Things Found in Washing Machines &/Or Pants

The following items have been found in either washing machines (W) or pants (P) by either myself (m) or Grasshopper (g) or other friends (f):

1. a bullet (w, g) -- Since there are no guns in the house, Grasshopper assumes it was just found and pocketed because it's shiny...and dangerous. I agree with her that she probably doesn't really want to know.

2. a bagel (p, m) -- My middle child adores bagels. And cream cheese. And he often eats on the run to whatever and wherever, so I was not at all surprised to find most of a bagel left in one of his pants pockets the other day. I'm just glad it didn't make it through the wash first. Ish!

3. porn (m, w, p) -- with two teenage boys, this was also not a shock. For some reason, I can't get it through their thick skulls that while I do not care that they look at nekkid women in compromising positions or doing odd things with odd things, I definitely DO care about it being left about the house where I might have to look at it...or that their little sister might find it. The strange thing, the one I found in the washer was still in one piece and not at all damaged. Hmm. Weird.

4. cell phone (m, dryer) -- of course I didn't find it until AFTER it had been washed and dried. Yeah. Another thing my middle child blames on the ADD monster. It almost ended up on his tombstone. Damn those things are expensive.

5. Two full beer cans (f, w) -- She had no idea either. Must have been some party.

6. A cat (f, w) -- At least it hadn't been run yet. It was found when she went to put in a load of wash. 8 lives to go.

7. Assorted condiment packages (m, w & dryer) -- sugar becomes rock hard, creamer leaks, and if you can catch the ketchup and mustard in just the washer, you may be lucky enough to not have to rewash everything and hope the SHOUT works.

8. Crickets (m, w) -- ah, country living!

9. A fork (m, w) -- I have no idea. I blame the kids.

10. One toad, two caterpillars (wooly worm type), about four dozen pebbles, two fist sized rocks, one baseball, a pocketknife, a handful of bark, three pinecones, and a wide assortment of feathers (m, p) -- both my sons are collectors of miscellania. This grouping came out of one pair of my middle child's pants. The toad and caterpillars were still alive. Probably living off crickets and bark. The record for my eldest son? Enough pebbles to completely cover the bottom of my washing machine and at least three kleenex went through the wash. Gotta love my boys!

These are just the unusual things. My favorites include money and notes. The rule around here is: if it's left in your pants or pockets, it becomes public property. In other words, MINE. Which means I read the notes, keep the money, and otherwise violate their privacy. It's amazing how quickly they learn to empty their pockets every night.

ADD Monster

My son and I heard a funny on the radio the other day. We were listening to The Bob & Tom Show and a comedienne was talking aobut how she has ADD. Apparently, Bob is also ADD. Rather, as it was described on the show, he is a victim of ADD. My son and I thought this was hilarious, since my son also has ADD.
"That's it, Link...you're a victim of ADD!"
He laughed, but said, "Makes it sound like someone murdered me."

Of course, this led to further theories on being a victim of ADD. My son and I agree that putting it that way makes it sound like a contagious disease. You know, maybe some weird form of lycanthropy. Yup. My son was attacked by some ADD monster and the effects can only be seen during daylight hours. He thinks it sounds more like AIDS or rabies. Something he'll have to share with any girlfriends: "Sorry, dear, but no love-bites. I have ADD and I don't want you to catch it." Apologies to AIDS victims and rabid peoples everywhere, but it does sound terribly funny.

Hey, my twisted sense of humor is genetic. My children are cursed with it. Thank god and goddess. Without it, our lives would be far too dreary to handle.

Broken

I am broken. I reached this conclusion on Sunday. Now, I'm a realist, for the most part. I do have hopes that certain things can change, but recognize the unlikelihood of it. One thing though, that has to change is how my family operates.

I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.

I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)

I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.

Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.

Noisy Apparel

I have never had clothes that made noise. At least not unless they were meant to. I've had shoes that squeaked on certain flooring. I even had a pair that squawked whenever I wore nylon socks. They squawked on the inside. I've had shirts that had some little sqeeker built into them for some joke or other, usually Halloween or maternity/motherhood shirts, but nothing else.

Apparently, I'm missing out. Grasshopper has a bra that squeaks. It's one of those miraculous underwires that don't poke you in the armpit all day long and actually feels comfortable. But it sometimes squeaks. Accdording to her, it will squeak whether she's wearing it or not. Not always, but occasionally. I asked her if she had a mouse in it. Since she is deathly afraid of all rodentia, I figured this was unlikely, but worth asking. She swears there is no mouse or other rodent in it. Huh. Weird. Of course, another friend of mine, swears she has a squeeky bra also, though I have not heard it.

Let's see. Another friend swears up and down that aside from the swooshing noise corduroys make, he has a pair of them (pants) that will kind of hiss at him whenever he sits on leather in them. I thought it was more likely the leather but he says it isn't. Plus, it will hiss if he sits on anything leather like. Including vinyl.

And my oldest son has one pair of pants with an exceptionally loud zipper. I'm not sure why it is louder than others, but it is. This I have heard myself. I mean, when I can hear this zipper in my living room downstairs when he's behind the closed bathroom door, it's loud. And it's not like it's some bizarrely huge zipper or made of some strange, noisy metal. It's an average looking zipper in a slightly odd pair of pants, called "tripps".

I don't get it. None of this. I just don't think it's normal for clothing to make unusual noises when it's obvious the items are not made to make noise. And I think I'm a bit jealous that all these people have unusually behaved clothing and I have the average, normally behaved clothing. I probably need help for this.

Nerves? What Nerves?

My nerves are shot. Truly gone. First of all, this find-a-decent-job-and-support-the-family thing isn't going so well. Frankly, it sucketh. I've only sent out about 120 copies of my resume and filled out nearly that in general applications. I've had one interview. I'm telling ya, this place has too many highly educated people. But, relocating is out of the question right now. Why? No money! Duh.

Secondly, my daughter, Goddess love her, wants to rescue and save all the little creatures of the world (except the creepy ones). To this end, she "rescued" an abandoned baby bunny the other day. Poor little thing. It just loved her, too. But, we didn't do something right or something because it died on us last night. Right in her hands. We both cried for hours. Even King Rat was emotional. Poor little guy.

Also, I got an email the other day from a classmate I haven't spoken to in almost a year. She and I had three classes together my third semester here and barely ran into each other since. However, I must have made an impression on her, because she has invited me to appear on stage doing my little comedy routine in not one, but two different venues. One is an open-mic night thing sponsored by one of the bars around here and the other is called No Shame Theater or some such. I'm still debating on whether to do it or not. As she explained it to me, I need to be prepared to give as short a routine as 5 minutes or as long as half an hour. Uh huh. Right! I consider myself funny, but I also tend to piss people off and swear...a lot. I know sailors who have cleaner vocabularies. The real problem? A long time ago, Wendy was over with some friends to my place. We were all inebriated...well, plowed to the ground...and I did this amazing routine standing my my entertainment center. We all ached the next day from laughing, but for some reason, none of us could remember much of the monologue. The bits we have recalled do not add up to half an hour, and most of it is so disjointed, I'm not sure I could have a functional 5 minute set, much less one that would get laughs. I don't know. I"m not sure if I'm brave enough to do this shit. Being funny with my friends is one thing, being funny in front of a crowded bar full of strangers? Ish. Tho, I still berate myself for even considering not going because how will I ever know if I don't try? Grr. Snarl, hiss, and growl. What a mess. My friend keeps telling me that I've shown more nerve than most people she knows already just by what I've done so far with my life, and that all this takes is nerves. Yeah. Easy for her to say.

