Implosion

A few weeks ago we found out that this building was scheduled to be imploded. We wound up going downtown to watch it. It was so hot, but we really didn't care. It was so worth it when we got to see it blow.

Another Wordless

Some Days are Good Mom Days

Being a mom is hard and most of the time it is thankless & I feel like a failure. Then there are days like yesterday.
#1 needed to be picked up from tutoring, which he went to on his own volition *hooray boy!*, at 4:00. I arrived a bit early so decided to find some of #2’s teachers to check up on the little bugger say hi. While walking along the 2nd floor I spotted #1 at a table with some friends. When he saw me a look of astonishment came over his face and the conversation went something like this:
What are YOU doing here?
Picking you up. What are you doing OUTSIDE?
Tutoring is over. I thought Papa was picking me up.
You thought wrong. Be with you in a minute.
I went in to talk to #2’s art teacher. Though the boy is doing well, he still doesn’t think that all homework applies to him. When I got back to the car #1 told me that my “cool mom legacy” continues. Apparently his friends were amazed by our conversation. I replied that I didn’t even speak to them or do anything cool. I guess their conversations with their maternal units are more stuffy formal. I learned that all people don’t talk to their kids as if they were, well, people. That just made my day.

Wordless Wednesday

I've seen this Wordless Wednesday thing on many blogs of late & have decided to be a shameless copycat. While hiking last week I realized, while looking back on the trail & all the hikers, that we looked like a bunch of ants. Unfortunately the picture didn't come out at all like what my eyes saw...so I played with it.

So much for wordless, eh?

The Intoxication of Bra Shopping

Since I entered this little piece to a contest, DM is referred to as Joseph.

I woke up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning with a Mimosa under my nose. “Drink this, we’re going bra shopping.”
Bra shopping is no fun. Bra shopping when you are a 36 DDD is as entertaining as cleaning a public restroom with a toothbrush. After seventeen years of marriage, my husband Joseph has finally realized that the only way for me to go bra shopping is if I’m nicely potted.
“Drink up. There’s a door buster.”
A half hour later, I’m on the hunt, stumbling off to find my quarry. I was confident! I was empowered! I was sloshed. The bras in my cup size are generally located on the lowest racks since the weight of these babies apparently makes us hunch over anyway. I scooped up a half dozen while doing my Quasimodo, blearily apologizing to every rack I toppled on my way to the dressing room.
In that confined space, I realized that the temperature was ten degrees warmer than the rest of the store. Uncomfortable and sweating and I hadn’t tried anything on yet! After squeezing, shimmying, twisting and struggling into those contraptions, I felt like I’d been in a sauna. I tried out a sports bra and felt like I was all set for a mammogram. Removing it took five minutes and had me spinning like a break-dancer and bumping into the door causing the attendant to see if I needed help.
“Sssaalrite!” I replied as the bra finally broke free with a THWAP. She never came back.
My cell phone chirped and I dug it out of my pocket to discover Joseph had sent me pictures of several mannequins wearing bras that I couldn’t have worn after my first month of puberty. With a giggle, I fought my way into a pushup model that made me look like I was auditioning for a part in an opera, held out my phone, snapped a shot and sent it to him.
I immediately had the sort of second thoughts that freeze heart, soul and brain into a single icy column. What had I just done? Had I even sent it to the right number?
Choosing two bras more or less at random, I burst out of the stall, shoved them at Joseph and stumbled away without a look back. I’d lost five pounds of water weight along with untold brain cells. I lay on the wall outside the store. The clouds were so pretty, birds singing so cheerfully that I was thinking that maybe bra shopping wasn’t so bad after all. Then I fell off the wall…into the bushes…
Joseph appeared over me, cell phone in hand, and called me a silly drunk.

To hike or not to hike...

I don’t want to pull on the reins! I love what I’m doing now & don’t want to slow down. It has taken so many years to become this active, to find something that really works for me…and now I have to pull back and reassess?!? WTF?!

