I learned a valuable lesson yesterday when it comes to little girls. Never, ever, ever, EVER have an odd number of little girls play together. It will result in a shit storm of epic proportions.
I hate to say that. I hate it when people say "boys are easier to raise than girls" or "you don't have to worry about boys". Kids are kids, they all come with their own issues, problems, whatevers. I'm going to rate keeping a group of girls to an even number up there with teaching a boy to always lift the seat before peeing and putting it back down when he's finished. If you don't do it things become unpleasant for everyone involved. Listening to 3 little girls fuss, fight, argue and get their feelings hurt is about as much fun as falling ass first into cold toilet bowl in the middle of the night.
It started when Natalie's best friend came over to play and brought another friend with her. At first I thought, no big deal. They'll play Xbox or hang out in Nat's room and torture me with Big Time Rush or the Teen Beach Movie soundtrack. You would think that after 35 years of life and 8 years of being the mother of a girl I would know better. They didn't agree on anything as a group. Not a damn thing. What one wanted to do, the other two didn't. Someone was always getting her feelings hurt or feeling left out. And I noticed that the friend who tagged along was the one who was instigating everything. When things didn't go her way she was the first to tattle. She always started by saying " I don't mean to tattle, but.." After the 3rd time I cut her off. I had had enough and I told Natalie the girls had to go home and while her best friend is always welcome to come play, the spawn of Satan is not allowed to come back.
Should this situation ever come up again, and I'm sure it will, I will remember the lesson I learned today. And I will send them to play at someone else's house.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Monday, November 25, 2013
I Can't Make This Stuff Up!
Let me start off by saying this post will probably have a little TMI and I'll go as easy on the details as I can. A few weeks ago I had to go to the ER. I had been in pain for about a week and the doctor at UTC and the doctor at my regular physician's office wrote my pain off rather quickly as being a kidney stone. Now, I understand that I do not have the medical expertise they do, but I do have the expertise of my own body. I knew, just knew that I had another ovarian cyst. I've had that pain many times over the years and have even had surgery to remove the little bastards and I was pretty certain another one had invaded my space. So Saturday night when I could no longer stand upright I had Ryan take me to the hospital.
Side note- if you've never experienced this type of pain, I do not wish it upon you. If I could have reached inside myself and pulled out my own ovary I would have. Guys, the best way I can describe this to you is this; grab your nuts, pull down hard, and then twist it like you were a little kid on a swing set. You know how you would twist the chains so that when you stopped twisting you would spin out of control? This is like the twisting never ends. End note.
We arrive at the ER and I get taken back fairly quickly. This gave me false hope that this would be an easy peasy, in and out visit. Obviously I'm a dumbass for thinking this. I get back into my "room"(no walls, just curtains) and get as comfy as I can on the bed. As much as the hospital sucks, the blankets they give you that feel like they're straight out of the dryer are freaking awesome. One painful iv and a glorious shot of morphine later and I'm starting to feel a little bit of relief. The drunk asshole in the space next to me is complaining because someone brought him spicy mustard instead of regular, don't these nurses know how to do their jobs?! He's on my last nerve and I'm ready to scream when the doctor comes in. I shit you not, when I read his name tag I thought I was really high.
His name was Dr. Doctor.
If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have enjoyed that little tidbit a lot more in the moment. When that is your name is there really another choice for a profession? That's a shit ton of pressure for someone to live up to! It's not like he could have been a janitor with that name. And I failed to mention that my nurse was a man who had the most magnificent head of hair I've ever seen. It was long and silver. Not gray. Silver. Like a fucking unicorn's mane. If Ryan hadn't been there to confirm everything for me I would have sworn I was hallucinating.
I'm finally at a moment where the pain has subsided, I'm comfortable and Ryan and I are trying to sleep for a bit while we wait for Dr. Doctor to come back and let us know what was going on. Then, the jackass from the bed next to me peeks between the curtain to ask if I had a cigarette.
What. the. fuck?
Who does that??? First he was bitching about mustard and now he wants a cigarette? If he had known they were giving me morphine in my iv he probably would have ripped it out of my arm. I managed to tell him no but I'm pretty sure my face was saying" Die, asshole!!"
After seven very long hours in the ER my suspicions are confirmed and I do, in fact, have a cyst. Dr. Doctor gave me an actual diagnosis and I am on my way to feeling better. I'm in no hurry to ever go to the ER again, but if I have to go, I hope it's as humorous as this trip has been.
