I forgot where I was going with this….

When you buy Fish Fertilizer for your plants and the label says “deoderized” just know that they are lying. My entire yard smells of bait shop and I think I saw a cat rolling in it. <shudder>

Hello Internet,

Do you forgive me? I know I’ve been a terrible blogger, but sometimes I have a life. Baseball season ends Saturday. Running club ended last week. I’m the room parent for both classes and trying to arrange end of year parties and son #1’s birthday party. I’m looking forward to having my life back in a few weeks. I’m on my second round of antibiotics and really hoping I’m going to get well. Between this and my ribs, I haven’t worked out in so long, I’ve noticed my arms are getting flabby. Sigh. Look out if you’re standing next to me and I point or wave. I might slap you across the face with my flab.

I just deleted the four previous paragraphs. Sometimes I write and end up deleting it all just because I needed to get it off my chest, but you don’t want to hear about how hard it is to make a child with attention issues do a six week long school project, do you? Instead you’d like to hear about me being a soap whore, wouldn’t you?

My life as a soap prostitute began many years ago. My mom thought she was allergic to scented things so everything she bought from laudry detergent to shampoo to soap was all unscented. This was the root of my search for odiferous goodness. I never had the laundry that smelled fresh- like it was dried in the sunshine. The first bottle I ever got of Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific was after I had moved out. And I bought my first bar of Irish Spring that same day. I stuck with Irish Spring until college, when I got a whiff of Coast from my roommate. It was love at first smell.

Now I should tell you, there’s a movement out there of crunchy, tree-hugging people that will scare the hell out of you. These people will tell you that your soap, laundry detergent and shampoo contain all kinds of toxic chemicals and will kill you. So I slowly gave up my delicious smelling shampoos. I gave up my sweet, clean laundry smell. I gave up my beloved soaps. And for several years, I used the all-natural products. I used Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap, which Steve said made me smell like a…..  well suffice it to say, he was referring to the unshaven hippies who smell like farm. The all-natural shampoos weren’t doing it for me either. IF they lathered up, they left my hair a freakish, frizzy mess. Gee, my hair never smelled terrific anymore. And they usually gave me dry, itchy scalp which is COMPLETELY unacceptable. It makes me think of lice. And then I spend all my time thinking bugs are crawling on me. It’s hard to focus.

And the laundry. Oh the laundry. Laundry. Must. Smell. GOOD. Did I mention the deoderant too? OMFG. Seriously. Even the dog said “Uh, that’s not working for you. Breast cancer is better.” 24 hours of all natural deoderant and I am RANK. With an all powerful stink that will. curl. your. nose. hairs. So the first thing I gave up was the deoderant. Who are we kidding? I lasted less than 24 hours then had to shower and put on toxic chemicals. My particular armpit bacteria needs some killin’. It laughs in the face of baking soda and essential oils.

Next, the laundry detergent had to go. I would whimper when I picked up a piece of clothing that I hadn’t worn since I switched detergents and rub it’s sweet smell all over my face. I kicked the stank all- nautral shit to the curb. Eff it. I need my Gain. I will sell you out in a second for delicious smelling laundry detergent. Make no mistake about it.

About six months ago, I went to the salon to get my hair cut and I was complaining about not being able to find a shampoo. He washed my hair with this heavenly scented shampoo than TAMES THE FRIZZ! I was in love. Like the whore that I am, I left the salon with the new shampoo and tossed out the natural shampoo and conditioner that day. Of course, Steve discovered a couple of weeks ago just how expensive my new love is when I asked him to pick me up a bottle after his haircut. He called from the car and said “I had to sell the car to pay for that shampoo. OMFG!” I failed to mention that the conditioner was 60% more. However, I water down the conditioner so it lasts. I am such a slut.

