xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Yeah. Good Times.: March 2011

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Guest Blogger: Amber from Unladylike Behavior

I didn't write anything today. I don't have any ideas and I'm too tired to think of something. Plus I'm taking your advice and spending some quality time with Child 2. He's been sitting on me for hours now. Awesome. So, I asked El Twitter if anybody felt like whipping up a guest post for me real quick like, and CHECK IT OUT!!! I scored!!!!! May I present Amber, who blogs at Unladylike Behavior (love that name!) I, naturally, have some things to say about what she's talking about but I'll put my comments in the comments instead of taking up more space here. Didn't I say I had nothing to say today? SHUT UP, Jill!

Truth Behind the Lady
By Amber, from Unladylike Behavior

All my life I’ve always known that I’ve wanted to be a mother. The youngest of two, I grew up wishing, praying, and hoping for a little brother. Alas, my wish was never granted. I resorted to dressing up the dog and playing with the neighbor’s daughter, 5 years my junior. When I reached puberty I began to pimp myself out as the town’s most well-known babysitter. I was a damn good babysitter, and I made a hell of a lot of money at it. Each night I spent tucking these precious children into their beds I wondered when I would be singing the bed-bite song to one of my own.

It’s not that I am or ever was desperate for children. I’ve never tried to rush it. I simply knew that when the time came it’s something that would bring even more happiness into an already contented life.

It’s what I’m meant to do, right?

Do you want to know the truth? I’m terrified. I’m a fucking mess, how am I ever going to be capable enough to raise a child? When my dog wakes me at 3am to go to the bathroom I can barely muster ‘lay back down, it’s too early’ before my eyes are closed again. And dinner? How do people do it? When I make it home from work my first stop is for a glass of wine then I mull over the contents of my mostly-empty fridge. In the end I’ll probably decide that eating cookies for dinner really isn’t that bad, so long as they’re oatmeal chocolate chip. Hey, if I can have it for breakfast, who’s to say I can’t have it for dinner? God knows you can’t feed a child dessert for dinner. I think they cover that in Child Rearing 101.

I know I’m young, I know everyone is scared, I know blah blah blah. Still, none of that does anything for this voice in the back of my head that says ‘you’ll never be a good enough mother’.

How do you do it?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

I am at a loss (Relatively Serious Post)

Okay, I'll be honest with you guys: Sometimes... okay.... most of the time.... I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this parenting thing. It constantly amazes me that I'M responsible for keeping these little people alive and making sure they don't turn out to be serial killers. How the fuck did that happen? It's too much pressure sometimes, like I'll say or do one thing wrong and that will fuck them up for the rest of their lives. Whose idea was it to put me in charge??? Because I have no idea what I'm doing!!

Case in point: It seems like all Child 2 and I do these days is argue and bicker like an old married couple. But NOT like an old married couple because hubs and I ARE an old married couple and WE don't argue and bicker like this.

This morning he (Child 2, not hubs) tripped over my foot. It was simple: he was walking, did not see my foot, he tripped and fell on his ass. He then started screaming "You tripped me! Why did you move your foot on purpose so that I would fall down?" and the fucking tantrum just continued on and on with me trying to calmly explain that I did NOT trip him, that it was an accident, etc. etc. etc. It happened 2 minutes before we needed to leave for school, which is when all of these fucking things seem to happen, so I had to drag him out of the house and into the car, with him screaming and crying about how I tripped him and why do I hate him so much??

We got to school and, I fucking swear to god, it turned into "Why are you trying to kill me? You want to make me be dead!"

Seriously? What the fuck, kid? You think I want to fucking kill you? Dramatic much?????

He's hysterical and it's impossible to talk to him when he's like that because he won't stop screaming and yelling at me and no matter what I say he says he doesn't believe me ("I don't want to kill you" "YES YOU DO YOU WANT TO MAKE ME DEAD") and he can't hear me over his own screaming, anyway.

So, I manage somehow to get him out of the car and onto the school yard where he sees his friends and instantly becomes happy and starts playing and running around with them. When I see that he's calmed down I crouch down (OW MY KNEES) so we can have a conversation about it face to face. I explain that I'm sorry he fell down, I'm sorry he got hurt, I understand how frustrating that is, but it was an accident. He tripped over my foot and I was NOT trying to kill him.

He didn't fucking believe me! He started screaming and crying all over again!!


Other than the paranoia he apparently now has about his inevitable murder at my hands, this is pretty typical for the kinds of interactions we've been having lately. 1. He fucking freaks out, 2. I try to remain calm and explain, 3. He doesn't believe me 4. I fucking freak out (#4 is sometimes optional).

Then I pick him up this afternoon and he immediately starts crying and screaming at me again. Why? WHY? So I emailed his teacher and asked if maybe he had been crying and screaming all day? Maybe something else is going on with him? Maybe he's getting sick or something? Maybe?

No. She responded that he "was fine all day today, he didn't seem sad or withdrawn at all. He didn't cry either." I knew she was going to say that.

I guess it's personal.  


Can anybody recommend a book or something I can read? I feel like I'm totally at a loss here.

If only he had autism... THEN I would know what to do....

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Holy crap, you've gotta vote! QUICK!!

Well, I lost Round 1 in Q's First Annual Blogging Tournament (thanks for nothing, followers!) but somehow I was able to submit another post and now I'm in the consolation round... I'm not entirely sure how this works, I think it has something to do with football and maybe geometry? I'm not very good at math. But, I digress.... How sad is "Consolation Round," though? Awwww.... bless your heart, you tried so hard but you didn't win! Maybe this will console you?



Think first... THEN talk.

I seem to be turning into one of those people who are missing that filter in their brain that reminds them to think before they speak. I always used to make fun of people like that, and yet, the older I get, the more it seems that it's happening to me. I hope that people make fun of me for it, too. Karma.

You know how I ramble incoherently here with no real point to any of what I say and it's just one long run on sentence after another? That's also how I talk to people. Sometimes I'll be babbling on and on and I realize that I have no idea what I've even been saying. Luckily most of what I say is kind of amusing so people let me get away with it because I make them laugh while I make no sense.

The other night I went to our school's silent auction; I brought a friend along because hubs couldn't make it, and I must have introduced her at least three times, in an obnoxiously loud voice, by saying "her kids don't go to our school, she's just here for the free wine." (Which is true, but totally not the point here). One time I swear I thought she was going to smack me.

Why don't people smack me more? I'm constantly running my mouth off, and that was even before I got into the free wine. At the end of the evening, I was helping people check out (drunk Bookkeeping is FUN!) and I would very often look at all the stuff they got and very loudly exclaim "OH MY GOD YOU SPENT SO MUCH MONEY."

This kind of behavior is perfectly acceptable in this self-contained blogging world, but in person? I really need to figure out a way to keep a lid on it. One day, probably soon, my humor to embarrassment ratio is going to be completely skewed in the opposite direction from how it currently is and somebody is definitely going to falcon punch me for something that comes out of my mouth. It will probably be one of my kids. And I'll totally deserve it, too.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Rethinking Autism

If you know anybody with autism or any parent who has a child with autism this is worth 1 minutes and 46 seconds of your time

More info here

This is Me Meme. For reals! Okay... kinda....

Goddammit, Laura! You know I can't say no to you! And yet you fucking tagged me again, knowing how much I hate these things. And even after I made a complete mockery of the whole thing the last time you tagged me?? I'm starting to think you have it in for me.



Today's meme is called This is Me Meme or something, and here are the rules:
  • Ask your child to draw a picture of you. It doesn’t matter how old they are…
  • Post the picture on your blog.
  • Call it the ‘This is Me Meme’.
  • Pop over to here and add to the linky.
  • Then tag some others
Whatever. Okay. So, I asked my kids to draw pictures of me and this is what they came up with:

Child 1. At least I got some arms this time

Child 2. I'm saying "WEE!" I don't know why.

It is clear these children inherited my artistic ability because these drawing suck. I mean... they are just god awful.

So, since the rules specifically say that it doesn't matter how old they are, I thought I'd ask hubs to give it a try. He actually has some artistic ability and this is what he came up with.
I said "don't make me look too fat," and he said "I'm just drawing what I see!"