Side note- if you've never experienced this type of pain, I do not wish it upon you. If I could have reached inside myself and pulled out my own ovary I would have. Guys, the best way I can describe this to you is this; grab your nuts, pull down hard, and then twist it like you were a little kid on a swing set. You know how you would twist the chains so that when you stopped twisting you would spin out of control? This is like the twisting never ends. End note.
We arrive at the ER and I get taken back fairly quickly. This gave me false hope that this would be an easy peasy, in and out visit. Obviously I'm a dumbass for thinking this. I get back into my "room"(no walls, just curtains) and get as comfy as I can on the bed. As much as the hospital sucks, the blankets they give you that feel like they're straight out of the dryer are freaking awesome. One painful iv and a glorious shot of morphine later and I'm starting to feel a little bit of relief. The drunk asshole in the space next to me is complaining because someone brought him spicy mustard instead of regular, don't these nurses know how to do their jobs?! He's on my last nerve and I'm ready to scream when the doctor comes in. I shit you not, when I read his name tag I thought I was really high.
His name was Dr. Doctor.
If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have enjoyed that little tidbit a lot more in the moment. When that is your name is there really another choice for a profession? That's a shit ton of pressure for someone to live up to! It's not like he could have been a janitor with that name. And I failed to mention that my nurse was a man who had the most magnificent head of hair I've ever seen. It was long and silver. Not gray. Silver. Like a fucking unicorn's mane. If Ryan hadn't been there to confirm everything for me I would have sworn I was hallucinating.
I'm finally at a moment where the pain has subsided, I'm comfortable and Ryan and I are trying to sleep for a bit while we wait for Dr. Doctor to come back and let us know what was going on. Then, the jackass from the bed next to me peeks between the curtain to ask if I had a cigarette.
What. the. fuck?
Who does that??? First he was bitching about mustard and now he wants a cigarette? If he had known they were giving me morphine in my iv he probably would have ripped it out of my arm. I managed to tell him no but I'm pretty sure my face was saying" Die, asshole!!"
After seven very long hours in the ER my suspicions are confirmed and I do, in fact, have a cyst. Dr. Doctor gave me an actual diagnosis and I am on my way to feeling better. I'm in no hurry to ever go to the ER again, but if I have to go, I hope it's as humorous as this trip has been.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Tis the Season to Burst Some Bubbles
I am having a bit of a dilemma. The kind of moral dilemma that makes me wonder if I would be a bad parent for doing what I'm thinking of doing.
I want to tell my kids there is no Santa.
Before anyone gets all judgy, hear me out. I have some very valid reasons and I think they would benefit from knowing.
My biggest reason is Joshua is almost 11 and he still talks about Santa. Having Autism puts him a few years behind other kids his age on an emotional and maturity level. He has to deal with so much on a daily basis that I don't want him to be made fun of for still believing in old St. Nick. This age can be hard enough without giving someone another reason to kick your ass.
Reason number 2. I'm sick of that fat bastard getting all the credit. Within reason I want to make all my children's Christmas wishes come true. Christmas is a magical time and to keep some of that magic I have subjected myself to bodily harm, mental anguish, and crazy bitches and shopped on Black Friday at 2 in the morning, paid on layaways for 3 months, and shelled out outrageous amounts for express shipping. All of this so on Christmas morning my babies' faces will light up and say "thanks Santa!" Hell, no! I want some of the glory!
Which brings me to my last reason. If I have to hear one more time that if me and Daddy won't buy it they'll just ask Santa, I will fucking scream. They have a lot of wants, I get that, they're kids. But the sooner they learn there are limits the better off their lives will be. Our thing has always been to try our damnedest to get the one thing they reeeeeaaaaalllly want and then some little things to fill out underneath the tree. But this year, everything is a big thing! And big doesn't mean size, I'm talking money wise. Joshua has asked for a few Lego sets that are close to $100 each. Um, no. There are enough Legos in our basement he could probably build an exact replica of the whole house! Natalie has discovered American Girl dolls and I am not even going to go there. The doll itself is $110 and the outfits and accessories are $30 and up. I refuse to spend more on doll clothes than I spend on her clothes. Also, my child the hoarder would lose the doll and all the parts to go with it within a week and that would make my head explode. Maybe when they're older and they can understand that the more expensive the item, the less items under the tree this won't be an issue. But for now we make sure they have an equal number of presents for them to unwrap so there is no bloodshed on the tree skirt.