Up until two weeks ago, I still held onto to the lavender soap. I reasoned if everything else smelled good, at least I wouldn’t die of soap chemicals. But then I ran out. I stood in the shower and stared longingly at the Irish Spring. I longed for it’s NEW! anti-bacterial goodness. Finally, I gave in and used it. I smelled SO GOOD. SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO GOOD. And being so completely ashamed of myself, I told no one. Days dragged on and I did not go buy myself more lavender soap. I wanted to savor my soapy goodness. Finally, a couple of days ago, I could no longer take the weight of my sins. I came downstairs, walked over to Steve, hung my head and admitted “I am a soap whore.” To which he answered with explosive laughter “YOU USED MY SOAP?!?!” My face burning with shame, I replied “Yes. And I can’t stop…..”

Yup, believe it or not, I am STILL FRICKEN SICK! Apparently the bacteria that have set up shop in my respiratory tract are also wearing kevlar and are resistant to the antibiotics. Sigh. I am going to throttle the little girl that coughed in my face! I’m sorry I’ve been a bad blogger. I’ll try harder when I get well.

Steve had LASIK surgery this morning. I can’t imagine what his life will be like without glasses and contacts. He’s not doing so hot this morning though. I picked him up from the eye doctor and when he walked outside and the bright sunshine hit his face he roared like an angry yeti. He was already light sensitive so the sunshine was his krptonite. He got in the car and pulled his hood all the way over his face, hid behind his sunglasses, sniffling from his nose running and eyes watering. When we got home the neighbors asked why I was driving around the unabomber. He tried to tell me about the procedure and I kept telling him to shut the hell up. It went something like this:

Steve: …so when they turn up the flap…
Me: GAH!!!!! I don’t want to hear that! I’m going to throw up!
Steve: ……and you can hear the laser…..
Me: Seriously, shut up! NAH NAH NAH NAH I CAN NOT HEAR YOU!!!!!!
Steve: ……and they hold your eyeball open and suction it out…..
Me: STEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would rather watch rectal surgery than hear this. I would rather hear about open heart surgery or brain surgery! I would rather look at cut open bowels or penis surgery. STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Steve: ……….you can’t really feel anything, but the flap……..
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOO MOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So after all the disgusting eyeball talk (which I’ve now decided is grosser than feet) we come in the house and I’m fixing him something to eat. I turn around and he’s standing there without the sunglasses on and he looks at me with hideous, red, bloody-looking eyeballs. I screamed. He hurriedly put the sunglasses back on. Please God, don’t let him turn the bloody eyeballs on me again. EVER. I’m going to have nightmares about the bloody eyeballs peeking out at me from under the hood of his sweatshirt.

think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts. think pretty thoughts.

<calling Steve at work>

Steve: Hello?
Son #2: Yes, this is Banana Republic. We’re here to smash your chickens.

I just wanted to let you all know that my fever is higher, I am sicker but when I called Steve at work yesterday, he came home. He took the kids to running club and then for some extra mileage afterwards. He made dinner, bathed the kids and put them to bed. HE HAS REDEEMED HIMSELF.

Son #1: (howling at the top of his lungs) I SHOULD GET ALLOWANCE FOR THIS!!!!
Me: Ok. I’ll allow it.
Son #1: MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU’RE *NOT* FUNNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok people, I’ve got an ethical question regarding laminated lists. I found out last night that a certain movie star on my laminated list is actually “accessible”. I discovered last night that he went to my high school and graduated the year after one of my brothers and the year before the other one. So I fired off an email to the oldest (who was student body president and who knows EVERYONE) to ask if he knew him. HE DOES! I replied “OMG! HE IS CUTE WITH A CAPITOL Q!” lol. But here’s the ethical question: Steve says he can’t be on my laminated list because of the degrees of separation. I could actually meet him. I retorted that since both my siblings (2/3) work in Hollywood, I could technically meet pretty much anyone. However, he says this guy is too close, I could stop at his parent’s house. lol. So what is it people? Sound off like you got a pair!

