Get The Ladder D-Von!

I've done some incredibly stupid things in my life.  Once, when I was 5 or so I decided that I was going to make my 'rents laugh so hard that they'd have no choice but to commission a parade in my honor.  Ever watched Dumb & Dumber?  There's this scene where Lloyd (Jim Carrey) imagines that he shows up to Mary Swanson's house with her missing briefcase and in celebration & thanks her family invites him in for tea and strumpets.  They are all sitting by the fireplace in oversized sweaters, cozy & warm, watching Lloyd do incredibly funny things with a lighter and a fart.  They all love him.  Yeah - that's kinda how I thought this would be.  My aunt Joyce was in from Tennessee.  My mum didn't get to see her often.  So they were all sitting around the fire in the living room, looking at old photographs and talking about the good ole days.  I was in the dining room rummaging through my mum's sewing box that was left on the table.  Looking through her things was one of my favorite pastimes.  In my adventure (In my head it was an archaeological dig) I came across this lone button.  It was safely housed in a tiny, ziploc baggie.  I opened the bag and took the small, red button out and the cogs started turning in my head.  How can I use this little treasure to insight riotous laughter into the family in the next room?  Ah - With my NOSE!  The thought was that I can take this button, place it in the opening of my nostril, cover the other nostril and blow that button out so hard that it goes flying across the room.  They will love me.  The flaw in this glorious plan was that I breathed in really hard so that I could exhale really hard.  Can you guess where the button went? 

There was no laughter.  Only fear, panic, some words inappropriate for a young child's ears and a disbursement of the crowd.  I was scooped up into my mum's arms and placed in the car.  My dad put on his jacket and got his keys.  Off we went to the Emergency Room.  Some time later I was prepped for surgery.  The red button had made it's way into my sinus cavity and could not be reached with tweezers.  We departed the hospital just in time for my Aunt to fly back to Tennessee.  She died about 6 months later.  I decided that I wouldn't try that again any time soon.  I went on to commit some other interesting acts of stupidity - Tweezers into the electrical outlet no less than two times, feeding my friend real mud pies, washing my 'rents antique, wooden bedroom suite with Ajax, dropping my newborn sister on her ginormous head....  The list could go on!

A few years ago, Ex Douchebag & I decided to resurrect a notoriously violent wrestling promotion.  He has an affinity for certain brands of hardcore wrestling - namely tables, ladders & chairs (TLC Matches).  I've often feared for his life in the hundreds upon hundreds of matches I witnessed.  Only once have I ever walked out of a show  He was climbing a ladder when it started to sway and subsequently fell over.  He got tangled in the ropes and I couldn't tell you what happened after that.  I left.  He went on to participate in quite a few more of these nauseating matches that terrified me to the core.    The day of the show he purchased an ugly, aluminum, yellow, 6ft ladder.  I watched helplessly as he climbed to the top and our friend, knocked him off.  Repeatedly.  This ladder bent and folded and opened and closed.... Generally, you don't want to re-use those ladders after they take that type of abuse.  When Ex Douchebag & I split up and I moved out of our home I left many of his things behind, mostly his old weapons - a table, a folding chair, trashcans.  He was supposed to go pick those things up.   But for some reason I couldn't leave that hideous ladder behind.  Not sure why, it's not like I can use the derned thing.  I have zero intentions of ever using a ladder for anything at any time.  If I can't stand on a chair then I don't need it.

Well - I ate my words today.  This morning was going so well.  I got up on time, got the kids dressed and ready, got The Middle Son to an appointment on time (a first!) and was generally in an incredible mood.  Pulled into the driveway, unloaded The Middle Son & The Youngest Boy and proceeded to rouse a slumbering Mini-Me.  The boys sat on the chairs on the front porch to wait.  I decided to just give them my keys so they could get out of the heat.  As a Public Service Announcement - I can't throw.  Unless I'm REALLY angry.  Throwing like a girl is an understatement.  With my left hand I went to toss The Middle Son my house/car keys.  And as if on purpose - my keys sailed through the blue sky right smack dab onto my roof and trailed down into the gutter.

You've got to be kidding me.  Really?  Landing in the bushes I can understand and even expect.  Hell - landing 823 feet from the intended target would normally be the result.  Not today.  Today they land on the roof.  I can't decide to laugh or cry.  So I laughed.  And then reality started to creep it's way up my spine.  Oh no.  How am I going to get them down?  There's no chair tall enough to reach my roof.  I am a towering 5'1".  This cannot be really happening, right?  Alan Funt is about to pop out any second and point out the multiple hidden cameras and explain how they used a superpowered magnet to set me up.... How'd they know I always keep a spare house key on my person at all times?