He even got the crazy hair tuft in there, although he says the boobs aren't big enough. Have to agree with him on that.

And now I will pass this on to three bloggers who have previously tagged ME in things and that I have completely ignored and they probably hate my fucking guts because why do I obey Laura and not them? If I were them, I would hate me, too. It's okay. I understand. Anyway, guys, sorry I'm such a meme bitch but now you've been tagged back! YAY. Oh, and also tulpen.

Shannon at Shanimal's Crackers.

The Princess at Princess Muffintop

Wombat at Postcards from Oblivion

And, of course, tulpen from Bad Words

I'm thinking maybe you guys should stop tagging me in things because I think you're really starting to piss tulpen off. I'm just sayin.


Many of you have asked about the weird necklace I'm wearing. It's a goddess charm that I've worn for 20+ years now. It used to be a pair of earrings until I lost one, and then I put it on a chain and have never taken it off:

That pink line is a BART track, FYI

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The real brains behind the blog (like we didn't already know) & other stuff

Friday morning early, the first words out of my mouth are "It's Friday!" Hubs says "Okay, that's it....." and goes to YouTube and plays for me that godawful Rebecca Black song that he's been threatening me with for days now. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just be happy, and whatever you do, for the love of god don't Google it. It's the worst song ever written and will end up in your head for all eternity. I'd heard about it from Twitter and reddit but I had refused to actually listen to it because I knew I would be cursed. Apparently Hubs had decided it was time. Thanks.

You've been warned

Anyway, he plays this god awful song which turns out to be, in fact, god awful, and then he starts singing along "It's Friiii-day, it's Friiii-day" and Child 2, who happens to be eating hash browns at the time, sings along with "Because I'm eating friiiiiied food, friiiiiied food."

I start laughing and I tell him "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to blog that."

Child 2 is very excited at the idea of me blogging something that he said, which surprised me because I didn't realize he knew what it meant, so I ask him "Do you know what blogging means?"

"Yes," he says "because you show me all the time" (I do? Okay). "You type in something that happens in real life and send it to somebody else's computer."

And hubs says: "Mama types funny stuff and everybody likes to read her stories."

To which Child 2 responds "yeah, but they come from me."

True story. They do come from him.

Do you think Child 2 is funny? If so, please vote for him!

Right now he's #12 in the Top 25 Funny Mom Bloggers at Circle of Moms. Voting ends Monday so please don't let him down. He's only 5 and would be crushed if he didn't end up in the top 25. How do you explain that kind of thing to a child?? So, please take a moment to click on the pink circle thingy and then click on the orange thumbs up dealie. THANKS!

I woke up this morning after a night of drinking and having an uncomfortable dinner with my husband and his divorced parents (where I drunkenly chatted on and on about god knows what in order to fill the awkward silences) and I found an untitled new post in my drafts folder. This is all it contained:

What do you think I was trying to say here? I should ask Child 2.

Friday, March 25, 2011

The Dive Bar Welcomes: tulpen

Oh, tulpen. My Fairy Blog Mother. I adore you so very very much. I wish I could write something pithy that would sing your praises, but.... I'm way too drunk right now, so.......

I love you. Also: awesome. Take it away tulpsters!!!

There is much about being a guy that I get.

Boobs?  Big perky ones?  I totally get it.  They're fun to look at.  And if I owned a pair, I'd wanna play with them too.

Hot chicks?  Big boobs or not.  Pretty is pretty.  Ogle, gawk, stare all you want.  I'll join you!

Blow jobs?  Pretty sure Hairy Basketball is the actual official All American pastime.  I could be a fucking cheerleader.

I get it.  And won't begrudge a guy any of these things once he becomes a Dad.

But Al, there are some things, that I just don't understand.

Little things, in which I try to lead by example;

Like removing my dirty clothes and placing them in the hamper, not on the floor.

Like putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher, not the sink.

Like hanging my coat up in the closet, not on a kitchen chair.

These things are minor infractions, and go unvoiced and unpunished.

Other offenses, you do hear about.  Like when I come home from a crazy shift at work, at fucking midnight, and proceed to clean up a filthy kitchen, gather up and put away kids' juice cups, gather up and throw down the cellar stairs the kids' dirty clothes,  turn off EVERY light in the fucking house, turn down the heat and stomp up the stairs, waking you from your snoring stupor to;

"What?  I fell asleep.  I was gonna clean..."

I don't want to hear 'I was gonna'.  If you were 'gonna' you would have.  But you didn't. So I did.

Like I always have.

Like when I was pregnant with Owen and asked you, before I was too huge, to take over laundry duty, as lugging the baskets from the upstairs to the basement and back up again, was a bit much for my largeness and tiredness.

And I heard, with every load I lugged;

"I would have",  "I was gonna"

You didn't.

You didn't clean my car off that winter either, every morning, after I'd done the chore, and came huffing and puffing back into the house;

"I would have..."

I didn't think I should have had to ask.  I still don't.

And then there is the most hideous sin. About which you hear DAILY. 

Owen is in the bathtub and you speak to him:

"He can't hear you."

Watching TV at uncomfortable Deaf kid volume and you speak to him:

"He can't hear you."

In the car, music blaring, you speak to him:

"He. Can't. Fucking. Hear. You."

Seven years.  Almost.  Since we found out he was losing his hearing.  Six years since he went from a mild to a profound loss.

ASL dictionaries shoved in your face.  ASL websites shoved in your face.

Deaf kid saying "Huh" in your fucking face 100 times a day, because guess what Einstein?


I don't care if you're scared.  I don't care if it seems like a lot of work.  I don't give a fuck how much time you don't have to dedicate to learning your son's language.

You have time for killing hookers on Grand Theft Auto.

Time for Fantasy Fucking Football.

It is about fucking time to step up, be a man, and use your hands.

'Cause if I weren't such a horn dog?  You'd be using fantasies and your hands for a lot more than computer football and video games.

I don't understand how this happened

I don't like yelling. It's loud. And scary. Please don't yell at me. If you're in another part of the house and you want to tell me something, please get up and come find me instead of screaming your demands at me from 2 floors away. Chances are pretty good that I can't hear what you said, anyway. So, I'll yell back "WHAT?" And you'll repeat whatever you just said, and I still didn't hear you, so I end up schlepping my fat ass to whatever room you're in to find out, when you could have just schlepped your tiny ass to me in the first place.

I'm sure that was your plan all along, you devious little bastards, so most of the time I just pretend I didn't hear it. Then the child is forced to get up and come find me. This system works better for me.

So, how the hell did I become a yeller?

Our house is what they call a split level, which means there are 2 stories on one side and 1 on the other, in the middle. It's also pretty big. As we have already established, I spend every waking moment in the kitchen, which is the middle level. The bedrooms are upstairs and the TV room is downstairs. So, I'm usually in the middle of wherever they are. And I spend a LOT of time yelling at them about stuff.










(etc. I'm sure you guys can come up with some of your own...)

I do this, and yet I still hate yelling. I hate it when I do it, too.

I don't understand how this happened. How did I become what I hate? I'm thinking of getting an intercom system installed.

Image courtesy of stockimages / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Thursday, March 24, 2011

It was one of those chain of event type things

Our Man Cave. Read more about it here

Earlier I was in the Man Cave fixing a technical issue and I noticed the screen had some schmutz on it. I go over to wipe it off and it doesn't go anywhere. So I flick at it with my finger thinking it's going to go flying across the room.

It doesn't, though, because it's a slug. Why is there a slug on our big screen? I have no idea, and yet here we are. Instead it smushes itself onto my finger and I'm left with a fingertip full of slug guts.


I squeal "EWWW!" because I have slug carcass on my fingertip and I shake my hand to get it off. Because.... ew.

Instead of falling nicely onto the floor, though, it flies into the air and lands... in my hair.


I freaked out; shaking my head all over the place to get it out and I didn't even end up seeing where it went because it's dark in there.

I went to the bathroom to make sure it was gone, and it was..... but I can still feel it in there.

Crawling through my hair.

Burrowing into my brain.

Yes, a smushed slug can do that.


Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Who says TV isn't educational?

