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."

Deuce: "I WILL NEVER DO THAT. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW HOW TO TAKE THE SHEETS OFF!"

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...

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.

::Snort::

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.

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.

Me: HAR DE HAR.
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.

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.

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.

Kindergarten Ugly

In July, Bonus started kindergarten. To put it nicely, it's been the biggest pain in my ass ever since. It's not the getting him to school, picking him up, packing the dreaded lunches every damn day or the report cards. None of that has pushed me into the liquor cabinet...yet.

It's the attitude.

My neighbor calls it, "Kindergarten Ugly" and describes it as that little bit of ugly that each child has in them that is MAGNIFIED BY TEN HUNDRED BAZILLION THOUSAND when they reach kindergarten.

At first I laughed. Now I'm crying. After all, we know that despite Bonus's best intentions, he has a propensity for violent retaliation.

But this is bad, friends. BBBB.AAAA.DDDD. It's the kind of bad that makes you want to tell everyone that he's really your step son and his father just has no control over him; or make up a disease to justify his actions.

Regardless, it's embarrassing as hell.

Especially when he's calling other kids "stupid", or saying, "I hate girls" to the cutest little blonde you've ever seen, or when the neighbor's kid comes up to where you're sitting with EVERY MOM IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD with scratches down the front of his stomach and is pointing toward your son...that's not embarrassing at all.

But when your precious baby boy gets in trouble for yelling, "STOP IT, DAMMIT" and you're relieved that he didn't yell, "F*CK", you might want to reconsider that Parenting 101 class they asked you to teach...

Apparently Earwigs Don't Cause Dizziness

We are on the verge of what has become the widely-anticipated grand finale of 'What the Hell is Wrong with Amo'.

We have ruled out a brain tumor, aneurysm and now earwigs.

Which is good news.

In other better-than-good-news-and-probably-close-to-FREAKING-AWESOME-NEWS, the ear doctor figured out my dizziness finally!

Normally, I'd cut to the chase and slam down the diagnosis for all of you...but it's my blog and I can play with the climax if I want.

(heh.)

So, the testing required no caffeine or alcohol for 48 hours prior. Okay, (believe it or not) I can handle the 'no alcohol'...for two days, but the NO COFFEE...oh heeeeelllll-to-the-no. It was Ugly. (With a capital U.)

The young, tall, doctor with short, black hair that looked like someone you'd really love to party with and was probably wearing a lab coat to hide the tattoos, was really freaking awesome. She didn't even tell me she was the DOCTOR until we had hit it off and were laughing about the earwig theory. (It sooo could have been earwigs, shut-up.)

She did hours worth of tests, one of which involved cold air blown in your ear and let me tell you, THAT, is not as pleasurable as one might imagine. But, apparently you can recreate the room spinning that is experienced by that test by dripping cold water in someone's ear who's laying down. (Dorkfish, you better sleep with ear plugs, that's all I'm saying.)

All of her medieval torture devices tests resulted in three findings; first, one of my pupils is more constricted than the other which has absolutely nothing to do with the dizziness, but makes me fun at parties in low light. Two, the ocean sound I'm hearing in my left ear has nothing to do with the dizziness but is like have a private party in your head involving coconut rum and cabana boys. Three, my right ear is apparently asleep at the wheel and is 25% slower at recognizing motion than my left and thus, the dizziness.

But the best part of the diagnosis, was explaining that all to my grandmother...

"Amo, it CAN'T be the hairs in your ears causing all the trouble. Your grandfather cuts his all the time and it's not affecting his balance."

*****

In other news, I'm going to open a booth at the state fair doing the water trick. Can you picture the rednecks lined up, daring each other to do it?

Then again, the puke bucket full of beer and corndogs might be a deterrent.