Ladies Only! An Actual Product Review

The title speaks for itself-be forewarned-

Horst came up this morning as usual to bring me the Sunday paper. Often he will insist on placing the paper in my hands.

I could be doing anything. I don't know how to explain it, but having one of the first things in the morning be Horst, unable to just put a newspaper on the counter is really annoying.

This is followed by his lingering around until I strike up a conversation. He will then jump right in, talking and laughing. He has been happily awake and ready since probably 4.

In fairness to my bitchiness, I had just gotten up, it's very obvious. I have had maybe a sip from my first cup of coffee.

This mornings topic was the "They decided that there are things in coffee and green tea that protect you from cancer. They just can't make up their mind if coffee's good or bad."

I have yet to figure out exactly who "They" are.

I was actually up and in a good mood this morning. I was cheerful to Horst and even laughing a bit.

You see, he just missed me, not 5 minutes before, taking pictures of maxi pads on the kitchen table. (For Christ's sake they were clean!!! Obviously).

I was laughing because it would have been really weird to be caught doing that.

When he came up, I was attaching my camera to load the pictures up to my computer. He comes over and says, "What do you got there?" Thinking I had pictures of kids or something.

I told him I was writing and I would show him pictures of the grandkids later.

It would have been funny. "I'm putting pictures of feminine products on my blog Horst! Wanna see?"

So the other day, I called B and asked him to pick me up some maxi pads. I said simply-Kotex, not the store brand and the ones that are for overnight.

B walked in with a sleek black box and placed it in my hands. For a brief moment, I thought he had brought me a surprise birthday gift.

No, it was the pads. They were Kotex and they were labeled in fancy cursive script-  AllNighter

I said, "You have got to be fucking kidding me"

I reassured B that yes, indeed, this was exactly what I wanted. I then opened the box to investigate further.

Good God that's fancy!

Can you see that? My camera sucks, but there are designs on the goddamn pad! I didn't want to use it. It was too pretty to mess up and then throw away. 

I discovered soon after that there is a variety of designs that you uncover each time you open one up!

 What the hell is this world coming to that we have to have pretty designer sanitary napkins? Seriously?

I am utterly fascinated by these pads. I think that they are meant for young women. I will admit to some worry that they are somehow designed for the younger crowd and I was breaking some sort of taboo by using them for my aging vagina. 

Call me a yokel, but Wow!

The things they think of these days. 

They are actually kind of nice. It's a little uplifting to open a pretty colorful package and see a nice flowery design. 

I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's changed my whole period for the better for this month, but I like having a pretty thing to look at in the bathroom. 

Maybe I'll stick some to the walls for the in-between times. Or keep one to the side to look at when I feel like it. 

Call me a yokel, but they are pretty! And they work well and are comfortable. 

I guess this is a product endorsement? 

Now I have to go delete these pictures off my computer before B finds them and gives me shit for taking pictures of maxi pads.

Saturday

Yes, you guessed it. I have to work in 45 minutes and I am popping on to bitch about Saturday.

I don't mind working on Saturdays during the dead of Winter, but once Spring is just around the corner, it seems like everyone wants to do something special on a Saturday.

Pffffffftttt.

Off to work now.

The Gus Project

When I was about G's age, I used to read my brother's copies of Mad Magazine. He had a lot of them.

There were a few that stuck with me, particularly this one about a bum, who gets a complete make over by a fairy godmother sort of person. Maybe it was a genie in a lamp. Not too sure.

This bum was still unhappy and dissatisfied with his life. The genie said that he should go out and find another down and out person just like he used to be and transform their life into something better.

So he does, he searches and finds this mess of a bum in an alley. The guy swings the bum up into a big bear hug, happily exclaiming that he found his person to fix.

The bum promptly shoots him dead.

I have social anxiety. I have worked hard to overcome it. It will never go away. Those horrid awkward, God this person thinks I am a complete asshole feeling I always get whenever I go anywhere.  With  the exception of fluffy pants shopping at Job Lot with Kevin of course:

My ease and comfort is evident by the look on my face. I love cheap fluffy pants. I have a pair. I got them for 4 bucks at Benny's. 

B hates my fluffy pants. He made me promise that I will never wear them in public. Seeing as how they have a big hole in the butt that I have yet to sew, I have acquiesced. 

He hates most of all the bad imitation of Sean Connery voice I use whenever we talk about my fluffy pants. I do it out of a sound sleep. B will get into bed and ask me if I am warm enough, I will respond in my bad Sean Connery voice, "Yes, I got the fluffy pants on." 

B usually will roll to the far side of the bed and state that I am either and asshole or douchebag. 

Then I giggle about it for the entire next day.

At BJ's I also got a fire axe and a yoga mat. For my arson yoga (hot yoga) class on Thursday with Heth and Jess. In case the place goes up, we'll be able to get out.

I had a big social anxiety breakthrough at Hot Yoga that other week. Heth was on the phone in her car, so I actually walked into the building myself. I saw a sign that said new students should go into the studio and introduce themselves. So I did.

I never do that. But I did. The sky didn't fall. The studio didn't go up in flames. The entire class didn't point their finger at me and laugh at what an asshole I was. 

Progress. I'm getting better. Next I may conquer another beekeepers meeting.

I was walking Gus today. We are working on walking appropriately and not pulling out my shoulder joint, especially when other dogs or people walk by. 

He is doing better. 

When he starts to flip out and bark, whine and pull at another dog, I have started making him sit and stay while the other dog passes. Not an east task. He is 75 pounds of mindless energy when he sees another dog. 

I realize that he has serious social issues. He needs to get out more.  

Just like the remaining hermit crab we have, who was lonely after partially eating his tank mate. (We got the crab a new tank buddy. A younger, smaller "woman" as we like to say. It worked too, it really has been bringing him out of his shell..Get it? I inadvertently made that comment to B one day and smacked my leg while laughing and repeating it for a good 10 minutes. B watched me with a slightly pained expression..) We helped him. He is happier for it.