So, I'm in the kitchen making dinner (have you noticed that an inordinately large percentage of my stories start that way? That's no coincidence) and Child 2 comes in and asks...

"How many is 7 plus 7 plus 7?"

So, while I cook and clean, we spend the next 10 or so minutes with me trying to figure out how to get him to figure it out on his own (because... the truth is... I don't know). I had him draw 3 sets of 7 hash marks and then count them all. (Teachers? Did I do that right? I don't really understand that new-fangled "Every Day" Math. Who the hell needs to use math every day?)

Finally he figures it out and then he asks

"How many days is a week?"

"7," I tell him, to which he proudly announces...

"In the commercial I just saw, the weed killer is going to keep the weeds dead for THREE WEEKS. That's 21 days!!"

He was so excited.

Thank you, TV: Mama's little helper.....

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Those Mama Bear instincts

The other day I was dropping the kids off at school; we were, once again, sent to the cafeteria/auditorium because it was raining, and I left Child 1 where he was, happily staring at the clock in the middle of complete and total chaos. I walked by a group of kids and I heard one of them say my son's name. I looked over at him and he had this little smile (I'm sure it was actually a "smirk") on his face and he was looking at another kid. They must have felt my eyes on them because they both stopped and looked at me (and the smirk disappeared).

I have no idea what he said other than to say my son's name, but my mind went to all the worst places, of course. They said he was weird, they said they didn't like him, they said there was something wrong with him, they said they were going to shun him and bully him and they hated him and they were going to kick his ass.....

Whatever. I have no idea. I didn't say a word and just left the room and went about my business. Child 1, of course, was completely oblivious to the whole thing. He just stood there, looking at the clock, flapping his hand in front of his face, whispering to himself about trains or elevators or whatever. He was completely fine. Nobody was getting bullied here; the whole thing happened inside my head, but I swear to god I wanted to fucking kick their little asses. I wanted to take my hands to their throats and throttle the shit out of them. What are you saying about my kid?? Yeah, I know he's different; I know he's weird, but you'd better fucking be nice to him or I'll kick your ass, you little shits! I wanted to grab my kid, run the fuck out of that place and take him home where he would be safe from bullies forever. But, that's not realistic, obviously, and it's not even good for him. He needs to make his way in the world and he needs to figure out how to do it on his own and I was the only one there who had a problem.

I still felt it, though. That protective instinct. You hurt my kid and I'll fucking take you down. When Child 1 was born I had postpartum depression and I wasn't sure I would ever get there. I'm sure now, though. Damn sure.

On a lighter note, I was drawn by the Animated Woman!! It's so exciting!! Not everybody gets the honor of being drawn and in this case I entered a contest and didn't even WIN, but my number was drawn randomly and after she drew me she drew me!! She made 2 different versions, one with the hat (at the link) and one without, which she emailed me separately (below). I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE it. Love, love, LOVE!!!

THANK YOU!!! You can follow her on Twitter at @LittleAnimation, and you should, because she's exceptionally talented and it's so much fun to see what she comes up with. She's also the brains behind BlueTick, an awesome new meme that's been taking over Twitter. I'm verified! Are you??

Monday, March 21, 2011

Just a bunch of random crap

Happy first day of Spring! I'm having a bit of writer's block lately, and it's weird. It's not that I'm out of ideas, because I can think of things to write about all the time, but I'm not a writer (I like to call myself a "brain spewer") and I'm not always very good at getting the stuff out of my head and into the computer. So, I tend to start topics based on whatever crazy idea I've had and then never actually finish it. I keep them as drafts, in case I ever figure out how to see the thought through, but so far I've never been able to.

Do you guys ever have that problem? What do you do?

Anyway, today I'm just going to go through all my unfinished drafts and put them in this post all mish-mosh crazy-like because I don't like it when things aren't finished. That's just messy, and messy is bad.

1. Earlier Child 2 and I were watching Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets because, I guess, the ABC Family Channel is required by law to show all Harry Potter movies all the time on the weekends, when he started speaking Parceltongue. I'm not sure if any snakes actually heard him but it was so fricking adorable that I made him say it again, but this time with my phone on Voice Record:

Now he's walking around saying everything in Parceltongue. "Caaaaaaaan IIIIIIIII hhhhaaaaaaavvvve soommmmmmmmmme cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssse?" He calls it "Snake Talk."

2. Did you know that once you hit 1,000 unread blog posts in Google Reader it stops actually counting how many there actually are?

It's too much pressure, I can't take it. When it gets to this point I just have to hit "mark all as read" and start over again. Sorry.

3. Did you guys check out the post I wrote for Momma Politico? Warning: it's political, and I put it over there and not here because I didn't want to scare anybody, so unless you're very very liberal you might not want to read it because you'll probably think less of me.

4. Earlier hubs relayed to me the following story: He and Child 2 were playing a tickling game, which they do often. He said it was a perfect reenactment of the sword fighting scene in Princess Bride, so if you haven't seen that movie this will be meaningless to you. He was tickling the boy with one hand when he stopped and said "There is something that you do not know! I... have two hands" and started tickling the boy with both hands. To that, Child 2 replies, "There's something that you don't know. I have a foot and I can kick you in the face!"

He hasn't seen the Princess Bride.

5. The Monster is 2 months old; that would be the monster that I created in award form. 117 people have linked up to the hop but I know it made it to more than 117 blogs because I've seen posts that didn't make it into the hop. It's been interesting to watch as it changes the farther out it goes; just like a game of Telephone. Rules are being added on that I didn't put in the original version. And the farther out it goes the more the language gets cleaned up. At first people would re-print the rules and then make a note to say they've cleaned up the language, but now it seems people are only getting the sanitized version of the rules. The one thing that seems to have stayed consistent, though, is that people are mad when they get it. HA HA HA HA HA!!!! By the way, I know I've been given some awards in the last week and I will acknowledge them at some point. Maybe not in the way you would want them to be acknowledged, but I don't want to be rude and just ignore you all. And thank you :)

6. A few months ago I wrote about how my husband's step mother died. It was a seriously fucked up thing that happened to her. My father in law had her brain sent to some lab for testing, and it turned out that she had Mad Cow disease. Fucking Mad Cow disease!! Why is this not in the news??? The chances of a human getting this disease is, literally, one in a million. She contracted a horrible, awful, terrible neurological condition from the fucking food she ate. And the worst part? She didn't eat beef! No, she was paranoid about getting fucking Mad Cow disease, so she stopped eating beef. What the fuck?????? Go and read that post I wrote after she died. Life is fucking short, people, and as far as you know, what you just had for breakfast might be the thing that ends up killing you. So hug and kiss your loved ones while you can, because you never know what's going to happen next.

7. Well I can't end this post on a downer note, so now I'll have to find something funny to leave you with. The following 4 1/2 minutes is exactly, exactly, exactly how I feel about Child 2 most of the time. Especially the part about the shoes:

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Today.... I was a Cool Kid

Child 1, as you all probably know, has autism. He's very high functioning and very verbal and  will likely be independent some day. Except... he doesn't like doing anything with other people, and in his "off time" he prefers to be alone. I honor that, because I know that he spends so much of his time at the mercy of adults, and so when he's with me, I let him do his thing. So, most of the time he hangs out by himself, either in his room with his train tracks and drawings, or in the man cave with his videos. I actually spend a good deal of time calling his name and hoping that he'll come and hang out with us, but he always chooses not to.

Earlier this evening I was hanging out in the kitchen, which is something I do quite often.... Child 2 was with me and very enthusiastic about helping me make potatoes.... when Child 1 came in, for no particular reason that I could tell, told me to stop what I was doing... and he hugged me.

Oh. My. God.

Suddenly I was in Junior High again, and the cool kid looked at me. I felt so honored; so thrilled to have his attention. I, for the first time.... was the cool kid. I had the personal validation of the Big Man on Campus. I was IN.

Holy crap that's good stuff.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Help me get The Stunner!

Note: My husband gave me The Stunner once. It totally wasn't an award, though...