Doc is amazing. I love her and am amazed and more grateful than I can express for her guidance and the progress I have made under her care. In the nearly 2 years that I’ve been her patient, I have made so much more progress than in the entire previous 20 years. My ankle has less pain & ever so much more mobility. I have lost 40+ pounds, quit smoking and discovered this gluten thing that has really alleviated the anxiety crap. I’m going hiking 3 times a week and doing (minimal) strength training. Because of the mobility issue, I can’t run and walking just doesn’t get my heart rate up enough anymore. Climbing mountains, tho is great exercise for me, the incline REALLY gets my heart rate going! Besides I love it. Being outside, the desert, time with my kids, doing something that I nearly thought I would never do again, all of it. I’m so happy that I’ve finally gotten this exercise routine down & it is going so well.
Today Doc tells me that I am at the point in my progress where I can progress further or set myself up for major injury, and that this is a very fine line. Intellectually I understand this, but what I’d really like to do is lay on the floor & scream & kick. She wants me to brainstorm, reassess and come up with a plan that will respect my ankle more. I know why she won’t tell me what to do. It will mean more to me to research and come up with my own plan. This is how I’m trying to raise my own kids…but DAMN it sucks…it is so much work!
When I was a little girl I couldn’t wait to grow up, be my own boss & get to do whatever I wanted. I hated having people tell me what to do.

MORON

This little demotivator really fits me.

But I won't let my craziness compromise my ankle.

I'm sssccccaaaarrrreeeddd?!

What is my problem? I am the girl that, essentially, doesn’t give a crap what anyone thinks. I revel in my lunacy. I do something stupid & it is a cause for celebration.

But now, I’m having performance anxiety, stage fright, an all around case of the nerves!

Laurie Notaro is having an essay contest. Since I am the biggest idiot girl I know, I have to enter! The deadline is only a week away tho and what if what I enter sucks? Is a week long enough to produce a less than 450 word masterpiece? And whatever shall I write about?! Are any of my idiot girl escapades actually funny? Now there are people that say I’m funny and that I should write a book, but these are people like my mom or assorted others that I’ve paid to hang out with me.

Enough of the whining already! I will sit down & crank out a story. If it sucks, so be it. Hey! That could be an idiot girl story all by itself!

Wardrobe Malfunction or T.M.I.

This is another of those "women's issues" posts. If you can't handle it, step away from the computer & I'll catch you later. I don't really blame you, I wouldn't want the scarring metal imagery either.

For those of you brave enough to hang in there, I'll pray for you...here goes.

Underwear isn't about who you are wearing it for, it is about how it makes you feel. Basic briefs are comfortable, but boring. Your grandma wears them and nothing about them makes you feel pretty, let alone sexy. When I wear them I feel frumpy and fat...I avoid them.

The hipster brief, especially when decorative, is better. Pretty, conservative but make you feel pretty. Then there are thongs and/or g-strings. I long thought that only sluts wore them. That the only reason one would wear them was if one was getting action, and then it would only be on ones body for the shortest amount of time possible. They would be incredibly uncomfortable, wouldn't they? Dental floss up your crack, you spend your life trying to get your underwear out of your crack, why would you want something to stay there, and all the other arguments come to mind.

I was wrong. I know that's hard to believe, but it is true. While I don't think I would wear them on a daily basis, the ones I have are, surprisingly, not uncomfortable. The magic is in how it makes me feel! I am sexy! Not in a flash the string, I need to get some now & I don't care who it is way, but a self confidence I am a W-O-M-A-N kind of way.

Now on to the incident. Yesterday was casual day at work. The jeans I was wearing were the at the hip kind and all the clean underwear I had would have overlapped...gross. Even if nobody saw it, I would know it was bunching up and overlapping, like putting too much batter in a muffin tin. So I found the g-string. It wouldn't overlap & would make me feel good...no problem! I wore it all day and the confidence boost was a good thing since I'd worn a shirt (that always made me feel pretty...before I lost weight) that was fine, but I felt completely frumpy. That shirt is going away this weekend. Every time I would see myself in the damn gold doors on the elevators and cringe at how eeewwww I looked, I would just smile & remember that I was wearing rockin undies.

