Worthless Crap today...

I've been a very grumpy bugga all week and haven't felt much like posting. I feel as though I need to say SOMETHING, however, so here ya go.

My husband lost my golf shoes. He borrowed them one day when he couldn't find his. (I have giant feet, and my golf shoes are men's, in case you care) I am helping him run a golf tournament tomorrow for his company, and guess what we (read: he) can't find? My shoes. He found his, but lost mine in the process. I am trying to figure out how to get new golf shoes before 8:25 tomorrow morning. I could play without them, I guess, but here's the thing. I am GREAT at playing happy hostess. The golf? Not so great. I will make a giant ass out of myself out there, but I have fun doing it. However, I need the proper equipment. I can't be happy hostess if I break an ankle. So dear, stupid husband: QUIT LOSING MY CRAP!

Because of the tournament, I am Ladybug-less for the first time tonight. She went to spend the night with her Nan and Pap. We're going up for the weekend tomorrow after we finish up. I miss her desperately, but you know what? I'm kind of looking forward to the sleep. They're good grandparents, so I know she's safe. And I desperately need a little rest before I head back to work next week. Which is a whole other post and one of the biggest contributors to my crankiness of late.

So without the baby, we went to Hibachi for the first time. Hubs has been trying to get me to go for a while, but I was always afraid to take her--flying knives and all. The Boy was in awe. It was neat, and we'll go back.

See, I told you this was a worthless crap post.

Time flies...

Seven years ago, you came screaming into my world, and I didn't have a clue what I'd do with you.
Today, I wouldn't know what to do without you.

Happy birthday, Boy. Mama loves you more than you'll ever know.

Sometimes life isn't fair...

I had to take Ladybug in to the hospital to have her newborn screen repeated, because the pediatrician's office screwed up her 48 hour heel stick. Poor kiddo, having to get stuck. She was a champ, though.

Anyhow, I've been thinking about the woman I met in the waiting room all day.

She did the standard "awwwing" over my sweet baby girl, and took a second to talk to the Boy, which is something people don't do often enough. He's cute, too, darnit!! She asked the standard questions about how old she is, how much she weighed at birth, how she was sleeping. It was a pretty long wait, though, and she started asking some pretty intrusive questions.

Who was your doctor? Did you like them? Did you deliver here? How was it? Was she born the "normal" way? (Her words, not mine. Probably an attempt to not use the word "vaginal" to a complete and total stranger in a room full of people. Mostly pregnant women and mothers of itty bitties, but still.)

The rapid-fire succession of her questions led me to believe that she was pregnant.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she asks.

Now, to most people, the questions she'd asked beyond "how old is she?" are pretty darn personal. And it's pretty true that a lot of women tend to lose all modesty during the incredibly invasive and humbling process of a pregnancy. I'm not generally one of those people (NMD friends, it's only because I heart you so much that you know so much about me), but something just seemed so desperate about her interest.

"Sure, " I say.

"When did you hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time?"

Thunk. Got it. She's completely and totally freaked out about not hearing her baby's heartbeat yet. And she's sitting in the lab...probably for an hCG check.

She confirmed that she was 5 weeks pregnant, had some bleeding, couldn't find the heartbeat on ultrasound...and was sitting there waiting to find out if she'd miscarried.

It was a long wait, so we discussed her 2 years of trying ending with a successful artificial insemination. My 3 years of trying with a natural conception the same week my husband was scheduled for all of his testing. We even discussed the need to latch on to anyone we came across who was pregnant or had a new baby, find out what the secret is. How easy it is for people to take for granted that you just 1) get pregnant and 2) have a baby, whenever you want, however you want. Yeah, it happens that way for a lot of people. But some of us don't have it quite that easy. How much it hurts, albeit completely and totally irrationally, when someone around you pops up pregnant and the talk around you at the baby showers starts becoming more and more hushed.

And then someone came to get her. She left her tote in the waiting area. She came back a few minutes later, flushed.

"Good luck to you," she blurts out as she picks up her bag.

"And to you," I say. She says nothing, just glances back over her shoulder at me and walks away.

I assume she lost the baby. And my heart is broken for this perfect stranger, who is probably lamenting to her husband about the girl in the waiting room with not just one but two kids. How it isn't fair.

And it isn't fair.

So I just want to send out my little virtual prayer for the woman in the waiting room. You will get your baby, in the right time, in the right way. I will be hoping for you until.

Anger management....

The Boy apparently threw a padlock at my dad the other day, because Roaster wouldn't take him to an amusement park.

I am so mad I could spit. No idea what the appropriate punishment is for something that happened three days ago when I wasn't around. Open to suggestions.

(This is the flipside to having a super sensitive kid. The "sensitive" is not always a good thing and sometimes turns to rage. Again, open to suggestions.)

Is he that spoiled? I don't think we've spoiled him. But if he thinks it's okay to throw chunks of steel at people when he doesn't get his way, I've messed up somewhere.

Sour Skittles and fast women...

One of my favorite pastimes is listening to the Boy talk to my dad (we'll call him Roaster).