What does “I need you to come home. I’m really sick. I’m too sick to fix dinner and I need you to take the kids on a walk to get in their miles for running club.” mean to you? Because Steve clearly heard: “Yeah, stay at work three more hours, come home after their bedtime and don’t bring any dinner.” Grrrr

I forgot to tell you all how we’ve been unable to use our favorite retort. When the kids are in “serve me” mode, we used to say “What? Are you legs broken? You can get up and get yourself a <fork or whatever>.” But since son #1 broke his hip (which was technically the femur) we can’t say that or “Why? Are your legs broken?” I find myself trailing off in mid-sentence. Sigh….

Ok, I just discovered the MOST awesome thing EVER. I mean EVER. Microsoft has a program with a mobile doctor that can come out to your house 24/7. So I called and they sent me a doctor. And she was good! She was nice, she seemed competent and I liked her! So I got antibiotics and I never had to leave the house!! WOO HOO! And in case you were wondering, my blood pressure is still so low, people keep taking it multiple times because 90/59 - 90/70 certainly gets their attention. It probably also explains why I’m still so dizzy lately. So unfortunately I still have to go to the pharmacy to fill the prescription, but at least I didn’t have to go drive to a doctor’s office, sit in a germy waiting room and wait for the doctor to be 45 minutes late. I’m totally calling these people again! Oh and I feel like hell if you were wondering about that. lol.

Sorry I’ve been AWOL for a few days. The weekends are filled with baseball and Sunday was Mother’s Day. And instead of resting, I worked my ass off. I knew Mother’s Day was my one free ticket to get the family to help me out in the garden. And there were things that have been waiting for Steve to do them for 6 months. As he was grunting and groaning trying to hook up a fountain that’s been sitting there for 5 months, I walked by and said “I’d never have gotten you to do that unless it was Mother’s Day, huh?” “Yep. DAMN THIS THING WEIGHS A TON!!” came the grunt. The kids helped me plant, I got Steve to help me finish some garden projects and I had a very productive day. Steve limps up to me at the end of the day and said “I’ve never made you work to exhaustion on my birthday on Father’s Day!” I looked at him and said “Yeah right. You’re all about not getting off the couch all day. PULEEZ, like you’d ever choose to get some work done on your birthday or Father’s Day.” But it was totally worth it. The yard is really starting to look great and I’ve finally got a working fountain. Woo Hoo!

As a preface to my day today, you should know that last week I got a whole bunch of splinters in my hand from a piece of lattice. And I was completely traumatized when I discovered that I could not get them out because my vision has deteriorated to the point of being unable to see detail up close. I COULD NOT SEE THE SPLINTERS. I found this as yet another devastating indicator of my mortality. I’m getting old. My body is failing me. So I made an appointment with the eye doctor. And today he said I needed reading glasses. Sigh. That was hard to hear.

My cold is worse. I feel like shit. I looked in the mirror this morning and said “I look old and tired.” Son #1 came up behind me and said “But you ARE old and tired, Mom.” He’s helpful that way. When Steve got home from work today he looks at me and said “Ew. You don’t look so good.” He’s also helpful that way. 

I think I’m too old and tired to keep writing for tonight. I’m gonna sign off before my hands get all shaky and my memory goes…..

Oy, the drama. The situtuation with my grandmother has become quite the drama scene. My grandmother had the tumor removed on Monday and my mom flew into Louisiana to take care of her. The plan was that my parents were taking a three week trip at the end of May to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary and on the way back, would pick up my grandmother and then she would have the radiation in California. Except the drama over the missing money, the in-fighting and a host of other issues have come up. My siblings, who never get involved, are up in arms. It’s reduced my 35 year old sister to calling our cousins fatties. It’s ugly.

So I called to check on Grandma this morning and my mom amswers and she was crying so hard, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. My heart dropped and I thought she died. But then I was able to discern “Grandma’s been crying all morning” and was greatly relieved. Whew. Apparently the aunt who drained the bank account did not like being challenged, came over and starting screaming at my mom and Grandma, then threw the checkbook and credit cards at them, said she was done taking care of my Grandma and stomped out. So my mom bought a plane ticket and is taking her back to California tomorrow. Which makes me kinda excited, because I know how bad they want to go on this Florida trip. So guess what the choices are? Bring her to me or bring her to me OR bring her to me. YIPPEEEEEEE!!!!! It’s all about me, right? I’m trying not to get all sucked into the drama, but it’s hard not to get a little shit on your shoes when it hits the fan. I’m going to go change into my party shoes.

