When we were kids, we moved into this great old house in this sweet little town where my sister and I had to share a room (this was before we regularly went apeshit on each other) and our room shared a wall with my parents' room. Due to some serious lack of thought on their part, our room also shared a wall with the headboard of their bed.
At breakfast one morning after about a week of unpacking and adjusting things 'just so', my sister announced that we had ghosts.
My dad asked her why she thought we had ghosts and she explained that she heard them screaming 'Oh God' last night again and they must really want to get into heaven and maybe we should help them.
I'd never seen my dad's face turn that shade of red before.
It's inevitable when you have kids that at some point they will hear something. You can only hope that the lock is strong enough that they won't actually see anything.
One night, I opened our door to get some water only to find one of our niblets standing there. Just staring at me.
"What are you guys doing?"
"Um.... watching a movie."
"What movie?"
"Gladiator."
I'm not sure if this is a postive endorsement of our sex lives that the sound of it could be compared to 'Gladiator' or maybe just a little frightening.
But it still beats having ghosts.
Showing posts with label Everyday embarassment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Everyday embarassment. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Color Me Beautiful
It had been 2 years since I'd died my hair and it showed. I didn't have roots. I had two-tone hair. It was flat and boring and I'd had it. I got a new haircut. Still long, but with some layers to give my thick hair some lift. I'm on a bit of a budget and though I probably could have afforded to let my stylist dye my hair, I'd become a pro at it over the years.
As I let the dye set into my hair I could feel my spirit lift. Who says moms have to sacrifice everything, including great hair, in order to be good moms? I knew the color would be good; chestnut brown with hints of deep red tones. And after rinsing the color and drying my freshly clipped locks I could see that I was right. No drips, no stains on the scalp. Just perfect color.
I had gotten one of those boxes that included a complimenting shade of highlights. I'd never done highlights before but how hard could it be?
I carefully mixed the dye and followed the instructions, slathering on the blue-tinted dye in sections around my head. I waited the suggested 15 minutes for those subtle, natural highlights. I daydreamed about my husband's certain reaction.
He would come home after a long hard days work and marvel at this wondrous beauty he was so lucky to be married too. He would run his fingers through my hair and refer to me henceforth as 'My Hot Wife'.
I imagined my hair in it's soft waves bouncing gently as I walked around the neighborhood, redeemed in my neighbors' eyes for who but an angel could have such glorious hair? Surely not the same lady who nearly decapitated herself with a shovel running away from a mole!
I was excited to rinse my hair and see the lovely results of my effort. I brushed through it slowly, wondering if maybe it was so.... bright? because it was wet.
I began to blow it dry and my horror only grew.
It was orange.
Ronald Mc-freaking-Donald Orange!
Not only RMD Orange, but not in those sweet little sections I had laid out. No, it was in giant clumps around my head! It looks like someone dumped orange paint on my head and I haven't bothered to wash it out.
I said nothing when my husband came home. He stopped and looked at me. He started to open his mouth but thought better of it and quietly went into the bathroom to laugh.
I bought new hair dye today.
As I let the dye set into my hair I could feel my spirit lift. Who says moms have to sacrifice everything, including great hair, in order to be good moms? I knew the color would be good; chestnut brown with hints of deep red tones. And after rinsing the color and drying my freshly clipped locks I could see that I was right. No drips, no stains on the scalp. Just perfect color.
I had gotten one of those boxes that included a complimenting shade of highlights. I'd never done highlights before but how hard could it be?
I carefully mixed the dye and followed the instructions, slathering on the blue-tinted dye in sections around my head. I waited the suggested 15 minutes for those subtle, natural highlights. I daydreamed about my husband's certain reaction.
He would come home after a long hard days work and marvel at this wondrous beauty he was so lucky to be married too. He would run his fingers through my hair and refer to me henceforth as 'My Hot Wife'.