Looking at that dumb asshole dog, I know that I need to work with him. I failed him. I didn't get him out as much when he was a puppy. Now he is a social mess.

I empathize. I used to be a social mess. The path is clear to me now. 

So begins "The Gus Project" 

I will take the damn dog out more in social situations. We will see other dogs, we will go to Petco together. We will go to the dog park. GOD HELP US. 

God help me I'm going to do it. It may be helpful to me to.

I just hope I don't get shot because of that dumb ass.

FU Kevin!

This is my best friend Kevin. As you can see from this photo, he is a studley gay man. 

We call him Brian's gay understudy. He will often make up for whatever B is lacking in. Without having to ever worry about that whole sex/adultery thing. 

Last year, when B forgot my birthday, Kevin got me a present.  This year, Kevin took the day off of work on my birthday without telling me. 

I was at breakfast with 3 of my other closest friends when Kevin came running into the restaurant with a balloon and flowers. Totally embarrassing and wonderful at the same time. 

On a side note, B has been completely absolved of all crimes in the great "Birthday Fuck Up of 2012" He went to get me the outrageously overpriced dress I asked for, but they were out of my size, so I went in and ordered it myself the next day. Here is last years post about it if you are interested

http://nicrophorus.blogspot.com/2012/03/38-candles.html

I love Kevin. Kevin is also a lot like my husband in that they both always tell me what I need to hear and not what I want to hear. 

All the time. 

A-holes. 

But in the long run, it is a very good thing. Take my new haircut for instance. 

Last year, Kevin and I went to see the last Resident Evil movie. Afterlife? 

The entire movie I was completely obsessed with Milla Jovovitch's hair

Here is a so so picture of it

I turned to Kevin excitedly after the movie and said "I'm totally going to grow my bangs out and get my hair cut like that!"

Kevin said, "No you won't"

It was decided. I grew my bangs out for the entire painful year. 

Firstly, because I wanted that particular hair do. 

Second, I desired the anti-climactic moment that occured yesterday at breakfast when I shook my hair out and flipped Kevin the double bird and said, "See! I grew my hair out just like Milla's!"

The bitch didn't even remember. I knew it was going to happen like that anyways. 

I then said to my friend, "Kevin, I need you to work that magic again. I want desperately to finish writing this book I'm working on. Tell me I can't do it so that I can do it."

He smiled and said, "Give up Cindy, you'll never finish it."

It is done. That book will be dedicated as follows:

To my friend Kevin: Fuck you

It's just like Milla's you bitch!

These friend's here are part of the same group of friend's I have had since I was 13. Every day I am infinitely grateful for them and the belly laughs that are soon to follow whenever you get at least 2 of us together-I love them.

And thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes! I am over the moon thrilled by all the love.

Tomorrows preview! Come back for an essay about fluffy pants and fire axes

Now to work and finish so I can tell Kevin to go fuck himself.

B Dearest

I am happily married.

I can say that I fully expect to stay in my marriage for the long haul. Rest of our lives, the whole shebang.

I don't want to say that I hope I end up like my Aunt Eli, who is 83. She is widowed, still drives and works once in awhile. She travels and does things like spends Christmas up in Vermont with friends at quaint bed and breakfast joints.

She also goes back to Germany once in awhile.

She buried her husband and now does whatever she wants. She is an amazing cook. I make her German macaroni salad and pork chops for damn near every holiday besides Thanksgiving.

She doesn't cook for her family on holidays anymore. She basically told them all to screw, because she was going to Vermont.

I love her.

 I love B, so I would never wish for his untimely demise. I only wish that his demise is timed so that I can have a few years of leisure and fun before I have to go too.

Is that bad?

He is going to be a hell of an old man. I told him this the other day.

I was doing the dishes. I could feel his eyes burning into my back, because as always, I was doing it wrong.

I told him that I could see it now. He was going to be this doddering old man, bent and shuffling, with a wooden cane.

I would be a plump, grey old lady in a house dress and slippers, at the sink.

He would come in and lightning quick, with a speed that didn't match up to his years, strike me across the back with his cane and scream in an old man's voice,

"You're doing it wrong!"

Of course in my imagination, he gets dementia before I do.

And then of course, because he's crazy and abusive, it's off to the nursing home. Barry, the surly CNA with chapped hands, will change his diaper. Not his loving wife.

I tell B often that he better watch his step. He has the choice now. Me or Barry. What's it going to be?

The other day, B was putting his laundry away. He stopped me from whatever it was I was doing to give me a short tutorial on the proper way to tri-fold boxer shorts.

My response, after a long moment in befuddled silence.

 "I married Joan Crawford."

"Are you going to ask me to switch from wire hangers next?"

"Are you going to hit me with wire hangers when I don't fold your panties correctly?"

He sneered at me and then said that it would just be a waste of time for me to fold the underpants, only to have to re-fold them.

Solution-I place them on his dresser for him to fold.

Yesterday,  I forgot to take out the recycling during the day, it was all rinsed and neatly lined up by the sink ready to go out.

 I just forgot.  I always forget to take out the recycling.

B pointed out that he enables me by always taking the recyclables out right away, so I never remember to do it.

My response was to put my arm up to shield my face and yell

"DON'T HIT ME WITH THE CANE, CRAWFORD!"

**Of course I have to add that if you call my husband Crawford or make remarks to him about his tri-folded underwear, you will know pain..Thanks!**

I find it quite humorous when I  think of how much I actually enable him on any given day, while he has to point out the most minor infraction on my part as gross negligence of my wifely duties.

But it's not like anyone's keeping score or anything.

Miss Elizabitch and the Dreaded Earworm

I woke up to snow.

I was a bit disappointed because today was supposed to be Hot Yoga Day. But alas..

I could have gotten it together and maybe gotten ready earlier and such, but having to bring B into work late because Lyd's bus is always late on days of crappy weather Kind of screwed things up. I can't leave until she gets on the bus when it snows because I worry about her falling down the stairs out front. They can be a bit treacherous. There is actually a story there.

A few years back, during that Winter of 2010 or 11? If you live in New England you will remember. It was the one Winter where we had a snowstorm twice a week for 2 months.

