***I wrote this a few weeks ago and was still working on this. It just makes me laugh. I love how Tommy says poo poo. It's more like "pew pew". Who doesn't love a good pew pew. ***
Okay, so nothing that our children do is really evil, unless you are Mrs. Bundy or Mrs. Hitler, but sometimes things happen that are good, and not so good. As I have been going back to work, I have taken some time during my long commute to reflect on my children and their behavior, both good and bad.
So here we go...
Bad: Getting pooped on explosively, just after dressing in fresh clothes, and you swear you see your baby giggle to himself.
Good: Celebrating the emerging of the first poop after an extended period of your child's constipation. No matter how long the period, the first turd sprung loose is cheered and ceremoniously paraded around the house like an Indian Price on his birthday. We have had issues with Tommy's bowl movements for some time (anyone with advice for coaxing poo out of a stubborn toddler is welcome to share), and we had to administer an enema. After this event, anyone who approached Tommy within 5 feet was warned, "Don't stick anything up my butt!!" We recently took Tommy to his doctor, and after the initial greet, Tommy qualified him with the understanding that nothing is to go near his butt hole. So after this affair, Tommy still has a phobia of things going near is butt.
More to come...
13 August 2010
09 August 2010
Hi!! What was your name again?
Recently I attended my TEN YEAR High School Reunion. Whew! Ten years have gone by since walking that stage and earning that diploma. While in attendance, there are several things that I learned, some good things and some, eh, no so good.
Despite knowing about the event several months in advance, I chose not to prepare myself physically until the day of. I went to the gym in the morning, and in a desperate and futile attempt, tried to lose 50 pounds. No, it cannot be done. So I gave up and then ate a box of Depression Donuts! Special brand for the emotionally unstable, comes with an extra dose of insecurity and shame baked right in. Tasty.
So after my unsuccessful attempt at weight loss, I tried the next best thing. This is where I learned my first lesson. Never wear two pieces of fat hiding, gut sucking control top undergarments at the same time. I tried to wear a control top camisole and control top panties. It was like a war of my midsection, with a giant tummy roll shifting up and down my midsection, not knowing what to do, and certainly not where to go. It was like two squeegees pushing a line of soap up and down. Up and down. And Lord help me if I sat down, both pieces slid and rolled, obviously not wanting to fulfill their taught responsibility. Needless to say, it didn't work. Lesson #1.
After dressing and making our way to the reunion, I then learned the next lesson. I should have ate something prior to drinking 17 bottles of vodka. This coupled with the fact that I had not consumed a large amount of alcohol, any alcohol, in almost a year due to pregnancy and birth led to a very intoxicated reunion attendee. I don't quite remember the entire evening, but I do remember that all the hard work I did prying myself into above mentioned undergarments was negated when I proceeded to inform anyone that I spoke with about the giant feat of fabric engineering going on under my dress. Why did I chose to tell people? Because the booze made me do it. The same reason I seemed to tell everyone that I stalk them on Facebook. (Lesson #3 by the way, keep that little fact to yourself and you will avoid a lot of awkward conversation breaks and the shifty-eyed, "is she really the best option I have to talk to right now" look).
So then, as the night gurgled on, I only have bits and pieces of anything that took place, but I am told that I had a great time. I remember telling someone who is now a lawyer that I know all about what they go through because I have seen every episode of Law and Order:SVU. Right there with you, *chest thump. I believe I might have repeatedly poked a popular radio DJ in the chest, demanding to know why he chose my best friend over me in the 8th grade. Why? Again...lots 'o booze = drunky Georgie = non functioning EDIT/SILENT button.
Looking back, a tiny margin of me wishes I hadn't been so inebriated, and that I might have had more coherent and memorable conversations. But, where's the fun in that?
I would care more about any inappropriate behavior I might have displayed, but seriously, the next time I will see 99% of these people will be in another 10 years. If I made a fool of myself, hey, at least I gave someone a laugh, or a pathetic head shake.
All in all, I had a great time (I think), spent some wonderful quality time with my BFF, saw many old friends, and at the very least there was an open bar that I obviously enjoyed. Cheers!
Despite knowing about the event several months in advance, I chose not to prepare myself physically until the day of. I went to the gym in the morning, and in a desperate and futile attempt, tried to lose 50 pounds. No, it cannot be done. So I gave up and then ate a box of Depression Donuts! Special brand for the emotionally unstable, comes with an extra dose of insecurity and shame baked right in. Tasty.
So after my unsuccessful attempt at weight loss, I tried the next best thing. This is where I learned my first lesson. Never wear two pieces of fat hiding, gut sucking control top undergarments at the same time. I tried to wear a control top camisole and control top panties. It was like a war of my midsection, with a giant tummy roll shifting up and down my midsection, not knowing what to do, and certainly not where to go. It was like two squeegees pushing a line of soap up and down. Up and down. And Lord help me if I sat down, both pieces slid and rolled, obviously not wanting to fulfill their taught responsibility. Needless to say, it didn't work. Lesson #1.
After dressing and making our way to the reunion, I then learned the next lesson. I should have ate something prior to drinking 17 bottles of vodka. This coupled with the fact that I had not consumed a large amount of alcohol, any alcohol, in almost a year due to pregnancy and birth led to a very intoxicated reunion attendee. I don't quite remember the entire evening, but I do remember that all the hard work I did prying myself into above mentioned undergarments was negated when I proceeded to inform anyone that I spoke with about the giant feat of fabric engineering going on under my dress. Why did I chose to tell people? Because the booze made me do it. The same reason I seemed to tell everyone that I stalk them on Facebook. (Lesson #3 by the way, keep that little fact to yourself and you will avoid a lot of awkward conversation breaks and the shifty-eyed, "is she really the best option I have to talk to right now" look).
So then, as the night gurgled on, I only have bits and pieces of anything that took place, but I am told that I had a great time. I remember telling someone who is now a lawyer that I know all about what they go through because I have seen every episode of Law and Order:SVU. Right there with you, *chest thump. I believe I might have repeatedly poked a popular radio DJ in the chest, demanding to know why he chose my best friend over me in the 8th grade. Why? Again...lots 'o booze = drunky Georgie = non functioning EDIT/SILENT button.
Looking back, a tiny margin of me wishes I hadn't been so inebriated, and that I might have had more coherent and memorable conversations. But, where's the fun in that?
I would care more about any inappropriate behavior I might have displayed, but seriously, the next time I will see 99% of these people will be in another 10 years. If I made a fool of myself, hey, at least I gave someone a laugh, or a pathetic head shake.
All in all, I had a great time (I think), spent some wonderful quality time with my BFF, saw many old friends, and at the very least there was an open bar that I obviously enjoyed. Cheers!
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