Doom on Me

For writing two posts in one day, to begin with. The rest of this...well, you'll see.

A lot of my friends like to compliment me on my inner strength. I appreciate it. I can see why they believe that. Sometimes, I even believe it. However, even Superman has weak spots. In an attempt at cyber honesty (ha ha), I'm going to share some of my unreasonable fears.

1) Flying. Wendy and others are privy to this information already, but I am deathly afraid of flying. If I had been meant to fly, I'd have wings. Guess what? So far as I know, none have sprouted recently, so on the ground I stay.

2) Sharks. Bear in mind I have never seen the ocean. The closest I've ever been to a shark were ones at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, NE in this aquarium thing. And they were awesome to behold. But there was also this sign that read, "Be quiet, please. The sharks can hear you." Uh huh. I don't think even the dead were as quiet as I was walking through that tunnel watching the sharks appear out of the depths right next to me with only glass between me and them. Yes, I managed not to shriek, but it was a close thing. As for the ocean, I would love to visit. Swim with dolphins? Anytime. Manatees? Sure. Even sting rays. Yes, even after poor Steve Irwin's tragedy. I've even eaten shark once. It was quite tasty. Very tender. It was years ago. I can even watch Discovery channel shit on sharks and be fascinated. Nature and all it's creatures are sights to be held in awe. Besides, I love trivia stuff I learn. All seemingly normal right? Wrong. See, I was "forced" to watch Jaws shortly after it first came out in the 70's. I think I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't take a bath for weeks afterward. I still don't like adding that blue colored shit to my baths. And I hate swimming in rivers and lakes. Yes, because I'm afraid of sharks. Swimming pools are okay. Natural bodies of water, no. And all these victims of shark attacks? I feel for them and their families, I do. But I also agree with Carlos Mencia: if you're swimming in the ocean and get eaten by a shark, you have no right to be surprised, after all you are swimming in their kitchen. Look at the ocean? Love to. Swim in it? Probably never. I don't want to end up on the menu.

3) Chickens. I hate chickens. The only good chicken is one that is dead, plucked, and cooked or in my deep freeze waiting to be cooked. They're ugly, they're noisy, and they're vicious. And, they don't die quickly enough. Any animal that can still run around the yard for five minutes after losing its head is not right. It's borderline demonic and it frightens me. Chickens frighten me. I would rather pick up a snake, and I'm not fond of reptiles. Lizards are okay though. Turtles. No chickens. I like to eat chicken. KFC is a favorite of mine, especially since I couldn't fry a chicken to save my life, but live chickens? Nope. They're evil and should be treated as such.

4) Grasshoppers. Again, they're ugly. They can jump really long distances and they can fly. They also spit. They have these little claw like things on their feet. They live all around my house which makes mowing the lawn very entertaining for my family members when it's my turn to mow. We are also infested with praying mantises (manti?) but they don't bother me much. I'm sure the two critters are related somehow, but the mantis has an interesting habit of eating her mate. Therefore, at least the female mantis has redeeming qualities. Grasshoppers, so far as I can discern have none. They exist merely to terrify me. I have no idea why they scare me so much, but they do. At least chicken has nutritional value. And, no, I do not want to hear how full of protein grasshoppers are. Chicken is protein, too.

5) The dark. Yes, I am afraid of the dark. I have horrid dreams if I sleep completely in the dark. I sleep with my tv on and the light above the sink in the bathroom on. This is especially helpful since the bath is right across from my bedroom. It drives my husband crazy. He needs dark and quiet. Aside from the fan running, of course. Not me. Going through a dark room gives me heart palpitations. Being outside at night is okay so long as the moon is out or I have a dozen flashlights. Even in my own yard, when I go out at night for anything, I turn on the porch light and take a flashlight.

6) Basements. Basements are creepy. I've been in a few that were nicely finished and did not creep me out. Mostly though, a basement is a basement. I don't like them. Our only shower is in our basement. So are the washer and dryer hook-ups. Ish. I don't like going into the basement in general. But our tap water is so awful, I refuse to take tub baths here. And, sometimes I need clean clothes. Yeah. I can handle doing the laundry during the day. Mainly cause I'll talk to a friend on the phone the whole time. At night, I hate going down there. It's well lit. Just extremely creepy. So, I either shower during the day as quickly as possible and with someone home or I take someone into the shower with me. Right now, it's either my husband or my daughter. She's almost 10, yes, but this shower is next to impossible to operate without either freezing your tata's off or boiling yourself. Plus, she simply hasn't gotten the knack of washing all the soap out of her hair yet. So, it's a win win situation. She gets help washing her hair, we have lots of girl talk (mostly about when she'll get boobs), and I have company in the creepy basement shower. And before anyone goes having a fit: we're both girls, I'm not molesting her, she's not molesting me, and I believe nudity between members of the same sex in the family is no big deal. It's not like she's showering with King Rat or her teenage brothers. So, no morality commentary.

Okay. That's about it. Those are my major weaknesses. Well, besides chocolate and Sean Connery.

I Don't Remember This Being Part of the Wedding Vows

Man, oh, man. Has King Rat done it this time. I love him, I do. But he's out on a medical leave with a fuckered up knee...and has been since August 5th. Keep this factoid in the back of your head for the rest of this post. Trust me, it's great perspective.

I can hear his knee crunch and grind when he's just moving his leg around next to me on the couch. This tells me, along with the profuse swelling whenever he walks or stands for longer than fifteen minutes, that something is definitely not right. I wish I could fix it, but that's what the orthopedic's dude is for later this month.

At any rate, knowing his knee is not in great shape, what does my wonderful husband decide to do this past Saturday? Jump off of our porch roof and onto the trampoline. He says "It looked like fun." Uh huh. He also says, "Well, the boy lived through it." Again...uh huh. "The boy" happens to be our 15 year old son. Who, at least got a small bounce out of the trampoline when he did it. King Rat, did not bounce. Not even a smidgen. Nope. He hit it, collapsed, and began rolling back and forth on the mat groaning, "That was stupid...that was stupid." I agree.

On top of it, he refused to go to the doctor until Monday. Yup. I had to take him to the ER, where he planned on lying and telling them he fell off the roof. I did not let him lie. The doc there was quite impressed with him, actually. Apparently, broken ribs do not generally show up well on X-rays. My husband's did...nice clean break. The rib he broke also lies over the area of his spleen, so they had to do a CT scan to make sure he hadn't lacerated, biffed, or otherwise injured it. He hadn't, thank goodness. But, the ER called shortly after we left to tell us they did notice a small spot on his liver. Whafuck? They also said to just have his regular doctor follow up on it, along with the rib injury, within the next few days. Fine. We go tomorrow to get this followed up on.