One day, we had a short period of melting and then it froze up again.  I had been out sanding and chipping at ice in the front for a good 45 minutes before Lyd got home from school. We did not have any ice melt at the time because B was against it. He had just completed patching up the eroding steps that Fall and wanted them to stay in their "pristine" shape for as long as possible. Pristine or even passable as a decent step is still up for debate.

I'll just say that B chose well when he decided not to pursue masonry as a profession.

I heard a yell from outside just at the time Lyd was supposed to arrive home. I rushed out and saw that Lyd had slipped and fallen on her ass at the bottom of the steps. The woman who at the time was referred to as Miss Elizabeth (Lyd's bus monitor) glared at me and looked as if she was puffing herself up to yell at me. I walked down the steps and pointed at her and said bluntly, "Don't you yell at me."

I then proceeded to deal with Lyd and her dramatic portrayal of a mortally injured person. She is very dramatic to say the least. Dramatic and unhurt. It was quite a scene. Screamed bloody murder and refused to get up off the ground for what felt like 50 years.

I was frustrated because of all the work I had put in to make sure what happened did not happen and it did. I probably could have handled it much better. But I didn't.

Miss Elizabitch and I despised each other. We would give each other dirty looks at first and then as things started to be more in the past, we would just ignore each other.

Just this year, we started to be friendly and wave to each other as Lyd gets off the bus and we now wish each other a happy whatever holiday it is or to have a nice weekend.

Infinitely better than what it was like before.

So, when it is icy, I always make sure I am around to make sure Lyd gets up or down the steps OK and I always have some ice melt on hand.

Obviously so Lyd will be safe, but also so Miss Elizabitch will be happy.

 I can't stop saying Elizabitch. It's just too awesome of a name for me to abandon it. I just say it now with warmth and affection, so it's OK.

 I was late getting B to work, meaning I was late to get home to get the kids ready to go to school. This meant that I couldn't get my shit together in time for Hot Yoga Day.

I was really bummed. I wanted to go. I will say that there is something about snow that makes me not want to do anything except sit in the warmth and watch the flakes fall.

So here I am. I came home, made the beds and straightened the kitchen. I put my 4 dollar fluffy pants back on along with my special red acrylic cardigan that came from a dead guy (another day). I am on my couch with a cup of coffee, the 3 books I'm reading, the phone, my laptop, and every remote control that I could possibly need within arms reach.

 I can also see the snowflakes fall from where I am sitting.

If I just had an adult diaper, then I wouldn't have to get up for the rest of the day!

So aside from bathroom runs, I plan on sitting here until 1pm. At that time, I have to hoist myself up to throw tomatoes in the crock pot and make meatballs.

Hot Yoga Day has become Sit on My Ass Day.

But I will say that I really need this. I am exhausted and I definitely need at least 1 day like this every few weeks. The snow gave me the perfect excuse.

But before you feel too jealous and decide that you hate me because I am not cursing the snow or doing anything today, know that despite my extreme physical comfort, I also caught a very nasty ear worm by the name of Carly Rae Jepson.

It snuck in my ear at the bakery and her awful song is twisting and squirming through my head at top volume.

I may have to resort to drastic measures.

Look here's an ice pick! Home lobotomy maybe?

Hot Cross Buns and 3G

The bun I am about to eat looks WAY better than the ones pictured here.

I love hot cross bun season. Unfortunately, my favorite bakery has been lacking them as of late.

The nice counter boy explained that people aren't buying them and they end up being thrown out. "You could have fucking called me!" I exclaimed in exasperation.

Of course I didn't say that. But I learned that in order for me to get some, I'd need to order half a dozen. So I did.

I gave a few away. I am now sitting down to my second bun of the day. Along with some extra strong coffee, so I don't pass out from the inevitable blood sugar spike and drop.

But I also had a big omelette a few minutes ago too, so I think I'm Ok. I may puke, but I won't pass out.

I got to thinking about my days. I am incredibly lucky.

Long ago, B and I decided that we wanted to raise our children ourselves and not send them to daycare all day, so we worked opposite shifts in order to make that happen.

Now that the kids are in school, I could go and get a day job, but I don't want the stress of worrying about sick days, snow days and holidays that I would have to take off.

So second shift is where I stay.

On most days, like today, I sometimes got to the gym, do some housework, make myself awesome breakfasts or sometimes meet a friend for coffee or breakfast. I also write as much as my rotten, procrastinating self will allow.

As I write this, I am actually procrastinating. I should be working on that really long story instead of writing here. I say to myself that this is my warm up to get limber for the big stuff.

Yeah right.

I think that the run down of my leisurely day to B as I dropped him off this morning put him in a crappy mood. (He forgets that I work tonight)

It's understandable. Most of the year, I have a lot of time to myself. He doesn't get it nearly as often.

But I pay for it in the end. I fucking pay.

I am with the kids non-stop all summer, on-call for any sickness. I hold the bowl all night for whomever is puking. I also do all the bills, banking, doctor visits and coordination of all activities, not to mention I trim everyone's nails.

I am also mostly responsible for Horst. You got to keep an eye on him. If you read this, you know that he has some spectacularly bad ideas.

All the time. Some you can stop, some you can't.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions they say.

My favorite recent bad idea was right after my sister in law's beloved dog passed away. I went to the basement to discuss plans for a package for her coming birthday.

I was thinking along the lines of some Alex and Ani bracelets with charms on them that have to do with dogs or the first letter of her dog's name. That sort of thing.

My father was going to put money in an envelope and also enclose a note telling her to buy herself another dog.

I just kept saying, "No" repeatedly until it sunk in that doing something like that is an incredibly bad idea. We went with the bracelets.

He got a new phone when he got his tax money back. It has wireless and a touch screen and he keeps saying it has "3G".

He claims that this is why the phone's battery is constantly draining, so when you try to call him, he never picks up because the phone is always dead.

His justification for buying a new phone was so that more people can get in touch with him. You know, the 3G and all..