After work DM wanted to go to the drive in with the minions to see "Night at the Museum" because the weather was so beautiful. It was fun, the movie was FANTASTIC, a good time was had by all. On one of the multiple potty excursions with the Princess, it happened. The pelvic floor of a woman who has had multiple children is an elusive thing. They say "just do Kegels, it will strengthen things right up." They are lying bastards and I hate them. They obviously are men and haven't ever squeezed something the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of a grape, and lived to tell about it. They don't have to worry about when they last used the facilities when out with their friends, because to laugh too hard could cause a little ole accident. They have never uttered the phrase "Stop making me laugh, I'm going to pee!" They have never had to make the decision to put on a pad or fore go the trampoline, when the kids are begging for a family jump. But I digress.

The Princess & I went in to the restroom, I sent her into her stall & then realized that it would be a good idea for me to avail myself of them as well. I entered the dingy, rickety stall (drive in bathrooms are worth a post all by themselves!) and as I began unbuttoning my jeans I realized the need was greater than I thought, so I started moving more quickly. I did the, hook the thumbs in the undies and pull everything down at once, move.

I got hung up!

The string, from the g, was entangled. In hair. It wouldn't budge. By this time my bladder could see the toilet. That is the place to let loose, thought the bladder, and it didn't care that I wanted to halt the action. I reached down, grabbed the offending string...and got a palm full of urine! That was not my intent!!! I yanked the g-string free and then reassured the Princess that it was okay, it's normal for Mommy to scream in the bathroom. Somehow the jeans were not soiled and I dried my tears and went to watch the rest of the movie.

So now we know that the g-string is not just an undergarment, it is a very effective depilatory as well.

To all the moms out there.

I sincerely hope that all the moms out there had a fabulous Mother's Day.

Tho I do realize that the reality is probably a little hum drum. My first Mother's Day, 16 years ago, was a let down. I tried not to let it get to me since I'd been scarred by M'sDs in the past that had been less than scintillating for my mother. Now, as I look back, maybe we were ungrateful, but she was widowed mom & had no one to rally the fiends for a grand M'sD spectacle. Then when she married when I was 15, nothing (if anything) that we came up with was good enough. So based those experiences, I tried not to gear up for something wonderful. But I HAD just given birth. DM would have gone over the top for a wondrous day for me, right? Nuh uh. I really don't recall what occurred, so it couldn't have been terrible. The second year the expectations were even lower. I had a darling little 1 year old and had been doing the mommy thing all this time. A little r & r, a modicum of pampering would have been nice. No such luck. When I went to the mom's group at church the following Tuesday I was finally able to see M'sD for what it is...a marketing ploy by the greeting card industry, that has been designed to merely increase their revenues, which results in millions of moms getting their hopes up only to be hopelessly dashed by their husbands and children. All the moms (of various ages & income levels) in this group sat around complaining about what a horrible M'sD they had...for the entire time! It was a "my Mother's Day was suckier than yours" contest! It was then that I decided that the whole M'sD thing is sucky and to not let myself get hung up about it. The only problem is...I AM A GIRL. We forget the past pain and always wind up thinking that this year they will come through...nope. Doesn't happen. Two weeks before the day, I had gone to the gluten free bakery and picked up their flier for all the special Mother's Day yum-yums they were making. I showed it to DH and posted it on the fridge. About 3 days prior I sent DH the email from Cookies From Home, they now have a gluten free line that taste just like the originals. That and no/less fighting/yelling is all I really wanted.

The following was my day.

Woke up late, because DM was awake half the night & didn't set the alarm. Now, that is no problem for me, but we were taking his mom out, to church, eat and the cemetery. So we had to move quickly. This means that DM was exceedingly driven (not real bad, but irritating just the same). We got in the car, DM didn't want to drive since he's tired (see above) and his tummy hurt (he took his antibiotics with no food and there is a war in there). He tells #1 to drive, since he thought I didn't want to. I didn't, but would rather have a sharp stick inserted in my ocular cavity than have #1 drive with both Wawa (MIL) & DM in the vehicle. Imagine being an inexperienced driver carting around Nurse Ratched & Joan Crawford...that would be more fun. So I drive. We forgo church to visit the cemetery first (get it out of the way before it gets too hot) then to brunch (the antibiotic was tunneling it's way into his spleen). DM chose The Shout House. A dueling piano bar, think this, but in the daytime, with brunch.