Am I worried? Some. But I'm not panicking. What I am trying to do, however, is figure out how much sympathy he really garners from this. I mean, he's in an awful lot of pain. He spends most of his time in bed because sitting up makes his ribs hurt terribly. And there's only so much one can do while lying in bed with a bad knee and a broken rib. But, aside from his knee, the pain he's in is his own fault. I tried to convince him that jumping off the roof was not a good idea. Of course, silly me, I was thinking more along the lines of him completely trashing his knee, not of him breaking a rib and injuring internal organs. All I know is, I don't remember anything in the marriage vows (either time) requiring me to provide sympathy for stupidity.

Here's My Little Twinkerbell! (just Twinker, if it turns up a boy)

Okay, so the pics aren't that great, but aside from my own kids' ultrasound pics, these have to be the most adorable baby pics ever!

And who's supposed to be having pregnancy mood swings?

Okay. Cheeks is the pregnant one. She's the one who should be having mood swings. Which she does. Believe me, she does. They aren't the hell on earth ones, yet. Those come later if I remember right. The point though is, I'M GOING TO BE A GRANDMA!!!

Yes, that was excitement. See, now there are pictures of the baby. Only ultrasound pics, true, but the little bugger is too cute! Zombiedude has given his child the unfortunate nickname of Nougat McFroggy. This is apparently soley based on the fact that in one of the ultrasound pics, the baby's butt and legs are all you can see...and the legs do look a bit like splayed out frog's legs. It's till an unfortunate nickname. I hope my son comes up with a better one before the child is born. I'm still trying to come up with one. Grandmas get to pick cutsie little nicknames that stick around.

Cheeks and I also think the baby is a girl. Zombiedude and Cheeks' mom think it's a boy. My mother says she already knows...that it's a baby. Smart ass. I hope it's a girl for two reasons: 1) it's my first grandchild, and 2) Cheeks has decided on a girl's name and it's one I gave to her. I am revealing no names until we know for fact what sex the baby is though. I'm afraid to jinx it.

At any rate, yes, I've swung from not knowing whether to be happy or not to full on granny bragging. The little honey waving her arms at me from the ultrasound melted my little heart, what else can I say? Besides, I can either be happy about it or waste time and energy being pissy about it. I think the way I've chosen is the better start to the grandma-granddaughter relationship.

So, here's to sharing baby's first pics with the cyber world!

Birth Control

Okay, so I'm used to the idea now that Cheeks and Zombiedude are going to be parents. I'm still weighing whether or not to like it. Several people have asked me about the apparent lack of birth control in some form or another. I am 95 % certain that it was actually being used. I try not to be in the same room at such times, so there is some room for error on my part. I do know that Cheeks was using the Nuva Ring. Which obviously failed. Another obvious failure is telling them that no method is 100% effective except not having sex. Silly me. At any rate, since all this began (again) I did some research into birth control. Just out of curiosity. I mean, I haven't had to use birth control for that purpose since 1997. And, I simply cannot believe how many different kinds there are now! It used to be condoms and the Pill. Then diaphrams. Sponges. Assorted creams, foams, and gels. Then that Norplant thing. Which I tried. I gained a ton and got so sick, they took it out two months later. I don't trust diaphrams. They look more like a trampoline for sperm than anything else. I know it's supposed to be a barrier, but I get the idea it's more like running your kid ragged at an amusement park...you do it because it's fun, but you also hope that by the end, she's so tired that she falls asleep before you even get home. A diaphram seems to operate on the same principle in my opinion: a very small trampoline put in the way of the traveling spermies. Not only do you hope they get distracted enough by it that they never make it 'home', but you pray that if they do head in the right direction, they're so tired from the trampoline that they wear out before they get there. Sorry. I just doubt the entire objective. For starters, I've seen my ADD child after playing on our trampline. Guess what? He's far from tired when he's done! Same thing.

Then there's the female condom. I've only seen one once. People, these things come with an instruction book thicker than my stereo system had. They're also huge! And that little stick thing? Hmph. Plus, from the instructions, you need to be far more flexible than I've been since grade school to use one. I like the concept of them. I do. And one woman I know who has used them, says they're fairly comfortable and easy to use once you have practiced a couple times. I guess this is why I keep getting told not to judge things by how they look. I'm just glad I don't need them.

And the Pill? It certainly isn't the same as the ones my mother saw come into existence. Or the ones I used. Now there's like 100 different kinds? Whafuck? Ones that help with acne, ones that help with PMS. Wow. Ones you only have to take once a week or something. I tell ya, if I was still having those messy, once a month deals, I'd be all over some of these pills. Not only do they prevent pregnancy, but they have cool fringe benefits...such as no period for three months. Works for me.

And then there's this Nuva Ring. For anyone who hasn't seen one of these things, they look a lot like a larger version, slightly lumpy, of those jelly bracelets girls used to wear. They're clearish and look about as much like birth control as a cupcake. The icing on this cupcake? You have to store them in the fridge! Yes. They must be kept cold up to the point of insertion. Again, I don't need to use these things, but from what Cheeks and a few others have told me, that chill factor lasts about a half an hour. And is fairly unpleasant. Not excruciating, but still unpleasant. I believe them.

Oh, and IUD's. These have apparently been revamped and are less hazardous to your health than the ones around in the last few decades. I'm glad. Those old model IUD's were something beyond painful from the stories I've read, not to mention worthless. I just still have an issue with allowing a doctor to insert a metal object into my uterus. Besides, as high tech as we're getting in security measures, I'd be afraid of setting off metal detectors everywhere I went. I'm sure that doesn't happen, but the idea it could would bother me. Does bother me.

There are even a variety of natural birth controls out there. Aside from the rhythm method or keeping track of fertile times. It seems there is an entire market of herbal contraception. Of course, these are not evaluated or monitored by the FDA, but many of them boast a 100% effectiveness rating. Right. I'm all for herbal remedies and such. And I have no doubt that our forebears used plants in ways we would never dream of and to great effectiveness in many different things. I just worry that most of these herbal contraceptives are a bunch of dried grass with no value or worse, harmful side effects. When the FDA and drug companies and such perform studies and begin to turn to nature for remedies and give them the 'ok', then I'll worry less.

I don't know. There's no guarantees on any birth control, aside from abstinence, but there's so many rumors, myths, and utter crap out there I'm surprised the birth rate isn't higher than it is. I'm also very glad I don't need to worry about it any more. For starters, refrigerating my birth control and then putting it inside my body? No thanks. I'd rather take a pill.

Manic Briefs

For those in the know:

We are still living in the same place. Still have internet. No long distance, but whatever. All is well. NO further worries on that front.