I don't remember when I realized Santa wasn't a real person. I don't think I asked, more than likely it just passed on by like no big deal. I usually make a bigger deal out of stuff than the kids do anyway. I guess it won't hurt to let one more Christmas season go by and let them believe in Santa Claus. I'll have plenty of years for the glory later.
I want to tell my kids there is no Santa.
Before anyone gets all judgy, hear me out. I have some very valid reasons and I think they would benefit from knowing.
My biggest reason is Joshua is almost 11 and he still talks about Santa. Having Autism puts him a few years behind other kids his age on an emotional and maturity level. He has to deal with so much on a daily basis that I don't want him to be made fun of for still believing in old St. Nick. This age can be hard enough without giving someone another reason to kick your ass.
Reason number 2. I'm sick of that fat bastard getting all the credit. Within reason I want to make all my children's Christmas wishes come true. Christmas is a magical time and to keep some of that magic I have subjected myself to bodily harm, mental anguish, and crazy bitches and shopped on Black Friday at 2 in the morning, paid on layaways for 3 months, and shelled out outrageous amounts for express shipping. All of this so on Christmas morning my babies' faces will light up and say "thanks Santa!" Hell, no! I want some of the glory!
Which brings me to my last reason. If I have to hear one more time that if me and Daddy won't buy it they'll just ask Santa, I will fucking scream. They have a lot of wants, I get that, they're kids. But the sooner they learn there are limits the better off their lives will be. Our thing has always been to try our damnedest to get the one thing they reeeeeaaaaalllly want and then some little things to fill out underneath the tree. But this year, everything is a big thing! And big doesn't mean size, I'm talking money wise. Joshua has asked for a few Lego sets that are close to $100 each. Um, no. There are enough Legos in our basement he could probably build an exact replica of the whole house! Natalie has discovered American Girl dolls and I am not even going to go there. The doll itself is $110 and the outfits and accessories are $30 and up. I refuse to spend more on doll clothes than I spend on her clothes. Also, my child the hoarder would lose the doll and all the parts to go with it within a week and that would make my head explode. Maybe when they're older and they can understand that the more expensive the item, the less items under the tree this won't be an issue. But for now we make sure they have an equal number of presents for them to unwrap so there is no bloodshed on the tree skirt.
I don't remember when I realized Santa wasn't a real person. I don't think I asked, more than likely it just passed on by like no big deal. I usually make a bigger deal out of stuff than the kids do anyway. I guess it won't hurt to let one more Christmas season go by and let them believe in Santa Claus. I'll have plenty of years for the glory later.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Tales of a Holiday Geek-Chapter 2
Ahh, November. There is a chill in the air, the leaves are falling and the first of my favorite holidays is behind us. I did manage to find a Velma costume and if I do say so myself, jinkies! I looked good in it. On November 1st all the Halloween candy at the stores were marked down, Christmas music was playing on the radio and I saw an ad that proudly proclaimed that Santa would make his grand entrance at the mall on Saturday the 9th at 9 a.m. Now, I have been told that I am a "Christmasphile" and it is true. My dream is to have my house decorated in a way that would put the Griswold's to shame. But fear not! I have not forgotten about Thanksgiving. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, and all the posts I'm seeing on Facebook, here are some things I am thankful for.
1. The obvious-my family, health, happiness, shelter, etc. If you're not thankful for those things you're a massive tool.
2. My job. As much as I dislike it I am thankful I have one. It could be a lot worse and then I would have real reasons to bitch, not just ones that are funny.
3. Diet Coke, ipods, and earbuds. They make it so much easier to get through the day at said job.
4. Fat pants. You know the ones I'm talking about. You keep them hidden in the back of the closet or buried under a pile of crap in the dresser but when you dig them out and put them on, all is right with the world. And this is the time of year that it is crucial to have a good pair of fat pants!
5. Hair dye-not just because I am obsessed with changing the color to suit my mood, but because I've had gray hair since I was 16!! Gotta keep that shit covered.
6. My height- I never have to duck, I can easily hide if the need ever arises, and I can stretch out on my couch and not be cramped. Take that, growth spurt that ended at 5 feet 2 inches!