What we actually got was this.

It wasn't bad, but it was a country-esque cover band. If anyone knows anything about me, they know that I am not a country music aficionado. There are some songs I enjoy, but the rest inspires anything from irritation to blind rage in me. The food was fine, but so much that I couldn't eat. I did speak with the head chef, but he really didn't have a clue about things gluten. So I was essentially on my own. They had an entire table of desserts. The lemon bars, carrot cake, chocolate bar thingys, etc. I sat at in my seat with the view above and had a heated debate with myself.

Self: Maybe I should just forget it and eat a lemon bar.

Me: No, I don't want to be crazy.

Self: We're always crazy, what is more so?

Me: Crazy in a "good" way is fine, racing, panic, muddleheaded, Tasmanian Devil in my chest is bad. And no muddleheaded cracks out of you!

Self: I'm just saying... We probably got accidentally glutened anyway what with cross contamination in the sponge eggs cause they were next to the ones with chorizo and people used the same big spoon for both.

Me: I was careful, used my own spoon and everything! I'll be okay...I hope. Damn those lemon bars look good.

Self: How long has it been since you've had one, hhhhmmmmm? Too long, and they are delicious. The one at the back of the table is calling your name, I can hear it. Oh look! It's waving it's powdered sugar at you! Please, pick me...I was made for you...I won't hurt you...much.

Me: No! I can do this. Nothing tastes as good as not being crazy feels! Shut up self, I'm not listening to you.

Self: Ttthhhhhppppbbbbtttt!

The rest of the day was much the same. The kids were very sweet, but bickered and poked at each other like always. DM went in spurts of extra driven-ness. Took out Wawa for dinner after church, with results much the same as the brunch.

Afterward I went to Baskin Robbins, by MYSELF, as I had already gotten to watch them eat delicious ice cream that I wasn't sure was safe for me to eat and was NOT about to share...or listen to the begging. I treated myself to "God's ice cream", the finest ice cream known to man. I might still be glutening myself if this contained it. Peanut butter & Chocolate ice cream...perfection.

So...all's well that ends well...or some such.

I'm already planning M'sD for next year. Something involving just moms, no husbands, no kids. Along the lines of a pedicure, lunch and movie fest. It has possibilities and I have a year to prepare them.

Upon going to bed I did realize that there are so many amazing/special/fabulous moments, every single day, being a mom that trying to orchestrate an event is bound to backfire.

I hope yours was fantastic...or at least that you didn't cry (I didn't BTW).

Gag me with a science project

My boys go to a fabulous school. #1 is in 10th grade and taking physics. He has a project to do, build a Rube Goldberg machine. Here is a picture of one:

What they are planning is along the lines of the photo, but with 2 bowling balls and fireworks...I kid you not. Neat project, eh? In theory yes. The reality is more along the lines of shoving a red hot poker into one's eye socket. The biggest problem is that he isn't doing this on his own, he is teamed up with 2 other whack-job 16 year old boys! We have affectionately dubbed them the Squirrel Twins. On their own, they are probably marvelous, intelligent guys; together they have the combined IQ of a brussel sprout. They haven't done the physics involved, they have come up with the idea and then want to go buy the supplies. We went to the home of ST1, I went along because his mother wasn't home, so I had to "supervise", ST2 came over and they began planning...while playing Guitar Hero! I like loud music, but my fillings were jarring loose. I just sat and read my book. While ST1 is telling me that they can build anything with wood we want, he has the tools...no problem...his mother comes home. She wasn't aware that people were coming over and apparently the little darling wasn't supposed to be playing video games...oops. She removed the gate from the stairs & heaved it across the room while shrieking for ST1 to GETINHISROOMNOW! #1 shrunk to about the size of an armadillo, whispered to me "I told him to tell his mom.", and asked if we should flee now. We got the rest planned and fled.