For all others:

Cheeks is pregnant again! This one seems to be taking. Not sure if that's a good thing or not yet. They heard the heartbeat today. Ultrasound tomorrow to be sure everythingis cool. Also, her mother and her have both been dreaming she's having twins. They run in the family on my son's side, so it's possible, I guess. More later.

I'm presenting to a conference in November. Due to a variety of circumstances, my Self-sufficiency worker thinks I'm a great person to present on the barriers presented to self-sufficiency via bipolar disorder. I'm looking forward to it very much. I think it's a fine time to show people in the social work business exactly what can happen, and sometimes does, to prevent people from becoming "upstanding citizens" and "productive" adults.

The slug-bug game is still going on. I'm still behind. I'm still enjoying this trip back through my childhood.

School (for my kids) starts here on Monday! Hurray! I love my kids with all my heart. Really. I admit there are days, more and more of them lately, where I just want to love their little heads right off their bodies, but since school resumes Monday, I'm sure that will end shortly. In fact, they're looking forward to it too, for a change. Too much time together over the summer, I'm sure. That and utter boredom since I refuse to rent or purchase any new video games until they start doing their chores without being reminded four hundred thousand times.

I've also started a petition that will hopefully gather several thousand signatures and then be sent on to every member of our US Congress. Basically, I believe there needs to be a law, not some avoidable policy (or lack of any policy) that requires employers of any person (male or female) who is having their wages garnished by any child support collection agency to notify said agency within 7 days if the garnishee (or obligor) stops working. Too many times I have experienced a horrible wait trying to figure out if child suppport is just late or has stopped. And I'm not alone. Yet, too many states do not have a law enforcing this kind of notification. I'm not asking for any privacy to be violated. Simply faxing or calling the agency and stating, "My name is _____. I work for ______. We have been sending child support payments to your agency for (insert obligor's name here) under case number (if available). I'm calling to report that this person no longer works for this company and we will no longer be sending support payments. So and so's last paycheck will be processed or has been processed as of (provide date), and that will be or is the final support payment that will be sent by our company." Finished. How hard was that? There is no need to go into any further detail. Oh, it'd be nice if the company knew where the person is now employed or if they are employed at all and would pass that info along, but not absolutely needed. Same thing if the person is deceased. Pass it along if you know and desire to, but it is not a requirement. Things like that can be found in other ways. With thousands of deadbeat parents out there being blamed for everything from a child's behavior to a child's lack of shoes for gym, there should be no more delay than 7 days in finding out a parent is no longer employed with any given company. Not when a 3 minute phone conversation can handle it. Will this make parents pay their child support? No. But it helps the parent and the agency collecting the support to catch up with those who are supposed to be paying. As for enforcing such a law, if it's possible to fine a business for providing hazardous things to minors (cigarettes, booze, etc) then why shouldn't it be possible to fine them for NOT doing their best to help a minor in this small way?

Cheeks and my eldest son are on Grasshopper's endangered species list. Grasshopper has had three boys. She loves them very much. But she desperately wants a little girl. To this end, she has threatened that if my granchild is a girl (much less twin girls) to come and make them both extinct. At first she only threatened Cheeks. Once I pointed out that the male decides the baby's sex, she added my son to the list, citing that while his sperm give the sex to the child, Cheeks would still get all the joy of the daughter. Good point, I guess. I'd remind Grasshopper that she and Twitch could try again for a girl, but that would put ME on the endangered species list as well. Not my idea of a good time.

That's all for now. More briefs as they occur.

VW Beetles

Herbies. Love bugs. Bugs. And, the all-time favorite...SLUG BUGS! Oh man, gotta love a slug bug! And suddenly, there are a plethora of them in Iowa City. Now, maybe it's just me lapsing into my childhood in a time of extreme stress, but I have recently been enjoying a near daily game of slug bug...no returns with my daughter and my soon to be daughter in law. It began just between me and Cheeks. My daughter honestly couldn't understand why we kept punching each other and yelling colors at each other. I tried being my usual sarcastic self and told her that we really hated each other and were disguising our fights with a pretend game. This backfired immediately with her trying to run interference between the two of us. So, I explained the game to her...in great detail. Apparently, I managed to NOT teach her this game years ago and neither did her brothers. I'm terribly remiss in my maternal duties, obviously. At any rate, now she's a whiz at spotting the damn things. My arm has had several bruises from her reaching between the seats and whacking me, and I believe the constant ringing in my ears is due to her shrill shrieking of "Slug Bug (fill in the color here)...no returns!" about two inches behind my head. Since I'm the driver, I'm allowed to not have to touch the others for it, just be the first to spit out the damn line with the correct color of bug. So far, I think I'm behind about 20 slug bugs to my own child and about 8 to Cheeks.

Which brings me to my next point. After one spotting of such a bug and actually being the first to notice it and the one right behind it next to us, I wondered about some stuff:

1) The people that buy these cars...did they used to be as enthusiastic slug bug-ers as my daughter, and that's why they bought one?

2) Once they do own one, when they notice a car with appropriately aged and informed children in another car in the next lane, do they chuckle to themselves, saying, "I bet those kids are just whaling on each other because of my car?" (hysterical, maniacal laughter by said owner) I know I would.

3) If the answer to either or both of the above questions is "no", then are these vehicle owners simply too old to appreciate the fun of being a slug bug-er? Or is it possible that these motorers' parents/siblings/friends/whatever NEVER educated them to the game? Are there people out there, from this country, who have never been exposed to this cultural phenomenon? Is it possible to get too old to enjoy a good game of slug bug?

I'm not sure I want to know the answers. For starters, the idea that our society has gotten so technologically adavanced that games like slug bug, zip, and license plate bingo have gone by the wayside is truly scary. No wonder there are so many kids being overmedicated, over scheduled, over stimulated, and under satisfied. Of course, those same children are the ones who grow up to be over achieving, type A personalities who only talk to their families and friends via Blackberry's and palm piloted 'quality time'. Also, I'm not sure I like the idea that people are allowing this cultural piece of history to die out from lack of exposure. What does that say about our priorities? Our parenting? MY parenting? Cripes, if there are worse parents out there than me...and I don't mean the ones that boil their kids because they wet the bed...then everyone should have to get issued a license to have sex.

As for me, I'm going to take advantage of teaching Cheeks to drive, giving Link (my middle son) driving practice, and begin allowing King Rat to drive places when we go as a family just so I can keep a better eye out for the little critters...the slug bugs, I mean.

Speaking of which...SLUG BUG YELLOW! NO RETURNS!

Leave it to Me

Leave it to me to have the strangest things going on. My mother is cleaning out her closets, getting ready for a garage sale. Apparently, she doesn't hang her clothes on hangers. Nope, she told me she hangs things on hammers. It was just a slip of the tongue, but still. A few days later, I'm talking to Grasshopper and tell her about returning our popcorns for money. I'd meant to say popcans, but it didn't come out right. Weird. And funny.