I was thrilled when Q at Thank, Q for Common Sense, my blogger and twitter buddy, asked me to be a participant in his first annual Bloggers Tournament. There are 16(?) bloggers going head to head in a "who is the best blogger" contest and the winner of each round will go against the winner of the other rounds.... uh.... something like March Madness, he says, but I don't know what the hell that means... and the winner of the whole thing will get the soon to be coveted Stunner Award. I submitted a post that I liked and I am now competing against Bob at Squatlo Rant in Round 1 !!!!

I want the Stunner Award. You guys know how (weirdly and obsessively) competitive I am. And since when do I ever ask you for anything?

What? All the time? SHIT! Well, here's another thing, then.....

All you have to do is read the post I submitted and then read the post Bob submitted and then go over to Q's place and cast your vote for whichever post you liked more.

Vote for whichever post you liked more.

Would you like me to tell you which one you liked more? Because I will if you need some help.

This is the first round of, uh..... *cough* rounds total, so you'll be hearing from me again (assuming I make it to round 2. But I think you all know how very very disappointed I would be if I don't make it to round 2).

Friday, March 18, 2011

All I really need to know I am apparently still learning in Kindergarten

I originally posted this in September but I'm reposting it now because 1. it didn't get much love back then and I haven't linked it to one of Jen's Blog Gems yet and 2. I'm too tired to think of anything new to write, I have a meeting in an hour and I absolutely have to post something every day because I schedule them to post around 3 in the morning and every day I wake up to about 10 comments waiting for me and that makes my day and I guess I'm addicted to your morning validation and can't go a day without posting something. Or, something....

I spent the day in Child 2's class today. The whole day. By about 2:00 I was reminded of that scene in Kindergarten Cop where Arnold comes back to the hotel room, falls down on the bed and says "They're horrible. They're like little terrorists!" I swear, I don't know how you teachers do it every single fucking day of the week. Anyway, here are some things that I have learned as a result of my experience today:

1. I have the perfect kind of sense of humor for a group of 5 year olds. All I had to do was make a weird noise and flail my arms wildly and I was IN.

2. There is no other place in the world where you need to watch your language more than a Kindergarten room. So, when it's rug time, and only the teacher is talking, softly, and you're cleaning up after breakfast, and you spill a carton of milk and yell "SHIT!" without thinking? Yeah, try not to do that. Seriously.

3. 5 year olds talk a LOT. And most of what they say makes no sense, but as long as you pretend you understand, you're good. So when one says to you "HEY YOU KNOW WHAT MY HERP DERP HERP DERP HERPY DERPY MOM SAID THAT I WAS GOING TO HERP DERP HERPITY DERPTIY HERP DERP AND THEN I SAID I WANTED THE GREEN ONE HERP DERP HERPSTERS DERPSTERS HERP DERP?????" and you just nod and smile.... no problem.

4.  If they tell you jokes, every single one will contain the word "fart." Girls, boys, doesn't matter. And they will be the funniest jokes EVER. And no matter what, you must laugh. And if you don't, they will tell you to until you do.

5. Milk cartons are hard.

6. I'm not always sure if my parenting/supervision style is appropriate. I mean, I was pretty sure when they started throwing the chalk at each other that I needed to make it stop, but were they supposed to be drawing on the trees with the chalk? It will wash off, right? Would another, more responsible adult, have put a stop to that? And when they were drawing on their faces with it, and then on my face (and my arms, and my shirt, and my feet, and my legs), was that okay? It seemed okay to me, I mean, they were just expressing themselves creatively, right? But sometimes I just don't know. I wish there was a manual for these things, at least then I would know that I was being an irresponsible adult instead of just wondering if I was. I always expect some other, more responsible person is going to come out of a doorway and yell at me, and them, about our inappropriate activities, but nobody ever does. I think that's probably because I'm the only adult in the area and not because what I'm doing is okay. Oh, well, they lived through it.

7. An hour long assembly when the whole school is crammed into the auditorium is too damn long for a 5 year old to sit through.

Okay, that's all I can remember now. The one (real) thing I did take away from today was that my child does not benefit from my presence in the room. He refused to do anything unless I was sitting next to him; things that he's perfectly capable of doing, like cutting and gluing. Today was the first day I have ever spent in the classroom of either of my kids; I already knew that Child 1 doesn't do well when I'm around, and I wasn't yet sure about Child 2, but now I know. So, even though his teacher was very happy to have me there, I don't want to spend the whole time, every time, just sitting next to my kid and enabling him when he can do these things independently. It only helps him and it doesn't seem fair to the rest of the kids, so, I will likely not do this again. Too bad, though, because I have the perfect sense of humor for a group of 5 year olds and it's pretty awesome when you can make an entire group of people laugh just by making a weird noise and flailing your arms wildly.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Fun with Google analytics

Sooner or later every blogger in the world will write a post about the fun stuff they find while looking through their site stats, in particular the various search terms that people have entered in search engines to lead them to their blog. It's like a blogging rite of passage or something.

And do you know why?

Because it's hilarious.

You look through these search terms and there's a delightful variety of awesome, and you think "wow, that search brought them here?" and "holy fuck, somebody searched for that? People are sick. (Sick and awesome). And it brought them here???"

It's fun. Although, by far the number one search term that brings people to this blog is some variation of "yeah good times jillsmo." Not very original, people. I'm thinking it's time to buy the domain name and save you the extra step.

And so, without further adieu, I present to you my Top 13 Favorite Keyword Search Term Results!

13. out of the mouths of drunks (okay, this one actually makes sense)

12. how to butcher a goat yourself (I'm sure the pictorial provided valuable help)

11. BART trains (kind of proud of this one)

10. drunk elmo (Awwww, I miss drunk elmo)

9. Big Daddy Autism (this one actually kind of offends me. WTF??)

8. hours fuckong (I have no idea but I love it)

7. what a fecking day, and it just seems to get worse (I know the feeling!!)

6. my brain is ruined (OMG MINE, TOO!!)

5. kittens poop rainbows (WIN)

4. can you feed rat poison to raccoons? (I say yes)

3. guy about to kill somebody sleeping (that got them to this picture. Lucky!!)

2.  it makin me yeah (it totally makin me, too)

And my number one favorite keyword search term that somebody used to find my blog......

1. things i can fuck in my house

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Boycott American women!

I'm sure a lot of you have heard of this guy. I don't know his name, but he has this blog dedicated to promoting the boycotting of American women, and talks about all the ways women from other cultures are superior to American women and how much American women are horrible people. It's pretty vile, misogynistic stuff; I won't link to it, of course (and I'm sad that he doesn't allow commenting on his blog, because I have no way of fucking with him other than here. *sad*).

He apparently spends a lot of his time visiting women-authored blogs (American women only, I assume) and posting his "mission statement" in the comments of our posts. He's been here a bunch of times and has never once made it past the spam filter on my commenting system; which isn't even turned on. Either I have the greatest spam filter in the world or this guy is so notorious that commenting systems come pre-programmed to expect him. Either way, it's kind of funny that he's such a spammer he can't even get past an inactive spam filter. Nice.

This should probably bother me, being an American woman and all, but honestly it really doesn't. Mostly I just feel sorry for him. He was surely pretty fucked over by an American woman at some point in his life and now he spends all his time trying to promote his message; it's really quite sad. How unhappy this man must be that this is what he does with his life? I feel bad for him. (You know what would probably help him? A nice, long blow job from an American woman. OH! .... too bad....) Hopefully he can find himself a subservient non American women who can make him happy and he can stop feeling so bad about himself all the time.

Anyway, he dropped by here yesterday, and right before I hit "delete" I had this thought: Spending all of your time talking about boycotting American women, and then seeking us out to tell us about how much you hate us isn't the act of boycotting. In fact, what you're doing is called pursuing. That's actually the opposite of boycotting.

I'm just sayin'

EDIT: Since he commented here I was able to track his path. He's following me on Twitter! LOL. Worst. Boycotter. Ever.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I drove over a duck today

THAT dude. Right there.
Okay. Before I get into the nuts and bolts of the alleged Anatidacide, let me first set the scene for you, because my state of mind is crucial to your understanding of this saga.

