Political Opinion

Halloween. Mike had the daunting task of taking several of the kids shopping for costumes this year. Yeah for me! While perusing the various masks and outfits the baby, Vicente age 1, was very amused. He laughed at the kids when they tried on the scariest, goriest creations they could find. A skull with eyeballs and blood? No problem, he would poke it's eye out with his pointy finger and giggle. Green monster? Peek-A-Boo time. Hatchet to the head? More giggles and a little drool. The kids enjoyed showing him their finds. Until "THE ONE". Once the mask was in place on Nicole's head, Vicente took one look and let out a blood curdling scream. Real tears came to his eyes as he clawed and scratched at Mike, looking for protection from the hideous monster who was sure to be his doom. His eyes puffy, his whimpering echoing off the bland walls of the store, the mask was quickly discarded to the bottom of the rack. He started to relax but he will always remember that moment in his life when he came face to face with his greatest fear - Hillary Clinton.

Morgan with a needle through her nose

Here's my baby, Morgan, getting her nose pierced on both sides. I gave her that nose, you would think I would have some say to what she does with it. OK, I drove her there. Am I a bad mom? I also signed the release for her to get her first tattoo at 16 yo. Maybe I am too much of a pushover or maybe it's OK that I don't let things like this bother me too much and mostly concentrate on making sure they are good people. Not sure but I know I will second guess my decisions as a mom for the rest of my life. Maybe I should say a little prayer - Lord, please don't let me screw my kids up so bad they have to file for bankruptcy because they can't afford all of their therapy. Amen.

Piper's Question

Quite a while ago Piper woke me in the middle of the night and told me she couldn't stop thinking. I nicely told her that it is three in the morning and she should just close her eyes and try to get some sleep. She said she can't, her brain keeps thinking and won't quit. I asked her what it is that she can't stop thinking about to which she replied, "What's more important, your butt or your head?" Then I was up for the next hour thinking. I still ponder this question because it made me realize that sometimes even the not so glamorous things in our lives are quite crucial to our existence.

Do Not Try This At Home

I bounce up the stairs to my room and find my wonderful husband in our bathroom, intently reading the back of a little box. I casually ask what he’s doing as hang up my work clothes and throw on my comfy sweats. He shows me the box with excitement in his eyes, NADS Hair Removal System. My thoughts of a relaxing evening at home quickly convert to extreme hilarity. I snort a little.
He’s tired of shaving off the small amount of hair he has left every morning, fighting with dull razors and constant nicks that ooze red streams down his neck. In his hands, he holds the answer. The miracle he has been awaiting. Unbeknownst to me, he’s been watching the infomercial late at night as they demonstrate the pain-free, simple steps. He shows me the gelatinous green goo and tells me of the organic nature of which it is made. I warn him of their deceitful lies and honestly attempt to save him from himself. He tells me I am blasphemous and insists I know not what I say. Fine, let him feel the pain as I settle myself on the bed to enjoy the show. Because I love this crazy man, I plead with him to start with a tiny spot.
He ignores my wisdom as he grasps the stick and smears the holistic substance across the side of his head and smoothes on the white cotton strip. He glances in my direction with a smirk, prepared to show me how it’s done. After all, he is the man. I smile right back at him because I am the woman and I know what he doesn’t. He grabs the edge and, in one quick motion, yanks. The room is filled with the deafening screams of a girl. From the mouth he kisses me with, he spews more profanity than an entire squadron of sailors finally back from six months at sea, drinking free beer. I am doubled over holding myself, tears flooding my face, hysterical. I can’t breathe. I pee a little.
Over my uproarious laughter I vaguely hear something about the lying bitches (and another that I still can't bring myself to say - starts with a c) as he grabs for the phone to dial the 1-800 number provided on the instruction sheet. I reach out my hand and attempt to stop him from giving them a piece of his mind but I still can’t speak. I grab the phone and hold it behind my back as he reaches and grabs, fighting for his vindication. I wipe the tears from my face and force myself to relax, breath. I talk soothingly into his ear, somewhat distracted by the flaming red strip of raw, enflamed skin on his scalp with every last short hair still firmly intact. As he slowly comes back to reality I lean in close and whisper into his beautiful ear, “I told you so, Dork.”

Doggin' on Dad

Mike was hiding out in the pantry tonight inhaling some Strawberry marshmallows when Piper told him she really needed something to eat. He handed her a marshmallow but she refused and insisted she needed something healthy like water... or soda. He gently reminded her that soda's not healthy. She, not so gently, let him know that her brother, Sebastien, is having Sprite. Mike, with a smile, told her Sebastien doesn't care if he's healthy or not. To which, my little man, Bash, rolled his eyes and said, "I do to. I don't look like you, do I?"

