. 

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Caption this photo!

With a little bit of Wild America going on outside my front door, I snapped this photo. I like to call it "Ambition." 

That spider looked so small next to that really big leaf-footed bug. But he took that bad boy out. Very impressive.

Potential caption:

Man, all of his eyes are bigger than his stomach.

Can you think of something better? Leave a comment with your ideas. The best caption-writer wins... well... a  big way-to-go from me (it's hell to be poor). Give it a try anyway!

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The more you know 2, electric boogaloo

Today I had fleaful dogs and no flea shampoo. I generally don't use flea shampoo anyway because I'm not a fan of all the chemicals, but this situation required a powerful solution. I hate fleas.

I have some scented shampoo purchased for Mr. Beagle who, unfortunately, is often malodorous. But from experience I know that, despite the fact that I've heard that all soap will kill fleas, this "fresh smelling" stuff does not.

The Girl wanted to help with the bathing process, and I expected that she'd get in the water, so I decided to just go ahead and use some people shampoo in order to avoid exposing large amounts of her body to doggie soap.* I decided to go with my new bottle of Herbal Essence Color Me Happy (What? Shampoo for colored hair? Why would I need that? It's not like I have lots of gray hair that I need to cover up or anything. No way.).**

Guess what? That stuff kills fleas like nobody's business.

I've got three clean, sparkling dogs and some dead fleas. Am I concerned that the stuff I put on my head on a regular basis is apparently toxic to tiny, hard-shelled insects? I am not. (Well, not very anyway. OK. A little.)

So now you know. In the last two days, I've enlightened you to a handy flea killing product AND to the fact that public restrooms don't actually flush all the urine down on the first try. I've also taught you how to make popcorn using a bag, popcorn, and a microwave. And oh yeah, I've given you lessons on where to park too. You almost can't afford to not read this blog on account of how much valuable information you would miss.

Yeah.

*Please don't inundate me with messages on how human shampoo isn't good for dogs because it has a different pH etcetera, etcetera. I've been grabbing whatever is on the shelf in my shower for years and it's been fine. I'm pretty sure dog shampoo companies started that urban legend. (Shampoo at your own risk. Your mileage may vary.)


**I'm pretty sure it's not grammatically correct to have a period, a close parenthesis, and another period. So sorry. 

The more you know...

Thanks to a medication that turns urine an unhealthy shade of orange/red, I now know that many public restrooms don't come anywhere near to flushing completely on the first, or even second, try.

I don't know what you will do with this information, but now you know.

Ariel's doing some covert superhero work

The Girl is currently playing with The Boy's Batcave which she insists on calling "The Batman Castle." Currently a bunch of princesses have taken over and are, I dunno, either saving people or redecorating.* Actually, knowing The Girl, they are probably doing both, and also grooming some dogs and performing surgery.  Because that's how she rolls.

UPDATE: I tweeted this to Adam West. I'll let you know if he approves.

*I asked what was going on in the Bat Castle at the moment. Apparently Sleeping Beauty is a police officer helping Snow White down from the top of one of the towers. "She's not getting in jail though. Sleeping Beauty is just helping her down." Good to know. 



(This is the Batcave/Batman Castle in question. The Girl and visiting children have played with it more than The Boy has. At least it gets used/the dust knocked off of it every so often.)

No shit, Sherlock

My son, who has medically documented ADHD,  brought home a report card with "Needs Improvement" marked in the areas of "Following Directions" and "Listens Attentively."* I refer you to my recent blog entry titled I FORGOT MY TOWEL as evidence that we knew that already. Also, the part where we go to doctor's appointments as often as once a week to balance medicines to help him reduce his hyperactivity to the point where he doesn't vibrate but attempt to avoid a condition of constant sleepiness and/or trigger his Tourette's is also a clue. And the fact that he has a 504 plan (a school document) that indicates that he's supposed to have some accommodations made for the fact that he can't stay focused (amongst other things) is also a good reminder. But thanks for the note on the report card. I'll get right on that. 

*Fortunately, his teacher warned me ahead of time that he would receive these marks. Otherwise, I might have been a bit annoyed. :) 

April Fools!

This is the first year that The Girl has been aware of the concept of April Fool's Day (which I hate, by the way). She's been practicing her April Fool's joke since her preschool teacher told the class about the whole idea on Wednesday. Here's the joke:

Girl: Mom! There's a dog behind you!

Me: What?

Girl: HA! April Fools! There's no dog behind you! HAHAHAHAhaahahhahahahahahahahahahhahaha!"

I'm not a fan of pranks, but I can get behind this one.

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