Now, my husband has been dizzier than hell the last few days. Literally dizzy, not just silly dizzy. So, after two days of missed work, off to the doctor's we go this morning. It turns out he has an inner ear infection, which is causing him to have "acute labrynthitis". He looked at me and said, "great. I've got the queer David Bowie in my ear." Now, King Rat is not homophobic, but he is a smart ass. I don't know. I thought of The Labrynth too, but in a different way. I told him we'd have to tell the kids they had watched it a few too many times in Rat's presence and now he had a disorder caused by seeing it too often. Our oldest is the only one who got it...either of them.

Another thing, I've done some analyzation and so on over the past few days, and come to realize that I worked my fat ass off for the past five years reading and writing mountains of papers, earning a Bachelor's Degree in English for no reason. I'm the first person in my family to attend college much less earn a degree of any sort, and it's doing me dick shit. See, I live in the middle of nowhere. Yes, I am close to Iowa City, but that isn't always a good thing. IC has the highest number of graduate level educated people in the state, and something like 6th in the nation. It sucketh. So, here I am, recently graduated, in need of employment and stuck trying to figure out where I'm going to land a job that pays about $11.50 an hour so that we can make it. Yeah. Right. And the war on drugs and the war on terrorism are working.

Grr. Snarl. Hiss. And, Growl. I need a vacation from reality. Wonder if I can OD on cheesecake? I think I'm going to go try...as soon as I gather up all the popcorns to take back to the store, hang up all the clothes that need to be on hammers in the closets, and make an appointment at the looney barn for evaluation of an impending cheesecake addiction.

Decisions, Decisions

In this life, there are always a number of decisions to make. Therefore, I took the time to think thins through and make several decisions all at once. I figure it might save me some time and energy. So, here are a few examples for ya.

1) I've decided to become the 1950's wife/mother figure everyone in my house seems to believe I should be anyway. In doing so, I have chosen to increase my stress level, lower my standards, and go against all my natural inclinations. I'm sure this news will make Wendy very happy, since she has a strong theory on this type of topic.

2) I have also decided to swear. Now, this does not seem like a monumental decision, but since I do have children, it must have impact. Yes, I have chosen to swear. I rather like cussing. Not because it's immoral, forbidden, or impolite, but because I enjoy it. If I'm going to do #1, I might as well be able to get some things for myself. Besides, there are many occasions where a simple slang term will not suffice, and only a swear word will express truly the emotion of the moment...and (thanks, George Carlin!) you can't fool me, shoot is just shit with two o's.

3) I've decided to not decorate my house any more than it already is. This does not include holidays, because those are exceptions to most of my rules. But, my house is entirely too cluttered as it is, and adding more stuff for me to wash, dust, or worry about getting broken is simply not worth the time or money. Besides...

4) I've decided to continue to be as lazy as I can whenever possible. I hate housekeeping. Some chores are worse than others. I think everyone has certain chores they hate. Grasshopper hates washing silverware. So do I. We both hate mating socks. I'd rather clean a toilet after two months of non-cleaning when the toilet has been used by only men who never flush than to do wash dishes or dust. Also, (thanks Roseanne!) when Hoover invents a rider, that's when my house will get vacuumed regularly. With this decision comes the need to create shortcuts and cheats in all housework or other chores. Such as hiding dirty dishes in the oven right before my mother or a neighbor stops in for a quick visit.

5) I've also decided to research earwigs. I know they are some sort of insect. I believe my house is infested with them. Since I'm not sure exactly what they look like, I need to find pictures. I also need to figure out how to get rid of the little suckers. I'm certain one stung or bit my ass two nights ago in my own bed. If not an earwig, some sort of long critter with many legs resembling a centipede (mini sized) and equipped with two pincers did it. Whatever it was, there are several of its relatives living in my home and I have decided they need to die or leave. I prefer die.

6) I've decided that in my next life, I want to be a cat. I can sleep 16 hours a day, wait for people to provide food and water for me, seek out attention when and only when I desire it, and I never have to clean my own bathroom. Not to mention, no one would blink an eye when I took a shit in public and dug in the dirt to cover it up. I'd be able to do good deeds for my people, such as hunting down rodentia in the home and bringing them little treats like birds or snakes to show my appreciation for all they do to take care of me. The ability to purr is an added bonus.

7) I've decided to give up on the idea of ever catching up on my blog. I fall behind and try to catch up and then life gets in the way every damn time and then I'm farther behind than before. Figures. So, instead of trying to catch up and posting stupid shit for days on end that was once funny or interesting or whatever, I'll just start fresh from this post on.

8) I've decided to start using old fashioned words. I like "spiffed" for "drunk", among other phrases and words that went out of style shortly after WWII.

9) I've decided to start hiding literary and movie references in all of my blog posts to see who, if anyone catches on to them. It was my pooka's suggestion, and I like it.

Playing Catch-Up...Again!

Wedding Stories
King Rat & I remarried May 1st. It was an interesting day. To start off with, we had a houseful. Spanky came over to stand up with us. Rat's friends, Hobbitt and Sydny, and their son (and their homosexual dog) came down from MN. Fine. Crowded, but fine. I actually went to classes that day, taking Spanky and Sydny with me. That was entertainment. Then, home, off for a few errands, and back home to pick up the men folk. At this time, King Rat decides to dress up for the civil ceremony. I had thought I was already dressed, but instead of just t-shirts and jeans, he decided to wear jean shorts and a semi-dressy button down shirt. So of course, I had to change my shirt, do my hair and make-up. Then he tells me he can't find any socks so we can't get married.Grr. Off we go, in two vehicles to pick up kids from school so they can come watch us get hitched. Right. Big mistake. Once we met up, I was the only one who knew where the wedding was. Fine, except I got lost. We drove in circles for about half an hour before I remembered what the secretary had told me, which was to park in the parking ramp by the strip mall. Duh! I still haven't heard the end of that one.
In the office building, the elevator was so small, half of us walked up the steps to the office, while the rest braved the antique elevator. We all took the steps back down. Too much shaking. Then, sent the kids to the mall, while we adults hit the first open bar we saw. Three drinks each and then home. King Rat hadn't slept or eaten right, and since he is diabetic, became ill, so everyone went home. Still no honeymoon.

Being a Tourguide
Sydny, who has never been to our neck of Iowa, noticed the football stadium on one of our many trips into town. For those who don't know, it's Kinnick Stadium in Iowa City (go Hawks!) and they've been doing an huge remodeling job. It looks great and Sydny commented on how neat it looked. When we passed it the second or third time, I said (being a smart ass) "And on our right is the grand Kinnick Stadium. To our left, several of the homes that get trashed during home football games." Sydny started laughing. "Oh, it's Kinnick. I kept trying to figure out why someone would name a stadium Knick Knack!" That one was a hit at classes the rest of the week.

Okay. I'm done for now. I'll be posting more over the next few days to catch up. I hope.