I imagined my hair in it's soft waves bouncing gently as I walked around the neighborhood, redeemed in my neighbors' eyes for who but an angel could have such glorious hair? Surely not the same lady who nearly decapitated herself with a shovel running away from a mole!
I was excited to rinse my hair and see the lovely results of my effort. I brushed through it slowly, wondering if maybe it was so.... bright? because it was wet.
I began to blow it dry and my horror only grew.
It was orange.
Ronald Mc-freaking-Donald Orange!
Not only RMD Orange, but not in those sweet little sections I had laid out. No, it was in giant clumps around my head! It looks like someone dumped orange paint on my head and I haven't bothered to wash it out.
I said nothing when my husband came home. He stopped and looked at me. He started to open his mouth but thought better of it and quietly went into the bathroom to laugh.
I bought new hair dye today.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I found the Poo*
There are some days where you wake up knowing that you should just not leave your bed. I have done this; staying in bed all day in order to avoid the inevitable hailstorm of shit that is lurking just outside my bedroom door. Now that I have kids I find the hiding in bed all day to be a bit more difficult. They are always demanding something; "I'm hungry!" (even though I swear I just fed them yesterday) or "I'm bored!" (Let's play a game of 'sleep'! That's always fun!). So, despite the bothersome feeling that this was going to be one of those stay-in-bed kind of days I did the resposible thing and got up.
I knew for certain it was going to be bad as soon as I hit the hallway. I could just smell it. This is what I get for letting Mishka eat those damn Gerber puffs Josie threw at her. I am also not so convinced that crating is so great. Sure it contained the shit to one small area, but now she was covered in it and the crate is too big to fit through our door in one piece. Plus our front door is down a flight of stairs.
It's 7 am and I am taking half a crate of runny poo down my front stairs chanting "please don't spill, please don't spill oh God *gag* please don't spill please don't spill David if you run your train through that I am throwing it away please don't spill....."
It's 7 am and I am spraying down a half a crate full of runny poo in the rain from 5 feet away because ew! poo splatters I'm still talking to myself and my neighbors just don't even wonder anymore.
I leave the crate outside and grab some towels so that Mishka can walk into the tub without her poo feet touching the ground and without me touching her. She was outside for a grand total of 20 minutes covered in poo and yet somehow managed to get even more dirty. She is definitely one of us.
Mishka is almost 2 years old. In the nearly two years that we have had her, we have never once been able to give her a bath without some sort of drama. For the first year of her life, she howled and cried and would frantically claw at us at the mere sight of the water. She would not even enter the bathroom willingly. She would run past every bathroom in the house even if we were not standing near it. In this last year the only thing that has changed is her howling and we can occasionally coax her into the shower.
This was not one of those times.
It's 7:30 in the morning, the kid's are complaining about the smell, I'm soaking wet and I'm trying to convince a shivering shit-covered dog into the shower.
This is not a good way to start the day. A good way to start a day like this is a strong margarita and hotel service.
After throwing an old towel (which will have to be burned now thank you) over the dog I was able to push her into the tub (all the while crying 'ewewewewewewewew!'). The very second the water hits her she begins her cry-dance routine. She whimpers and then lifts each paw, left to right front, right to left rear, lather rinse repeat. Her hatred of water is so ingrained she would rather be covered in shit then get clean. After about 10 minutes, she can't take it anymore, lays her head on the edge of the tub and covers her face with her paws and starts to whine.
And can I just ask why? Why can we not have just one 'normal' pet? Why do we always seem to end up with the neurotic, wanna-be human animals? Do we make them crazy (which may actually be true given who we are) or do we just have this special gift that enables us to pick out the most bat-shit crazy animals?