So, yeah; what a fun morning I had! Child 2 is so fucking cranky that all he'll say when you talk to him is "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." Hubs and I just started fucking with him after a while; what else could we do? We're only human! Snarky, sarcastic, evil, horrible humans. I even had my laptop open and was waiting for some good quotes but he was too cranky to be funny. I swear, that kid can really be a fucking asshole sometimes. One of these days I'm just going to snap and call him a fucking asshole. I really hope he doesn't hear me when that happens.


Good times.

I drop the kids off at school, and it's raining, which means we assemble in the cafeteria/auditorium and not on the yard and it makes for general chaos. Child 1 didn't want me to wait with him, he just wanted to stand there in the chaos and stare at the clock. I made sure there was at least another kid in his class standing with him but he shuttled me away and I was worried that he wouldn't find his way. I'm sure he was fine. I worry too much. I know this. Anyway.... I drive off to work with these events in my head.

I have 3 different clients who have offices in or around the same area of Oakland, but not exactly in the same place. I always start out in the same direction but I have to make different turns at different places. Well, this morning I guess I wasn't paying attention. I'm thinking about the kids and I'm thinking about the blog and I'm thinking about my client and I make a wrong turn and I started going towards the wrong client's office. As soon as I figured it out, I made my first right turn so that I could circle back in the other direction. The road I chose, though, went right through this big lake that's in the middle of Oakland; and where there are lakes.... there are ducks.... apparently.

I now find myself driving through this curvy road, going totally in the wrong direction, trying to figure out where I even am and how the hell I'm going to get back to where I'm supposed to be; now I'm worried because I'm going to be late, and I suddenly find my path is constantly being blocked by ducks.

Awww, look at the cute ducks! I'll just slow down and wait for them to cross.

Christ there sure are a lot of ducks around here.

Seriously with the ducks everywhere?

Get the fuck out of my way you asshole ducks, I'm going to be late!!!


I keep having to stop and wait for the little line of ducks to walk by, because even though I kind of want to just plow through them, that would be wrong and sociopathic and I'm not really that late at this point, so I slow down and wait. A number of times.

Finally it seems the last line of ducks has gone by and I swerve around the last of them and fucking floor it because I'm impatient. And it was right then that I see him. One lone little brown duck, about half the size of the others, directly in front of my car. And then.... directly underneath my car.


I didn't want to stop right on top of him, so I kept going, knowing he was right underneath my car and probably my tire. There's a little "clank clink" feel to my car as I go over (OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK) and then I get to what I assume is the other side and I stop, panicking. My hand is over my mouth in shock and I look in my rearview mirror for duck splatter..... and what do I see?

Yeah, I see that little fucking duck shaking himself off and then running back toward the water, totally unscathed. I just went right over the little shit! Good thing he's so little and my car is so big.

I think I speak for all ducks, everywhere, when I say:

My artistic talent cannot be denied
I bet you didn't see that ending coming, did you?

images courtesy of James Barker & EA / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Monday, March 14, 2011

Things I Find In My House VI

Child 1 goes through these phases where he draws something again and again and again. He goes through reams of paper and buckets of markers. People who work in offices with me are used to giving me all of their one-sided white paper (it HAS to be white paper) so that I can take it home for him. It is not unusual for me to find a pile of 20-30 pieces of paper in a pile on my desk, all with the same thing drawn on it, and all having been produced in about a 30 minute period.

Right now he draws BART tracks. The dudes you see above were a phase he went through a few years ago. I have no idea what they are or why they're so adorable; I haven't seen them in a long time, though. I just found this in the back of a drawer as I was doing laundry. What's funny about this is that it was drawn on the back of the "2008-2009 PTA Budget."

Sunday, March 13, 2011

A quick note about today's quick note about yesterday's post

In all seriousness, you guys are the fucking BEST. I saw you clicking yesterday, and I see you clicking today, and really, putting aside for a moment all my gawdy whorishness about this stupid voting thing that means nothing and isn't important, thank you for humoring me. And thank you for reading. And thank you for commenting. And thank you for laughing, even if it's at me and not with me; I'm cool with that, too.

I'd like to give you guys a non kitten rainbow related present for being so awesome. Actually two presents.

First, here is my favorite cartoon in all the world that my friend Robin gave me years ago and that sits right above the top of my monitor, pinned to the bulletin board behind my desk and that I look at every time I'm trying to think of something witty to write about:

And second, have you guys heard The Head and the Heart? Good fucking stuff. Here's Ghosts. You're welcome.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

I am very disappointed

I'd like to call your attention to the number underneath the juggling chick's boobs over there

<---------------- that way

Do you see that number?

That's the number 4.

That is not the number 2. Or even the number 3.

No. That's a 4.

And do you know why that's a 4 and not the 2 that it once was?

Do you?


Do you ???

It's because you people don't click enough.

There. I said it. I'm sorry it had to come to this but it's time I was finally honest with you.

This is your fault.

See, I'm watching you, in my site stats; and I see you ... those of you who come here every day, expecting the free funny. Yeah, that's right, you just suck up all the funny and you give me nothing in return.  

Not one single click.  

And I know who you are, you know.

Oh, yes, I know who each of you are (uh... for the most part) and I SEE YOU when you read and don't click.

And.... I'm remembering. I'm like a fucking elephant with the remembering. I will remember these acts that you have perpetrated against me. You with your "I want the free funny!" and "I don't want to have to click on anything while I'm here!!" and "WAAAAAHHHH MY FINGER IS TOO TIRED"  YOU SOUND LIKE MY 5 YEAR OLD! 

Even if you don't actually say these things... you sound like my 5 year old ... in my head.

I'm going to give you people the weekend to make it up to me by clicking here. Until then, I will be in my bedroom ... under the covers ... pouting. My lower lip will actually be sticking out the entire time. AND POSSIBLY QUIVERING. At some point I may emerge so that I can go to the bathroom and quietly cry to myself, but then I'll go straight back to bed and pout some more.

So, think about that, people. Think about me, this weekend, doing that. Do you feel guilty? Do you feel responsible?

And if you don't make it up to me by the end of the weekend? If you don't? When I resume blogging on Monday, or on whatever day I forget I'm supposed to be pouting, from that point forward I'm going to blog about nothing but kittens. Kittens.... and rainbows.

Is that what you want?

Is that what you want?? 

Because that's what you'll get if you don't make this up to me.

Think about it.

Friday, March 11, 2011

The Dive Bar Welcomes: Gal Incognito

Today's writer wishes to remain anonymous and I have assigned her a kick-ass awesome Simpsons-themed name. Kick ass!!

Dear Judgy McJudgerson,

Please do me a favor and Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You are NOT a better parent than me. Your ideas are NOT better than mine. Everything that works for you is NOT going to work for me.

If I choose to give my kid soy milk because that’s what I drink and that’s what the fuck I want to do? I do NOT need your unsolicited opinion about what the fuck you think my pediatrician is going to say.

If my kid sleeps in my bed and he, my husband, and I wake up happy? Why the fuck is it your concern? He isn’t sleeping in your fucking bed so keep your fucking thoughts about it to your motherfucking self. And when I mention that he now sleeps in his own bed all night long? Shut the fuck up with your, "I-told-you-so."

If I want to spend ridiculous amounts of money on stuff for my kid’s first birthday that he’s not going to remember? Let me fucking do that! I’m not spending your money so fuck off! Just because you took a minimalist approach to your kid’s first birthday does NOT mean that I should follow in your annoying ass footsteps.

I love you but you are really starting to piss me the fuck off with your judging. You complain about other people judging you all the time but you never look at yourself.

So listen up: LOOK AT YOUR FUCKING SELF, Judgy McJudgerson. Mother your own fucking kid. My kid is happy and thriving with his soy milk drinking, co-sleeping, extravagant birthday having self.

So shutthefuckup.

That is fucking all.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I've been tagged... in a MEME of all things!

I've been tagged in a meme called, um, something about books. I'm not sure it actually has a name. Normally I hate these things, actually I still hate these things, because you're supposed to do something and then make other people do it; that's why I created my own, ironic meme. Oh, you didn't know it was ironic? You thought it was real? HA HA HA HA!! SUCKERS!! Anyway, I usually just ignore stuff like this because (I'm a bitch and) I usually can't handle the pressure of having to both properly conform to the rules and then pass it on to the appropriate people. I'm always worried that I'm going to offend somebody by either leaving them out or including them in the list and it's kind of a weird feeling that I'd rather just not have.