Tell me what you think:

MOUTHY FOURTH GRADER FOR SALE

Refuses to clean up after self. Hygiene non-existent. Table manners of a chimpanzee. Possible future lawyer, because will keep asking the same question over and over and over and over and over, expects eventual receipt of answer he likes. Will throw siblings under the bus for personal gain. Pretends to have no knowledge of homework, DAILY. Considers all rules, regulations and some laws inapplicable to self. Picks nose. Sale to highest bidder, NO TRADES. KIDDING. Totally KIDDING! It’s been an afternoon I don’t care to repeat.

Is it wrong to eat several spoonfuls of cookie dough for dessert if you’re tired and want to go to bed and are too tired to turn on the oven and wait for them to cook? Is it still wrong if you’re not tired? Is it wrong to go and kill the effin dog who won’t SHUT THE HELL UP?

Back to the cookie dough. Is it wrong to stand at the kitchen counter and eat it right out of the bowl? Is there an etiquette for making a pig of yourself when no one is looking? Is it wrong TO LIKE the cookie dough better than the cookie most of the time? Is it wrong to intentionally not cook the cookie all the way so that it’s very much like it’s orginal doughy goodness? I just need to know the magnatude of the sins committed here this evening. And I really was too tired to cook it….but is it wrong to just make cookie dough and not make cookies?

Does anyone else find this profoundly disturbing? I don’t know how many of you know vegans and vegetarians (besides me, of course) but 99.9% of the vegetarians and vegans I know are all about doing things the natural way. Many of them are vegetarians to protect the earth, they live green, buy organic and are the biggest hippy tree huggers you’ve ever met. (I can say that because I’ve been accused of being a hippy tree hugger. ;) I would like to point out that I own a razor and vote Republican. Let’s not split hairs with that whole Ross Perot debacle. He seemed sane when I was voting for him.) 

Vegetarians and vegans as a whole want to conserve the earth’s resources and are usually well educated. Which brings me to these people. The first and absolutely most glaring thing that stood out to me is WHY WASN’T SHE BREASTFEEDING THIS BABY? All us hippy tree huggers breastfeed! And secondly, did they not do ANY parental education? Read a book on babies? Anyone with half a brain knows you don’t give a newborn apple juice or soymilk. And no medical care? ALL THOSE THINGS ARE NOT YOUR TYPICAL VEGAN OR VEGETARIAN. So my feeling is that they absolutely were given the correct verdict and sentence. Ignorance is not an excuse for murder. Especially given their ages, I find it incredulous that they didn’t know better. This is NOT about diet. Vegetarians and vegans as a whole are all about what’s best for the body. This “diet” defense does not ring true to me AT ALL. Discuss.

Those of you who have read my blog for some time now know that I am a germaphobe. Well, I don’t like filth either, but germs, hooo boy. It started decades ago. I used to teach and coach swimming. When you’re face to face and one on one with children, you pretty much catch everything that goes around. And the horror doesn’t stop there. There are just some parents in this world who are so completely self-centered they never stop to think about spreading around something contagious. I’ve had children brought to me with impetigo, hand foot and mouth disease, poison oak, and a host of other skin conditions. They’ve brought strep, bronchitis, pneumonia, viruses, bacterial infections, stomach flus, etc. I almost missed my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary because of a stomach flu I had so kindly been given. I had been throwing up every 15-20 minutes for 15 hours and was supposed to board a plane in 6 hours. My mom drove me to the ER where they gave me several shots, an IV, loaded me up on enough drugs to get to Louisiana and brought me by wheelchair to the plane because I was too weak to stand up. One mom once told me her child had allergies and that’s why she was coughing and a week later I came down with her “allergies” and had a cough and low grade fever for EIGHT MONTHS. They never did figure out what I had. Did I mention that some parents think chlorine will get rid of lice? <shudder> In my last two years of teaching I went down to zero tolerance. I sent kids away. If they looked the slightest bit sick, had any visible rashes, or a cough or runny nose, I would tell the parents to go home and I would refuse to teach them. These things, my friends, were the making of a germaphobe.