So far I have called him several times, he never picks up, doesn't have a mailbox set up and it's pretty much the same thing as with his old phone, except that I think he pays more for this one.

The other day, as I was going into the basement to do laundry, he popped up out of nowhere. I think he has figured out when someone is coming down based on the sound of our footsteps above. He then lurks about waiting for you to come down.

I am ashamed to admit that sometimes, I don't acknowledge him right away, especially when it's obvious he's dying to tell me something. I make him sweat.

In my defense, it's usually about a new product he bought or something painful like that.

This Sunday he popped out and declared that I will never ever have to wash my dog's bed again. His new vacuum has a special pet hair attachment.

I didn't immediately go up and fetch my dog's bed to wash it out of spite, but I admit that it was tempting.

The mental drain of poor Horst. If you ever get sick of hearing about him, just tell me. In the meantime, I'm going to drink my coffee, eat my bun and do whatever until it's time to get the kids from school.

I'm going to enjoy my well-earned solitude and quiet.,

Uncle Kevin Always Sends the Best Diarrhea Pictures

I am supposed to be getting some writing in before I go to work for a few hours.

Surprise, surprise instead, I am here at my computer watching a You Tube video of Gilbert Gottfried reading "50 Shades of Grey".

I am also partially in my pajamas and not wearing a bra.

Gus started barking at the front door and I jumped up to answer it.

There wasn't anyone there, but if there was, I would have opened the door looking like holy hell, with Gilbert in the background yelling, "Vagina!" in that special voice of his.

I might have been embarrassed.

I shall take it as a sign from the Universe to get back to work.

In the meantime, here is what I was watching. I laughed so hard I almost soiled myself.

Speaking of soiling. This morning I got up to do my usual "burn my brain out on Facebook" while I enjoy my morning cuppa. I found that my friend Kevin left me this:

I am ashamed to say that my tactic this morning, to get the kids out of bed, was to tell them that Uncle Kevin sent me a diarrhea picture. 

I told them that Uncle Kevin always sends the best diarrhea pictures. 

They shot right out of bed. 

I am gross and immature.

I was supposed to

I was supposed to write about my friend's mother who passed away in February. At her wake I asked him if I could write something about her here. He said i could.

I haven't written anything. I meant to write about how, among all the other parents in my neighborhood, she stood out as one of the ones who actually liked me.

She gave me a Raggedy Ann book once, that I took home and scribbled my name all over in huge, lopsided craggy letters.  I still have that book on my bookshelf.

I remember her as an excellent cook, an excellent gardener, who used to leave pie plates of beer in her garden to catch slugs.

I remember her impatience and exasperation at us the time that we decided to cast fishing lines in the field across the street and my friends little brother got a fish hook caught in the seat of his jeans.

I remember that she kept an incredibly cozy house. When I am reading a book and imagining in my head a home, my friends old house is one of the settings I picture in my head. It's usually a toss up between that house or my cousin Jean's house.

That woman kept a magical home, I can't describe it really, but there was something about it that was infinitely warm and safe. Especially for a child who felt insecure for a majority of the time.

That house is long gone, every time I drive past where it used to be, at the bottom of the hill next to my old elementary school, I get sad.

Diane is gone now too. The last time I saw her was at my own mother's wake 10 years ago. She read it in the paper and told my friend to come to it with her. I was surprised and grateful for that gesture.

She passed on too soon. She was lovely and I wish that I could have bumped into her again after that wake.

(Sighing and hanging my head)- That's all I got for today. Nothing funny here today folks.

Abbot and Costello Do Hot Yoga

Today is the day. I am not sick. There are no appointments.

I got a reprieve from the gym yesterday (haven't gone in 2 weeks)

Heather called about the gym as usual and I answered saying, "Please say no."

Happily, she was calling to cancel.

But today!

Today I do Hot Yoga!

The picture of the woman on the yoga studio website doing the splits terrifies me, but I shall forge ahead into the unknown.

I promise you that this will not be me on the mat today, I won't look a thing like her.

For the obvious reason that I am no way near that flexible 

and because I haven't shaved my armpits since September

Speaking of that, I have to take a few to trim my toenails before the class. 

I have a pain in my foot. It's like my body and social anxiety is saying to me-

"Here! Here is an excuse not to go!"

But I stamp my foot on the ground and say to it, "NO! Not today foot!"

For today we do Hot Yoga!

Please pray for me between the hours of 9:30 and 11 am-Thank you!

What I've Learned

I have learned some very important things in the past year, that have made my life ever so much easier.

Two big ones were very small simple things.

The first is to know of a good key smith. Ferdie's is the locksmith near me.

They saved me from a weekend of torture which could only be described as being pecked to death by a chicken.

One of my colleagues lost the keys to his lockbox. He would have been stressed about it and in turn tortured everyone else in the house about it.

I brought the box to Ferdie's, he picked the lock, I got the stuff out from the box and left it there. They made me new keys by getting impressions from the lock-amazing. Ferdie's saved the day.

I hear that they will come to you, for a fee, and pick locks to your car and house if you need them to. They can also crack safes. It is beyond cool.

The second is to know of a good cobbler, especially if you have expensive leather shoes or boots.

I bring my boots to Abe's every year, in either Spring or Fall.  I get them back almost new, and very shiny.

I've had the same pair of motorcycle boots for 10 years thanks to my cobbler.

The third is probably the most important thing. It was the most difficult one for me to learn.

If you have been stciking around for some time, you may remember the post from last May that made mention of the dreaded Vocabulary Parade:

http://nicrophorus.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-all-comes-out-in-wash.html

If you check it, you will see the hats that my kids made. They didn't win anything, for which they were VERY disappointed.

You see, it's quite obvious that I made those hats. Very obvious to everyone else I'm sure.

Ever see that Simpsons episode where Homer has to make Lisa's state of Florida costume and she wins a prize for a costume that was obviously NOT made by her parents, even though it was Homer who made it.  I can't remember where Marge was:

So the kids who make their own things with no help from parents are the ones who win, or so it seems. Poor  Lisa. 

