All This for a little Cough...

During Thanksgiving break, we always go to Knoxville to spend it with my family. This past year, the holiday seemed to bring more sickness with it than usual. Bonus, especially, was pretty deep in the throes of a nasty sinus infection. Once we returned to North Carolina, I took him in to the doctor as he just wasn't getting better. Upon examination, the nurse practitioner declared he had asthma gave him a breathing treatment. In total shock, since no one in our immediate family has asthma, I began asking 1,642 questions allatonce. The NP patted my shoulder, as she was pushing me out the door with an inhaler and a 'Welcome to Asthma' booklet, "Listen, we don't have time to go over all this today, but when I see him back in three days I will answer every question."

That? Is not good enough for me.

So, I called the local allergy and asthma specialist who agreed to see him the next morning. This man? Is my hero. For weeks, he would email me daily to inquire on Bonus's daily condition. After months of trips and tests, Bonus has been declared as NOT having asthma. He does, however, have a severe dust mite allergy and has been on Zyrtec and Nasonex daily since January. I have also hired the cleaning fairies to give his room a good scrubbing weekly to knock down the allergens.

I tell you all this to explain this picture:

You see, when we decided that ripping the carpets out and putting down hardwoods was best for Bonus, we decided to do it while we were out of town for a wedding. My job was simply to empty the four bedroom closets, which may or may not have still had boxes in them from our move three years ago... (Said boxes may or may not have contained clothing that only my tiny, gymnast friend Sheshe can wear and also a few maternity outfits.)

Being the skilled procrastinator that I am, I started on my closets Saturday. I will proudly admit that these three huge bags of clothes and big box of shoes is off to be donated! (I may or may not have kept the leather pants and the suede pants, you know, justincase I ever wear an 8 again...)

So today, when they dropped the wood, the Hispanic gentleman explained in broken English that they would return on Wednesday to rip up the carpets....

WEDNESDAY.

We aren't leaving until Friday.

And I have A LOT of BIG, HEAVY, CRAP-LADEN FURNITURE!

And no where to sleep.

And I have to pack.

And make another 3,000 of these:

I have 16 finished.

I may cry.

And I may be using this blog to procrastinate.

I will return...oneday. *sigh*

Gym Anomalies

I have some hilarious gym-based stories to tell you, but first I have to explain what the hell I am doing in a gym...

A few months ago, I decided to finally buck up on my 'getting healthy' plan. I had been lamenting for months to mycowherdingcousinRachael about my weight and how I just needed to find the motivation. She used to do figure competitions and had been giving me pointers on ways to shape up and get healthy, but I had found an excuse for each and every one. You see, I had gotten to the point where my tummy flab, muffin top and cottage-cheese thighs were just another thing to complain about. As we all tend to do with things we do not want to face, I was finding ways to blame it on others, "I gained too much weight with my pregnancies." and "A muffin top is a mom's forever treat!" or "Cellulite is God's way of saying we need more texture in our lives." I was using humor to hide the pain that was my weight gain. Now mind you, I am not severely overweight; I just wasn't happy and knew I was being lazy about it.

The epiphany moment came when Mycowherdingcousin and I were trying on clothes in her favorite store and I said, "Dude. You have GOT to help me lose this weight!" She paused and said, "I would, but I don't know how to motivate you." This struck a chord with me. Not only was I looking for a quick fix, I was being negative when she gave me suggestions. I vowed right there in that dressing room that I was no longer going to make excuses for my body. I was going to either put up or shut up.

That night, I changed my eating habits and found my motivation.

Dorkfish listened to my constant whining occasional suggestions and bought me a fitbit. I named him Sven. In addition to being cute, he holds me accountable for all my activity for the day. He tracks my distance in steps and miles, the number of stairs I've climbed and estimates my calories burned. He is a great little tool for pushing me on the days I don't feel like being pushed! Not to mention, he sends me little messages like "WALK ME AMO" or "VAMOS AMO" and even the occasional "LOVE YA AMO". He is a cutie.

But we all know that in order to lose weight and get healthy, you have to make sure your fuel is good for you too, so I started eating clean. I don't look at this a diet, but rather a 'lifestyle change'. I am not going to get into all the details of it, because honestly no one really cares, but I can tell you that I have seen a HUGE difference in how I feel, my complexion and even my sons' moods. So, there is definitely something to it, in my opinion.

