Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Not that I've smelled a lot of bee butts

I bought a “lotion bar” at a little mall craft show this weekend. It looks like a bar of soap but it’s a lotion. It’s made from honey or bees wax or something and it lasts all day. They had a scented version which was lovely but slightly overpowering and I’m just not one for scented stuff so I got the unscented.

Unfortunately I didn’t really smell it before I purchased it (the whole term “unscented” kind of led me to believe it didn’t have a scent – silly me) and well – it’s hard to place but if I had to guess I’d say it smells like a bee’s ass – and now it’s smothered all over my hands. But other than that it's fabulous!

Thursday, July 26, 2007

No lotion or tissues required

As you may or may not know from previous posts, I breastfeed my baby, and since I also work full time, I pump during the day. With tits like mine you would think that the bottle would runneth over, but alas it does not. I’ve been battling poor production for months now and just yesterday my pump gave out. So now I’m seriously contemplating throwing in the proverbial burp towel. After all, the kid is almost 8 months and is eating more baby food and other solid foods, and I’m quite frankly tired of my chest being an all you can eat buffet.

However, it’s not wise to just quit altogether, it needs to be done gradually and my hubbie is going to try and fix the pump so that I might continue on if I want. So last night I thought I should get out the manual pump that came with my fancy electronic one and get accustomed to it so I could use it at work today.

I hooked all the parts together, and since you must have full skin contact to test the suction, I stuck it on my belly and started pumping. Here’s what the pump looks like:

Now to get it to work you move the plunger that’s on the end in and out, in and out, in and out – you get the point. It worked fine, I was ready to put it back in its bag, but of course Aaron was witnessing all this and wanted to give it a try. So here’s my 3 year old with a breast pump on his tummy and giggling uncontrollably as his belly button is sucked in and out. I couldn’t get that thing away from him, and finally just let him play with it for about 20 minutes.

So I tried using it today at work and got less than an ounce of milk. I don’t know if it’s because my mindset is already focused on the fact that I’m quitting, or if it was the nagging sensation that I was literally jerking off - my boob.

On the bright side, when Aaron gets older and asks what masturbation is, I can say “remember that pump you had so much fun with when you were 3 years old, well . . . “

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Quote of the Week

You'll notice that on the right side of this screen I've decided to replace my lovely pic of Ewan with a generic photo of my best feature - no, my eyes - if it was my tits, they would have taken up the entire screen!

I thought it showed poor taste having a picture of another man on my blog when I'm happily married. Okay, no not really but it sounds good huh? Anyway, I thought it might be more fun to put a little something there I can change more often so for now I'm doing quote of the week.

I'm going to try and find a new funny quote each week to brighten your days. Enjoy.

Do they still make chastity belts?

I attended a baby shower this weekend for my 16 year old cousin. Yes, add another checkmark under the teen pregnancy tally will you. Now I like to be supportive, I mean what are you going to do – it happens, it shouldn’t but it does and I respect her choice to keep it.

However, I found it kind of difficult figuring out what to put on the card. It was blank inside as I made it myself (I’m a crafty gal) and Matt and I debated for quite some time what to write inside. “Congratulations” or “We’re so happy for you” just didn’t seem sincere. I suggested “Congratulations on becoming an unwed teen mother!” he suggested putting a condom inside and saying “use this next time”. I called Shawna and asked her opinion. She suggested a diaphragm or “Good luck”. Maybe some Planned Parenthood brochures would have been a good choice as well. Ultimately I decided to just sign our names.

The shower itself was more reminiscent of a birthday/slumber party than a baby shower. Imagine 15-20 teenage girls (along with a handful of older relatives) in a room with pizza and gifts. This girl has no idea what she’s getting into. All in all I felt a lot of pity. I felt sorry for my cousin because she won’t get to be a girl much longer. She’s so young. There’ll be no more lying around watching soaps on a summer afternoon, no carefree dates, no spur of the moment road trips to the local convenient store unless maybe she runs out of diapers. No spending her cash from her part time job on candy, CD’s and nail polish. No more living life without worrying about someone else.

I also felt sorry for her mother. There she was, thinking she was almost done raising her child and would soon have an empty nest and more time to enjoy an adult life without kids, and now she’ll be sidled with raising two, her own and her grandchild.