I made the hats and they won nothing-the whole vocabulary parade was not about who wins, but all the same. 

I have no business making my kid's projects. 

It was a "Duh!' smack myself in the forehead moment. 

For Christmas, Gretel decided to make her class Christmas cards. On lined notebook paper. She planned to include bookmarks. On lined notebook paper. 

In my opinion, that was going to go over like a fart in church.

But remembering the Vocabulary Parade, I kept my mouth shut and let her do it her way. 

In the end, her friends actually liked her cards and it went great. 

For Valentines day, she made her cards from colored construction paper, a step up that was her choice and she came to me to ask for the paper to make them. 

Von opted for Angry Bird cards, happily-he can fill them out himself. 

All I asked was that the cards were not scattered everywhere while they were being made and filled out. 

This Winter vacation, Gretel wanted to have a party for a few friends. Again, I let her do it her way. I took her to the store and she chose her own paper plates and party favors. 

I just stood by with the wallet.

Ok, I'll admit to steering her towards getting kazoos as favors. I did it to be a jerk. I'm not sorry. 2 families got 2 kid free hours-dinner included-

Nothing comes for free! Enjoy your many hours of kazoo music!(cue evil maniacal laughter)

The party was great. I stayed out of it. B got the pizza and we stayed in the kitchen and let the kids run the show, only periodically distracting them with food or kazoos when it started to get crazy.

I have learned to let the kids do it their way. That was lesson 3. 

My assumptions at how things will turn out are usually colored by my own, not so great, childhood experiences.

It is hard to let go of control and it's hard to hold back when you are so afraid of your child failing or becoming disappointed or hurt, but it's necessary. 

And so far, I have been wrong about the end result-happily wrong. 

There is also no stress or butting heads by telling my kids how I think something should be, when they are the ones who know better about what they want and how things like word hats and parties should be.

The kids are on their own for the next Vocabulary Parade. I'm just a chaperone.

Killing Me Softly With His Crap

Sorry about that. Time was slipping away and I had things to do.

I will say that Karaoke Mayhem was a total success. B and I spent most of the time banished to the kitchen.

When the all around noise began to get louder and the party started to dissolve into the sequel to The Lord of The Flies (Lord of The Flies II-Karaoke Mayhem!) We threw pizza at them. They calmed.

It got loud again, we broke out the ice cream. And again-I gave them kazoos. By the fourth time, it was time to go.

Managed perfectly, no injuries, everyone had fun, no fights. Surprisingly, for all the noise, stomping and waving around of various types of weapons including a medieval battle axe, several guns and a light saber (The boys decided to attack the girls at the karaoke machine), there was no mess.

I'm going to get back to this subject in another post, maybe today, maybe tomorrow because I have learned one of the most important parenting secrets over the past few months and I want to share.

But I looked out my kitchen window from where I am writing and I spied Horst walking to the bus, his jaunty little hunting cap on, towing his backpack full of God knows what. A reminder of why I am here writing in the first place.

So after a 14 hour delay, back to Horst.

We generally have to let him do things the way he wants to. It is definitely for the sake of our own sanity. I have 2 excellent examples.

 The Package part 2.

It was my sister in law's birthday and we needed to get belated gifts for my niece. So on last Sunday, a very cold, snowy and blustery day, we headed out to get some stuff.

I was already tired and annoyed from the get go.

We got the bracelets for my sister in law, whom I will refer to as K, that went fairly well. We left the store and drove to the children's clothing store. My nerves were beginning to fray as we had a little difficulty finding the place and I couldn't really listen to the radio because Horst was also running his own constant stream of commentary.

We get to the store and I have to tell my father three times to go find something for the baby. He stands in the middle of the store like a deer in the headlights, then starts to follow me.

I instruct him to look around and find a few things that catch his eye and then we'll find the right size. I needed a few minutes and had to find my own present.

He does well and gets some gifts. That's the problem I have. He wants someone else to take him by the hand and do things for him. He is very capable of doing things himself.

My line of work involves helping people who have difficulties doing things for themselves. Having to help someone who is perfectly capable both cognitively and physically, to complete a task, often puts me over the edge.

Like serving a platter of donuts to an employee of Dunkin Donuts.

He chooses two very cute outfits and two small sock monkeys. He pays and now it is my turn.

I chose 2 pairs of fancy knee socks and a pair of leg warmers. I decide to have them wrapped.

God help me I had them wrapped.

They place the socks in a small thin box and tie a cute ribbon around it to which they stick a cute label on which you can write the name of the recipient.

Horst wants to get in on the gift wrapping action and decides to have it done as well.

Suddenly I feel clammy and my bowels turn to water. Here it comes.

They wrap the 2 small outfits in a ridiculously large and cumbersome box. Because of the sock monkey. You can't squish the sock monkey you know, because it might do something crazy like get a little squished before it bounces back to it's original form.

I watch in horror as the girl places the extra sock monkey (for my nephew. Horst has painfully mentioned at least a dozen times in the hour and a half in which this trip took place that he "can't get something for one and not for the other") because you can't be too careful with sock monkeys. They need a lot of room, so they don't suffocate during shipment.

Now, this is not the bad part. The part that kills me is Horst standing next to me and justifying it all. "It's better this way, it's easier to pack and ship." He says this over and over while the girl is wrapping.

Visions of a simple padded mailer are dashed away to be replaced with Horst standing over me and saying "It's better this way" before he dashes out my brains with a large Priority mail box.

I take deep breaths and make it through the transaction and back home. I run away when he starts asking me how to wrap and label a small jewelry box.

I find a simple solution to this whole packing thing the next day. Instead of wrestling everything into a big postal box and forgetting the roll of packing tape and having to buy yet another roll for the house, I simply go to UPS and drop off my packages. I give Horst the shipping receipt. He pays me back with no problem. Solved.

The Batteries

Gretel comes to me on Monday morning and presents me with her Wii remote. She asks me to get new batteries from downstairs. I am at the computer, still eating breakfast while writing.  I sigh and get up to trudge downstairs.

