Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Please don't pee in the pompas grass.

There are some things you should never have to say to your children. That title? I said that yesterday.


To both of my sons.

And have forever scarred the neighbor's precious little girl who despite having an older brother, has never seen a boy drop it and whiz in public.

Truthfully, I was secretly proud that he knew to use the bushes instead of the middle of the yard like he usually does. (That's called progress, yo.)

But at the same time, I think a little part of me was worried about the therapy bill that my dear friends will incur when that same little girl grows up.

Maybe she'll at least give Deuce a cool name in her memoirs.

Friday, September 18, 2009

This one will be chapter 17 when I write my parenting handbook.

Today was yet another test-filled adventure day! Apparently, the neurologist is a bit more concerned about the heartbeat sound in my ear than I am. Truthfully, it's been there for two years now and I use it as a measure to determine my stress level.

To be quite honest, having your heart beating in one ear and the other one making you dizzy, it's like a really bad date...possibly one involving roofies.

But, they just won't take no for an answer when you go in with something weird. So, off for the CT we went! But of course, I won't know anything for days, probably.

Good times...

Between that and the MRI's, (yes, that is plural. We're talking about FOUR here. FOUR. I'm going to owe the GDP of some small country by the time this crap is over) I've spent more time inside of donuts than I would ever care to admit.

But at least it's not going to my thighs.


The best part of today's trip actually had nothing to do with all of that. It was one of these pivotal moments in the parenthood experience when you realize, 'that one? He's not marching to the beat of a different drummer; he's his own one-man band.'

I got to my neighbor's to pick the boys and she's frantically running through the house, "Where's Bonus?! We can't find Bonus! We've been looking for him and he's no where to be found!"

Fortunately, upon driving in the neighborhood, I noticed that my garage door was open and the dog was no longer in the house. Two tale-tale signs that Bonus was home. We live a block from each other and you can see my house from hers so it's not like it's a long trek. I grabbed Deuce and stomped home.

Bonus was home. He was sitting on the couch, with a bag of tortilla chips and a bottle of water, watching cartoons with his dog by his side.

Me:  (In a not-so-subdued tone) "DUDE! What are you doing?!"

Bonus: (As if I had just asked him about the weather) "I'm watching TV and eating a snack." (Duh, mom.)

Me: (Still not-so-subdued) "Why did you leave Shishi's?! You can't just leave!"

Him: "I was hungry and decided I wanted some chips."

Where do you go with that one? I honestly didn't have an answer for that response. We did have a long lecture on stranger-danger and all of that and at the end he informed me that he's a good jumper.

So I told him that I liked Cheetos, too.

I think it went well.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Your Daily Deuce

Deuce has always been the one to make the strangest correlations, but the past two days he has truly surpassed all the others.

Deuce: "Momma, I finished my nap."

Me: "Um, why are you naked?"

Deuce: "Because my bed was wet."

Me: "You peed your bed?"

Deuce: "I don't know. I was asleep and it got peed on."

Me: "Okay, go take your sheets off and I'll get you some shorts."


Me: "Then you better learn how to wash your own clothes, cause you'll be changing them a lot."

Deuce: "I'll go naked, but thanks mom."


Deuce: "My tummy ache is the kind that burns your eyes."

Me: "Your tummy hurts so bad, it makes your eyes burn?"

Deuce: "No. It's like that bad shampoo. It's a eye-burning, tummy ache."

Me: *


Deuce: "Daddy, we're all out of butt cream!"

Dorkfish: "Dude, you don't wear diapers anymore. You don't need butt cream."

Deuce: "We! Need! Butt! Cream! When I turn five, I'm going to grow a mustache, go to the store and buy butt cream by myself."

Now tell me that he won't be living in my basement forever...

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Martha Schmartha

It's not often that I share my domestic goddess side in this space. After all, no one comes here to feel inferior for their own lack of cleaning abilities.

Parenting, yes.


But seriously, it's generally not me who keeps this place in tip-top shape. After all, I've got you guys to think about. Where would you get your daily weekly dose of funny if I was too busy scrubbing the shower?!

However, yesterday, I cleaned. By "cleaned" I mean tooth-brush-in-the-grout scrubbing. (Which by the way, is far more painful than I had imagined; and by "imagined" I mean threatened by my mom when I refused to clean my bathroom.)

You will never guess my realization during this detoxifying experience....

A.) Apparently, simply using your shower DAILY will not keep it as clean as one might imagine. Also, the soap you're bathing with does not actually clean it. Shocking, I KNOW!

B.) Dr. Bronner's Magic Pure Castile soap that was so popular in the 'hippie day's' really cleans well! (I couldn't find where Dorkfish hid all the chemicals from the kids. Hush.) Anyhoo, the peppermint scented one actually makes me feel like I'm not only getting everything clean, but am getting in the Christmas spirit as well.

*aside: Do NOT scratch anywhere near your eyes while using peppermint soap...jes' sayin'.

C.) Adding baking soda to Dr. Bronner's will make such a powerful cleaning agent that you don't need to use much effort! Baking soda, people. Apparently that isn't just for sitting in the back of your fridge. (I've heard rumors that people use it for cooking, or something.)

D.) (And here's a biggie for me.) The grout lines? Apparently, they should stay white... First of all, who thought of making something that is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to keep clean, white? Really? It's like making an appliance that forces food to heat from the inside out and NOT MAKING IT SELF-CLEANING?! Oh, wait, been there too...

But back to the grout...did you KNOW those weren't actually hypercolor?!