When son #1 was a baby, I made anyone who touched him wash their hands until he was about a year old. It turns out that son #1 has an outstanding immune system and rarely gets very sick for very long. Son #2 turned out to be a completely different story. What is a mild cold for the rest of us, turns into 104 degree fever, an ear infection and an illness that lasts for weeks. When son #2 was 7 weeks old, he contracted what had been a cold for son #1. He quickly became very ill. He began to bubble from his mouth. Which I thought was odd, but I did not know that it was the early signs of respiratory distress. Several hours later he felt extremely hot. I got one of those ear thermometers and took his temperature. It registered 106.2. I did not know whether to call 911 or the pediatrician. It turns out those thermometers are wildly inaccurate at high temperatures but he was still running 103 degree fever. We drove to the ER at close to 100 mph. By the time we got to the ER, he was in full respiratory distress, with his oxygen saturation at 72 percent. He was dehydrated and in very serious condition. I remember standing in the doorway of his room crying while every nurse and doctor in the ER was working on him, wondering if he was going to die. He had pneumonia, he was dehydrated and a very sick baby. And do you know what they all kept saying to me? Proper hand washing can prevent this kind of thing. Every time a new doctor or nurse came in the room they said it, Steve would shake his head and say “No no no! You don’t know what you’re saying! She’s ALREADY Howard Hughes!” And then they would continue to lecture about handwashing. THIS point, my friends, was where I turned from a careful handwasher to a germ fanatic. I spent Valentine’s Day that year alone in the hospital with son #2 while Steve stayed home with son #1. Son #2 spent 5 days in the hospital. And I was forever changed. I pulled son #1 out of preschool for the remainder of that year to try keep son #2 from getting sick again. I should have bought stock in Purell hand sanitizer at that point, because I use enough of it to this day to probably keep them in business. As son #2 has gotten older we have discovered that he has some genetic condition that keeps his ears from draining when he is congested, so every single cold ends up in an ear infection. Sigh.

Given all that, I want you to try to imagine what happened to me when Friday, while at a birthday party with son #2, a little girl standing less than a foot from my face while I was sitting down, not only coughed in my face, but coughed IN MY MOUTH. I could feel spit hit my lips. The urge to jump up and start screaming was pretty overwhelming. I kept wiping my mouth, wondering if it was safe to put Purell on my lips. And just when I was starting to recover, SHE DID IT AGAIN! Holy MOTHER OF GOD! I almost fainted. She might as well have just thrown a fistful of shit at my face. It had the same effect. I silently cursed this child and all her decendants. Then I cursed the mother for letting her come. Then I cursed the whole family for their mere existence. Imagine my rage when I woke up yesterday with a stuffy nose, sore throat and what feels like a fever. Oh yes, I was enraged. I’m trying to beat this thing. I took 3,000mg of vitamin C yesterday and will continue to take it until I either beat this thing or succumb. I’m still cursing the little girl for not covering her mouth. And the mother for bringing her. And son #2 started complaining of a sore throat this morning. Which probably means more doctor visits and more antibiotics because someone just couldn’t keep their kids home UNTIL THEY WERE WELL! So I sit here and stew. With the memory of the shit, I mean, spit on my lips. Oh the humanity! Oh the horror! It’s hard to be a germaphobe….. <shudder>

Starting in elementary school, I took Spanish language classes. In fact, I took them all the way through college, ending up with a minor in Spanish. I wanted to teach my children to speak Spanish, but when it came down to it, I chickened out because I was afraid I would teach them to speak with a gringo accent or to incorrectly conjugate a verb. When son #1 was 3, I remembered that my mother had hired a Spanish speaking babysitter/housekeeper when my brother was little and he understood Spanish until she stopped working for us. So I hired a housekeeper that did not speak English when I was pregnant with son #2. It forced me to speak Spanish and keep my language skills up and then I knew the kids would hear the correct pronunciation and therefore would be able to speak Spanish without an accent. We had the same housekeeper for 5 years. Son #1 stubbornly refused to learn or speak Spanish, but she spoke only Spanish to son #2 and he understood. She said that if she got son #1 to say something in Spanish, he did speak without an accent but it was very hard to get him interested.