This time, however, I've been tagged by Laura at Life in the House that Asperger Built and Laura is a great bloggy friend of mine (it's funny how I say she's a "great bloggy friend," when I don't actually know her at all, do I? I mean she claims to be a married, Aspie mom of 2 but as far as I know she's really a 17 year old boy living in his parents' basement). So, because "Laura" (if that's even her real name) has tagged me, I will participate in this one. Also because I've decided to switch things up just enough to keep it interesting and safe for me. Hee.

So, the rules of the meme are simple. I am to take a picture of the books on my bedside table, briefly say whether or not I’m enjoying them and then tag as many people as there are books by my bed. Yeah, though, that's kind of the first problem right there. See, I don't have any books on my bedside table. It's not because I'm dumb and anti-reading (I SAID NOT) but years of having totally fucked up eyeballs where the experience of reading is physically painful have made reading something I no longer wish to do for pleasure (due to its lack of pleasure). Even now, with relatively normal eyeballs, I've just been so conditioned to be turned off by the whole experience that I can't even bring myself to try or care. And I can't read in bed, anyway, because once the contacts are out it's just a bunch of blurry dots. So, I listen to a lot of audio books (Jim Dale is my hero!!) but they're all stored on my hard drive and not stacked on my bedside table.

So, I've decided to take a picture of the books that are on Child 2's bedside table, instead. I mean, I read those pretty much every day, anyway, so they kind of count, right? Right! And now here we are.

First of all, this is the actual picture of Child 2's bedside table:

And there are just the ones "on" the table, you should see the rest of the room

Yeah, that's obviously way too many, so I've picked 5 out of the pile(s):

Sorry about the flash/reflection thingy. Awkward.

And now to tell you of the books and whether or not I like them!!

1. If Mom Had Three Arms by Pete Whitehead. It's okay, I guess, but honestly I get a little bitter hearing about all the things this dude's mom could do with all those extra arms, because if I had all those extra arms, I could do those things, too... but no. So, I don't know... I'm torn.

2. Encyclopedia Prehistorica Dinosaurs: The Definitive Pop-Up [Hardcover] by Matthew Reinhart. This book is awesome! When you turn the pages the, uh.... iiiiiiii gggggggg uuuuuuuuu aaaaaaa nnnnnn oooooooo dddd oooooooo nnnnnnnns and the Pachelopes and all the other dudes come jumping out at you, just like in real life!! Kick ass!!

3. Big Red Car (The Wiggles). You know, I want to like this book, I really do. I mean, they're riding in the countryside, they see a scarecrow just over the hill, it's really a great idea in theory; it's just that Jeff is such a dick, he makes it really hard for me to empathize with his character. And the others just go along with whatever he says all the time? That's not teamwork, Jeff, that's a fucking dictatorship. Not cool, Jeff. Not cool.

4. Oh, Yuck! The Encyclopedia of Everything Nasty by Joy Masoff (Author) and Terry Sirrell (Illustrator). Yeah... you know... just, ew. I mean..... ew, no. I don't like this one.

5. My First Picture Book of Numbers by Brian Miles. It's not horrible, but it's not wonderful, either. I guess it's just a little bit too predictable for me.

On to the second part of the meme where I am to tag as many people as there are books. 

Yeah, I don't like having to do this part, either, so this time I've decided that rather than pick which 5 of my friends I want to honor/embarrass/burden/whatever I am, instead, going to pick 4 bloggers who are waaaaaaay more popular than I am and will likely never even know I've tagged them. That way the pressure is completely off because probably none of these people have any idea who I even am. Oh, and also tulpen. Hee.

1. Allie Brosh from Hyperbole and a Half. Allie is my blog idol. She's the reason I started blogging in the first place. Allie, you've been tagged!!

2. Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka. Aunt Becky is my favorite Mom Blogger, even though she obviously stole my name, like 6 years before I even thought of it. I'll forgive her, though, because she's also responsible for Band Back Together and Mushroom Printing. Tag, Becky..... you're it!

3. Jenny at The Bloggess. Jenny is a fucking legend; she's a brilliant humor writer and blogger and she somehow managed to get Wil Wheaton to take a picture of himself collating papers for her. Fucking brilliant. TAG.

4. Kris at Pretty All True. She is the reigning #1 at Top Mommy Blogs and has been for a while, but if you've been watching (obsessively, every day, as I have been) that #2 chick (who is no longer me, I'm #3 now thanks for nothing) is slooooooowly creeping up on her. And do you know why? Do you know why? It's because Kris doesn't wear an apron and juggle fucking blenders. She's an unconventional mommy blogger and unconventional bloggers don't get mentioned by Parents magazine unless it's their Mad Magazine edition, and once you've been mentioned by Parents magazine I figure you've pretty much solidified yourself as a Top Mommy Blogger (I told hubs this and he said "there's no way in hell Parents magazine would ever, ever mention you). Anyway, I like unconventional better than conventional any day of the week. No offense, Mumsyhood, I'm just really intimidated by your gorgeous child and your beautiful blog and the fact that you can fucking juggle computers and apples and rolling pins while your boobs still look great in that tight apron.

5. tulpen at Bad Words. Sorry, tulpsters, I don't know why I love fucking with you so much; maybe it's because you're my Fairy Blog Mother and you suck at it? Maybe because you fucking hate these things and I find it amusing to taunt you with that? Maybe because I know you'll never do it, will tell me to fuck off and that also takes the pressure off? It could be any one of those things, actually. You pick!

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

It's so uncanny it's ACTUALLY FRIGHTENING

Check out the picture Child 1 drew of him and me:

And now compare it to the picture I drew of myself:

I KNOW, RIGHT???????

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

The Plague Family goes to Target

Note: You guys know that I write these things in the afternoons to be published early the next morning, right? So, even though this will post on Tuesday morning, when I say "today" I mean Monday and "tomorrow" actually means today, Tuesday? Then again, if you're my new best friend Mel who lives in New Zealand, where it's 3 hours earlier than it is where I am, except it's tomorrow; "today" actually means "two days ago" and "tomorrow" actually means "yesterday." Oh, god. I think I just heard something snap in my brain. Shit, did you guys hear that?? Oh my god, do you smell something burning????????????

So, here we are after a weekend of being struck down by the plague. I'm just barely able to stand up again, although I wouldn't if I actually had the choice. Child 2 hasn't changed his clothes or left the bedroom or really even stood up since Thursday afternoon when he came home from school. Child 1 seems to have managed to escape the whole thing, I have no idea how. Yesterday he was supposed to spend the day with my parents so that he could just get out of the Plague House, except he woke up with a cough, which is how my plague started, so I kept him home. Boy was he pissed. Especially since he didn't end up actually getting sick, so he's just been stuck in this disease-ridden house with the rest of us, except he's not disease-ridden. Poor guy.

The weekend is over, which means that hubs has to go to work. I've already rescheduled some clients and am staying home today (not like I have a choice, though). Hubs, being the fucking kick-ass Mr. Awesome that he is, stays home as long as he possibly can so that I can sleep as long as I possibly can before he has to leave. At some point he comes in to where I'm sleeping in Child 1's room (and have been since fucking Wednesday. Seriously, I haven't slept in my own bed in a week now) and he asks who, if anybody, is going to school today? I answer with "Herp derp herpington derps all the herpers derpsalot derpburger" which apparently translates to "everybody is staying home today." In retrospect, had I been more alert, or even at all aware of what I was saying, I should have said that Child 1 was to go to school, but I simply did not have the mental capacity to make that happen. So, everybody stays home today.

I wake up around 11:30 to Child 1 pestering me about who is going to take him out today. Oh, god, why is he here?? Oh, right, that "herp" thing I said earlier.

Okay, so.... I need to figure out a way to get this kid out of the house so he'll stop bugging me. But, more importantly, I need to get Child 2 out of my fucking bed so that I can wash the sheets and actually sleep in it tonight. I figure once I get him out of the house I can then direct him to the couch downstairs. And Child 1 will be satisfied with any outing that gets him out of the house and that he has agreed to. So, what's something we can do that I will be able to tolerate, that they will be able to tolerate and that won't be too physically taxing on any of us?