So, to get to the funny part of the story...

I have finally found my way back into the gym. Apparently, paying atonofmoney for a year on a building I never enter, has finally gotten on my nerves. Let me tell you, once you start going on a regular basis, a few things happen:

1. You start to miss it when you don't go and feel bad about yourself.

2. You learn the peak and low times of the gym and when that annoying guy is there.

3. You get better at remembering things. (Like not forgetting your ipod after the time the same old dude insisted on talking to you through your entire workout.)

4. You figure out that if you forget your ipod, the old ear phones in your glove box will be a good deterrent as long as the cord doesn't fall out of your sports bra letting everyone know you don't really have it plugged in.

5. You learn to not get caught staring at people who grunt funny when the lift. The males think you are interested and the females think you are gay.

6. You realize that before and after the water aerobics class is the THEWORST time to go in the locker rooms. Those little old ladies have no shame in their game and aren't scared to let it all flop out, letmetellyou.

*shudder*

On Friday, I went a little later than I usually do and came across a new species at the gym. Weight-Dropping RoidRage guy. This guy is lifting what I can only describe as a bar with plates the size of the rental car they give you when you think 'mid-size' is the Buick your grandmother used to drive but realize it would actually fit in your hall closet and you have four people, a dog and sixteen suitcases to fit in it. IE: A smart car.

Every time RoidRage guy finishes a lift, he drops his weights. Fromkneeheight. Not only does it jar the concrete, but it clangs so loudly that I can hear it over the crappy music Dorkfish put on my ipod that I don't know how to change. (Seriously, Sade?! Who can get motivated listening to that?!) Each time he drops his weights with an audible "UGH", I turn to see who else is offended by this douchecanoe. I get a visual on an eye roll from the old lady on the stationary bike and a shrug from a guy who is twice the size of RoidRage. At my old gym, this sort of behavior was prohibited. If you dropped weights on purpose, you were asked to leave. Realizing that this obviously isn't the policy here, I rehearsed the conversation in my head with the intent of handling this. My speech was going to be, "Um, excuse me. If you have to drop the weights with each rep, MAYBE they are too heavy for you. If you need me to spot you, I will be right over here, NOTDROPPINGWEIGHTS." I removed my headphones twice with the intent of speaking to him when something crossed my mind. If this guy is on steroids, which anyone the size of him would about have to be, then there's a good change he could snap. Considering I am working my legs today, there is nowayinhell I would be able to outrun him... So survival skills kicked in and I vowed to get some Metallica for my ipod.

Suddenly, the hound dogs in shower caps wandering around the locker room after the water aerobics class don't seem so intimidating.

Sucktastic!

Let me begin by admitting a little something to you all. I, am no housekeeper. Honestly, I have never and will never claim to be the 'excellent stay-at-home mom'... My cleaning techniques are much like a college kid who scrubs the floors only when the parent's are coming to visit. (Except exchange 'parents' for 'husband' and you've got me pegged.)

I do cook, though. In fact, I have been cooking some quite tasty meals on my new Clean Eating plan! However, I do not go overboard with my culinary offerings. I guess you could describe it as 'survival cooking'... So far, everyone has successfully survived and we have only had one or two instances of 'whatthehellisthis' on our plates! I call that a win, people.

I tell you all this to explain the complete mystery obsession I have with a certain vacuum. You see, I have always wanted a Dyson. Nojoke. It has been that dangling carrot, that golden apple, the shiny key to unlock my inner housekeeper. I have always been convinced that my disconnect with house work isn't a lack of willingness or interest, but rather, insufficient tools. (This may play a part in my disorganization too, but I'm not going to go all Dr. Phil on you here...)

Fortunately for Dorkfish, I am frugal when it comes to certain purchases. I believe that anything you are paying to suck, shouldn't be over $200. (Leaveitalone.) We also have an appliance rule in our house in regards to gift giving, "If it plugs in, it isn't a gift." Therefore, the Dyson has always been out of reach.