California has a huge hispanic population so it had been easy to find someone who spoke Spanish. When we moved here, I could not find someone who spoke no English, much less someone who even spoke Spanish. So by and by, son #2 forgot Spanish. I finally found a housekeeper in December who did not speak English. She works with a team of 3 other women, and none of them speak English. I was DELIGHTED. Then I became very disappointed when we realized son #2 had forgotten Spanish. So they’ve been speaking to him in Spanish so he’s hearing it again. His accent is flawless, but he doesn’t remember anything. Lately he’s been begging me to watch some Spanish videos so he can speak to them because he plays with them while they’re here. On the days that the housekeepers come, I find it very difficult to switch back and forth between Spanish and English. You know that you’ve finally learned a language when you can think in that language and don’t need to translate back into your native language. That’s both a blessing and a curse. Because those are the days that I can’t remember how to say anything in ENGLISH. I tried to log into my computer today IN SPANISH. I tried to write a check IN SPANISH. I tried to send an email IN SPANISH.

When we lived in California, I probably spoke Spanish on a daily basis due to the large hispanic population. Also because of my coloring (auburn hair and brown eyes) I was mistaken for hispanic often. People would just walk up to me and start speaking Spanish, never asking if I spoke it. Washington does not have the large population of Spanish speakers. You can walk through the airports in California and probably hear more Spanish than English, but here, you have to actively seek it out.

It’s funny sometimes to pretend you don’t speak it, listen to what people say, then answer them in Spanish and watch the horror dawn on their faces if they were saying something they shouldn’t have. I don’t hesitate to use that to my advantage. One time when we lived in California, we rented equipement (see? I spelled that in Spanish and then had to go back and change it. Sigh.) for a large party; a canopy, tables, chairs, etc. Because of where we lived, the workmen immediately assumed I spoke no Spanish, and were making snide comments in Spanish. I wanted the foreman to put the canopy in a location that made it a little harder for him. He immediately started complaining about it in Spanish. There was ONE guy on the crew who apparently spoke NO English at all but seemed to feel sorry for me because the foreman was giving me such a hard time. I asked him to do something and he didn’t understand, so he called to the foreman to come translate, but the foreman didn’t hear him so in a low voice, I stated my request again in Spanish. I wish you could have seen the look on his face. It was admiration, mixed with an “Oh Shit!” look because the other guys were loudly complaining about me and the job. I went back inside and watched through the window as he rushed over to the foreman, said something, and the foreman looked with astonishment at the door I had just walked through, then rushed over to the other guys to tell them to be quiet. Suddenly I could hear them talking about the weather. And when I went back outside, the foreman was suddenly magnanimous and friendly. We still spoke to each other in English, but he looked scared to death that I might call the company and complain. He did a few extra things for free so I called it even and didn’t notify the rental company. Sometimes speaking two languages has plenty of advantages.

I taught son #2 today to ask what do you call it in Spanish. So he tried it out. He pointed to a pair of shoes and asked in Spanish, how do you say it? The look on his face when she answered him was priceless. Like she and he had performed magic. He’s now following her around asking her how you say pretty much everything- garbage can, wall, toy, hand. From just a little success, he’s trying to devour the entire language in one day. Little does he know, he’s just relearning something he forgot <sniff> I’m so proud. I want my children to learn to speak another language. It will help them in their jobs, in their travels, and in their everyday lives if they live in a multi-cultural area. There is, of course, the problem of not remembering their native language on some days, but it’s a small price to pay.

