Sushi is my favorite food. Around my 30th birthday Ex Douchebag took me to a fabulous little sushi place and I immediately fell in love. Up to that point it was macaroni & cheese (which still holds a very dear spot in my heart). Not just any mac n cheese. Had to be Kraft. With the powdered cheese packet and a little too much milk. Mmmmmm........ heaven. Don't get me wrong - Alton Brown makes an immaculate mac & cheese. I use that for things like carry ins, potlucks or when I'm in the mood to gain 57 pounds.
When you become a parent you soon realize that eating is going to be a spectator sport. I prepare it. I plate it. I watch it fly in large quantities all over the table, floor, children's faces..... Then I clean it. Sometimes, if I am really lucky - I get to partake. I just don't have time. As I sit here with no kids and my pintos n cheese are getting cold on the table next to me.
Yesterday was one of those "If you can eat it and drive at the same time you'd better do it" days. There were so many things to do that I didn't have time. The final task of the day was to pick the boys up from Vacation Bible School. The kids are so excited to be participating in it and are very enthusiastic about telling me about what they have learned. So last night at 11ish I decided to toss a can of tuna in a bowl (I generally do not eat animals - I make exceptions for evolutionary mishaps such as poultry. Those things have wings they should fly if they don't want to be eaten). To spice it up I toss in a dash of mayo, some sour cream, some oregano & basil and a scoshe of relish for color. I plop down on the couch with my bowl, some wheat thins (the Kroger brand because I'm poor) and my little girl. I share a few bites with Mini-me and she is satisfied with snagging a cracker.
Middle Son and Youngest Boy take this quiet time to tell me what they have learned in this evenings lesson. They made little cross necklaces with colored beads. Each bead color has a meaning and Middle Son is explaining each one to me. Finally he gets to the last ones - hearts. He proceeds to clarify that these were just ones he added just because he liked them. At this point he is now very, very close to me. I have my bowl resting in my hands in front of me so that I can actively listen to what he is telling me. As the words "I Heart Jesus" are passing through his lips a sneeze is passing from his nose. Into. My. Bowl. I scream while watching as his spittle particles are traveling at a high rate of speed right smack dab into my dinner. Part of me is laughing. Part of me is ticked. But all I can do is look at my food in horror. And disgust. And slight contemplation as to whether or not I am going to take another bite. So I yell "YOU JUST 'I HEART JESUS'd" INTO MY DINNER!"
He says, with the most innocent eyes, "You didn't say 'God Bless You" so now you owe me $10."
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Could you Google the number for Poison Control?
As a mother of 3 boys you expect to have to call Poison Control center at least once. Me? Well - my first experience with the1-800-222-1222 was in 1998 when my, then 2 year old, son decided to SUPER GLUE HIS MOUTH SHUT. Normally this wouldn't be a complaint. I was just concerned that he may have to have his stomach pumped or need some kind of IV Fluids. (Cut me a break, I was 20). For your future reference, Super Glue is non-toxic. It takes hours to get hardened super glue out of the teeth of a 2 year old boy, you know, in case it comes up on Jeopardy.
Yesterday started like many do. Mini-Me & I rolled reluctantly out of my smarshmellow soft bed and moseyed down the hall to the living room. Her diaper was excessively full so I took it off and sat her bare behinded onto the floor. Youngest Boy then asked for some breakfast as he and Middle Son were already up and at em viciously fighting over Wii privileges. I proceeded to make a pot of coffee, Youngest Boy's breakfast and sent a particularly snide email to my ex (who went from being a doll to being a complete and total jackhole in a matter of minutes - we will never speak again) all of which took about, I dunno, 12 minutes or less. Mini-Me crawls over to find me and I start to smell the smell of something really smelly. She has pooed a trail from the television to my desk. Roughly 8 feet of my living room is a giant skid mark of 10 month old infant droppings. Greeeeeat. I pick her up, grab a towel, half-assedly wipe up the ooze and make my way to the bathroom. I inform the boys not to answer the door or the phone as I will be showering with the Mini Me since I am now also covered in yuck.
10 minutes later we are squeaky clean! Youngest Boy and Middle Son are continuing their brutal video game argument in their bedroom. I place Mini-Me in their room with them so that I can now mop my living room. Again, I am praising God for hardwood floors! 20 minutes later I have completed the mopping. I think that now I will indulge in that pot of coffee. The night before was so incredibly hard. I smoked a cigarette for the first time since December 2, 2009 and got my drunk on. (Yes, what he did was that bad. If it's possible for a shattered heart to break even more it's been accomplished in my rib cage) I needed to just brush the weekend off and add it to the list of things I've survived in my lifetime. No sooner do I get the fat free french vanilla creamer poured when I hear Middle Son skipping down the hall to tell me that Mini-Me has gotten into the paint.
Before Ex Douchebag's incredibly dastardly misdeeds occurred I was painting my 34 square foot bathroom "Red Geranium". I'm going to paint the trim black, add some brushed nickel fixtures, lay some black & white checked flooring, decorative light switch covers and hang my vintage concert posters - Janis, The Doors, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and Nirvana with my vinyl copies of Men Without Hats, Heart and The Village People. Music is the theme. Red seemed fitting. I didn't realize it was going to take 804 coats of this paint to cover the Pepto Pink that was previously on the walls. So this process has taken no less than 4 days and I'm still not even close to done.