*Collective Sigh*

Last week, my vacuum refused to suck. When you have four four-legged creatures running around your house and two children ages 8 and 5, this is a BIG!DEAL! I had been researching my vacuum options and trying to find the best deal, yet hadn't found one. Dorkfish came home last night, looked down at a dog-hair tumbleweed and declared that he didn't care HOW MUCH I spent on a vacuum, JUSTGETONE. So I grabbed my $50 in Kohl's cash and hit the store. I perused all the various makes and models before looking at the price tags. Naturally, the purple animal drew me in; and with a price tag of $195, I was sold! Evidently, this was a discontinued model, the DC 28, and therefore was on sale. Seeing they only had the floor model left, the store gave me another $50 off the price! (For those of you not good at math, like me, the $700 vacuum was $100 after my Kohl's cash!)

SOLD!

Isn't he beautiful? He doesn't have a ball, but judging by my male pets, balls don't last long in here anyway. *snicker*

After his first use, my friends began receiving text messages with pictures of my newly-vacuumed carpets and the message, "My carpets have more track marks than a $20 hooker!" (You're so thankful I don't have your number right now, aren't you?...)

My friend Botica responded with, "You know, everyone gets that one great deal that comes along every few years. This is yours. Congratulations."

Now I am wishing I had been jewelry shopping...

Kindergarten Drama: The Next Soap Opera

One of the great benefits of staying at home, is having the opportunity to be more connected in my boys' school life. Yes, I will admit that I did refer to my weekly Wednesday volunteering as "Community Service" and I may have suggested to the office ladies that they have a two-drink minimum... But, it did give me an opportunity to get to know the kids in the classroom so when Deuce or Bonus would come home complaining about  a kid, I would know EXACTLY how they felt.

This morning, Bonus woke up with throat pain and an earache. Since were were going on day threethousandsixtytwo of a cough, I went ahead and decided to spend the copay on him...

playedmelikeasucker.

Not only was it just drainage, but he had the kahunas to ask the doctor to let him stay home the rest of the week. OH, and maybe he just shouldn't go back to school any more since he has a dust allergy and his school isn't clean... Fortunately, she didn't fall for the 'ole blue eyes'.

Since he cried wolf, I not only took him to school and dropped him like the plague, I also brought Deuce a much-coveted fast food lunch from Christian Chicken. I will admit that it was a bit awkward when Bonus was walking out of the lunch room with his little lunch box and I was walking in with two bags of food... We spoke, but it was with a I'm-not-the-favorite-child-today kinda tension and all his friends noticed too.

As soon as Deuce and I sat down for lunch, the Kindergarten drama started...

Some random little girl: "Deuce! Tell your mom that Bonus slapped me in the face!" *sigh* Deuce informed me that the little girl likes to make things up to get attention, so I let that one slide.

He then informs me that his girlfriend, we will call her "DoeeyedSuzie", and his best friend, who we will call "KissingJohnny", kissed yesterday. To most kids, this would be crushing news; so I reacted with the same amount of surprise. Deuce, who refuses to leave his feeling at home and carries it on his shoulder at all times, was not only fine with this, but actually giggled about it.

(Thank God he isn't into kissing anyone but Momma still.)

Apparently, this was all okay because DoeeyedSuzie told him that she thought he was cute...

I'm going to leave that one alone.

We get back to his classroom and DoeeyedSuzie comes running up to me for a hug. "Bye Mommy!" she said in her sweet little tone. I knelt down, put my arm around her tiny little shoulders and in my most loving and syrupy-sweet voice said, "Listen honey, no kissing boys...ESPECIALLY MY BOY." She looked at me with her big, brown, doe eyes and said, "Oh, no! Never!" and ran off with cheeks that guilty shade of pink.

Having sorted that one out, I kissed my baby boy bye and headed out the door. About two seconds after I left, a little boy who we will call, "Edwardsitthehelldown" stuck his head out of the door and called to me. "Are you taking Deuce home?!"

Me: (Fighting back the smartass and not saying, "Do you SEE him with me?!" because I am a good mom.) "No, he's staying here today."

Edwardsitthehelldown: "Come on, take him away!"

Me: "Nope. He will be here to annoy you all day. Get back in the classroom and learn something."

Edwardsitthehelldown: "Why don't you go learn something?!"

Me: "Because, sweetheart, I finished learning all I need to. Now I get to go play at the park while you sit at a desk. Have fun!"