We went to the handyman's hideout and I asked if someone could help us. A nice man named Alan did and began asking incredibly complicated questions like; what is it supposed to do, how big is it going to be, and (worst of all) with what are you going to make it. Turns out these Einsteins haven't...even...done...the...physics! #1's response to my asking if they had done ANY calculations was, "oh, we're going to try it & if it doesn't work, we"ll try something else." It is due on Monday. I'm walking this very fine line between helping him and letting him do it. ST1 really doesn't seem very reliable, so I tentatively set up a rendezvous with my dad to do the construction.

Will I ever survive my kids' education?

What Makes Me Smile

So I've been surfing around checking out new blogs. I've read things that made me almost spit tea on my keybord, things that bored me to tears, and things that actually made me have real tears, they were so touching. A couple times I saw lists of things that annoy the author. While I'm all for making a list of annoyances, there are really untold opportunities to get peeved every day, I thought I'd go against the grain (who me?!) and list what makes me smile.

I got this photo from someone at work. It was in a chain with a bunch of other interesting/silly/amazing photos. I set this as the wallpaper on my computer. Everytime I see him I smile. I do realize that it is most probably photoshopped, but admitting that is like admitting the Easter Bunny is real. It pains me. Either way...I wish I had taken and/or photoshopped this picture.

My dad's doppelganger

My dad is remarried. His wife is wonderful, so good for him and we love her. But, like with most newly weds, we don't see them with any kind of regularity. When I heard about the nursing home killer, and that he looked like my dad, I had to check it out. This is the man...and, yes, he does look an awful lot like my dad...when his hair & beard are untrimmed...without the red.

I just found out that I don't have a picture of dad on my work p'uter. I'll have to add to this later.

I MADE MY OWN BACKGROUND!

It may not be much to you, but I made my own background. The creating of it wasn't difficult, I just used a cool freebie kit made by Nicole Young at DSP. I highly reccomend them, lots of incredibly talented people there. The biggest problem was sizing the stinking thing so that it would fit correctly on the screen. Now it is done, I'm happy...until I can find enough time to make my own elements...that will come...some day.

For now, here is a picture I wanted to share:

I received this in an email...from whom, I don't know. I just know that I would love to have a tree like this!

Beautiful.

Light Grocery Store Reading

DM wanted to go to Sprouts early Saturday morning for their Easter egg hunt. Why this was important, I'm really not sure. The best part about it was the weather. Cold, grey and rainy...perfect weather for only one day! The hunt for kids ages 0-5 was to start at 7:45. AM. Yes, the morning. Even though we only live about 10 minutes away we had to get up at 6:15 to get ready.
Why, you ask? Because Driven Man was driving this bus. One wouldn't want to be *gasp* late for an egg hunt at Sprouts! The world as we know it would come to a screeching halt. Dogs and cats would begin living together...total anarchy would ensue. The Princess was awakened and of course she was interested, she's 5, a girl and, well, all her brain cells are not yet fully formed. If she were 40 and had this mental capacity she would be referred to as retarded. I was commanded to go since this was a "bonding experience" for the Princess and her parents.