I felt sorry for the baby because it would probably benefit more from a more mature mother, and a loving father. I haven’t asked outright but I’m under the impression that the owner of the sperm that spawned this child is no longer in the picture.

Then I snapped myself out of it and realized that she is a good kid, except for that small matter of getting herself knocked up at 16, and she has a fabulous support system around her. There’s going to be a new member of the family, a new member of the world and I can’t help but be excited about that. She won’t love that kid any less than a 28 year old married mother would. Sure, things might be a little rough, but life is rough. I felt a lot better after that change of heart and mind and I was able to focus on other things, like how to ensure that my daughter will never, ever have interaction with any sperm infested boy/man until she’s at least 25.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

An Expensive Change of Scenery

A couple weekends ago we took an extended weekend “vacation” in Minneapolis and I just now have gathered all my photos and thoughts to write about it. We took the kids so I don’t know that you can really call it a vacation – it was more like a really expensive change of scenery. We went to the Como Zoo and Conservatory on Saturday, IKEA and the Mall of America on Sunday and then hit the Minneapolis Zoo on Monday before we headed back home. I won’t bore you with the detailed account; rather I’ll just give you the highlights.

-Our very best friend Shawna came along with us. She thinks it’s because we love her but in all actuality it’s because she’s great with the kids and takes fabulous photos. It was like bringing along a nanny and a professional photographer!

-This was our first trip with “Big Boy Potty Trained Aaron” so we saw a lot of bathrooms and got to witness his first potty dance and public grabbing of his crotch while he squealed “I gotta PEE Momma!”. Oh and as an aside, I like the Amish people (they make wonderful pies) and they’re very nice, but after having to weave through a group of 20 of them while heading to the bathroom with Aaron, I really think they should reconsider that whole “no deodorant” thing, because it’s just not pretty.

-Muscle relaxers and me are not really a good mix, at least if I want to function. My back was spasming pretty good on Sat. so Shawna gave me one of her muscle relaxers on Sun. I was like the walking dead. I picked up something off a shelf in IKEA and I turn to Shawna, my hand shaking uncontrollably like an 80 year old with tremors and said “is this normal?” It also made my C-section scar tingle, which was fun. On the bright side, my back felt fabulous! (I did not operate any heavy machinery so don’t be alarmed) However, my judgment seemed to be slightly impaired as when I got home I noticed that several items I bought at IKEA turned out to be completely different than what I thought I had purchased.

-Always follow the arrows!! When we were at IKEA I noticed that people were really quite rude. They were giving us dirty looks when we were trying to maneuver our cart around the store and it was really starting to piss me off, and I was thinking that Minnesotans in general were asses and then Shawna discovered that we weren’t following the arrows. “What arrows?” I asked and then she pointed at this huge, spotlighted arrow on the floor of the store. For some reason (probably the drugs) I had not noticed the whole arrow phenomenon and the fact that they were all over the store to direct the flow of traffic.

-Take a big blob of jello and cover it with plastic wrap, throw it in the water and that’s what a sting ray feels like. They’re very sweet though, for a fish. We got to pet them at the aquarium underneath the Mall of America – was it worth the $16.50 per person? I’m still trying to figure that out.

-My husband CANNOT resist the lure of one of those carnival basketball games. The man’s got skills, you can’t deny it, but did we really need that batman mini basketball to add to Aaron’s collection of 10 other mini basketballs and toys he’s won at those things?

-Things learned at the zoo: a very large number of animals are either extinct or soon to become extinct and it’s all our fault (the guilt is included in the price of admission), Aaron is surrounded by exotic animals and yet is more fascinated with a drain,
food and beverage must, by federal law, at least double or possibly triple in price once they enter the zoo grounds, and my ass is larger than the backside of a bison – and a very big thank you to Shawna for photographing it and making me aware of that fact.
All in all it was a nice trip and we had a pretty good time. I’ll be starting my diet soon and may journal a little bit about it here on this blog. I think I’ll entitle it: “Bison Ass: andthe quest to become Shetland Pony Ass”.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Can't help it

Now generally I'm a modest person. I'm not one to boast, I don't go around thinking that I and everything I do is wonderful. However, I'd just like to state that I have produced, from my womb, the most adorable kid on the face of the earth, as evidenced above. If she didn't have my terrible extra large ears her cuteness could outshine the fabled beauty of Helen of Troy! But I'm not one to boast.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Vole, Shrew or Mutant?