Auggie- loves to sing along to his favorite songs and commercials, though lately that singing is more like barely audible huffing. He's almost 16 and has decided that at his age there are no damn rules and he will eat out of the trash can any damn time he pleases thank you very much! When he farts, he will lift his head and bark. I'm not sure if he is just surprised that he did it and is saying "Dude! Did you hear that? Awesome." Or if he's warning us that he just let one rip- which he really doesn't need to do. Even the silent ones are evident within 2 seconds. He can wilt the flowers on the hydrangea bush by our front door from inside the house.
Mishka- eats anything. Slugs, wood, linoleum, moths, dirt, stones (will not whoever eat MIL's cooking. Says something, don't you think?)
Baxter- Once pissed on my husband's lunchbox for demanding that he perform some sort of trick in order to get his cat treat.
The birds- I almost miss them. But then I hear the theme song to the Andy Griffith (Griffith? Griffin? Bueller?) show on tv from time to time and remember why we no longer have birds.
Anyway, off point again yes? Yes. Where was I?
Right, Shit-covered scaredy-dog, 7:30 am. Finally get said dog cleaned and reasonable dry. Now must burn down bathroom and towels. Or clean it. Too bad we didn't have any matches.
I foolishly believe that my day cannot get any worse as I've already been up to my eyeballs in shit.
I hear Josie wake up from her nap and she's talking to herself a bit. I leave her be for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. She starts to fuss a bit but I'm almost done with the laundry.
Then she starts screaming bloody hell.
She never screams.
I didn't even make it to her door before the smell hit me.
Karma has made me her bitch people.
There was poop on the walls, the crib, the floor, my rocker and head to toe on my baby. She had whatever Mishka had and it was just.... *shiver*. I have never bathed a baby fully dressed before today but it was necessary this time. And to make it just that much more fun she was wearing the palest yellow pant set with a WHITE sweater.
David stood at the door in wonder, "I think she had an accident..."
poopity-poop.
*Remember a few months ago? My hunt for the mystery poop? See also: How Stupid I am.....
I knew for certain it was going to be bad as soon as I hit the hallway. I could just smell it. This is what I get for letting Mishka eat those damn Gerber puffs Josie threw at her. I am also not so convinced that crating is so great. Sure it contained the shit to one small area, but now she was covered in it and the crate is too big to fit through our door in one piece. Plus our front door is down a flight of stairs.
It's 7 am and I am taking half a crate of runny poo down my front stairs chanting "please don't spill, please don't spill oh God *gag* please don't spill please don't spill David if you run your train through that I am throwing it away please don't spill....."
It's 7 am and I am spraying down a half a crate full of runny poo in the rain from 5 feet away because ew! poo splatters I'm still talking to myself and my neighbors just don't even wonder anymore.
I leave the crate outside and grab some towels so that Mishka can walk into the tub without her poo feet touching the ground and without me touching her. She was outside for a grand total of 20 minutes covered in poo and yet somehow managed to get even more dirty. She is definitely one of us.
Mishka is almost 2 years old. In the nearly two years that we have had her, we have never once been able to give her a bath without some sort of drama. For the first year of her life, she howled and cried and would frantically claw at us at the mere sight of the water. She would not even enter the bathroom willingly. She would run past every bathroom in the house even if we were not standing near it. In this last year the only thing that has changed is her howling and we can occasionally coax her into the shower.
This was not one of those times.
It's 7:30 in the morning, the kid's are complaining about the smell, I'm soaking wet and I'm trying to convince a shivering shit-covered dog into the shower.
This is not a good way to start the day. A good way to start a day like this is a strong margarita and hotel service.
After throwing an old towel (which will have to be burned now thank you) over the dog I was able to push her into the tub (all the while crying 'ewewewewewewewew!'). The very second the water hits her she begins her cry-dance routine. She whimpers and then lifts each paw, left to right front, right to left rear, lather rinse repeat. Her hatred of water is so ingrained she would rather be covered in shit then get clean. After about 10 minutes, she can't take it anymore, lays her head on the edge of the tub and covers her face with her paws and starts to whine.