I get some batteries from the shelf where Horst keeps them. Horst likes to purchase the batteries for the house. He even keeps them in cute little battery containers that he has ordered special. From either Ginny's or The Vermont Country Store.

Like an idiot who should know better, I go back upstairs and replace the batteries.

They don't work.

Here is the second thing that kills me.

Horst has ordered, in addition to his special battery cases, a battery charger that is supposed to charge regular non-rechargeable batteries.

It doesn't work. He says it does. But it doesn't work.

 Also, Horst has taken to storing the uncharged batteries that he likes to hoard now right next to the newer batteries in identical, unlabeled containers. I honestly think he throws everything in the same container because he forgot which is which.

Instead of sitting in the basement trying battery after battery and getting angrier and angrier, I found Gretel a Wii remote that works and decided to wait until Horst got home later in the day to ask him to find me a pair of working batteries.

I do so, I tell him (again) that he should store the batteries that need to be charged somewhere else, like the garbage. I ask him to find me some batteries that work. He does this by taking out his battery charger and placing batteries in it until he finds 2 that read as fully charged.

He then tells me that I should bring the batteries that I already tried down to him so that he can put them in the charger.

I will fully admit to a surge of an adolescent like rush of evil pleasure when I hissed, "I put them in the garbage."

I quivered with malicious delight at his snort of disgust and frustration.

I have decided that I will go and buy my own batteries and keep them upstairs, in secret.

 I could have just bought my own in the first place, but that is yet another way that Horst will kill me if he finds out I'm doing that.

For example, if Horst finds out I have purchased cranberry sauce, poultry gravy of any sort, or sauerkraut, to name a few, he will exclaim, "I have that downstairs!" He will rush down and come back up, to place in my hand, an ancient and withered can of what once was the needed product.

I will thank him in a sad, defeated sort of way. He always replies by laughing triumphantly.

It will be the same with the batteries.

In wrapping this up, I want to thank you for your time. It's like free therapy for me. I feel better. As long as I have an outlet, Horst will stay for years to come. I will be able to entertain you more and more I'm sure, as he gets older and eventually retires to spend all day with me.

We all can't wait for that.

I'm also happy to report that Horst's malevolent powers can cross state lines as well. This makes me feel less alone.

I received a post on Facebook from K, my sister in law in Illinois, who always gets the packages that are the cause of my heartache.

She said that the UPS guy must have known that she had a household of young children and a cat. She stated that he must have laughed evilly as he packed extra peanuts, that ended up scattered all over her house.

That wasn't the UPS guy at all. That was Horst.

Raising my fists to the sky as I scream

HHHHHHOOOOOORRRRRRSSSST!!!!!

Karaoke Mayhem!

So here I am on the eve of Karaoke Mayhem 2013!

In about an hour, my children will be joined by 5 others. There will be pizza and a karaoke machine.

There is a half gallon of Newport Creamery ice cream waiting.

There are also paper plates and a tiny bottle of Captain Morgan stashed in the high cupboard for after. I think I may have some Jack Daniel's too.

But I am not here to talk about my night's journey of self abuse at the hands of children and myself. I am here to talk about Horst.

He got me again.

That man shaves minutes off my lifespan in much the same way a cigarette will supposedly shave 2 minutes off each time you smoke.

I think at the rate I am going, I don't think I will last the night.

But it's Ok parents of children who are coming-I have no intentions of either dying or getting drunk until AFTER the party. Your children are in good hands.

The dog can also be helpful too. He can lick any pizza sauce or ice cream off of them, I swear I will return them home safe and squeaky clean.

Back to Horst.

First it was the package. Again. If you go back in my archives, there is a post about my frustration with sending bulky packages for him. I think it was the same time last year, shortly after my niece was born.

This year I spoke to him about not getting bulky packages to send, it will make it all better for me.

Crap-hold that thought. I will return to this later tonight or first thing in the morning. Karaoke Mayhem starts soon and I must fetch the children.

In the meantime-refresh your memory and read last years package post!

Pray for me!

A Note from The Front Line

Not the best way to start the day today.

I will spare you all the gory details as it involves someone in this house pooping somewhere that wasn't in the toilet. Oh yes and it wasn't me

I went apeshit (no pun intended) .  Then, I then took the kids to Target and they each got a toy.

I hate February. It is the time of year when my depression is at it's worst. With everyone home I find it hard to write, which is one of the things that usually makes me feel better.

Thanks to the kindness of a friend, my kids are currently geeking it out and playing a Dungeons & Dragons style game at his house and I was able to write for an hour today.

I also checked the bees. They are great, they ate almost all of the sugar I left them and I gave them another lump.

So despite the shit, it is turning out to be a not so bad day. I got to do two of the things I love to do the most.

No, not shitting on the floor and screaming at the kids, very funny.

I'm looking forward to the end of vacation and dreading it at the same time, because I do kind of like my kids, they can be funny sometimes.

Tomorrow, G has decided to invite some friends over for pizza and karaoke-God help me.

Before I go, I want to mention that I found a new hero. Her name is Susanna Clarke and she wrote the book

This is her first novel-she took ten years to write it and she was 44 when it was first published. It made me feel ever so much better about my stupid almost 39 year old self banging at a stupid keyboard everyday, trying to finish a stupid story.

It's a really long book, but if you like fantasy with a touch of Jane Austen (but better I think because it's like Jane Austen with The Raven King!) then go get this. I am thinking this may be my best book of 2013. 

Snow

Back to this again!

I am happy that this snowstorm is minor and I do not have to be anywhere that I absolutely have to be, like work.

I also have tomorrow off, so I can enjoy the snow and not feel too anxious about the shoveling to be done today. 

My cold sore is better. It looks less like Belial and more like the girl with the cut lips in Kill Bill volume 2. I wish I had a picture but no.

I am feeling decidedly uninspired on the blog today so i am going to find something else to write. 

Later-enjoy the snow and make a snowman if you get the chance

Belated Valentine's Check In

For Valentine's day this year, I got an enormous cold sore that snuck up on me. That day it was as big as my head. It looked like Belial from Basketcase, only on my face instead of my ribcage.