Oh, yeah, baby: Target.

"Here's the plan," I tell them. "We're going to Target, where you guys can each pick out anything in the store that you want." (Also, I need half and half, which is crucial to my mental well being, in general). "And then we're going to McDonalds, and then we're coming home."

There's a bit of resistance at first from Child 1 who wants to go watch BART trains, but knowing my kids, as long as I give them things that they want and I don't argue about any of it, they'll eventually go along willingly. Funny how that works, right? Luckily I had a bag of mini Reese's cups, and nothing.... I repeat: nothing is a better motivator than chocolate and peanut butter.  I get Child 1 to get dressed and agree to my plan by giving him 6, and I get Child 2 to get out of bed and get dressed and agree to my plan with the promise of 6, as well. He also really likes the idea of picking out whatever he wants at Target.

Okay! We're good to go. I drink a lot of coffee and we all get in the car. As we pull into the Target parking lot, I'm thinking about what we're going to do when we get home so that I can sit on the couch and stare at stuff, and I say "hey, let's get a movie, too!" There is a murmur of agreement from the back. "You guys can pick out one of anything that you want and we'll also try to agree on a movie. And if you can't agree on a movie, we'll get two movies." Then I actually heard what I had just said and I follow it up with "That's only because we're all sick, though, so don't get used to that, guys." Even though Child 1 isn't actually sick. Semantics. More agreeable murmuring from the back seat.

Once inside, Child 1 quickly picks out his "thing," which is a 100 pack of markers. Totally saw that coming, by the way, which is why I was careful to say they could pick out anything they wanted from the store and not just the toy section, because even a sick Child 2 would argue with me about logistics on that one (then, again, I made sure to fill up his pockets with Reese's before we left the house).

We go upstairs and Child 2 is obviously starting to deteriorate because he's just walking around in this adorable daze, but I direct him to the toy section and tell him to "pick out anything you want."

"Anything you want," however, very quickly gets some qualifications added onto it as we move through the aisles.

Anything you want as long as we don't already have one.

Anything you want as long as you know what it is. Can you tell me what that is? No? Then you can't have it.

Anything you want but NO GUNS.

Anything you want but $40 is kind of a lot.

Anything you want except this says "ages 10-12" and you're 5.

We eventually settle on some Cars-related track thingy, I don't even know, and we move to the DVD section.

At this point they're both obviously done with this outing but for some reason I haven't figured that out yet. (I'm slow. Also I'm sick, too!) Child 1 has discovered the very fun and exciting game of Run With the Cart and Then Let It Go and Watch It Fly Across the Store. Whatever, there's nobody around who's going to get hit and I don't have the energy to argue about it. Child 2 gets stopped by the giant TVs and just stands there, mouth agape, staring. I'm practically begging them to come and pick out a movie when I think WTF am I doing? FUCK the movie if they don't want one! "Okay, guys, we're done."

Our Target adventure over, we go to McDonalds and go home, where I'm immediately asked if we can watch the movie we just bought. That would be the one that we didn't buy. As I thought, I was able to shuttle Child 2 onto the couch and finally wash the sheets on my bed. Then, of course, this immediately happens:

I'm sleeping in my bed tonight if I have to fucking kill someone.

Monday, March 7, 2011

My fever addled brain....

.... prevents me from thinking of anything original to write about today. I thought about perhaps re-posting something I wrote when I wasn't struck down by the plague, but instead I'm going to promote some of my friends' stuff (might as well take advantage of this #3 thing while it lasts, right?)

So, go check out this stuff; I'm pretty sure you won't catch anything from any of them. I assume.

  • Cheryl, over at Little Bit Quirky, has been talking lately about when to tell your child they have Asperger's, inspired by the recent episodes of Parenthood. I watched those episodes over the weekend from my death bed and I fucking bawled my eyes out. I thought about writing something, myself, but I don't think I can; at least not right now. So, go read what Cheryl has said! She's a lot nicer (and cleaner) than I am, anyway.
  • Caryn, who blogs at Living with Logan, was recently featured in an article written by Gina, who blogs at Special Happens. Oh, and look! She mentions me! I'm just noticing that now. Heh heh heh. It's a good piece about why special needs parents blog. Check it out!
  • There will be a 3rd installment of Autism WTF on Tuesday March 8th, hosted by Big Daddy Autism and The Autism Army Mom. At least that's what they told me but I don't see it on the page there. Maybe they're lying. They not very trustworthy, those two...
  • Jessica, who blogs at Four Plus An Angel is in the running to be one of the Top 25 Moms Blogs for Parenting Advice and Tips at Circle of Moms. I don't know what that is, but I know that I love Jessica, so click here and then scroll down until you see "Four Plus an Angel" and then hit the thumbs up dealie. You don't have to register or anything.
  • Kelly, at Unplanned Trip to Holland, has a really good list called "What not to say to an autie mom." Me likey. You go readey.
  • Jennie, from Anybody Want a Peanut, was recently syndicated on BlogHer. Seriously? BlogHer? That's like the fucking brass ring of blogging. If only I could be syndicated there. If only I had ever written anything and then submitted it there in hopes of being syndicated. Details, details.....
  • Laura got a new car! And look! It's red and shiny!! (HA HA HA she's going to be so embarrassed by me doing this, I bet... Sorry Laura. I lubs you!!)
  • This is a really good post on Super Mom Undercover about what it feels like dueling with "The A Word" every day. 
  • My brand new best friend Mel who blogs at kamaness has nominated me for TWO Blogger's Choice awards, which you will notice are now over on the left there. Because she's AWESOME, and not because I asked and it's daytime where she is at the moment and she happened to get here first. That part is just a coincidence; it's solely because she's awesome. THANK YOU!! Now, everybody go and read her because she's funny. And awesome.

There are a ton of other blogs and friends I want to mention but I've been sitting up for about 45 minutes now and I think I've reached my sitting up limit for the day. Hopefully I'll have something new to say tomorrow.

In the meantime, though.... PLEASE VOTE FOR ME. THANK YOU.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

I've been sick

Actually I'm not sure if "sick" is an accurate enough descriptor for how I've been feeling these past few days. Maybe "wishing for death" would be better; or, perhaps "hoping for the end of days." Click here to make me healthy again!

Apparently when the Puke Fairy made her final (I hope) exit from our house a few days ago, she left the window open so that her fucking crack whore sister The Flu Fairy could get in. Let me tell you, people, that fucking bitch is mean. First she took hubs down, but somehow he managed to keep going to work for a few days, I have no idea how he did that. Then Child 2 was struck down Thursday afternoon and I followed Friday morning.

This was a nasty one. You know that feeling where every single joint and muscle of your body aches like a motherfucker and your skin feels like it's been turned inside out and all of your nerve endings are now on the outside of your body and any time you touch anything it's like you're being stabbed with a jagged, rusty knife? That feeling? That feeling would have been fucking heaven compared to the shit I felt. I couldn't sit up for more than a few minutes at a time because it was too exhausting.  I couldn't go up and down the stairs in my house because the effort involved in putting any weight on any of my muscles was just too great, but it didn't matter, anyway, since I couldn't walk, because the bottoms of my feet were too sore. So, instead, I laid in bed (not even my own bed, either.... long story....) and just moaned.

I couldn't sleep, because finding a comfortable position was simply impossible, and then whenever I actually started dozing off, my fucking moaning would wake me up! Can you believe that shit??? It was a nightmare. And then there were the fever dreams, when I did manage to finally pass out. I so wish there was a way to record these things so that I could watch it back later. I'm pretty sure I was working out some kind of molecular physics problem with the way my brain wouldn't slow down. Either that or I came up with the absolute perfect recipe for Jalapeno corn bread. Or perhaps a combination of the two. Either way, all of my mental energy was being put into working on this complicated problem, thus preventing me from getting any actual rest. And then I would just moan and wake myself up again, anyway. Oh joy.