I am evil, I know, I just couldn't walk out of the house and leave my minions sleeping. 3 blissfully slumbering boys in a nice warm house while I have to be up and attempt to be cheerful? JUST PLAIN WRONG. I asked the Princess if she wanted her brothers to go. She seemed hesitant, but said she wanted one. I burst into their room asking for a brother representative. After the moaning and writhing ceased, #1 said he would do it. I was shocked really, it wasn't that difficult to convince him...so much for my fun. We picked up Wawa...why? Because nothing says Forced Family Fun like pre-dawn grocery shopping with Grandma!
We arrived at Sprouts, which is probably my favorite store right now, around 7:25. There were almost no cars in the lot. DM didn't know if the hunt was inside or outside, maybe they cancelled it because of the weather! I said (stupidly) "There are people inside". You say it, you check it, is the DM motto. I got out of the car, because apparently I don't have many more functioning brain cells than the Princess. There was a cute blonde cashier dressed as a bunny and they were putting up balloons and placing plastic eggs all over the store. IN PLAIN VIEW! There was really no attempt made to actually hide the eggs. I returned to the car with the recon report and Wawa, the Princess and #1 got out. We STOOD IN FRONT OF THE STORE waiting for it to open. While waiting in line, freezing my tuckus off, I realized we were missing someone...a particularly vital someone...the sumbich who was responsible for all of us being there! DM was in the car getting himself a little ole beauty nap. I glided over to the van (stormed), sweetly asked (growled) what he was doing, and asked kindly (demanded) that he join us (get his ass out of the car). A pregnant woman with a 3 year old spotted us & GOT IN LINE! The manager (in the background of the photo) poked his head out the door and said they will be opening in a few minutes. More "customers" arrived to wait in line behind us. Think Grapes of Wrath meets Black Friday. Boy were we a motley crew.
When they finally opened the doors, we were informed that the kids should only take 5 eggs each, so there would be plenty for everyone. It took the Princess all of 30 seconds to get her eggs and then put enough back so she only had 5.

The best part of the whole event was looking up and seeing #1 reading the Communist Manifesto. The irony was lost on him. If you look closely at the picture, you can read the title...I couldn't make this stuff up!

Photo Challenge

So I saw this photo challenge on Toni's blog. http://scrapphappy.blogspot.com/ I love her muchly & miss her just as much.
Unfortunately, the sixth picture in the sixth folder on my computer is just the compeletly sweet, standard Christmas picture. Every year on Christmas we take a picture with Wawa, by the Creche. Hey I could scrapbook those! Yeah right, when my kids are gone & I've caught up on my sleep. One special thing we do is put hay in around the Baby Jesus, to keep him warm. I think the Princess is holding some in her hand.

The Offending Pustule

#2 had a dermatology appointment. He's supposed to go every year...it had been more than that...much, muuuuuch more than that. DM took him as I was in the midst of one of my grueling 11 hour work days.

I got a text from the boy, "they put a needle in my nose."

See, he had had a...pimple, zit, growth, protrusion...whatever. It had been on the side of his nose for nearly a month. I thought it was going to burst and spiders would come crawling out of it a la "The Believers" . He had squeezed it a couple times and the substance that erupted from it was neither puss nor blood but an evil combination of the two.

The quack said, "That is no zit...it's an infection." Hence the needle in the nose.
He texted me again saying, "they hurt me." My poor baby. After a rousing course of antibiotics, he is clear complected once more.

The Track Meet

So, I insisted on bringing all the kids to #1's track meet on Saturday. It was at my alma mater-ish. While it is not the school I graduated from, it is the school that I claim.

One year as the invisible girl at Alhambra, does not an alumni make...to my way of thinking anyway.

So Bourgade is "my" highschool. I may have been back there once or twice since graduation and have successfully avoided any reunions in the last century, but being there with my princess was really cool...in a nostalgic, angst filled, neck ruffling way. I think the reason I was finally ready to enjoy being back is because I've finally grown into myself. I'm no longer the dorky, shy, insecure teenager. I'm the dorky self-assured old lady. I really like this stage sooooo much better. I enjoy, even revel in the weirdness that is me. I like who I am and really don't care what others think. Now this doesn't mean I'll go to the store unshowered and bra-less...I might kill someone! But if I don't look perfect, it really is okay. I am not my appearance, tho' I still do, occasionally, shave my legs and consistently wear a minimal amount of makeup.

It was fun showing the princess where Papa & Mama met and, unlike the boys, she thought it was neat.

Maybe I'll go back, before another hundred years passes.

Flipping Gluten Allergy/Intolerance...whatever!

So I have this awesome chiropractor. She has helped me so much in the past couple years I can't even begin to articulate it.