Shawna and I have gotten some varying opinions on the possible genus and species of the unidentified mammal. Mutant, alien possessed mouse aside, the most prevailing answers seem to be a shrew or a vole.

I think I’m going to go with the shrew. I did a little research and it seems to be the most likely with the elongated snout and short tail. See picture below.
To me a vole looks just like a field mouse.

Now we could find out for sure by having Shawna count the toes, as the Shrew has 5 clawed toes (being a member of the mole family- thanks Wikipedia) and the Vole only has 4 (I feel so educated now, like the Steve Irwin of small rodent-like mammals - Crickey!), however the body has disappeared. I think another animal must have carried it away since she left the carcass on the deck, but she thinks it’s unlikely since it was wrapped in paper towels which are complete and undisturbed. Perhaps there is something to that mutant, alien possessed mouse theory after all.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Let's Play - Name That Carcass

My best friend Shawna found this thing dead on her living room floor this morning. How she managed to get it outside on her deck to take this picture is beyond me. I would have just put a a bucket over it with a brick on top of it and waited for my husband to get home. I mean I got married for 3 reasons - kids, car maintenance, and dead animal removal - okay maybe 6 reasons if you count love, affection and companionship.

The first mytery is - what is it. She's sure it's not a mouse though that's what it appears to be to me. I apologize for the small scale of the photo - it was taken with a camera phone - you're getting instant coverage here. She thinks the head is far too pointy for a mouse and the tail is far too short. The whole animal is approximately 3-4 inches long.

The second mystery is how did it get there. Was it living in her house and decided to make it's first appearance in the throes of death? Did one of the cats catch it? She think that's unlikely as they were sniffing it and looking at it like "where the hell did this come from and why wasn't I informed?". More than likely her dog Riley carried it in, as he's prone to catching, killing and presenting her with small lifeless gifts. He's a cocker spaniel and king charles cavalier mix and very quick at catching small things, whereas thankfully my beagle is only quick at barking at things so my life is fairly carcass free.

If anyone can identify that carcass. Let me know.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Child Rearing – one concussion at a time

Gwen fell down the stairs yesterday afternoon. Now it was just 3 stairs that lead down to a landing and the back door, and thankfully she didn’t then take another roll and proceed down 9 more stairs and end up on the concrete floor in the basement. She’s completely fine and doesn’t even have a bruise. My first reaction upon hearing the news was obviously – “My God, is she alright?” and my second reaction was, Thank God it didn’t happen when I was responsible for her. I’m just happy in the knowledge that her worst tumble was Matt’s fault. That’s what makes for a healthy marriage – honesty.

This kid has taken more tumbles than I’d like to admit in her short lifetime and most of them happened when I was with her. She’s fallen off the couch three times (after the 1st time you’d think I would have just stopped putting her on the couch), just last week I fell asleep with her in the recliner and woke up at 1 a.m. to her screaming and realized that she had rolled down my legs and onto the floor, and now the stair incident. We’d even installed the safety gate across the stairs last week to avoid just such a situation but it wasn’t properly latched and it swings open and closed and Matt’s theory is that either Aaron or the dog or perhaps Gwen herself opened it before this latest Child Services Inquiry- worthy accident happened.

So I was thinking that our parenting skills were really getting lax this second time around because I didn’t recall Aaron having quite so many unhappy meetings with the floor. Matt was quick to remind me though that Aaron fell off the couch once, off the side of the recliner once when I fell asleep with him, and he fell off the bed, which was quite traumatic. I still hear that thud in my nightmares. He also got a lovely deep scratch, mere millimeters from his eyeball when he was 2 months old and the cat went streaking across the couch and used his face like a runner’s starting block.

It’s times like these when I find myself repeating the parent’s child safety motto. “What doesn’t kill them, makes them stronger”.

Monday, July 9, 2007

A sign that maybe we watch a little too much TV.

Aaron: “Try it free for 60 days . . . try it free for 60 days”

Me: “Is that the Bowflex or the Total Gym?”

Aaron: “Total Gym . . . try it free for 60 days!”