I like to think they repeatedly ask me to volunteer because I am so good with the kids.

The Oldest of the Four Leggers and the New Addition

When Dorkfish and I started our little furry family, or actually, when I started dragging pets home, he was very agreeable. He didn't complain about anything other than the amount of hair that can amass in an 800 square-foot house. (House cleaning wasn't my forte then either...)

Our first pet, Molly, came to me as a malnourished porch hound in the backwoods of Tennessee. As soon as I came across Molly, I knew I had to have her. She sauntered up the driveway in that traditional 'hound swagger' and captivated me with her big, brown eyes. I was in love immediately. I called Dorkfish and told him that we absolutely had to have this dog. The previous owner insisted that "Blackie" was a "gen-u-wine black-n-tan coon hound" and as such was "very, very, very valuable". That was the best $40 we ever spent. She has been with us through three moves, two kids and is on her seventh round of new four-legged additions. She hasn't bitten anyone, except the German Shepherd who bit Dorkfish first and a rat who unexpectedly was hiding in a vacant house.

Over the years, Molly has become more than a pet. She loves the boys like a mother. Some days, she has more patience for them than I do. Not to mention, when she tires of them a simple lick on the face will send them scurrying. I've tried that...it doesn't work for me.

As the family has gone from one dog, to two dogs and three cats, back to one dog and now to three dogs...she has weathered the storm.

However, this new addition, may prove to be the end of her....

Meet TomCat:

And yes, Bonus learned that look from me...

Never Turning on the TV Again

I know this will come as a huge shock to all of you, but I actually turned on the television Sunday night. For some odd reason, I actually wanted to watch the Grammy's.

My father-in-law was here visiting, so we sat and criticized the singers together. Actually, he did most of the criticizing...I just waited for boobs to fall out of dresses. Sadly, that didn't happen.

But, we did enjoy a lovely, enlightening moment together when some chick was on stage with blue hair and a tight, gold body suit. I'm sure most of you know who she is. I have no idea, but that suit was WAY.TOO.TIGHT. For some odd reason, I decided to make a comment that will forever be burned in that spot in my brain that holds all the awkward moments in life.

(The same spot where I hold the time I pulled my underwear out of my butt and told my dad that was the 'worst wedgie ever' before realizing my older, male, cousin was standing next to me. The name "Wedginald" will forever be used at holidays and all family gatherings.)

So, thanks to the Grammy's. My father-in-law has a new word for his vocabulary...

Me: "Wow. That outfit is WAY.TOO.TIGHT. I haven't seen a camel toe like that since I watched an Egyptian documentary!"

Him: "What's a camel toe?"

Me: *GULP* "Um....I don't really feel comfortable explaining that term to my father-in-law. Maybe you should just google it. Actually, you might have more luck in the Urban Dictionary."

Him: *blank stare*

Me: "Sigh. Okay, soooooo, ummmmm, it's like a wedgie but in the front. Um, for girls. Yeah, this is just awkward."


So, thank you Grammy's for enabling me to share that most horrible moment with my father-in-law. I'm sure he appreciated it as well.

An Amo Short...

So, this morning I was standing in the shower, pondering the great mysteries of life. You know, the pyramids, the disappearance of the Mayan civilization, how do cats purr...

Who am I kidding. I was actually worried that if I always follow the same wash pattern in the shower, will one side of my body always be cleaner? See, I always lather up my poof and scrub my left arm first. Then move to my right. So, do you think my left arm gets more soap? If that's the case, my right arm should be washed first since I am right handed.

See? Big.Things.

Anyway, so my mind was obviously proccupied when I finished my shower and realized I had washed the towels. *sigh*

No matter, Dorkfish's towel was there and mostly dry. Typically, I don't use ANYONE'S towel, even my husband's. Why? Because even though their body was clean, how can you ensure that the spot you are drying your face with wasn't the exactsamespot they dried their butt? *ick*

Just as I put the towel to my face, I realized it was damp.

But Dorkfish hasn't showered today?

In fact, he hasn't showered since he got home from his trip late last night.

So, who's towel is.....

OH!HELL!



My father-in-law is visiting.



Who knew bleach wipes could work as face cloths?!....