Being Behind Schedule

Okay, I'm lame and I know it. Partially due to our economic status and partially due to our strange familial schedules, my family is waaaay behind the times on most movies, books, and other pop culture events. A prime example would be our recent viewing and acquisition of Napoleon Dynamite. I had no desire to see it when I first heard of it. My kids did. But, we did not see it. I did, however, see the llama t-shirt in a Hot Topic shortly after the movie came out and had to call my friend Tina, just because I thought it was funny to wait for her to answer the phone and without so much as a 'hi' say, "Tina, you fat lard! Come get some dinner." This was not as funny then as it is now that I have actually seen the movie. Well, parts of it.

I'm not sure why, but several parts of this movie struck my funny bone. Maybe it's a sign of the stress from impending finals. Maybe it's a sign of my lunacy. Maybe it's a sign of an upcoming manic moment. No matter what, the llama part kills me. Namely because while I do not consider Tina to be a fat lard, she does vaguely resemble the llama. Tina has dark hair. Her neck is nowhere near as long, neither are her legs, nor does she have as many, but she is a bit on the wide side. And, although she'll kill me for putting this online, I can think of at least one use of her hair, similar to llamas.

Now, many moons ago, Tina, Willing Tilly Tushy, Pink, and myself were all bored. (Willing Tilly Tushy and Pink are guys by the way). We decided to end our boredom by playing Truth or Dare. Tina was being fawned over by both the guys, which was okay with me, but being the witchy woman that I am, when she finally had pushed the flirty touchy feely thing too far in front of me when my husband was out of state and I wasn't about to get any, and she was sitting on the floor in a swimsuit between Willing's legs on the floor. Bear in mind, she had just shaved her legs earlier that day. It was Willing's turn and he chose Dare. So, I dared him to pull three hairs from Tina's body...below the waist and above her ankles. Guess where they had to come from? Hehehehehe. Okay, so I'm evil. It took all four of us to pin her down long enough for Willing to pull the hairs. She ought to consider herself lucky I didn't specify to do it one hair at a time. To tie this in to the whole llama thing, while I have never pulled a hair out of a llama's body -- from anywhere -- I imagine the results would be the same: much kicking, yelling, and biting. The upside? Willing and Pink decided that the game had gotten much more entertaining and Tina learned to trim herself at an earlier age than a lot of women I know. Oh, and the hairs were put to good use on the next turn, when I believe Pink was dared by someone (I won't say who just not me) to put one into a new arrival's cigarette. Gross, I know, but he didn't really, we just had the guy convinced he did. The reaction was worth it.

Okay, so I think that's the end of this manic moment. For now. I need to go write my last will and testament. Tina's gonna read this and come kill me. If I never post again, eat chocolate and lemon in my honor (not at the same time) and have several margaritas to finish it off.

Spanky-isms

Everyone has a separate language among their friends. I don't care who you are. There are either certain phrases or messed up sentences or words or whatever that are just between the group of you, or two of you. Whatever. For example, my mother and my immediate family 'do' movie lines. As in, we quote movie lines to each other and work them into general conversation. This issuch fun for me, I decided to share. I got Grasshopper to start doing it. Twitch does it now too. And Spanky.

Of course, then there are the times when a certain word or phrase becomes a 'thing' for my friends and I. Like my friend Thompson. HE got me started on "ish". Now we 'ish' at each other all the time. Or he'll share with me about his cat-crap. (Don't ask)

However, the most fun often comes up when two friends are out together doing whatever and one of them fucks up a sentence or a word. Like Spanky is prone to do. Now, don't get me wrong. I fuck up sentences and words just as much as she does. It just isn't as funny.

So, here are a few Spanky-isms for you:

1) Loony Barn: this is apparently similar to a loony bin, but when Spanky goes there, she can play with all the animals...somewhat like visiting the State Fair's petting zoo.

2) "Open your armpit!" This command was actually issued to me by Spanky in a Wal*Mart. Spanky was being a very decent friend and buying me some things when I was broke (things like soap, shampoo) because the Non-recyclable Ex-hubby (aka Fuckwad) had decided to ditch us with no notice and no money. Spanky is a truly giving person, who would literally give you the shirt off your back if she thought you needed it. However, it seems that late night runs to the local Wal*Mart are not good for her vocabulary. Her hands were almost full and my hands already were, because we are not smart enough to get a cart at midnight, and she wants to hand me something. I think it was a soda, but I'm no longer sure. When I inform her my hands are full, she tries to tell me to open my arm out so she can stick it up under my arm until we get to the checkout. What came out instead was, "Open your armpit!" at which point we both became useless for the rest of the night.

These are just two of the examples I could provide, but if I do, I'm afraid no one would understand and that, by sharing, they would be less funny to me and Spanky. Who is, at this very moment that I am typing, waiting for me to click back onto Yahoo Messenger to tell her I'm done and this is posted. I'm just going to tell her the rabid deer ate the post. She'll understand.

Things You Never Want to Hear Your Child Say

For the record, these are all real quotes. Some from my children, some not. Either way...well, you'll understand.

1) "I do not have my own room! I share it with all the video games...and they keep me awake all night...talking! (pause) And they're mean."

2) "Mom! Buy (insert brother's name here) his own razors or make him quit using mine! [much bickering ensues] He's using the razor I shave my face with on his...his...on his balls and shit!"

3) [child drops something he was bringing you, clasps hands quickly together, waits about half a second and says...] "It was the dog! You know he doesn't have any thumbs!"

4) "What would you say if I decided to take a job working for the mafia?"

5) "Hey Mom? How much money do you think I can make running an extortion business at school?"

6) [sound of crash and glass breaking outside window] "Uh Mom? (insert four year old sister's name here) stepped on the broken glass from the pitcher I just dropped...and I think I can see a piece of her toe."

7) [spoken to the daycare provider as you are walking in the door] "Hi! What's for lunch today? My mom's wearing a diaper because she's, uh, oh yeah, menslooating."

8) "Mom, can you have Dad bring home more condoms from work?"

9) [from a nine year old daughter] "Pretty soon I'll be ready for women sized bras."

and, 10) "Do you know Mary Jane?" ( two choices for an answer...both of them bad)

Ah, the joys of parenthood!

Senioritis

This is my final semester as an undergraduate. I'm a senior! Yay! And it's only about 4 1/2 weeks until it's done. And, I have no motivation whatsoever. None. I'm a naturally lazy person, but I don't usually have to fight myself this much to get anything done. It's ridiculous. I know from talking to my fellow seniors that I'm not the only one, but god...I don't think I had it this bad in high school.

As you can see, instead of working on papers or other homework, I'm sitting on the Net, bitching about having senioritis. And it only gets worse from there. Arggh. Or, maybe I should put 'yawn'. Either way it comes to the same.

I'm just so sick of school. It's been fun and all, but I'm done now. Yup. Just done. And I know it's bad because I actually had to change seats today so that I didn't beat one of my instructors to death with my notebook today. She's jsut driving me nuts. The bad part? She's the head of the department of the graduate program I want to get into. Not only would it be bad karma for me to migrate her nose three inches to the left, but I doubt it would get me into the program. Of course, if she wasn't such an idiot, I'd probably be just fine sitting next to her. Maybe not. I've entertained similar thoughts about my other instructors off and on over this semester, too, so it can't be just her. Must be me. I have a hard time believing that all of my professors are morons even if we do live in Iowa.