I got my period, which I always get on any sort of holiday.

 I got another minor scourge that left me achey and weak for the day. 

I also got a small box of chocolates, that I picked up for B to give to me. I placed the box in his sock drawer and instructed him to surprise me on Valentine's Day. 

He managed to call out half asleep from bed that morning, "Cindy, check my sock drawer!" This was followed by a weak, "Surprise!"

But it's Ok, I honestly don't mind not getting anything for Valentine's. I'm actually reaching the age when I'm just like "Eh." I'd rather go out to dinner than get something. 

B also pointed out that I would much rather have really good chocolates than a box of Whitman's from the drugstore any day. He is right.

 I was disappointed that Heth and I didn't get to act out "Abbot and Costello Do Hot Yoga" on that day, which was the original plan. It was not my social anxiety making me ill, as I still felt shitty after I cancelled. 

But I did get to lie on the couch again all day, with a thermos of hot tea and Dr Who. 

So not too bad of a day. Although my kids went to all the trouble of making cards for everyone else in the world, but not for their poor mother. 

Bastards!

Ash Wednesday Puppy

I didn't start off too well this morning. I was in a particularly nasty mood and things that were going on only added fuel to the fire.

Horst came up first thing and asked me to drive him to Cox cable on Monday so he could pay his phone bill. He had payed it previously on a credit card and didn't have enough money on it to pay it this month.

If you read the Swiss Colony post a few months back, you would know that good ol' Horst has a bit of a spending problem.

Horst then proceeded to regale me with stories of people at work, updates on the weather and times that I would need to pick him up from the bus stop. I listened and nodded, while trying to make lunches and unload the dishwasher and get the kids ready for school. If I left the room, he would follow me around, still talking.

I fervently wished that he would just shut the fuck up and go back into the basement.

Because I had such angry thoughts about him, I offered to give him a ride to the bus stop. The whole ride down, I didn't bother turning on the radio because he kept up his constant commentary. I dropped him off with a cheerful goodbye and reminded him that he should call if he needed a ride home from the bus stop.

If I am extra special nice to you, it's usually a good indication that I really want to rip your head off.

I hate having mean thoughts like that about people, it makes for a crappy day.

And it has been a crappy week, with the snow storm and subsequent hell of snow removal, shitty drivers  and a whole slew of endings that have come to my attention over this past week that have left me feeling sad and cranky. 3 involve death, 1 unmentionable because it's not my place to say and I completely forgot what the other ones were except that they sucked.

So I'm trying to break my funk, it's hard when I have a brain that is such a total asshole. A brain that tells me what I should do to feel better, then has me get extra tired so then I just sit there and beat myself up for not doing anything.

Fuck you brain, any more of this shit and you and the inner squirrel both get the hose.

So today I wanted to take moment to talk about my old, awesomest dog in the world because it is Ash Wednesday.  my old dog Shaz was the Ash Wednesday puppy. I don't have any photos on my computer because she died before I got high tech, so here is a photo of the framed photo I keep on a set of drawers in my living room:

This picture had been missing and I finally dug it out from under the drawers and forgot the wipe off the dust and dog hair sticking to it before I took the picture-Gross

Yes, that is a fuzzy pink Barbie frame. I got it in a happy meal a million years ago while driving home from New Jersey. As soon as we got the frame from the cardboard box with the golden arches, we knew exactly what photo to put in it. 

Yes I carried a photo of Shaz around in my wallet for a long time until it ended up in the frame. No, I typically don't carry photos around of my children.

Shaz was the best dog, I had her before I had any of my children. She was at both of my weddings. She went everywhere with me. 

Right after B and I got married, she got hit by a car and I spent over two thousand dollars of my wedding money to fix her up. She had 4 really good years after that. 

My sister in law's dog passed away this week and she was understandably crushed. Nala was her dog of dogs. It's hard, if not impossible to find as good a dog as that dog. They are once in a lifetime. 

I still keep Shaz's collar and tags on my rearview mirror and always give it a jingle for luck. I still miss her.

The story of why she was referred to as the Ash Wednesday puppy happened on a February back in 1993-ish when I lived on Brewer St in Newport with a bunch of people.  

During a drunken brew-ha-ha, a friend used a black marker to draw a cross between her eyes. Another friend coming by and seeing how my dog was desecrated, yelled at me for doing it (although I really had nothing to do with it). 

The incident ended with another friend writing "FUCK YOU ________" on Shaz's flank in black marker. The friend, whose name was written on Shaz, then took her to his house for a bath. If only we had pictures of Shaz and the look on my friend's face when he saw what was written on her.

 Priceless, I tell you.

After the friend and Shaz left, we had a lovely time making up stories about Shaz, the Ash Wednesday Puppy who would travel around with a plastic cup full of ashes to place sooty nose prints on the foreheads of the faithful every Ash Wednesday. 

Shaz came back later that day. Her message of "Fuck you" to a particular person much faded. She went on to live for a total of 14 years with me. Best damn dog ever. Not like the dumb ass I'm saddled with now.

In my neighborhood, you know Gus got out of the yard and is running around when you hear me yell, "If you get hit by a car I'm putting your dumb ass to sleep!" at the top of my lungs. See what I'm saddled with.

Baboons playing Whack a Mole in that there brain.

So take a moment today to remember Shaz, The Ash Wednesday Puppy, if you knew her. If you still have your dog of all dogs living with you, give them a big hug in memory of Shaz and sweet Nala, best dogs ever.
If you are saddled with the burden of one of those "other" dogs, I'll be praying for you.

Here is a bonus picture of pretty, heavy snow that was a complete bitch to move around, but so pretty!

Happy Ash Wednesday! I'm thinking of giving up organized religion for Lent! How about you?

Procrastination

I have been procrastinating. I am about 3/4 of the way finished with what you could consider a really long story or a really short book.

I have a vary hard time writing when there are people around-just like that frog on Bugs Bunny. I could be on a roll, cane out and top hat waving. Suddenly, a small child will descend upon me, looking over my shoulder to ask what I am doing.