Me: “Remind me to tell your daddy to stop watching so much ESPN during the day.”

Of course I don’t think Matt is any worse than I am. Aaron often says “Turn your house into a home” which is a phrase used on a Lowe’s commercial that plays incessantly on my favorite home improvement and DIY channels.

Friday, July 6, 2007

Aaron’s college tuition could hang on the decision of Rock, Paper or Scissor!

So Matt wanted to watch the Nathan’s hot dog eating competition on ESPN on the 4th and I figured why the heck not – you can’t get any more American than watching people stuff themselves with processed white flour buns and amalgamated meat products. Now if you’ve never watched one of these then you’re really missing out.

There was a half hour pre-show to discuss the history of the competition, and to have little profiles of the main contestants. The 6 time champion, from Japan was in danger of losing the title due to a recent wisdom tooth extraction which left him with jaw arthritis. I mean this is drama with a capital D! Would he be able to perform? Then there was the up and coming American competitor valiantly fighting to bring the Mustard belt (yes that’s what they call it) back to the U.S. It was both the most hilarious and the most pathetic thing I’ve seen in my entire life. Kind of like the movie Dodgeball.

Well in the end the American won by shoving 66 hot dogs down his throat in 12 minutes. I had to look away from the screen for the majority of the competition. It was like watching someone throwing up but instead of just letting it all shoot out like the spinning head scene of The Exorcist, they’re shoving it right back in their mouths.

Now to me, the best part of the entire experience was that they were advertising the upcoming Rock, Paper, Scissors competition, to be aired on ESPN on 7/7/07 – set your Tivo folks. It sounded so utterly ridiculous that I had to check it out. Two contestants face each other, with a referee to make sure that the signs are “thrown” at exactly the same time so neither player has an edge. The best 2 out of 3 makes up a “bout” and then there are 3 bouts per match. The winner gets $50,000!

Now this is legitimate stuff. They even have their own lingo. A win by 3 successive rocks is called an avalanche, 3 scissors is a tool box, and 3 papers is called confetti. It’s hilarious! But I’m thinking maybe I should start practicing for next year. I throw a mean rock – which is my favorite sign to throw. That $50,000 could be mine next year!

Here’s a link to their website: http://www.usarps.com/rules/ I found their “rules” page exceptionally entertaining.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Just like spitting tobacco juice in a Pepsi Can

Bing Cherries are in season, and I think it’s an understatement to say that I enjoy Bing cherries. I LOVE THEM. I love their color, their texture and of course their taste. I buy at least 2 pounds of them at a time and often can easily eat them all within a week. The pitfall (pun intended) of the cherry is the pit.

I don’t own a cherry pitter, because really your teeth and tongue do a quite sufficient job on their own and who wants to sit there and put the cherry in this plier-type device and rip the pits out one by one and turn your fingers all red? Besides if you pit them manually then you lose the stem as well and the fun part about eating a cherry is picking it up by the stem and guiding it into your mouth and then plucking the stem off. Can you tell I enjoy the process of eating and all things food related?? This is what I look like in my own mind each time I eat a cherry. Notice how the bad hair permeates even my fantasies.

Anyway, my point is that eating cherries requires a “pit cup” unless of course you’re eating them outside in which case you just spat them at the nearest squirrel. Now I often take my cherries to work to eat them because I LOVE THEM, and the process of eating them at work breaks up the monotony of the day. I use a paper cup from the break room, and all afternoon today my coworkers have had the joy of hearing not only the clicking of my keyboard but the gentle “ptoo” and “plop” of me spitting seeds into my cup. I try to be discreet and I cover the top of the cup with a paper towel so that if someone comes to my desk they’re not staring at a cup full of saliva-marinated cherry pits.

The process kind of reminds me of guys who chew tobacco. I went to college in Missouri so I’ve met quite a few and one of my friend’s husbands used to chew as well and whenever we went somewhere he’d bring along an empty can of Pepsi and spit in it all night when we were in the car or some other public place where it wasn’t proper for him to spat on the floor/ground. I always thought it was extremely disgusting. I mean seriously, just take up smoking, it will kill you faster, the cancer will go straight to your lungs rather than mutating your jaw, plus smoking doesn’t require you to carry around a can of your own saliva wherever you go.