Just Another Rant

First of all, I admit I'm a liberal. I do not consider myself to be a bleeding heart liberal. I am also a feminist. I am not a feminazi, though. However, I'm tired of so many people suffering from "ostrich syndrome". A wise person once said, there are none so blind as those who refuse to see. Whoever he/she was, it was a very correct statement.

I hate to point this out, but our country is falling apart and failing its citizens. I don't mean the war (though that's debatable), but just in general. Prices keep rising, wages don't. At least not enough to make much difference. Utility companies are monopolies (aren't there laws against that?). Housing is scarce, unfit, unregulated, and ungodly expensive. Benefits are becoming more stringent (some companies can fire you for smoking at you home), less available, and less worth it. A Bachelor's Degree is becoming more like an Associate's Degree every day, and a Master's Degree is getting close to that status, depending on the area. Our educational system is failing our children in significant ways, and our children are expected to know how to run the country within a few decades.

Also, I'm getting really irritated with people who don't have kids, have never had kids of their own, or only been step parents for brief periods of time thinking they make the best parents in the universe. For example, there is a young woman in one of my classes who just recently discovered she's pregnant. She's been in several of my classes, and while we're not buddies, we do get along and chat fairly frequently. She is married. Brava for her. I'm happy that they're happy with the coming baby and wish them well. However, over the past couple weeks (since she found out), we've had more than one heated discussion about children. Now, she's heard me bitch (off and on for two years) about being a mom. When we've worked together on projects, she's heard me yelling at my kids and cussing at them. She also knows that my family is the recipient of a few different assistance programs. I'm not proud of it, but I won't be ashamed of it either. At any rate, she's lately decided that she knows everything about being a mom. She's also told me prior to this that she thinks most people on any kind of assistance are just lazy, and basically worthless, if they've been on it for more than about six months. I'm not sure where she came up with the time limit, but whatever. I didn't hold it against her. What I do hold against her is that suddenly, she knows exactly how she'll react when her kid decides to fry her computer keyboard, 'forgets' to turn homework for two weeks straight, or throws a tantrum. She also apparently is no longer against applying for any kind of assistance she thinks her family might qualify for. To this end, she's been asking me where to apply for what and if there are any loopholes to use. When I questioned her on it, she basically told me that if everyone else could get it, she could too. Now, maybe I'm wrong, but that pissed me off. From what she's told me of their living situation, they might need some extra help, like WIC maybe or maybe insurance. However, as much as I realize how bad the economy is for the majority of people, I don't think it's right of her to complain about the programs she's now trying to take advantage of. Especially when she's asking me how long she can push things. I don't know. But I firmly believe that until you've actually been there, done that -- no one should think they're an expert on anything...parenting or assistance programs or otherwise.

A Sad Ending

Tidbit is no longer coming. It's a terribly complex ordeal. Both Cheeks and Zombiedude are devastated. I understand. And the only comfort I can offer is the same thing my family told me: this is nature's way of taking care of something that would have been a mistake; whether the baby had something wrong or whatever, nature often knows and takes steps to take care of it. Small comfort, I know, and it sounds harsh. However, they are both still young and this will not be the only chance they have. So far, they seem to be coping as well as can be expected. There also appear to be no ill health effects, which is a great relief. I may not get along with Cheeks or Zombiedude all the time, but that doesn't mean I wish evil on either of them. (I reserve that for the truly worthy--professors, ex-husbands, etc.) The past few days have been hell on both of them, but they're starting to find their sense of humor again. It isn't frequent, but it is there...and that's the best sign anyone can hope for.

Cheeks' Mom made a suggestion I found very interesting and useful. Apparently when a friend of hers went through a similar situation, she sat and wrote a letter to the baby and put it in a box to keep. She said it really helped her through the situation and she'll pull it out now and then when she's thinking about it and it helps her feel better. Sounds like a great idea and one I hope the kids use. Not sure if others have done anything similar, and while I'm not wishing this on anyone, should anybody like the idea for themselves or someone they know, use it and pass it along.

Rant for the Pagan Student

Okay, as I've already stated, I have senior-itis in a bad way. This makes it very difficult to make myself accomplish much of anything. However, today it hit me that, once again, I am surrounded by religious doggerel...er, dogma. Catholic doggerel...er, dogma, to be precise. Why? Because the Middle or Dark Ages were immersed in it. In fact, I recently saw a bumpersticker that made me giggle and reminded me of class: When religion ruled the world, it was known as THE DARK AGES. Not only do I like the political message, but it's just humorous to me. I can't help it. My mother warped me. At any rate, I am in a medieval women course. To study medieval women, one must understand something of the culture and society they lived in. Unfortunately, watching A Knight's Tale doesn't qualify, even though Heath Ledger is rather yummy. Apparently, Catholicism at the time, and a truly patriarchal society, made it difficult for women to get any respect. I mean, these people actually believed redheaded children were born that way because their trashy mothers had sex during their menstruation. Conception during menstruation was also blamed for such lovely illnesses as measles and chicken pox. Oh yeah, these people were brilliant. No, I do not believe this was a Catholic doctrine, but the mackerel-snappers certainly played their part. For the record, several of my boyfriends (including one husband) were Catholic. I am friends with several Catholics...practicing ones, I mean. And under other circumstances, I try to be less prejudiced. I just have a strong aversion to female oppression.

Back to my original point. Today in class while discussing Memorial by Angela of Filigno (who died in 135?), we examined some art depicting women receiving blood from Christ. Now, I admit I have no artistic talent, but these paintings are a bit odd. One of them was down right creepy. In examining these pictures, several references to the religious beliefs of the day came up. One of them, the seven deadly sins. Now, I've committed most of them. I rather enjoy them, myself. But, as part of the discourse, I volunteered to research them and their counterpart virtues. Which is why I am on the internet now. FYI: this is not a recommended past-time. Researching the seven deadly sins and the seven great virtues, I mean. The only good thing I've found out so far is that while I have committed most of the deadly sins, I've also been virtuous. Depending on who you talk to, my virtuousness ended years ago.Just bear in mind that god got Wendy's periods reversed: every 28 days, she starts acting nice. It lasts about a weekend. (which is a movie line, obviously -- now, tell me which movie! That'll tell me if any of you still read this damn thing.)

Tata for now. I'm off to research when the deadly sins began to appear in artwork. This ought to be enlightening. Or would be if I had any real interest in it. Being surrounded by all this christian dogma is really wearing my witchy-fanny out. Pretty soon, I'll be forced to call for the flying monkeys to open a can of whoop-ass on people.

Tidbit on the Way

Okay, I have recovered my sanity...sort of. As much of it as I had to begin with, I think. I'm not sure. Maybe I'm totally wrong and believing I have my sanity back is simply proof positive of my lunacy. I just don't know. Nor do I care.