7. Reruns of "Friends". That show never gets old. Could it BE any funnier???
8. Trader Joe's Cookie Butter. Best. Stuff. Ever.
9. The fact that while my temper is short and my comebacks are quick, it really takes a lot to make me angry. I'm easily annoyed, not easily angered. Big difference.
10. Friends. I've noticed lately that most of the people I'm friends with now are people I have known forever. New friends are great, but people who not only know your history but lived it with you, are irreplaceable. I'm thankful for all of them.
Much love y'all :)
1. The obvious-my family, health, happiness, shelter, etc. If you're not thankful for those things you're a massive tool.
2. My job. As much as I dislike it I am thankful I have one. It could be a lot worse and then I would have real reasons to bitch, not just ones that are funny.
3. Diet Coke, ipods, and earbuds. They make it so much easier to get through the day at said job.
4. Fat pants. You know the ones I'm talking about. You keep them hidden in the back of the closet or buried under a pile of crap in the dresser but when you dig them out and put them on, all is right with the world. And this is the time of year that it is crucial to have a good pair of fat pants!
5. Hair dye-not just because I am obsessed with changing the color to suit my mood, but because I've had gray hair since I was 16!! Gotta keep that shit covered.
6. My height- I never have to duck, I can easily hide if the need ever arises, and I can stretch out on my couch and not be cramped. Take that, growth spurt that ended at 5 feet 2 inches!
7. Reruns of "Friends". That show never gets old. Could it BE any funnier???
8. Trader Joe's Cookie Butter. Best. Stuff. Ever.
9. The fact that while my temper is short and my comebacks are quick, it really takes a lot to make me angry. I'm easily annoyed, not easily angered. Big difference.
10. Friends. I've noticed lately that most of the people I'm friends with now are people I have known forever. New friends are great, but people who not only know your history but lived it with you, are irreplaceable. I'm thankful for all of them.
Much love y'all :)
Monday, November 4, 2013
Little Sister, The Protector
When I was pregnant with our second child and we found out we were having a girl, I was elated. It wasn't because I felt we needed a girl to complete our family. My husband and I would have been happy with two boys. I was excited for her because I always wanted a big brother. As the oldest with two younger sisters I used to dream of having an older brother who would be my protector. Natalie was going to be a very lucky girl because Joshua was going to be an awesome big brother.
He was never jealous of her, not for a minute. While I was pregnant I would touch my belly and tell Joshua that inside was his baby. She was always his baby. He called her "Natty Bit Bit" because at two years old Natalie Elizabeth was quite the mouthful. He was always ready to bring a bottle or a toy to her if she cried. He loved to snuggle and give her kisses. Joshua was great at taking care of his little sister. As they grew up it became clear that Natalie would help take care of Joshua.
Natalie never knew anything was different because to her Joshua was just "Joshie". Sure he did things that might be odd but she didn't see them that way because he had always done them. Things really changed when Joshua was in the third grade and Natalie was in first. Third grade was by far the worst year for him because that is when the bullying began. He would cry in the morning when he had to get out of the car, and he would cry every night that he didn't want to go back the next day. The time came when we had to sit down with Natalie and explain what Autism meant and what it meant for her as Joshua's sister.
We told her that some kids are really cruel and they think it's funny to tease kids who are different. Natalie is a sensitive kid, but she is tough as nails. She won't stand for anyone to get picked on. We told her she needed to look out for her big brother. If she saw him getting teased or bullied it was her job to find a grown up who could help. She even had our full permission to clobber anyone who was being mean to him. She maybe had one or two questions and that was it. She nodded her head, said ok, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she would take her new job very seriously. I'm sure that to some degree Natalie knew what to do before we even told her. They are just that close.
It has been two years since that conversation and as Joshua gets older he is beginning to take up for himself more. Natalie is never too far behind, ready to go if needed. I am so thankful for the bond they share. As long as Joshie and Natty Bit Bit have each other, everything will be fine.
He was never jealous of her, not for a minute. While I was pregnant I would touch my belly and tell Joshua that inside was his baby. She was always his baby. He called her "Natty Bit Bit" because at two years old Natalie Elizabeth was quite the mouthful. He was always ready to bring a bottle or a toy to her if she cried. He loved to snuggle and give her kisses. Joshua was great at taking care of his little sister. As they grew up it became clear that Natalie would help take care of Joshua.