And can I just ask why? Why can we not have just one 'normal' pet? Why do we always seem to end up with the neurotic, wanna-be human animals? Do we make them crazy (which may actually be true given who we are) or do we just have this special gift that enables us to pick out the most bat-shit crazy animals?
Auggie- loves to sing along to his favorite songs and commercials, though lately that singing is more like barely audible huffing. He's almost 16 and has decided that at his age there are no damn rules and he will eat out of the trash can any damn time he pleases thank you very much! When he farts, he will lift his head and bark. I'm not sure if he is just surprised that he did it and is saying "Dude! Did you hear that? Awesome." Or if he's warning us that he just let one rip- which he really doesn't need to do. Even the silent ones are evident within 2 seconds. He can wilt the flowers on the hydrangea bush by our front door from inside the house.
Mishka- eats anything. Slugs, wood, linoleum, moths, dirt, stones (will not whoever eat MIL's cooking. Says something, don't you think?)
Baxter- Once pissed on my husband's lunchbox for demanding that he perform some sort of trick in order to get his cat treat.
The birds- I almost miss them. But then I hear the theme song to the Andy Griffith (Griffith? Griffin? Bueller?) show on tv from time to time and remember why we no longer have birds.
Anyway, off point again yes? Yes. Where was I?
Right, Shit-covered scaredy-dog, 7:30 am. Finally get said dog cleaned and reasonable dry. Now must burn down bathroom and towels. Or clean it. Too bad we didn't have any matches.
I foolishly believe that my day cannot get any worse as I've already been up to my eyeballs in shit.
I hear Josie wake up from her nap and she's talking to herself a bit. I leave her be for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. She starts to fuss a bit but I'm almost done with the laundry.
Then she starts screaming bloody hell.
She never screams.
I didn't even make it to her door before the smell hit me.
Karma has made me her bitch people.
There was poop on the walls, the crib, the floor, my rocker and head to toe on my baby. She had whatever Mishka had and it was just.... *shiver*. I have never bathed a baby fully dressed before today but it was necessary this time. And to make it just that much more fun she was wearing the palest yellow pant set with a WHITE sweater.
David stood at the door in wonder, "I think she had an accident..."
poopity-poop.
*Remember a few months ago? My hunt for the mystery poop? See also: How Stupid I am.....
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
How Stupid I am.....
WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS POOP! CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SMELL THE POOP.
It had been a long day and it was barely noon. David is sick again and was having a monster fit because he did. NOT. NEED. PANTS. WOMAN!!! And I was pretty insistent that he should at least wear underwear, but his spiderman underwear was in the wash and that was the pair he wanted. Like, the red spiderman underwear was just not going to cut it, you know? What the hell was I thinking? It's Tuesday, it can only be the black spiderman underwear and why the fark don't I know this already? He expressed his distaste for me by throwing himself dramatically across the bed (which he had to climb up on first) alternately wailing incoherrantly and whispering woefully for his "black spideyman undies". Meanwhile, Josie is in my arms smiling away because "Dude! Dinner theater! Awesome!"
And yes, it was sort of dinner theater because she was waiting ( with increasingly less patience) for me to give her lunch. "Yes! Lunch! Let's have some! Woo-hoo!" (I swear one day she's going to be one of those annoyingly perky women I see getting their starbucks early in the morning. You know the ones, hair and makeup perfectly done, all smiles and fast paces wishing you a good morning until you just want to punch them square in their shiny little noses.... what? Just me? I'm really not a morning person. Ok then, moving on.) Yes, she is perky and happy all the time and I don't how that happened except to say that eventually she will turn three and I will get what's coming to me because that's just how it works in this house.
Anyway, lunch. Right. I was getting ready to feed Jo-Jo some applesauce when I smelled it. It was pretty faint at first so I thought that maybe David, with all his wailing and drama queen-ness had farted. But then it got a little stronger as I stepped into the hall.
One of the dogs had pooped in the house. It was now my mission- before feeding the very hungry Josie- to find that poop!