It’s just me, your friendly-neighborhood crazy person. I had just put son #2 on the bus, when a yellow and black lab went by running down the street like bats out of hell. Or like two bad dogs just escaped from the kennel. “HEY!” I bellowed and took off running. Which made them run faster. So I’m about a half block behind them and we’re running UPHILL and they’re headed straight for the pond. I’m running and yelling “BAD DOG! COME!” and clapping my hands. They dash into the water which gives me some time to catch up. I yell “COME!!!!!” and I hear my neighbor, Michele, had given chase too and was running behind me. She yelled “How deaf are they?!” And I yelled back, “I don’t think they can hear me yelling but they should be able to hear the clapping.” The dogs ran out of the water and started running again. I ran faster. Damn, I hope I can run like they do when I’m a freakin’ hundred. I finally caught up to them and cornered them in a neighbor’s yard when the yellow lab turns and looks at me and it’s not Simba. “Oh Shit.” I think “I’ve been running down the street screaming and running through people’s yards and these aren’t even my dogs.” I quickly walk down this person’s driveway where I run into Michele who points and starts to chase them as they run out of the yard. “THOSE AREN’T MINE!” I yell. She starts laughing. She said “I thought they were running a little fast for as old as they are.”

Unfortunately this is the second time this week I’ve run through the neighbor’s yards screaming. A few days ago I chased the rabbit out of my yard yelling “BAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” through the neighbor’s yard when Michele, who is standing in the street laughing at me yells “HERE HE IS!” and I start chasing him again across the street and through more neighbor’s yards. The neighbor next door mentioned he had seen me running through his yard. I apologized and told him I was chasing a rabbit. He just smiled and nodded. Then went inside quickly and shut the door.

How many of you are Catholic? I was raised Catholic but then converted to Catholic-lite (Episcopalian) as an adult. So I know the Catholic guilt. I’ve LIVED the Catholic guilt. For those of you that aren’t Catholic, you should know that you feel REALLY bad. It’s a soul-sucking bad. Like the kind that keeps you up at night. And you have to get up the next day and function with the tremendous weight of an anvil crushing you with the guilt. And the guilt doesn’t go away. It eats at you. Eats at you until you crack. Usually mothers are the best at Catholic guilt. Now I’m going to lay the Catholic guilt on all of you. It will crush you. You will not be able to sleep until you get rid of this Catholic guilt.

Hundreds of you stop by every day to read whatever insanity has befallen me. And you laugh at me and then you leave. You tell me you love my blog. BUT HOW MANY OF YOU VOTED FOR ME?!?! HMMMMM??? IT’S SHAMEFUL! My own HUSBAND forgot to vote for me!!!!! Shame on you! Guilt on all of you! Now go vote so you can live with yourself!

Or not so wise in my case. Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT try to make a ricotta cheese substitute with tofu and feta, goat and parmesan cheeses. Just go to the damn store and buy ricotta. I’m going to go drag my tongue along the floor now to try to get the taste out of my mouth. <shudder>

Steve and the espresso maker have made up. Ergo, I have coffee, the sun is shining and all is right with the world again…… I’m headed to the gym, but only to ride the bike, no weights, eliptical or running, I promise. I need endorphins. You can feel my moods dipping low without the gym, can’t you? Therefore you must realize, I MUST HAVE MY WORKOUTS.

Baseball is going gangbusters. My team knows what they’re doing and they look good out there. I’m very happy with the way the season is going and every time we play another team, that Dad that gave me a hard time in the beginning of the season for being a woman coach has to eat a slice of humble pie. Tee hee.

I have to say, when the weather is clear here, there is nothing in the world like it. It is so take-your-breath-away beautiful. You can see the snow capped mountains and the air is so fresh here. It is worth every single gray winter day. Seattle is one of the best kept secrets in the world….

I’ve finished my coffee and I’m off to the gym to get high. I mean, to get my endorphins on. lol. Hope your day is sunny too……

Ok, no dingo stole my baby or vice versa. But damned if son #2 didn’t run up and steal my melted chocolate chips and raisins. Then he ran with it, snarfed it down and grinned at me with brown, chocolaty teeth. When he gave it back it was empty. That’s about how the whole day has gone.