Natalie never knew anything was different because to her Joshua was just "Joshie". Sure he did things that might be odd but she didn't see them that way because he had always done them. Things really changed when Joshua was in the third grade and Natalie was in first. Third grade was by far the worst year for him because that is when the bullying began. He would cry in the morning when he had to get out of the car, and he would cry every night that he didn't want to go back the next day. The time came when we had to sit down with Natalie and explain what Autism meant and what it meant for her as Joshua's sister.
We told her that some kids are really cruel and they think it's funny to tease kids who are different. Natalie is a sensitive kid, but she is tough as nails. She won't stand for anyone to get picked on. We told her she needed to look out for her big brother. If she saw him getting teased or bullied it was her job to find a grown up who could help. She even had our full permission to clobber anyone who was being mean to him. She maybe had one or two questions and that was it. She nodded her head, said ok, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she would take her new job very seriously. I'm sure that to some degree Natalie knew what to do before we even told her. They are just that close.
It has been two years since that conversation and as Joshua gets older he is beginning to take up for himself more. Natalie is never too far behind, ready to go if needed. I am so thankful for the bond they share. As long as Joshie and Natty Bit Bit have each other, everything will be fine.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Oh Yeah, Mama's Still Got It
A very interesting thing happened to me the other night. Something so interesting and unexpected my first reaction was a big old belly laugh.
I got hit on. Not only did I get hit on, the person who did it thought I was 23!! (I have to give major props to wrinkle cream, eye gel, concealer, genetics and a really great Facebook profile pic for that one) Nevertheless, it provided this old girl with an ego boost.
Before I go any further I will say that Ryan tells me all the time that I'm beautiful and I know he means it. I appreciate all his compliments but sometimes it feels good to be noticed by others.
It started with a comment I responded to on my sister's Facebook page. Her friend commented back and also added "btw, Heather, you are a smoking hot chick. kudos." Like I said, my first reaction was to laugh. Smoking hot? Me? Cute? Yes. Hilarious? Yes. Hot? Only in August on a day with 100% humidity. My second reaction was to scroll back through the comments to see if there was another Heather. Surprisingly there was not. So I told him thanks for making an old lady's day. That is when he said I couldn't be more than 23. My head was swelling to epic proportions now. Luckily for the youngster who was showering me with sweet talk, Ryan is past the jealous stage in our relationship and was as much amused by this as I was. The poor kid was mortified when he realized I was married and was very apologetic to Ryan for hitting on me and it made the whole situation even more amusing.
Now I'm sure that had my sweet talker seen me in person that night, sitting on the couch in my sweats, no makeup and jacked up hairdo he wouldn't have thought I was smokin'. But I have to admit I felt like it. The point is everyone loves to be noticed. It makes you smile bigger, walk with your head held higher and a bit more sass in your ass. Overall, it lets you know that when you think you're getting old and raggedy, Mama's still got it.
I got hit on. Not only did I get hit on, the person who did it thought I was 23!! (I have to give major props to wrinkle cream, eye gel, concealer, genetics and a really great Facebook profile pic for that one) Nevertheless, it provided this old girl with an ego boost.
Before I go any further I will say that Ryan tells me all the time that I'm beautiful and I know he means it. I appreciate all his compliments but sometimes it feels good to be noticed by others.
It started with a comment I responded to on my sister's Facebook page. Her friend commented back and also added "btw, Heather, you are a smoking hot chick. kudos." Like I said, my first reaction was to laugh. Smoking hot? Me? Cute? Yes. Hilarious? Yes. Hot? Only in August on a day with 100% humidity. My second reaction was to scroll back through the comments to see if there was another Heather. Surprisingly there was not. So I told him thanks for making an old lady's day. That is when he said I couldn't be more than 23. My head was swelling to epic proportions now. Luckily for the youngster who was showering me with sweet talk, Ryan is past the jealous stage in our relationship and was as much amused by this as I was. The poor kid was mortified when he realized I was married and was very apologetic to Ryan for hitting on me and it made the whole situation even more amusing.
Now I'm sure that had my sweet talker seen me in person that night, sitting on the couch in my sweats, no makeup and jacked up hairdo he wouldn't have thought I was smokin'. But I have to admit I felt like it. The point is everyone loves to be noticed. It makes you smile bigger, walk with your head held higher and a bit more sass in your ass. Overall, it lets you know that when you think you're getting old and raggedy, Mama's still got it.
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