At some point during the night I guess my fever broke because I woke up drenched in sweat. I got up to pee and when I came back to bed I could see the pools of sweat where I'd been lying. But then when I climbed back in to go back to sleep, I thought "I'm so glad I worked that problem out and found a resolution." Apparently my molecular physics/corn bread issue had been resolved and this was the key to my eventual wellness.

Now, usually what I do when I've been sick and start to feel a bit better is I say "Hey, I'm feeling better! I'd better get up and start doing stuff now." Like cleaning the kitchen or loading the laundry or something. This is stupid, because just because my fever is gone it doesn't mean I'm actually better; I still need to stay in bed for at least the rest of the weekend. I can't help it, though, this is what I do; and then I overdo it, and then I stay sick for a lot longer than I should because I was fucking stupid and wouldn't just lie down. This time, though, I've decided to take preemptive action by taking enough xanax to kill a small horse so that I won't have a choice but to lie down. I realize it just makes me an accomplice for the powerful American Rest and Fluids Industry, but sometimes you have to just look out for #1, you know?

Hubs has been a fucking rock star, by the way. He's still sick, himself, and hasn't slept really at all in the past week, but he's still taking care of shit around here. Every once in a while he'll come in, wake me up and make me eat something. He's been taking care of Child 2, who is in really bad shape and won't do anything except lie on the bed and moan. I know how he feels. And then my awesome cousin Lizzie (have I ever mentioned how awesome my cousins are? Yes? Repeatedly? Okay.) came and took Child 1 on an adventure so he wouldn't be stuck in the house the whole weekend.

I'm going back to sleep now, the truckload of xanax I've taken has made me a smidge drowsy.....

Friday, March 4, 2011

The Dive Bar Welcomes: Laura

Today we have Laura who blogs at Life in the House That Asperger Built. I went over there to find the link and ended up reading and commenting for a while. Check her out, she's awesome!! She has also become a really good bloggy friend of mine these past few months, so I'm more than happy to post her words for everybody (except the people she knows in RL) to see! :)

Dear Would Be Friend,

Lord knows, I’m not in a position to be turning down friends, but I’m not sure this is working out. I know that, as the Aspie, I’m supposed to be the one who’s clueless about the whole interpersonal relationship thing, but I’m gonna give you some clues about how to be my friend.

  1. Don’t blow me off. My concerns and worries are just as valid as anyone else’s. If you want to be my friend, you should respect me enough not to laugh and make some flippant remark indicating that these aren’t things I should be “wasting time on”. 
  2. Stop the power plays. I’m not interested in being friends with someone who periodically feels it necessary to play some kind of passive/aggressive game to make sure she “stays on top”. It’s stupid, childish, and hurtful.

I’ll tell you what, being a friend of mine could be a great thing for you. I’m fiercely loyal, an excellent listener, and extremely generous with my friends. I also have a great sense of humor and am a lot of fun. But continue in your current course, and you’re not gonna get to find that out. And that’ll be your loss. I’m thankful for your assistance, and I respect your knowledge, but that’s as far as it’ll go if you don’t change the way you treat me. I might be insecure and immature, but I’m smart enough, and respect myself enough to not allow you or anyone else to be crappy to me, whether it’s intentional or not.


Not That Desperate

Thursday, March 3, 2011

I've been a bad bloggy friend

I've met all these cool new people who have visiting and commenting (and clicking!!) here, and I haven't been following you guys back and commenting in YOUR houses.

Well, now that's changed, because I've spent the last hour(?) arranging and rearranging my Google reader thingybob and NOW you guys are SCREWED because I'm going to be commenting over at your places ALL THE TIME. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! *cough*

Oh, yeah, I really need some sleep......

Oh god, she came back. THE PUKE FAIRY CAME BACK.

I'm not kidding you, people. The Puke Fairy came back.

Okay, so, yesterday I'm in this incredibly shitty mood because of something happening at the school/in the district (I'll blog about it in a few days after it's hopefully resolved. This isn't at all relevant to the story, I'm just giving you a teaser so that you'll want to come back and find out. You're riveted now!) Child 1 is acting all weird and moving slowly and wanting to lie down and snuggle a lot (gotta love that, though). He ate one strand of spaghetti for dinner, which for him is a huge red flag because he's a goddamn bottomless pit these days. And then he crawled into bed and went to sleep. I should take a moment to point out that this was MY bed he crawled into. Because, as you know, barfing, pooping or any disgusting bodily function that smells bad and makes a huge mess must take place in my bed. That's the rule. Apparently.

So, he goes to sleep around 7:00. Child 2 gets shuttled off to bed at the usual time and Child 1 stays where he is. He wakes up around 10:00 and just lies there for a while, staring into space. And then.... yep. Guess what happened next? I'll try not to be too graphic, but let's just say that the adjective "projectile" is actually something that can happen.

Okay, Puke Fairy. If I admit defeat here will you leave me alone? You win, PF; you have definitely kicked my ass. I'm sorry I ever threatened to fight back, I should have realized that I was actually powerless against your magical abilities to make me have to wash the sheets on my bed AGAIN. I LOST, PUKE FAIRY! CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR VICTORY!

Now will you please go away? Please?

How to ensure that I will not hire you

One of the things to come from our IEP meeting this week is that Bart (still not used to that; I'm not sure if I can keep this up, Emily) needs somebody to help him with homework. It has been well established that I am a shitty, shitty teacher and do not have the skills for this particular job. It has also been established that hubs is a wonderful, awesome teacher who is, sadly, always working and would love to be able to do it but just doesn't have the time. It has also been established that, given the choice, I will just say "fuck homework" and let the kids do whatever they want in the afternoons.

However, it has now been established that Bart... Child 1.... whatever.... actually needs some help with homework. It was established at our IEP meeting in the form of his teacher, whom I adore, saying "it would be great if he could practice some of this stuff outside of school."

Yikes. Why not just stick that knife in really deep, Teacher Whom I Adore? Because, when I hear that, I think: 1. Fuck. He really needs some help with homework and 2. OMG I SUCK AT THAT SHIT SO MUCH. Which makes me feel guilty, and like I suck as a mom, and if only I was better at that kind of thing he would be doing better in school and blah blah blah....

The solution, however, is to just hire a tutor. The Regional Center will pay for it, I will no longer feel like a guilty schmuck and Child 1 (SORRY, EMILY, I CAN'T DO IT) will get the help that he needs. It's win-win! uh... win! What we discussed in the meeting is that we need somebody who can help him have fun and be motivated to pay attention. He can do the work, he just chooses not to most of the time. So, we need somebody who can make learning fun!! YAYYY!! (And that person is SOOOOO not me).

So, the first thing I did when I left the meeting was to put an ad on CraigsList, "Looking for tutor for 3rd grader with autism." I've now gotten about 15 resumes and I was just looking through them, and I started compiling this list in my head of things that people will say or not say that will 100% guarantee that I will immediately trash their email and move on to the next one.

And here we are. Ahem.


2. similarly putting your cover letter in all lowercase and with no punctuation i get that maybe youre sending this from your phone or something but please at least make a little fucking effort here

3. Saying "if your interested in my qualifications, please call me." Because nothing irritates me more than the misuse of you're/your, their/they're, whose/who's, etc. I don't care if you're the greatest tutor who ever lived, if you can't get that part right, I don't want to know you.

4. Not putting a cover letter at all. Should I even click on the thing labeled "RESUME.doc" ? Maybe it's actually a virus, disguised as your resume, and by clicking on it my hard drive will immediately be totally erased, reformatted and then change from Mac to Windows. I mean.... I don't actually know that it won't, do I?

5. Butchering the English language. "I enjoy a lot helping and working children with special need." It's likely that English is not this person's first language, in which case I'm a huge elitist bitch for saying this. On the other hand, I got another one from somebody else who said "English is not my first language but I'm still probably better at it than you are." (that's not actually what she said, but it had the same level of confidence. I like your moxie, sister!)

I think the one I like the best is the chick who said "I know that children with autism can become particularly invested in routines, and if I were working with a kid who felt that strongly about my staying, there's a snowball's chance in hell I'd leave voluntarily, and since I've been legally an adult for a good 6 years now, and being female exempts me from being drafted to the military, there not much chance I'll be forced against my will to leave, either."

She sounds crazy. I like her.