I race down the hall to find my beautiful little girl happily splashing around in blood red paint that is quickly flowing from the overturned can. Apparently I hadn't sealed the lid completely and someone left the bathroom door open. In the 8 seconds it takes her to get from the boys' room to the bathroom doorway she'd managed to pull over the container. (Yes, nominate me for Mother of the Year!) Immediately I pick her up and call for The Oldest to help. I'm not sure which to do first. Toss her into the tub or stop the river of paint from taking over the hardwood floor hallway. Ultimately, it was neither. I asked The Oldest to get his camera. After he took the picture I put her into the tub - diaper & all and start hosing her off. That's when I realize there is a small amount of paint on her mouth. The Oldest comes into the bathroom to keep an eye on Mini - Me while I am scooping up handfuls of paint and pouring them back into the can. Mini-Me is screaming now and paint is seeping into the tiles, under the transition strip, beneath the trim and into the grains of the wood. The Oldest extracts a once again sparkling clean baby girl from the tub and whisks her off to the living room so that I can begin scrubbing.
"Hey [Oldest]" I call from my Cinderella position on the bathroom floor. He says, in a most annoyed voice - "Yes mother". "Could you Google the number for Poison Control?". There I am on my hands and knees scrubbing red paint from the floor dialing Poison Control. I look like Lizzie Bordon (had she really axed her parents). I'm still not even fully dried from my shower of 30 minutes ago. Mark, the RN on the other end of the phone assures me that Mini-Mewill be just fine. She may toss her cookies but she does not need a trip to the ER. I'm relieved. And I need a clone. Or 2. Or 4 - 1 to follow around each kid.
Yesterday started like many do. Mini-Me & I rolled reluctantly out of my smarshmellow soft bed and moseyed down the hall to the living room. Her diaper was excessively full so I took it off and sat her bare behinded onto the floor. Youngest Boy then asked for some breakfast as he and Middle Son were already up and at em viciously fighting over Wii privileges. I proceeded to make a pot of coffee, Youngest Boy's breakfast and sent a particularly snide email to my ex (who went from being a doll to being a complete and total jackhole in a matter of minutes - we will never speak again) all of which took about, I dunno, 12 minutes or less. Mini-Me crawls over to find me and I start to smell the smell of something really smelly. She has pooed a trail from the television to my desk. Roughly 8 feet of my living room is a giant skid mark of 10 month old infant droppings. Greeeeeat. I pick her up, grab a towel, half-assedly wipe up the ooze and make my way to the bathroom. I inform the boys not to answer the door or the phone as I will be showering with the Mini Me since I am now also covered in yuck.
10 minutes later we are squeaky clean! Youngest Boy and Middle Son are continuing their brutal video game argument in their bedroom. I place Mini-Me in their room with them so that I can now mop my living room. Again, I am praising God for hardwood floors! 20 minutes later I have completed the mopping. I think that now I will indulge in that pot of coffee. The night before was so incredibly hard. I smoked a cigarette for the first time since December 2, 2009 and got my drunk on. (Yes, what he did was that bad. If it's possible for a shattered heart to break even more it's been accomplished in my rib cage) I needed to just brush the weekend off and add it to the list of things I've survived in my lifetime. No sooner do I get the fat free french vanilla creamer poured when I hear Middle Son skipping down the hall to tell me that Mini-Me has gotten into the paint.
Before Ex Douchebag's incredibly dastardly misdeeds occurred I was painting my 34 square foot bathroom "Red Geranium". I'm going to paint the trim black, add some brushed nickel fixtures, lay some black & white checked flooring, decorative light switch covers and hang my vintage concert posters - Janis, The Doors, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and Nirvana with my vinyl copies of Men Without Hats, Heart and The Village People. Music is the theme. Red seemed fitting. I didn't realize it was going to take 804 coats of this paint to cover the Pepto Pink that was previously on the walls. So this process has taken no less than 4 days and I'm still not even close to done.
I race down the hall to find my beautiful little girl happily splashing around in blood red paint that is quickly flowing from the overturned can. Apparently I hadn't sealed the lid completely and someone left the bathroom door open. In the 8 seconds it takes her to get from the boys' room to the bathroom doorway she'd managed to pull over the container. (Yes, nominate me for Mother of the Year!) Immediately I pick her up and call for The Oldest to help. I'm not sure which to do first. Toss her into the tub or stop the river of paint from taking over the hardwood floor hallway. Ultimately, it was neither. I asked The Oldest to get his camera. After he took the picture I put her into the tub - diaper & all and start hosing her off. That's when I realize there is a small amount of paint on her mouth. The Oldest comes into the bathroom to keep an eye on Mini - Me while I am scooping up handfuls of paint and pouring them back into the can. Mini-Me is screaming now and paint is seeping into the tiles, under the transition strip, beneath the trim and into the grains of the wood. The Oldest extracts a once again sparkling clean baby girl from the tub and whisks her off to the living room so that I can begin scrubbing.