So did you know that there is a limit to how many sour things one can have in a day, depending on age? If you're under ten, apparently you can have a whole bag of sour skittles. If you are 56 (which happens to be my dad's age), you are limited to two tiny little skittles. Otherwise, very bad things happen. What those bad things are, the Boy was unable to specify. But bad, bad things.

Later, on the way home from dinner:

Boy: When we get home, I'm gonna show Papaw how to play my Wii.
LA: Papaw doesn't want to learn how to play your Wii.
Boy: He would rather play Playstation?
LA: No, he doesn't care about video games.
Boy: Well the Wii is easy. I can show him how. He'll like it.
Roaster: Well a 56 year old man likes something that starts with a "W", but it's not a Wii.
(loooong pause)
Boy: Oh, I know what that is. Wild women.

Seriously, what exactly do they do when left alone together??

Sad stuff...

It's just been a lousy week.

My in-laws and their next door neighbors have five horses and they share two barns between them. Last week, one of the neighbors' horses fell ill, and they ended up having to put her down Friday night. We kept the boys in the house all day Saturday, because we didn't want them to be outside when it came time to move the body. It was a very sad day.

Since then, the Boy has been asking a lot more questions than usual about my mom and her death...why, how, where, when. Those questions are painful, but relatively easy to answer. I can't bear to hear the questions about why she wasn't wearing her seatbelt, or why the Boy can't remember her, why she's not here anymore, whether she went to Heaven. I don't have those answers. He's asked about her from time to time over the past few years, but this week, faced with death, I guess it brought out some concerns for him. Then I had to tell him about Kelsey.

We did a little school shopping this afternoon. Hubs wasn't around to spoil our fun, so I let the Boy pick lunch (Sbarro), and then I took him to the ice cream store for a cotton candy cone for him and a cake carnival cone for me. My boy, my sweet, sweet boy, is licking his cone by the checkout with tears running down his face.

LA: What's the matter, baby?
Boy: That's another part of our family that died, Mama. Gone forever.
LA: Yes, and it's very sad.
Boy: Just like I'll never see Mamaw again. I'll never see Kelsey again.

Oh, I can't take it. We don't do grief in our family. I don't know why, but it's just never been okay to be sad. We don't talk about any of this stuff, and I think we've all suffered for it for the past three and a half years.

I've been suppressing the sad feelings over not having my mom here when Ladybug came into this world. She was, after all, the one who held my hand when the Boy was born. She helped me raise him, at least until he was three. She sang him the silliest songs. And I know those songs, too, but it just isn't the same to sing them to him, or now to Ladybug. It hurts my heart to think of what they're both missing. Of what I'm missing. Of what my brother and his new baby are missing. I've been thinking about it a lot this week.

I don't know how to help myself get beyond this, to a place where her memory makes me happy. Right now, every time I think about it, I relive the moment my dad told me, and then those days leading up to the funeral and the weeks that followed, the first Christmas, watching my dad suffer more than I could ever understand...It is a gut-wrenching pain that hasn't gotten better over time like I thought it would.

I have this boy who needs so desperately to deal with these things. His journal entries in school almost always end the same way...whether it's a pirate ship, or a school bus story, or a football game, whatever he writes about, the last line is almost always "And mom was sad and dad was sad because I died." This is the stuff that she left behind, and I don't know what to do for him. How do I help him when I can't bear to think about it, to talk about it? He breaks my heart.

Kelsey Girl

My brother and Sister-In-Law's dog is the only animal I've ever known who I genuinely loved. She was born around the same time as the Boy, and they grew up together. When they had their baby in April, we knew she would be his champion, his best friend, his guard dog. And she was.

Today she got out of the yard and was killed. I am heartbroken and can't imagine the pain my brother and SIL are in right now. If you're reading this, please send out a little prayer that they can get through this as a family.

Rest in peace, Kelsey Girl.

Sick Boy...

Boy: Hey Mama. You know why boys who have fevers listen more?
LA: Why's that, buddy?
Boy: Because they don't want anything else to hurt.
LA: Like what?
Boy: Like their B-U-T-T when their Mama tears them up for not listening. (Yes, he spells it. Butt is the "B" word, bless his heart.)
LA: Don't you think maybe you should listen to your Mama all the time, and not just when you have a fever?
*Long Pause*
Boy: Hey Mama, where is the end of the Great Wall of China?

Fever for 2 days, hacking cough that sounds allergy-related, and a red, sore throat. Got it checked today because Fever + Itty Bitty = Scary. It's not strep, not the ears, just some wacky virus that has to run its course. Contagious, they say, even though they didn't really have a name for it. I didn't go to medical school, so who am I to question, but meh.

According to everyone I work with, I have the most perfect baby in the whole world. I snuck her on the scale at the doc's office--she gained 2 pounds in two weeks. TWO POUNDS! What a piggly wiggly she is.

Why it's worth it, #1

She gave me the good stuff really early, at 2 weeks and 2 days old. But it's taken me this long to catch it.



She melts me.

Take me out to the ballgame...