*OH, and by the way, I was in no way compensated for mentioning the above products. Anyone who reads this blog and decided I'd be a good candidate for cleaning or cooking supplies needs more help than I do.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Yes, Neighbor, I ALWAYS Pick It Up. I Promise.

Every morning I get a 'good morning' email from Dorkfish since he leaves for work at that 'if you wake me, I'll put arsenic in your soup' hour of the morning.

This morning, he was late. I emailed him and got this as a reply:

Dorkfish: Took Molly for a walk this morning. She pooped three times and I didn’t have a bag…once across from Scott’s driveway, once in empty lot 137 in phase 2 and once in phase 3.  I think she feels better.

(Romantic, right?)

Me: (Terrified someone saw our dog poop in their yard and KNEW it was us being the neighborly sort) Are any of those poops in a location where I need to go retrieve them this morning?

Him: Ohhh if you are out and about….might want to pick up the one across from Scott’s drive and lot 137 (first one on the right when you enter phase 2).   It was early, they can’t pin it on me.

Me: A.) Who's Scott?
B.) No way in hell.

Him: A.) Who's Scott?  Next to Jennifer
B.) No way in hell.  Oh come on….

Me: Was it in A YARD or an empty lot?

Him: Lot next to the house your dad liked.  It is going to rain, I wouldn’t worry to much about it.

Me: Wow. So just to clarify, your first 'good morning sweetie' email is to ask me to pick up three piles of dog shit on vacant lots?
It's like you don't even know me sometimes.

Him: No, it was remarkable that molly pooped that much…you just asked…I said, if you were out and about…then you were all like…”don’t ask me to pick up poop”

Me: Of COURSE I was all like "don't ask me to pick up poop".
And no, I did not ask about our dog's bowels. I asked why I hadn't gotten an email from you...
That's it. I'm not making the bed now.

Me: And now google is telling me where to find biodegradable poop bags.
It's like the world is against me.

Him: I hope your day improves from here…now where to go butt up.

I feel sorry for your coworkers.

Him: I ran for a little ways this morning and I am not crippled.

Me: Huh, I figured you left the poop because your knees were too old to bend.

Him: Nope..too old to remember a bag.

Me: Touché.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

What Do You Do for a Drunken Sailor?

You make them walk the plank.

No, I am not joking here. I spent an hour at the physical therapists office today learning how to train my brain to recognize that my ear is jacked.

I wish I was kidding.

Basically, these exercises consist of sobriety tests such as standing with one foot in front of the other with your eyes closed. Easy, right? I fell over almost immediately. In another one, I stare at a letter taped to the wall and turn my head side-to-side as fast as possible. Tell me THAT doesn't make you want to hurl.

The hope is that after six weeks of this "therapy", I will no longer be dizzy.

In the mean time, let's hope I don't get pulled over since we KNOW I'll fail that one.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Humpty Dumpty Slipped on a Car

Remember when I told you all about Deuce's little "slip on a hotwheels car" that ended with him in a full leg cast? Maybe you remember me mentioning that he's STILL LIMPING? Yeah, so I got a second opinion from CARY ORTHOPAEDICS a place I won't mention on here so I don't trash the reputation of their DR. ANDERSEN unnamed physician.

This DR.ANDERSEN unnamed physician came *this close* to getting a good ole' fashioned can of whoopass opened in his office last week. He all but patted me on the head and sent me on my way for being a CONCERNED parent and WORRYING that my son might have an injury to his GROWTH PLATE which can cause the leg to STOP GROWING. (I'm such a worrier.) This DR. ANDERSEN unnamed physician even had the nerve to go so far as to suggest that my three year old was FAKING IT.

I wish I was kidding here.

He said, "I bet if you watch him out of the corner of your eye, you'll see him run on it."

"REALLY, DR. ANDERSEN Mr. Unnamed Doctor?! Because when the child lays down in the middle of the playground CRYING because he can't run and jump with the other kids, it makes me think he MIGHT NOT BE FAKING IT," was my calm response.

But I'm no physician.

So yesterday, I loaded him up in the car and drove him to a pediatric orthopedist. (Right now is when you're saying, "Well, DUH, Amo. Why didn't you do that in the first damn place?!" I didn't because I trusted that a orthopedic clinic as large as CARY ORTHOPAEDICS the one in Cary, would the thorough.) WRONG.

The physician, that I will name because he was so damn awesome, Dr. Henderson, put my mind at ease by coming to recognize the thing I've been asking all along..."Maybe it's in the hip?"

He did x-rays on the foot and hip and found that the head of his femur has a flat spot on the top of it on that leg; which may or may not have anything to do with it. He also had them run blood work on him to check for any sort of diseases that could cause the limp. Then, he did the UNTHINKABLE...he took five minutes out of his busy day to sit down with a concerned mother and explain to her that he will do everything in his power to find out why her son is limping.

Did you hear that? I think the sky just fell.

Do I know what's wrong with my son? No. Is he still limping after carting his happy-ass over an hour away? Yes. Do I feel any better even though he's still limping and I have no clue why? Abso-freaking-lutely.

Someone who doesn't know my child is doing what they spent YEARS in school to learn. Someone who doesn't know my family cares enough to bring us peace.

But you know what? Most importantly, someone listened to me.

Whether the limp is something serious or it miraculously disappears on it's own, I can rest, knowing that it is in the hands of someone who cares.

Thank you, Dr. Henderson, for your kindness.

Deuce, momma's working to get you fixed.

But I'm still calling you 'peg leg'.

Oh, and those THREE HOURS I spent with you at the museum yesterday? That makes us even for all the bad-mommy moments I've had over the last three years.