My only option is to dig that unreliable ladder out of the garage and retrieve my keys from what I am sure is a slimy, filthy gutter.  I'm envisioning worms, maggots and the full menu from Fear Factor in there.  After I instructed The Oldest to mail my updated life insurance policy which happened to be sitting on the computer desk in the event that I fell - I headed to the garage.  Bravely I got the ladder to the front of the house.  I can see where it's been bent and damaged from the last time it was used.  Joe Rogan is somewhere behind me telling me not to throw up.  Quickly I climb one rung at a time until I reach the point of no return.  I feel around and cannot locate my keys.  I have to take another step.  If I fall it's really going to hurt.  I spy my Wonder Woman keychain, grab her feet and pull her towards me.  Shockingly, it's clean in there!  But I'm not going to risk standing there examining any more of it!  Got down and away without injury or incident.

I won't be throwing my keys again though.  Ever.

Motherhood - Only The Strong Survive

I wrote this quite a while ago..........


(Here I go again.  For the 4th time)
Here are a few things I want to say about Motherhood.


1.  I do not want to be urinated, defecated, snotted, vomitted, spit or farted on.  It's a thing I have about not wanting DISGUSTING touching me.  So why can't they all aim the other way?


2.  Sleep.  Sleep is meant to be done in consecutive hours and until you are rested.  I would like to engage in this activity.  I sleep in 1.5 hour increments.  Sleep is imperative to my functionability, ability to get through the day, and overall mood and demeanor.  Want me to be nicer?  Let me sleep.  For at least 5 hours.  Please?  Also, pee or vomit in your own bed.  Why?  Because it is easier to change your sheets.  Toddler bed/crib mattress vs. Queen sized bed with memory foam mattress pad at 3 am?  I'll pick the little ones please.


3.  I don't want to use the toilet to an audience.  When I pee - picture it - I have to pee, wipe while keeping the tp away from the baby then stand up, flush and pull my pants up all simultaneously then quickly land a foot on top of the toilet to keep baby hands out of the pot.  Also, wait to ask me life's important questions until I am out of the bathroom.  Don't sit outside of the door asking the following:  What am I doing, when am I going to be done, can I change the channel, can you watch a movie, can you have a snack, where the remote is, where your shoes are, or tell me that you have to pee.  We have 2 bathrooms - utilize that!


4.  Food.  Your food belongs in your mouth.  Where food does NOT belong:  In your brothers hair, on the floor, in the carpet, in the bathroom, in the basket of clean laundry, in the printer, on the computer, on the tv, behind or underneath the furniture, in or on the couch cushions, in your bedroom, on the stairs or in the hallway.  Here are a list of things that are not food products for your eating pleasure:  Change, band aids, baby wipes, pens, pencils, markers, my contact case, my glasses, eye drops, anything in my make-up bag, toilet paper, anything that you have in your toy box and cat food. 


5.  I am not a mind read, code talker, translator or Steven Hawking.  I cannot understand what you are saying mid squelch.  Take 5 then tell me what atrocity your brother committed.  Breathe before you try to explain what toy you just stepped on that I have asked you to pick up 100 times already.  Calm down.  I'd have better luck deciphering Lassie's bark then what a child is saying while screaming.


6.  List of things that your brother is not:  Invisible, invincible, immortal, a battering ram, a trampoline, a gun to shoot any substance or object, a slinky, a gymnast, Superman, Freddy Kreuger, balance beam, home gym, remote control, robot, animals of any sort, target practice, punching bag or object of revenge. 


7.  I am not really Wonder Woman. Seriously, I have only one head, heart and brain.  Freakishly I was born deformed for motherhood.  I came with only 2 arms, 2 legs, 2 ears and 1 body.  I have to make due with what God gave me.  Unlike Ben's mom I can't be in two places at once, part the Red Sea or pull baked goods from any of my orafices.  You'll have to survive on what I am.  Sorry. 


8.  Showering is my 10 minutes alone.  Keep it that way.  Crying outside of the bathroom door is annoying.  Stop it.  Don't bother me unless the house is on fire.  At least I will have the water to douse the fire with.  Go annoy your father.  he doesn't get a fraction of it that I do.  Go punish him for a few minutes.


9.  The television gets more than Disney, Noggin, Cartoon Network and the Sci Fi Channel.  It will not explode if your mother takes control of the remote.


10.  Most of all, I love my kids more than anything in the world.  I wouldn't trade them for anything.  Even when they go on haircut strikes, wear clothes that not only don't match but don't even fit, tell me that I can't dance or sing and to be normal in front of their friends, explain to teachers that they are going to need years of therapy after being raised by us, pull my hair, tell me they hate me and commit the above offenses repeatedly and without remorse.  They are still my babies and I wouldn't have it any other way.