No coffee today because Steve broke up with espresso maker. The appliances and electronics get really ticked off when he leaves them for a new, shiny gadget. Now the espresso maker refuses to produce anything coffee-like. Yesterday it made brown water that tasted like ass. If the espresso maker could walk, I’d be suspicious it had been in the bathroom.

Son #1’s teacher stopped me in the halls today. I was already wanting to send him off to military boarding school after this morning and apparently, so is she. Sigh. We had to have the “you really might want to think about those ADHD drugs” conversation again for, like, the thousandth time. I want to scream “I KNOW! I KNOW! YOU TRY LIVING WITH HIM!” And yet I continue to fight against the drugs even knowing that in all likelihood, it would make my life a LOT easier. Sigh.

The school nurse called me twice and keeps insisting that son #1’s hip should be healed, since it’s been 3 months. I had to say multiple times, THE DOCTOR SAID NO RUNNING, NO STEPS, NO PE, NO SPORTS UNTIL WE SAW HIM AGAIN. And she kept saying “But for how long? It MUST be healed by now.” GAAHHH!! I just told you! SIX WEEKS! “But that’s three months.”she’d say. Like the answer is somehow different because she’s said it’s been three months. I’m not answering the phone anymore. People make me crabby.

Pain is making me crabby too and I haven’t slept in 3 days. I toss and turn all night and my ribs hurt. I went for the bone scan yesterday and got all radioactive. Then they put me on a table and into a machine. When she lowered the giant plate containing the geiger counter to within a half inch of my nose I said “Uh, they give me ativan for MRI’s! This thing is REALLY close to my face! I need AIR!” Of course, obviously I had air but still. I had to close my eyes and try not think about it. Freaking out in front of son #2 would be bad. So I tried to pretend my blood pressure hadn’t shot up and I wasn’t imagining being crushed by a giant geiger counter. And I knew it was only in my head that the air around me was all hot and I was suffocating. But still. I coulda used the ativan. No one mentioned that was going to be like an MRI.

 I don’t think I mentioned that several months ago son #2 developed a complex verbal tic. We made the rounds with speech therapists, pediatricians and the neurologist. We’re in “watch” mode. I work in his classroom and there is a child in there with Tourette’s syndrome. There is also another child in the class that has recently developed a verbal tic and it drives me crazy. Two days ago son #2 came home with that same tic. It sounds like a cross between a pig grunting and a dog growling. It makes my skin crawl. My first thought was “No. EFFIN. WAY.” We were told not to point out the other tic, but there is NO WAY I can live with this sound.  After about the tenth time he did it, I said “I know <other child> makes that sound, but I do not want you making that sound. It will become a habit.” (I worried it might already be too late.) Son #2 then pointed out that the child with Tourette’s makes a sound and then stretches his neck but the one making the pig sound just made the sound. I thought it was a very astute observation. He’s done it a few times since we talked, but I keep reminding him. This morning I was teaching art in the classroom and saw that son #2 is sitting NEXT to the child with the pig sound tic so that’s probably why he picked it up. I told the teacher he had picked it up and she said she would move him starting tomorrow. Because I need more to worry about like I need a hole in the head. So let’s hope the grunting sound will stop. Because otherwise I’m going to have to go back to the neurologist and have him evaluated. And I might start screaming and never stop.

So that’s been my day. I got my chocolate swiped, no coffee, and the kids are killing me. And the fact that other human beings are alive today annoys me. Seriously. Don’t even look at me. You’ll piss me off. I need coffee.

Today son #1 was kidnapped by aliens and replaced with a teenage girl with PMS. We’ve got stomping, screaming, crying, and door slamming tantrums. And he’s only been home for a half an hour. Steve and I have had the following IM conversation:

Steve says:There?

Helen says:Yes and I’m ready for the drama queen to go to bed

Helen says:what time is it?

Steve says:3:59

Helen says:is that too early for bed?

Steve says: Lol… yes.