"Hey [Oldest]" I call from my Cinderella position on the bathroom floor. He says, in a most annoyed voice - "Yes mother". "Could you Google the number for Poison Control?". There I am on my hands and knees scrubbing red paint from the floor dialing Poison Control. I look like Lizzie Bordon (had she really axed her parents). I'm still not even fully dried from my shower of 30 minutes ago. Mark, the RN on the other end of the phone assures me that Mini-Mewill be just fine. She may toss her cookies but she does not need a trip to the ER. I'm relieved. And I need a clone. Or 2. Or 4 - 1 to follow around each kid.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Dear God
Dear God,
Let me start off by saying - I'm sorry for the crappy things I have done. I've made some serious mistakes. I've hurt people that I love. I've broken so many commandments. I've been wrong more times than I can count. I'm imperfect. In the past I've been selfish and self centered. I didn't read my Bible. I didn't go to church. I broke my marriage vows. I've been so angry at Ex Douchebag for leaving me the way he did that I got wrapped up in it. I cannot take back anything I have ever done and I wish I could sometimes. The last year I've been working on getting on the right path. For myself, for my family, for my children.
I remember why I walked away from You. I thought I was left behind. My sisters & I were living in squalor and being raped by a sicko that claimed he was a Christian. In my 8 year old mind I thought that no God that I'd read about would abandon me like that. I'd never done anything wrong. I got straight a's and did everything I was told. I prayed my hardest. Why would You leave a good little girl? Why would You let me hurt. I see now that I was given strength to survive and sense to go forward and go to police. I was given the courage to stand and fight to get out. But back then... well...all I wanted to do was end my own life. The images in my head haunted me and tormented me. I took it out on myself and everyone around me. I swore I'd worship Satan himself before I'd trust You again. I'm sorry. Sincerely.
Now my Middle Son is hurting like I did (for different reasons). He is so much like me that I'm scared for him. His little eyes fill with tears that I cannot stop. Watching your child hurt and knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop it - well You know what I mean. I've tried to reassure him. I've tried to hug him and kiss him and hold him. I've tried therapy. I have tried love. I've tried explaining to his father that this "here one minute, gone the next" attitude is taking a toll on him. He's talked about killing himself. He's talked about hurting others. He's reverted to an infant when I try to talk about the hard stuff. I've spent the last 6 months with Ex Douchebag trying to put our marriage back together because it's what I thought was best for our kids. It's not that he doesn't understand what is going on - it's that he does. Way more than he's been given credit for. Honestly, I think he understands even more than adults do. It's taking it's toll on him. It feels like all I can do is watch.
So God - I'm on my knees in front of the whole world. Help. Make it stop. Fix it. Be with him. My little baby didn't do anything wrong. I did. Ex Douchebag did. Not Middle Son. God please. Just protect my baby from our thoughtless, impulsive and stupid decisions.
Thanks for listening.
Let me start off by saying - I'm sorry for the crappy things I have done. I've made some serious mistakes. I've hurt people that I love. I've broken so many commandments. I've been wrong more times than I can count. I'm imperfect. In the past I've been selfish and self centered. I didn't read my Bible. I didn't go to church. I broke my marriage vows. I've been so angry at Ex Douchebag for leaving me the way he did that I got wrapped up in it. I cannot take back anything I have ever done and I wish I could sometimes. The last year I've been working on getting on the right path. For myself, for my family, for my children.
I remember why I walked away from You. I thought I was left behind. My sisters & I were living in squalor and being raped by a sicko that claimed he was a Christian. In my 8 year old mind I thought that no God that I'd read about would abandon me like that. I'd never done anything wrong. I got straight a's and did everything I was told. I prayed my hardest. Why would You leave a good little girl? Why would You let me hurt. I see now that I was given strength to survive and sense to go forward and go to police. I was given the courage to stand and fight to get out. But back then... well...all I wanted to do was end my own life. The images in my head haunted me and tormented me. I took it out on myself and everyone around me. I swore I'd worship Satan himself before I'd trust You again. I'm sorry. Sincerely.
Now my Middle Son is hurting like I did (for different reasons). He is so much like me that I'm scared for him. His little eyes fill with tears that I cannot stop. Watching your child hurt and knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop it - well You know what I mean. I've tried to reassure him. I've tried to hug him and kiss him and hold him. I've tried therapy. I have tried love. I've tried explaining to his father that this "here one minute, gone the next" attitude is taking a toll on him. He's talked about killing himself. He's talked about hurting others. He's reverted to an infant when I try to talk about the hard stuff. I've spent the last 6 months with Ex Douchebag trying to put our marriage back together because it's what I thought was best for our kids. It's not that he doesn't understand what is going on - it's that he does. Way more than he's been given credit for. Honestly, I think he understands even more than adults do. It's taking it's toll on him. It feels like all I can do is watch.
So God - I'm on my knees in front of the whole world. Help. Make it stop. Fix it. Be with him. My little baby didn't do anything wrong. I did. Ex Douchebag did. Not Middle Son. God please. Just protect my baby from our thoughtless, impulsive and stupid decisions.
Thanks for listening.
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