After the princess was born & I was so sick, I also developed an anxiety disorder...apparently not uncommon with cardio problems. So, for the past almost 6 years I've dealt with this amazingly annoying condition. I finally discovered that when my life is actually super stressful I do okay, but let things mellow out a little bit, the anxiety rears it's ugly head. When Doc & I talked about it, we came to the conclusion/assumption that I'm sort of an adrenaline/stress addict and when it is removed my body doesn't know what to do. I thought it was a good theory, but what do I do about it? At that point she suggested an elimination diet...removing wheat, dairy, sugar. I thought about it for a while, because that is a daunting task.

I started realising that I had been having digestive issues, for a while now. Bound up and abdominal discomfort quite frequently in the past year. The more water I drank & exercise I got, the worse the problem...it's really not supposed to work like that! The whole elimination diet kept ruminating around in my brain while I was busy doing other things.

About a month ago, out of the blue, I decided to eliminate wheat and see what happened. Tuesday was the day I began refraining from the offending grain. Wednesday I was going REALLY fast. Almost like an anxiety attack, but different. I couldn't turn my brain off and was extraordinarily manic. I started thinking that the crazy psycho doc I'd been to, who thought I was bi-polar, might be right. Thursday I felt better but my muscles started twitching periodically & I didn't know what was going on. When I saw Doc I told her I was feeling weird and she asked what changed. I told her about eliminating wheat and she asked how I'd felt the day before and proceeded to tell my symptoms I was having and said I was allergic to wheat. Very strange.

It really hasn't been hard for me to stay away from it, mentally I don't miss it that much at all. Now when there are big cookies at work or a nice loaf of crusty bread for dinner, I go, aaaawwwwwww. Most of the time though, I'm fine.

Last week DM made meatloaf for dinner. When I asked what he put in it, he said just seasoning. That night I couldn't get to sleep, just couldn't turn my brain off. The next day I was psycho manic girl again. When I got home I asked DM if he had put bread crumbs in the meatloaf, he apologized & said yes, but he had forgotten. It was nice to have the confirmation that I do have a problem with wheat.

Today #1 has a track meet. While at the meet I got a cheese burger, no bun. I sort of felt like a loser, but oh well...when has THAT ever stopped me? The princess had nachos and I ate a few of them. Corn is okay right?! Approximately 45 minutes later I started feeling weird. Going fast, shaky, etc. I started wondering about the cheese sauce for the nachos, but tried to blow it off. As more time passed and I was feeling worse, I went to the snack bar, dug the nacho can out of the garbage, wiped the coffee grounds off and read the label. It has modified food starch and natural flavor in it...both can be hidden wheat.

It pisses me off, but again, it is good to have the confirmation that I really do need to stay away from gluten...in a big way.

This has probably taken me twice as long to type as it should since my hands are shaking and not behaving like they should.

Hippiefied White Trash Door

So...came home to #3 still not having finished back homework and having lied to me last night...long story, not worth it.

Needless to say I was in a right foul mood. DM barked at kids and I told him that I was the only one allowed to be angry...he complied!

#2 had inadvertently started to shut the bathroom door & DM tried to go on a tirade about the inconceivability of being unable to remember to NOT shut the door when one needs to use the facilities. (Spend 13 years teaching a kid to shut the door then get mad when he does it automatically...go figure.) He stopped himself tho, so he was allowed to live...for the night.

When next I passed the bathroom, this is what I saw:

Yes, we are hippies. We have a curtain for a bathroom door. Now the curtain is a very patriotic print which would make one think it is an oxymoron...pretty appropriate for me dontcha think?

Here is the princess showing off the Patriotic Hippiefied Art Deco White Trash bathroom door:

She thinks it is pretty cool. If I weren't annoyed about the whole situation...and well...5...I would too.

I'm waiting to see how the snake oil LN works and how quickly the situation is rectified before committing moronicide.

I think Monday would be a good day for a funeral.

The Art Deco White Trash Door

It is official...I am white trash. I tried to ignore it, but it is inescapable...I now have photographic evidence and am so fed up that I'm not even embarrassed to publish it. It does help that no one reads this anyway, except my closest friends, those that truly love me, know I'm white trash & can look beyond it to my insanity. All the rest of you can just f off.