Hubs gets free tickets to our local farm team, so we decided to take the kids and their cousin to the baseball game last night. We met Hubs on his way home from work, parked his truck, and headed out in my car. We had a pretty decent time, it was Mardi Gras night. The boys got masks--



and Ladybug cheered her little heart out--



Fast forward to a sketchy parking lot after the game.

Hubs: What'd you do with the keys?
LA: I didn't have the keys. Aren't they in your pocket?
Hubs: No, you said you were putting my keys in the diaper bag.
LA: No, I said I was putting your keys in the glove compartment. What'd you do with my keys?
Hubs: I thought you were putting them in the diaper bag.
LA: So how did the car get locked?
Hubs: I hit the manual lock button.

A word to those of you with a keyless entry option. If you have a button? Use it. Because using that little button inside the car puts you at risk of being stranded in a dark parking lot two blocks from prostitutes with 2 boys hopped up on cotton candy and lemonade and an itty bitty who is down to her last bottle.

Hubs: I can't believe you did this.

So we call the roadside assistance plan we have been paying for in connection with our cell phone service for the last year and a half.

"I'm sorry sir, but you don't have roadside assistance. You've NEVER had roadside assistance."

BS. It's on the bill. Which is in the house, so it's not like we can prove it at this point.

LA: You can't believe I did this? You're the moron who hit the manual lock button. Who hits the manual lock button?

So Hubs tells me to call 911, which I know is a dumb thing to do for such a situation, but we were both at the end of our ropes.

Hubs: Just call them and tell them what you did.
LA: What I did?

"Ma'am, are the children locked inside the car? Then this isn't an emergency. The police can't help you, call a locksmith. " *click*

LA: You're going to get me arrested for abusing 911, and then what are you going to do? Seriously, WHO HITS THE MANUAL LOCK BUTTON??

Neither of the two locksmiths that 411 gives me are open past 5:30. So we suck it up and call a towing company. A very nice man in a very flashy tow truck shows up.

Hubs: What'd you do, call the most expensive towing company in town? Look at that truck.
LA: Yes, I pulled the yellow pages out of my butt, and called around for estimates first. No, you moron, I called the first one 411 had listed.
Hubs and LA: Boys, get away from the hookers!

Very nice man gets the door open after a while. It took some effort, but he was awesome like that.

VNM: That'll be $25.
LA: *very pointed "that's not SO bad" look at Hubs*
Hubs: Do you have any cash?
LA: Ummm...do you take Visa?
VNM: Nope.
Hubs: Uh...let's see.

We managed to scrape together $21 and four tickets for tonight's game. Thank you, tow truck drivers who haggle.

Oh, and Hubs had to talk to five different people at the cell phone company this morning, but they refunded the 17 months worth of roadside assistance service that we've paid for and are giving us a year free.

That was fun.

They shoulda been nicer...

I started this blog last week, but when it came time to write my first post, I hit a brick wall. Yesterday on my mom forum, a couple of my way-cooler-than-I'll-ever-be friends insisted that this story (as well as the next) would make good blog fodder. So I'll start here.

We live in the country. Ten minutes from downtown, yes, but you wouldn't know it by driving down our road. We've been here 3 years and only recently has the local cable company offered service to our area. So we signed up in June, and I canceled our satellite service.

Last week, we started getting nasty calls from the company about returning our (their) equipment. We didn't purchase it outright, so it needs to be returned. I'm cool with that. You can't read the remotes anymore, so I don't know why they'd even want them back, but hey, it's their stuff, whatever.

Anyhow, we requested that they send a technician out to uninstall the actual satellite dish. They declined, and quite rudely. "You'll have to pay someone out of your own pocket to come uninstall it." That's fine, we'll get it apart. We'll probably screw it up, but we'll do it. We're agreeable like that, and I've got superfast internet now, so I'm happy.

Dear Hubs (who needs an incognito identity, suggestions welcome) goes out to take off the parts they want back. I hear, from my perch on the rocking chair with my sweet baby girl, some thumping, a lot of strong language, and I look out the window in time to see my not-so-fit husband being chased across our yard by a giant swarm of somethings. I didn't know he could run so fast!

He comes inside to show me the multiple wasp stings on his chest. Ouch. Sorry, dude.

Now, my patience goes a long, long way. But while we are waiting on the multiple doses of wasp killer to work over the course of a few days, the satellite company calls several more times, growing more and more rude with each call. We told them we'd be a lot more comfortable if they'd send one of their own technicians out to disassemble the thing, but nope.

Hubs finally got it taken apart on Monday. I hadn't looked before, but this is what he left laying on my porch when he got done:


What, you can't see anything? Alright, a close up.



Inside the thing. Hubs says there are larvae still inside, but I'm not getting close enough to look:


The nest was flipping HUGE--these broke off:



He wants to send it back just like this. Had they been nicer, we would probably go to the effort of cleaning it and making sure it's pretty much insect free. Instead they'll probably end up getting a package of remotes with worn-off buttons and dish pieces full of wasp carcasses and nest parts. At least they'll get their stuff back, right?