"Yay! A game! I love.... wait. What? You're not going to feed me right now? But I want food! Now! This very second or I shall cry! Very well then, take this... WAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"Look Josie! Paper!"
"Woo-hoo! Paper! Let's party!"
Yes, my other family secret (aside from David's insistence that certain pairs of underwear are worn on certain days) is that my baby loves paper. Screw the playmat, the blocks and the exersaucer, she'll take the Wall Street Journal.
So, on to the poop finding mission.
I walked out into the dining room where Mishka's crate is and wondered how my dog managed to transmit her poop from the backyard (where she was at that moment) somewhere into our house. Hmmm... not likely right? Besides, she hadn't pooped in the house in a very long time.
No, the culprit had to be Auggie, the old man of the house who had very recently taken to letting his bowels loose as he pleased. The dining room was clear and I couldn't smell it as strongly there so I went back down the hallway to check the bedrooms.
I could definitely smell it stronger here but I wondered how our old dog had managed to get upstairs without me seeing or hearing him. Especially since he so rarely comes upstairs anymore. Despite being able to smell it really strong at this point, I couldn't find anything.
Then it hit me! The vents! Auggie must have pooped in one of the rooms downstairs and it was being carried upstairs through the vents! Yes! That's it!
"Paper is boring now. Want food! Want now! Waaahhhhhh!!!"
"Look Josie! A mirror!"
"Oohhhh! Pretty!"
"WANT BLACK SPIDEYMAN UNDIES!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Right. There was that too. Fun!
So, Josie and I ran downstairs (or more accurately I ran downstairs with Josie in my arms playing with a little mirror and laughing at herself) to Find That Poop! Because it's such a fun game.
I start checking the rooms. I notice that I can smell it very clearly in the hallway, but not as much in the other rooms.
There is nothing there.
My nose says "POOP!"
My eyes say "NO POOP!"
It is all just to much for my poor little brain to handle.
I sit on the steps, smelling the poop, not seeing the poop, wondering.... Where is the poop??????
I see David's black spiderman undies waiting for the washer, but no poop. I see the sock Bre left on her desk because the 5 feet to the laundry room was just to much for her to walk, but no poop. I see the intricate display of trains that David set up before I asked him to wear pants thus beginning his spiderman-undies meltdown and having to revisit the lecture on what days he requires what colors, but no poop.
Maybe I'm going crazy? I'm smelling things that aren't really there. Isn't that a sign of dementia? Or maybe I'm having a stroke! Just instead of smelling copper, I'm smelling poop! I'm starting to panic. I don't want to smell poop for the rest of my life! I'll become that crazy lady who never leaves her house. She just sits by the window randomly yelling "POOP!" at people and the neighborhood kids will dare each other to ring my doorbell on Halloween because they heard that if you ring my doorbell I'll throw poop at you.
WHERE IS THE POOP?????
"Hey mom, do you think before you feed me, you could maybe change my diaper? My butt is gettin' good and squishy in there and it's really starting to stink. Ooh! That reminds me... Can I have sweet potatoes?"
Dumbass.
It had been a long day and it was barely noon. David is sick again and was having a monster fit because he did. NOT. NEED. PANTS. WOMAN!!! And I was pretty insistent that he should at least wear underwear, but his spiderman underwear was in the wash and that was the pair he wanted. Like, the red spiderman underwear was just not going to cut it, you know? What the hell was I thinking? It's Tuesday, it can only be the black spiderman underwear and why the fark don't I know this already? He expressed his distaste for me by throwing himself dramatically across the bed (which he had to climb up on first) alternately wailing incoherrantly and whispering woefully for his "black spideyman undies". Meanwhile, Josie is in my arms smiling away because "Dude! Dinner theater! Awesome!"