So I hope my cherry pit expectoration isn’t as gross as that. It’s not like I carry the cup and cherries around with me in the halls. Even if it is that gross I’m not going to quit, that is unless they come up with a bing cherry cigarette.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

In a few years we’ll be watching the “Preparation H hemorrhoid Relief Bowl” instead of the “Super Bowl”

I like to balance out my son’s consumption of oreos, peanut butter, and string cheese with at least one fruit and/or vegetable serving per day, and bananas are one of his favorites so we usually have some in the house. A few months ago I noticed that they had cute little stickers with Curious George on them instead of the normal Dole or Chiquita stickers. I can handle that – slapping a children’s character on a healthy food is OK with me, plus he’s a monkey so it makes sense. It does NOT make sense that he’s a monkey but doesn’t have a tail, I mean every species of monkey has a tail; shouldn’t a fictional monkey have a tail? When you think of monkeys don’t you always envision the tail???? – okay sorry I’m getting off topic.

However, this morning I noticed that one of our bananas had a sticker with the picture of a squeeze bottle of Reese’s ice cream topping and the words “Topping Section”. Now first of all, I don’t really see the need to advertise anything on a banana, and secondly don’t you think that’s kind of a stretch? I mean, what’s the correlation? Somebody’s buying bananas to make a banana split and they’re thinking “boy I wish I could find a new unique topping” and bam, they’ll look down at the banana and run right to the “topping section’ of the store for that bottle of Reese’s peanut butter and chocolate topping? They’re kind of reaching there don’t you think. In my high school sex-ed class they used bananas to illustrate how to correctly put on a condom – perhaps Trojan should consider banana sticker advertising?

Now I shouldn’t be surprised. Advertising is everywhere now. Heck I’m even thinking about placing some internet ads on this blog in the hopes of raking in about 10cents a month in profit for this crap that I write. So can I really blame the banana growers of the world for selling out? Think of the possibilities. Everyone eats bananas, young and old, male and female. Anything could be advertised – tampons, male enhancement pills, Donkey Kong video games, wart remover, garbage bags. Why stop at Bananas? Why not encase every single grape with its own little sticker advertisement for hair gel or pet shampoo?

Maybe I could sell ad space on these gigantic boobs of mine. I mean they’re almost the size of a billboard, and I move around – think of the audience I could reach! Or maybe I could get a hair stylist to advertise on one of my headbands. It could say "Don't let hair like this happen to you - Call Betsy at 555-5555 for an appointment". I need to make some calls.

Monday, July 2, 2007

Pee Puddle Skee Ball

So after promising Chuckie Cheese and threatening to take away Chuckie Cheese for 4 days we had to finally go on Sunday. He’d been doing fairly well, with only a couple accidents at home. He had even gotten to the point on Saturday that he was actively going potty himself instead of us having to threaten him with taking away a privilege every 20 minutes just to get him in the bathroom.

We got to Chuckie Cheese and I immediately acclimated the kid to the bathroom. We went in and tried to go – nothing. Which I’m thinking is OK since he went before we left the house. So we ordered pizza and I said to him, “We’re going to try and go potty again in 15 minutes but if you have to go before then you tell someone.” Then I sent him off with Grandma and a handful of tokens. 5 minutes later he’s waddling towards me, his pants soaked. He stood right at the foot of the Skee Ball game and pissed his pants. So immediately I’m mortified, envisioning a puddle of piss on the skee ball machine, but it appears that it ran down his leg and the majority of it was soaked up by his shoes. I did take solace in the fact that even if he had left a puddle it wouldn’t have been any worse than the kid who had his hand down the back of his diaper and then proceeded to touch every thing in the place while picking his nose with the other hand.

Of course I had brought an extra change of clothes and I told him that if he went potty in his pants again we would have to leave because I didn’t have any other clean clothes. The rest of the afternoon was accident free and last night he had absolutely no accidents, initiated going potty himself when he felt the urge and even went in the toilet late last night when we had already put his night-time pull up on him. The best part though was when he informed me that he had to go poopy and ran into the bathroom to do it in the toilet. I mean this is the same kid that 2 days earlier told me that poop was supposed to go in his pants and not in the pot. At the very moment that turd hit the water, a shaft of light came through the window and formed a soft halo around his head, and I think I heard angels singing.