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.

I managed to complete 1 thing off my list of little things to do and it wasn't even the actual list of little things to do!

Yay me!

In other news-I'm going to attempt to take the weekend off from here so I can make that recording of a post to send to Chris and Joe. Then I am going to get my ass in gear and finally finish the second draft of "the Really Long Story"

It has been a tough week, both kids had days off from school-G faked and got sent home yesterday. (Incidentally, her best friend Iz of the cotton batting beard also went home)

I am tempted to send a note to the nurse requesting that I only be called if my children vomit blood or start to excrete insects from their orifices.

So not a lot of writing has been done.  I am officially grounding myself.

But before that I am off to see Les Miserables! B took the day off from work just to take me. What a guy. (I wanted to see Transporter 20&1/2 but he wanted to see the chick flick-what a wuss)

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow when I break my vow of no internet to write a post!

BTW-thanks to everyone who shared my links, to the person who followed me, and to Marianne of We Band of Mothers, who always leaves comments-thanks guys XOXO

Help Here!

So, a lovely friend of mine is arranging to have one of my blog posts animated. I am thinking it will be me reading the blog, with the animation added.

So if you are just dying to see the mental picture of my dog noisily licking himself or my kids or father doing something kind of fucked up, drop me a line, let me know so I can send it along.

Joe Bilicic is the artist who is kind enough to do this so check him out when you get a chance-his website is  www.bravenewgarage.com 

Ok I'm waiting..

Yeah, I Bought Him a Gun-So Shoot Me

My mother in law sent this to me-it's pretty damn funny

My groove and routine have been destroyed today by that boy. He had 2 doctors appointments and insisted I take him out to get him a Nerf gun for an early birthday present.

It looks like a toy, it's not realistic, it shoots little foam darts. It's actually fun, the darts only sting a tiny bit when you get shot in the ass.

I have been shot in the ass many times today.

He is hardwired for certain things-Von is-trains, guns, breaking things with large sticks. So you know, in this day and age-every destructive act and purchase of an item resembling a gun includes a lecture about how guns belong only in the hands of people trained to handle guns and please don't ever shoot people when you grow up.

The dog is a whole other matter.

The dog is not especially bothered by being shot with Nerf darts. I have been acting out my own personal fantasy all afternoon.

It could be considered cruel, but it is very therapeutic-I have been feeling so much better about him after pretending to kill him the first few times

So that's that. It's all I have right now. I have been thrown off by this change in my routine-I hope to be here tomorrow.

So far-no bug-I have one more set of bedding to wash. It's coming soon.

Sanjay Gupta (speaking of personal fantasies-he is so hot) says that it is very hard to prevent/avoid the norovirus. We all might as well go lick some public toilet seats and get it over with.

Ow-shot in the ass again.

It's About Time

I cannot wait any longer. It has to be done.

I know in my heart that in doing what needs to be done, I have sealed the fate of everyone in my household.

I am washing the bedding this week and will most likely mop the living room floor.

As soon as I am through cleaning it all, we will all get the stomach flu.

Most likely the dog will get diarrhea too. The cat will scrape her ass across the floor.

It happens every time.

You don't become superstitious for no reason. When you are the primary caregiver of 3 children and an adult, you fear things like stomach bugs.

You don't want to jinx yourself.

I looked at the calendar and saw that we do not have any big events or holidays coming up. I have a bit of sick time and no planned vacation.

It's time to jinx myself and get some cleaning done, only to have to clean some more.

In the end, my house will be really really fucking clean. And smell like bleach!

I try to make the most of the noro-virus. I'll lose some weight, watch some TV, cleanse my system and have a clean house that smells of bleach.

It is time for the Big Green Bowl to come out of it's home beneath V's bed to get some work done!

Did I mention that B and I are planning to limit the kids screen time to only a half an hour a day?

That's another one. As soon as we try to implement this, we will all get sick. the only way to keep the kids from killing one another while we lie in bed in bed in stinky agony is to let them watch the pretty screens all day.

We are screwed. So screwed. But it has to happen sooner or later and now is a good time.

Tune in tomorrow-I might be here, if not I was right and will be camped out in the bathroom.

Otherwise, I'll tell you about my list that I plan on making, to help me finally finish all the little tasks around the house that I have been putting off for years.

Then only thing that is holding me back is the first item on the list, which is: Write a list of all the little things that need to be done.

Drowning Kittens

Yesterday was one of "those" days.

Happily, it was not a day spent in the ER, or cleaning a large amount of something gross, which is always a faint possibility where I work.

Actually, I always bring a book where ever I go, so the ER is a snap now. (Last year I was in there with a tome-like copy of Swan Song-but the weight was worth it, I was there for 10 hours)

 I'm used to gross stuff. (I also carry a pair of..the word is escaping me..rubber, but not actually rubber gloves, surgical gloves? I guess that's it.)

Actually that stuff is Ok, it involves the people I support and I don't mind helping them out with whatever they need. It's Ok.

They are there for a reason.

So, I had an unmentionable interaction with a family member who shall not be named, which resulted in my screaming several times in my car at the top of my lungs.

I was alone of course. The scream allowed me to get on with my day, though it really hurt my throat. I should take singing lessons in order to screech properly and not injure myself.

So, after that I was already feeling blech. Just a bit down, not too great.

I sat down with a fellow employee and gave him a few things to do.  Just reading and stuff to write and check off on. Nothing major.

As a supervisor, I am required sometimes to go over things with people, give people stuff to do, tell them to do something they didn't do. Things like that.

I have a little motto I try to work by: I never tell anyone to do something that I wouldn't do myself or haven't already done.