And yes, it was sort of dinner theater because she was waiting ( with increasingly less patience) for me to give her lunch. "Yes! Lunch! Let's have some! Woo-hoo!" (I swear one day she's going to be one of those annoyingly perky women I see getting their starbucks early in the morning. You know the ones, hair and makeup perfectly done, all smiles and fast paces wishing you a good morning until you just want to punch them square in their shiny little noses.... what? Just me? I'm really not a morning person. Ok then, moving on.) Yes, she is perky and happy all the time and I don't how that happened except to say that eventually she will turn three and I will get what's coming to me because that's just how it works in this house.
Anyway, lunch. Right. I was getting ready to feed Jo-Jo some applesauce when I smelled it. It was pretty faint at first so I thought that maybe David, with all his wailing and drama queen-ness had farted. But then it got a little stronger as I stepped into the hall.
One of the dogs had pooped in the house. It was now my mission- before feeding the very hungry Josie- to find that poop!
"Yay! A game! I love.... wait. What? You're not going to feed me right now? But I want food! Now! This very second or I shall cry! Very well then, take this... WAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"Look Josie! Paper!"
"Woo-hoo! Paper! Let's party!"
Yes, my other family secret (aside from David's insistence that certain pairs of underwear are worn on certain days) is that my baby loves paper. Screw the playmat, the blocks and the exersaucer, she'll take the Wall Street Journal.
So, on to the poop finding mission.
I walked out into the dining room where Mishka's crate is and wondered how my dog managed to transmit her poop from the backyard (where she was at that moment) somewhere into our house. Hmmm... not likely right? Besides, she hadn't pooped in the house in a very long time.
No, the culprit had to be Auggie, the old man of the house who had very recently taken to letting his bowels loose as he pleased. The dining room was clear and I couldn't smell it as strongly there so I went back down the hallway to check the bedrooms.
I could definitely smell it stronger here but I wondered how our old dog had managed to get upstairs without me seeing or hearing him. Especially since he so rarely comes upstairs anymore. Despite being able to smell it really strong at this point, I couldn't find anything.
Then it hit me! The vents! Auggie must have pooped in one of the rooms downstairs and it was being carried upstairs through the vents! Yes! That's it!
"Paper is boring now. Want food! Want now! Waaahhhhhh!!!"
"Look Josie! A mirror!"
"Oohhhh! Pretty!"
"WANT BLACK SPIDEYMAN UNDIES!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Right. There was that too. Fun!
So, Josie and I ran downstairs (or more accurately I ran downstairs with Josie in my arms playing with a little mirror and laughing at herself) to Find That Poop! Because it's such a fun game.
I start checking the rooms. I notice that I can smell it very clearly in the hallway, but not as much in the other rooms.
There is nothing there.
My nose says "POOP!"
My eyes say "NO POOP!"
It is all just to much for my poor little brain to handle.
I sit on the steps, smelling the poop, not seeing the poop, wondering.... Where is the poop??????
I see David's black spiderman undies waiting for the washer, but no poop. I see the sock Bre left on her desk because the 5 feet to the laundry room was just to much for her to walk, but no poop. I see the intricate display of trains that David set up before I asked him to wear pants thus beginning his spiderman-undies meltdown and having to revisit the lecture on what days he requires what colors, but no poop.
Maybe I'm going crazy? I'm smelling things that aren't really there. Isn't that a sign of dementia? Or maybe I'm having a stroke! Just instead of smelling copper, I'm smelling poop! I'm starting to panic. I don't want to smell poop for the rest of my life! I'll become that crazy lady who never leaves her house. She just sits by the window randomly yelling "POOP!" at people and the neighborhood kids will dare each other to ring my doorbell on Halloween because they heard that if you ring my doorbell I'll throw poop at you.
WHERE IS THE POOP?????
"Hey mom, do you think before you feed me, you could maybe change my diaper? My butt is gettin' good and squishy in there and it's really starting to stink. Ooh! That reminds me... Can I have sweet potatoes?"
Dumbass.
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