I visibly deflate, just like that frog and call it a day.

It's been tough these past few days. We were stuck inside from that blizzard, all packed in. Thankfully, we did not lose heat or power. I cannot say enough times how thankful I am for that. But it was still painful because of the amount of alone time I need in order to function was drastically reduced.

I know the tiny solution to this problem. I need to get up earlier and when i do, stop roaming around on Facebook or someone else's blog and get to it.

Sometimes I am good at it and sometimes I fall out of the routine and have to get back on it, which is what's happening now.

but happily, at this very moment, the kids are up and I am writing and they are leaving me be. Not bad. I'm sure one of them will be over any minute to ask me to arrange for play dates and schedule their itineraries for the day. Sometimes I don't feel like a mother, I feel like the event coordinator for the Love Boat.

I have some more things I'd like to write about. It has been a sad week. Lots of endings have come to my attention. I have a wake to go to tonight. Maybe tomorrow I'll write about that.

But at the moment I have a really long story or a really short book that I need to finish.

Blizzard!

Blizzard today. The flakes are falling and I am watching it from the window as i write this.

I'm glad that they cancelled school, this morning was more leisurely than usual and B took the car to work.

After all of the storm preparation, I was pretty pooped. It wasn't too much preparation, just switching my grocery shopping day from Friday to Thursday and getting gas, but I was tired.

I am supposed to work at 8 tomorrow, I plan on getting up very early to start the process of digging myself out and waiting for the plows to do the road. My boss has planned for people to stay at the houses until they can be relieved, so I feel much better knowing that.

It has been a horrifically crappy week for me, writing-wise. Being sick screwed things up, along with a slew of appointments.

Next week I have to crack down and work because the following week is the dreaded February vacation (cue Darth Vader music).

My family was stuck in a huge snowstorm 2 Christmases ago while visiting B's family in New Jersey. My Father in law and B laughed at me for the amount of food I went out to buy when the storm started.

I will say that they were thanking me by Tuesday afternoon, which was when the plows started digging us out. We were trapped since Sunday-here is a picture of a car parked on the street to show you just how deep the snow was and how trapped we really were.

So once Noon rolls around and B makes it home Ok, I should be all set to weather the storm. Even better when I get the word that my poor friend Kevin mades it home. He has to travel a ways to Massachusetts every day for work and they still made everyone come in.

Drive safe everyone-Take a moment to think of those people less fortunate who do not have warm houses to hunker down in, especially those people affected by Sandy all that time ago.

A special message to the parents out there like myself, who at this moment, are watching the snow pile up outside, fervently wishing that their children were more like the Mertz's children. Parents who are  wondering,  "Why on Earth did God saddle us with this bunch of a-holes to be stuck in a storm with?"

It's Ok, you're not alone. It will all be over soon.

**Fuck sticks..I got all excited because I thought that the Fed-X truck that just pulled up was delivering my new coat that I was supposed to get in the mail today. Turns out it was a vacuum cleaner that Horst ordered. Fuck**

The Scourge

The Scourge came upon me yesterday.

But as far as Scourges go, it's not that bad.

Last night, on my way home from work a bit early, I fervently prayed to God that I would not get into a car accident.

If I did, I can assure you that there was no way that I would be arriving to the hospital in clean underwear.

The Scourge allowed me to sleep and make it to and from dropping the kids off from school.

I'll take it. I just hope that this is not the type of Scourge that starts with intestinal distress and blows up into an enormous puke festival.

Right now I am doing Ok. I am on the couch with books, remote controls and this computer in reach. I have a thermos of tea, a pillow and a blanket.

I'm not leaving my post unless I have to run to the bathroom. Of course I have strategically placed myself for the most direct route.

The kids are at school. The house is quiet and I haven't puked yet.

Not too bad as far as Scourges go.

Off to Nap

I'm annoyed right now.
I went on the internet to find a good zombie picture that captures how tired I am at the moment.

There's mean zombie, sexy nurse zombie, Nazi zombie.

But no "I just crawled out of the grave that I've been lying in for years and my brains have been eaten away by maggots so I look vacant" zombie images.

So that sucks. And it sucks that I am tired because there are many things for me to do.

To combat my weariness, I decided the best course was to drink extra coffee and eat leftover fried chicken.

It's not working but I am too tired to give a shit

What I need to do is to is to crash on the couch, watch TV and doze for an hour.

Ok good idea. That's what I'll do.

For the record, I still haven't said my piece about those Groundhogs and how much I despise them and everything about Groundhog day.

For me, the groundhog not seeing his shadow, thus predicting an early Spring means that I just have to start trapping the little demons earlier this year.

Nap now

A Slight Brush

Crazy night last night.

G was out with her friend and they ended up getting hit by a car while walking back from picking up a pizza.

They had just crossed the street and some kid decided to reverse backwards into a parking spot without looking.

G and her friend got knocked over. Her friend got it worse and hit her head, but thankfully, no serious injuries. Nobody had to go to the hospital.

We didn't even know G had been hit until after the fact, as she fell over and popped back up so quickly. She didn't say anything until after the fact.

Her friend hit her head and couldn't get up at first,  I can only imagine what was going through Iz's mom's head at the time. The EMT's checked her out and said she could go home. G got a ride home from a neighbor that just happened to be there.

Poor kid. She is a bit traumatized. We had a quiet night of sitting on the couch and watching Dr Who, she barely said anything. Usually, you can't shut her up.

She was up shortly after going to bed with nightmares that she couldn't remember. She slept with us and was up every few hours.

So here  I am on a Saturday, a complete zombie. I'm exhausted from little sleep and the effort that it took to keep my mind from going to those dark places.

Those "what could have happened" places that your brain tries to take you to when a loved one or yourself has a near miss and mortality decides to give you a little nudge.

A not so gentle reminder of how fragile life can be.

I'm sure that Iz's poor Mom is having the same, if not worse struggle with those awful thoughts.

Give your kid an extra big hug today, I am so thankful for my kids, I'm gonna give them a hundred.

Stay safe and look both ways before crossing.