Piper's Poo

The other day, as I walked back through the door after dropping off some of the kids, the first thing Mike said to me was, "You need to check out what's in the toilet." Now, as much as I love surprises, I wasn't excited. First I told him no, because I thought he was being a disgusting dork, but he insisted I look. I eventually went in to the bathroom and lifted the lid on the commode. Yea, poop and blood, that's always nice. Mike gave me the rundown, it was Piper - my 6 year old, she's embarrassed and hiding under the desk. I look a little more in the toilet (I love being a mom), get a stick, push it around until I'm satisfied it's not just because it was a big poo. Nope, normal size and need more info. I sit in my office chair without looking down and tell my little girl it's not a big deal, come on out and let's talk about it. After several questions she tells me she fell off the monkey bars onto her back the night before but nothing hurts now. We call her pediatrician's office (it's Sunday) and speak with the doctor on call who refers us the the after hours clinic; they tell us no, you are ER bound. Been there, done that, no big deal. Mike takes her down while I head to work. I am NOT a horrible mom, Mike's a great Dad and I need to give him some trust and allow him to take the lead on this one. I also know he has his cell phone with instructions to call me with every update and keep me on the phone when the doctor is speaking. They have her pee in a cup and leave her in a room for eternity. When the doctor comes in, Mike dutifully calls and I listen to the doctor explain that, yes, it is in fact blood in her urine but it's quite normal and no cause for concern. I calmly tell Mike to let him know that we didn't even know about blood in urine, only about the blood in her poop. Doctor's a little surprised and, unfortunately for my little girl, has to verify this claim for himself - manually. She's a trooper and doesn't scream, bite, kick or kill while he does what he needs to do to achieve a sample. Sure enough, blood coming out of both places. They run several tests but have no idea so they send them home with instructions to see her doctor in the morning. By this time we have added a year on to her future therapy bill. The next day her pediatrician took another urine sample and still saw blood plus white cells. She thinks it's a UTI and prescribes antibiotics with instructions to bring back a sample of the other stuff. Piper's quite controlled through this visit, I am very impressed with my baby. We head home and let her know the next time she has to use the bathroom she has to let us know so we can get a sample. Standing stoically in the parking lot, my angel snapped. "No more! I am NEVER going POOPY A-G-A-I-N! AND NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH MY BUTT." The people behind us were quite confused.
Fortunately, she eats lots of fiber and we get what we need. Still shows blood BUT the culture came back on the urine and she doesn't have an infection. Now it's getting weird. We are seeing a specialist and running lots of tests but, a week later, no answers yet. She feels fine, doesn't have any pain and now sneaks away quietly to use the bathroom so no one will follow. Hopefully getting more test results back next week so they can tell us it's nothing.

I'm a Barbie Girl...

Yesterday I went to the hospital for minor surgery so they could remove a lump in my left thigh. At least that's where the paperwork said it was located. Really it was in my leg pit, my groin or "down there." I can honestly say I wasn't nervous at all, just tired. They brought me back to the operating room without any problems. I soon fell asleep with a quick shot into my IV and before I knew it, I was being wheeled back to recovery. My husband came to be by my side as I dozed on and off. I remember thinking how great it was that it was so quick and I was already back to my normal self; not drugged up at all. In between dozing, my nurse came in, pulled back the sheet, took a look at my stitches and said, "Ohhh, hmmm." I feel a little tug followed by, "Oh no." My first clue that I was still on drugs-I wasn't alarmed at all. A little more tugging then she turned to my husband and told him to come take a look. I know something's going on at this point but I really don't care. Now remember, the stitches are in a spot where a regular bandage wouldn't stay on very well so they did the appropriate thing and covered the wound with liquid bandage. Unfortunately, they didn't let it dry before sending me back to the room. She tugs and pulls a little more, I feel some pain this time but still no worries. Not sure what else to do she leaves to get the doctor. In my drug induced calmness I realize the problem, my leg and hoo haa are now completely glued together. That settles it, I'm not freaking out - I am totally high. Which brings me to the title of this blog, I am no longer anatomically correct-I am a Barbie. The doctor comes in and does a whole lot of ripping ( I did feel the pain but still, didn't care) and pulling and am now back to human with a partial Brazillion on the house. On the bright side - I am thankful that they noticed the mishap before I left and the drugs wore off.

First one...

My first blog. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous. This will set the stage for my entire blogging experience. What if I pick a lame topic? What if I really am as boring as I usually feel? The weight of this decision is quite overwhelming. I’m gonna need a minute.
OK, I’ve decided. I will use this opportunity to share why my husband is a dork.
We had been living together for close to six months at the time of “the incident.” Our little apartment had one tiny, little bathroom. My 5 year old daughter was at school so just the two of us home. I strip down to nothing in preparation of taking a shower, toss my clothes into the hamper then head for the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and wait for the shower to warm up, I sense a presence in the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye I notice him standing there, gazing. I anticipate one of his normal propositions. As he opens his mouth and says “WOW!”, my heart flutters. I smile at him, then he finishes saying what’s on his mind, “Your butt IS getting chunky.” My smile fades. I believe I said something that starts with an F as I slam the door and barricade myself inside. He will soon realize that he will not see my chunky ass again for quite some time. I know what you’re thinking but , no, he is in fact still alive and all of his appendages are still attached
I still bring it up once in a while and he says that I’ll hold it over him until the day he dies. And I will. I’ve already purchased his tombstone.
RIP my beloved Mike
August 1993 he called my butt chunky
He’s lucky he lived this long.