In case you aren't sure, I think I'm having a manic moment. Which is fine. It's relatively mild so far. Besides, Queenie seems to be doing without any (good for her) so someone needs to take up the slack. I might as well. Not much else to do.

Which is not the point. Not at all. I am going to be a grandma...at 35. There are definitely good sides to this: I'll be able to enjoy it (hopefully), I'm not so far from taking care of infant children that I've forgotten how, and I'm a pretty hot gramma. Okay, the hot part is debatable, but the rest is good. I've even recovered enough sanity to nickname the baby. It's "Tidbit". Yes. Tidbit. What? It's just a tidbit too early on the preferred timeline for being a grandma, it's still a little tiny thing...you know...a tidbit, and even though it isn't here yet, I'm sure it's going to be the cutest little tidbit of an angel anyone has ever seen. So, Tidbit.

Docs say Tidbit will arrive around Sept. 2. Which happens to be Grasshopper's oldest son's b-day. The only woman I know who actually gave birth on her due date. It also happened to be Labor Day that year, which apparently gave new meaning to the day. Anyhow, Cheeks (the mom) and I both believe she's farther along than what the docs are saying. Maybe not by much, but I'm betting she's at least four months. I would bet Tidbit arrives shortly after Wendy's little Sharkbait and Queenie's Pillsbury arrive in July.

Cheeks is moving in next week. After much tussle, hassle, and flurry, everyone decided it was the best course of action at least till Tidbit's around 6 months old. Gives them time to save up some money and to go through this really cool program that basically sets them up with an apartment and stuff, along with monthly or weekly visits from a staff member who acts as a guide/advocate/monitor. Sounds like a plan. Besides, that way, if things get hairy, they're here and it's easier for one of us to step in and help out.

At any rate, off to go do homework. It's my last semester (hooray!!!) and I've got senior-itis in a bad way. If I want to graduate in May, I need to buckle down...like a month ago.

I Blame My Mother

Yes, I do. She volunteered for it. She did! She laughed to hard when her friend told her right before Christmas that she was going to be a great-grandma. Well, now my mom is too. That's right. Senorita Psychopath is pregnant. This lovely bombshell was suspected last week and confirmed last night.

I am going to be a grandmother. At 35. I know it could be worse. I'd just prefer that it was better than this. Uh huh.

When I finally find my sanity again, I'll create another post.

(I'll be able to cope enough to nickname this one too, eventually, right? Right?!)

In the meantime, anyone have a meat grinder?

Hippo Gnu Deer

Happy New Year! Blah blah blah, yak yak yak. I know I should be more enthusiastic than this, but I'm just too exhausted. My Christmas spirit left me about a week before Christmas. I swear to all that is holy (or unholy) that Santa is only bringing gift certificates next year. They take up soooo much less space than all the other crap he brings. NOT that I dislike the jolly fat man. In fact, I adore him. He always brings me the neatest little gifts. Yes, folks, Santa still comes for me. Of course, it's my mom, but still...it's the whole idea. She and I fill each other's stockings and buy one or two Santa gifts for each other every year. It's great. Except for trying to find room for all the crap afterwards. I mean, we took 3, count 'em..3, Christmas tree type storage totes to my mother's this year...each full of stuff. Trust me, they were just as full if not more so, coming home. Of course, we also took two dogs, three children, and one bunny. The hamster was left behind to guard the house. (Hopefully, he's rabid) The return totes are obvious evidence that my mother "cut down" this year. Snort! Right! Uh huhn. Sure. "I'm cutting down" is all I've heard since last year when we had to open gifts in shifts at her place. So, in the whole spirit of that ordeal, my family left our "each other" presents home to be opened and only took over there for the giant family name-draw get-together thing, Santa stuff, and for Mom. Now, each of the kids had a total of 6 presents from Santa. My mother had a total of 14 presents from my family. For the name=draw thing, each person in our family had at least 2 gifts for their person. I must say one of the totes was filled with only gift bags since those crush so easily, but still...good grief. That was just OUR stuff. I really did cut back. My mother, on the other hand, for all of her talk...each kid had at least 10 packages from her under that tree. And what did she say? "Christmas isn't about presents alone...but it is for kids." Ohhh-kay. Fine. If my family hadn't left our 'each other' stuff at home, we'd have been opening in shifts again. I know part of the problem last year was the size of some of the gifts. I mean, Santa brought my oldest a really, really long sword. The box was at least 5 feet long. That took up some space.

Enough of that. On to baby stuff. I've been sharing some wonderful pregnancy and delivery stories with Wendy. Like peeing on any stitches afterwards is sooo much fun, and how the lovely nurses like to come in within hours of delivery and start pushing on your belly...which is full of extremely sore muscles. Or how the pain-killing injection they give you before stitching you goes directly into to cut or tear and burns oh so pleasantly. OH, and my personal favorite, being the one to explain to her that when they check to see how far you are dilated, it's not a visual thing until right before the baby pops out...it's a hands, er...fingers, on type of thing. Also pleasant. Am I evil? Oh yeah! However, I've also shared a few truly comforting tips with her. Like a little Vaseline strategically smeared on a pad can relieve the itchy, dry, burnies when stitches begin to heal.Or using one of those squirty-type water bottles full of warm water to douse yourself with the first few days of peeing post-delivery. I have other, nearly as handy tips to share, but I'm holding those back. Why? Because I have sooo many of the other kinds of stories to share too. Doesn't every mom? Eventually, they'll even out. If they didn't, no woman would have more than one child. I still believe the powers that be got seahorses and humans mixed up, though. I mean, really. What a deal those female seahorses have! They impregnate the males. The males give birth...to live babies! Hundreds of them at a shot! The females do hang around for moral support. Well, maybe they just want to make sure the guys don't screw it up. Damn it. In one of my next lives, I want to be a female seahorse.

More baby stuff. I found the cutest flannel and fleece for making baby blankets for Sharkbait and Pillsbury! I made receiving blankets for Bug, plus one of those tie-together fleece blankies for him last year. That fleece blanket is his favorite. Yes, I know Sharkbait and Pillsbury are summer babies, but they will still be babies in winter. Besides, the material is too cute to pass up. And the blankets are oh so easy to make! I don't even need a sewing machine. (Thank god, cuz I can't operate one)

There is even some joking that Batman wants me to come take his place in the delivery room. Fine with me. So long as I can wear chainmail. I'm not stupid. I know Wendy. She'll bite me. Other than that, she can be as mean to me as she wants. Nothing new there. Besides, it would be very nice to see a baby born from the not-so-painful side of the event. Of course, I keep threatening to bring the camcorder along. For some reason, Wendy fails to see the humor in that.

No more baby stuff. Out of other things to babble about. Resolutions? Nah. Gave those up for Lent years ago and never picked them back up. Nasty habit resolutions. I prefer to just wallow in my current nasty habits. They make me entertaining and easier to live with. Just ask Wendy.