You would have thought, based on their reaction, that I had handed them a tiny kitten and said, "Here, you go drown this."

Or handed them a tablespoon of dog shit and said, "Here, you have to eat this right now."

It was kind of crazy. I found myself unable to retort in such a way that would allow me to maintain my professionalism. So I just said nothing.

The Person said they'd talk to our manager and I replied that that was a very good idea.

Which brings me to another motto I came up with: In life one must accommodate, placate and do everything short of fellatiate, some really screwed up people.

Today is a new day. I was able to watch a bright orange moon set first thing this morning,

I'm going to take the kids for Sunday indoctrination, I'm going to make a batch of pulled pork and go run around in the woods.

New day!

Yoga Klutz

Before I begin, I feel I must tell you that in no way am I soliciting sympathy or reassurance.

You know those posts on Facebook or whatever, that say I'm ugly or Im miserable and sometimes it is just a way for people to get reassurance from others? (by the way, doing that is totally fine-it's Ok to ask for reassurance)

This is not that type of thing. I am just writing a simple truth, that I totally and completely accept as just being a part of who I am.

Here is one of my favorite SpongeBob episodes, mainly for the beginning, where Plankton yells out

"I can deny it no longer! I am small."



I can deny it no longer:  I am a klutz.

Take a few Winter's back. I had come back from walking the dog as B just finished using this ice chipper roofing tool thing to completely clear the large concrete area in our back yard.

I walked up the stairs and beheld him in the Winter sunshine, standing tall with a roofing tool in his hand like the staff of some Greek god. He was finished, he was smiling hugely-very proud of himself at his accomplishment.

Chipping and clearing a 4 inch think sheet of ice that is probably 10 square feet in diameter is no little feat.

I got to the top step, congratulated him and tripped, knocking over a small brick wall that stood on the side of our gate, spewing brick and bits of mortar all over his freshly cleaned surface.

B told me to get inside, I stumbled in, not looking at him because I didn't want him to see how hard I was laughing.

I do shit like that all the time.

The only time you will ever see me move in a graceful fashion is at the beehive. You have to move the bee boxes, which weigh about 20-50 pounds each and are full with irritated stinging insects, in a very careful, gentle way so as to not anger them further.

I do that well, but to be honest, the bees leave me little choice-move us gently and gracefully or we sting your fucking face. And everyone else's face that may be nearby.

I can't dance. I won't dance unless it's sarcastically. If you ask, I will say no thanks. If you try to drag me onto the dance floor. I will hit you.  In the mouth. It's a simple fact.

And it's OK.

One time I went with a friend, a friend from work whom I used to think sometimes would take me out with her to make herself look good, to a cardio kickboxing class.

What a fucking nightmarish mess that was. I couldn't keep in sync with the class, I was so out of shape that I couldn't keep up, and my friend had me terrified. She kept saying to me, "You can't stop in the middle, you'll pass out!" So I stumbled along, flailing my arms and legs in pathetic half kicks, surrounded by svelte young nymphs high kicking in unison and punching the air in glory.

My half ass attempts made them look awesome.

I have not been to an exercise class since. It has been 13 years.

I started going to a gym with my friend Heather, you know, Heather Jean from this post from last year:

http://nicrophorus.blogspot.com/2012/02/poem-and-haiku-for-heather-jean.html

It's great-she gets me in on her membership.

Most mornings that I plan on going with her, I call to check in. In my head I'm saying, "Please say no, please say no"

When she says she can't go I am happy, because I hate to exercise. When she says yes, I am even happier because I know that if I do get off my ass for a bit, I'll feel much better for the rest of the day.

I'm even getting a little better at the abdominal strengthening exercises we do after the treadmill. Either that or I'm realizing that nobody is looking, nobody gives a shit about some uncoordinated broad in the corner who can't do a plank to save her life.

Next week, I'm actually going to go with Heth to a hot yoga class. That should be interesting.

I can totally see myself somehow tripping and knocking over several people who are in precariously balanced  and complicated yoga positions. I will most likely be very worried about farting while everyone is quiet and contemplative.

Shit, now that is all I'm going to be thinking of for that entire class, so I'll probably be falling over, trying not to think or laugh about farts when I'm supposed to be in a serene downward dog or what ever they call it.

It's OK though because no matter what, I'm going to make Heth look awesome.

Fuming Over The Fumes

Wow -it's pretty cold out there.

Yesterday was a snow day for me.

We have to do a lot of shoveling at our house. There are large expanses of concrete arranged in such a way, that if we do do not shovel all the snow off, it will melt and freeze all winter long, resulting in my house being surrounded by a large ice rink.

Our driveway is also ridiculously long and bumpy.

So it it snows, I usually cancel all plans, get the kids off to school and go home to shovel at my leisure.

I also cook. I made a big pot of vegetable soup and tahini cookies. I OD'd on the cookies after dinner and ended up passing out on the couch, but I guess my sugar issues I can save for another day.

I have been looking at the forecast over the next week and decided that I should wrap the beehive in insulation. I wasn't going to, but it worked out well last year, even though it was mild. I just have to commit to taking it off in the beginning of March.

Like an idiot, last year I left the insulation on too long and the bees overheated and almost swarmed off on me. It was a mess I'll tell you, but I fixed it in the end.

Here is a small video that shows the hive insulated. It's from last year. I promise to get better pictures when I work the hives this season.

So it's 7:15 so I have to start moving people out of bed. As an extra incentive to get me off my ass, Horst has managed to chase me out of the kitchen where I write by over spraying Lysol in his bathroom in the basement. The noxious fumes are climbing the stairs, seeping under the door and are now hitting me. 

 I must be off quickly, forgive me for any grammatical errors or typos.