First off a few disclaimers.

• Once again I saw the date of my last post, shrieked and stammered about how long it has been since I posted. Then I moved on. Busy job, busy life, yadda, yadda.

• I want it to be known that I have at least been THINKING about new posts. Things such as the variances of stench, the fact that I have no fear when it comes to my employment & the things I will say to people in positions of power, and pre-teen boys who refuse to remain fully clothed.

• While I usually try to refrain from disparaging my husband, this must be posted! Things are going ever so much better with us, really and truly and that is the only reason I'm putting this on here. I love him immensely, but the idiocy astounds me.

For the past two years, yes 2!, I have been working during the day and he has been at home. He has been working nights, has a mother that expects him to be at her beck & call and carts children around from school. That being said, he does less around the house, on a daily basis, than I ever did. Do I complain? Not often. Do I nag him? Not really, unless when we are fighting counts. I do understand how hard it is and that he has to sleep sometime.

We live in a postage stamp. You are thinking that this is a metaphor for a small house, reality is closer to the truth. Our house, with the Arizona room closed in, is 900 sf. THERE ARE SIX OF US HERE!!!!! Two bedrooms & one, count it 1 bathroom!!!!!!! Our house was built in the mid '50's, things are falling apart. Does DM fix them? Oh noooooooooooo. He ignores them until they break completely and then blames the kids for being too rough. See, if they wouldn't screw around things wouldn't break.

YYYYYYEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH.

A couple months ago I realized that the hinges to our only bathroom door were loose. I mentioned it and he said he would get to it. About a month ago while one of the boys was going to get in the shower, they were chasing each other and the top hinges started stripping out of the door. DM began yelling at the boys that they were treating objects like women & to cut it the f out. I gently pointed out (snort) that screws fall out all the time, the world's an imperfect place. You know, 6 people, ancient postage stamp, etc. but he would have none of it. I said, fix it or it will totally break. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Fast forward to this evening.

#1 goes to take a dump (he insisted on that edit!). Next thing I know, he's calling me. Says I need to come, that we have a situation. I go looking for the plunger. Not that kind of situation. The top screws have finally stripped all the way out. The door is hanging like a baby tooth in the mouth of a woosie 7 year old. I tell DM that it has finally happened. The response I got made laser beams shoot out my eyes. He shrugged (YES ACTUALLY SHRUGGED!) and said, guess we don't have a bathroom door. While attempting to channel River Tam I choked out "I...t o l d...y o u...t o...g e t...i t...f i x e d." He barked out "I can't do it at 8:00 at night when I have to leave for work in an hour!"

I left the room, located a screwdriver and began removing the bottom screws. One wouldn't come out. I had #1 try, he couldn't get it. I had DM try so that we wouldn't be blamed if the screw got ruined. Muttering under his breath (he really has come so far) he tries to removes said screw...no dice. He goes to find the "liquid nails". This is a substance that has replaced the old time snake oil. IT DOESN'T DO JACK! DM shoots the LN into the door, in the mistaken belief that it will hold. He really is a true believer, now you can see why I don't let him near tent revivals. He now wants to find something to prop the door up to it's actual height. That turned out to be a comedy of errors all by itself.

Who found a book the right size?

Any guesses?

Yep! Me!

Not to mention the fact that while all of this is going on, the princess is showering and yelling for me to help her with the next stage. Climaxing with a near five minute chant of "MOMI'MDONEMOMI'MDONEMOMI'MDONE!"

After the door is snake oiled, literarily propped and has a stool leaning against it, DM decides that more is needed. The following pictures are his solution.

This is some kind of blue paper/electric tape...doesn't even use REAL duct tape. Gotta hold it in the right position, dontcha know.

While he was doing the tape job, I suggested, oh so helpfully, that he tape the other side of the door to the wall, as a reminder to people not to shut it.

View inside the bathroom.

There you have it, we've sunk to a new low, or I've finally come out of the bathroom, as it were. Wonder how long a proper fix will take? If it has to be after the funeral...so be it.