34 Year Olds Can Have Temper Tantrums Too! At Least I Have Rock of Ages and Wine

The last couple of weeks have been full of ups and downs.

Down:

Last week I had a full-on, three-year-old-style temper tantrum. I couldn't find my keys. Now typically I put them in the same place...always...to avoid self-induced trauma. But I obviously hadn't done that.

So, instead, I looked in my purse. Now I was pretty sure I could hear them in my purse--jangling to mock me---but couldn't find them.

Meanwhile, one dog was whining, the baby was whining, I hadn't slept because of a cough, I hadn't had nearly enough coffee, and I. Was. On. The. Edge.

So what happened next wasn't really that uncalled for.

I threw down the purse...no wait...I put the baby down...THEN

I threw down the purse, cussed a blue streak, watched all the miscellaneous items explode out of the purse, and sat on the ground in a huff.

Deep breath.

Bug was sweet enough to start handing me lozenges that had been strewn on the floor, and I grabbed a tampon before it made its way into his mouth. One dog cowered, one ate stale Triscuits.

The keys were sitting on the table in front of me. Good to know that Bug will be good at throwing tantrums. He comes by it honestly.

Now the Up:

Wine tastes fabulous in mini, three-inch high plastic cups. (Ignore the blurry picture and check out the cool cups!)

My friend and I scored tickets to Rock of Ages and the pre/post/intermission party thrown by an affiliate of my company. Two hot mommas on the town with no babies and free wine.

Good stuff.

Stuff a Saturday morning hangover is MADE of!

But we had a great time, got to meet the cast and during intermission when our wine hadn't been finished, the bartender was sweet enough to fill up a little three-inch high plastic cup (complete with lid and straw) so we could take it in to the show.

Because nothing says 80's like drinking wine out of a straw, right??

If Only I Was Jennifer Aniston in Cute Undies...

This morning I felt like I was in a movie...of course if I had been I would have been played by Jennifer Aniston and would have had on a very cute matching panties and bra set...Probably in purple lace.

But alas, I am not and was not.

I was all dressed, smart and sophisticated, for work (ha, you know me better than that--I had a dress from Target on) and was feeding Bug his blueberry yogurt. Something happened and I knocked my coffee cup causing a good deal to spill onto my dress and me to yell "Fuck!"

**Side note--a great advantage to having a developmentally delayed child who doesn't talk is that I can still cuss. He isn't getting mama out, so I am confident fuck isn't coming anytime soon.**

Anyway. As with all cuss words, Bug starts giggling. He must love the tone of voice. And as I look at him, I realize in my mopping up coffee, cussing, and dress dabbing mania I had forgotten him.

And his yogurt.

That he loves to eat by scooping it with one hand and trying to place that liquid onto his spoon to then attempt to get to his mouth. It is an art he hasn't yet quite mastered.

Now I admit, he doesn't look that bad here because like every good mother I started to clean him up before deciding I needed a picture of the chaos. Originally his entire right arm from fingers to elbow was magically covered in yogurt.

At this point I realize there is no salvaging the outfit and so I strip off the dress and spray it with stain stuff while pleading with Bug to use his spoon, not his fingers.

Like he can use a spoon...








Thus commencing what would have been my Jennifer Aniston scene.

Me in only my undies, standing in the kitchen, spoon feeding a purple-faced baby his yogurt.

Wishing I had some coffee.

Take a Breath Already

Sometimes life moves at a snail's pace...and sometimes it feels like you are drinking from a fire hose. Such is life. 

The first thing I hung up
in our new home! Love Italy!

As many of you may know, life in our household has changed drastically since the last time I posted. Bug and I now live back in Colorado where we just closed on and moved into our new home. Honey is still in training and won't get to join us permanently for many months.

So with the move, the closing, the job search, the day care search, the snow, dog sitting, unpacking, figuring out which light switch belongs to which light, and being a single mom...life is moving at fire hose pace. 

As I started writing I thought to myself..."Just take a breath already and write."

Of course, right as I expanded my lungs the sleeping dog next to me farted. Such is life.

That all being said I am excited to start blogging again. I hope to be more consistent. I will do my best not to use this as a place to bitch, but no guarantees! I have a feeling the next several months will try me in ways I am not really ready to be tried so that will probably spill over here.

If nothing else I am sure many stories will come of it all and I will share them all with you!

A Doctor's Revenge

Hello Again! Yes it has been a while since I posted...having a baby is kinda like putting your old life on pause and slowly adding all the things you did before back into the fold. Well something so random happened this week that I knew I had to blog about it. And as anyone who is/remembers being a parent to an infant could guess...it has to do with poop.

Now I am fairly sure that my whole situation is a sick joke by the Family Practice Doctor that my son is assigned to (thank you Army). Like restaurant servers that spit in the food of the needy table 3 (she must have everything on her Cobb Salad on the side and the guy needs his root beer refilled 15 times without one thank you), I think my doctor ordered a bunch of tests that she knew would be a REAL pain in the ass.

So what happened is...
Little Bug has some wicked tummy issues. I am talking writhing-in-pain-up-all-night-screaming-high-pitched-enough-to-shatter-glass type of issues. I won't go into what his poop looks like, but let's leave it at...NOT NORMAL.

When explaining our problems to the doc she tried to push them aside, but I kept coming at her with other questions. Now I might have been just a teensie bit rude because I want my son to see a Pediatrician, not a doctor that is busy treating warts, high blood pressure, menopause, erectile dysfunction and everything else under the sun.

Finally, she sighed, and asked if I'd like her to order a fecal test.

A, as in ONE, fecal test for my son.

Yes, I said I would like that.

So she sent me to the lab where the fun began...When I arrived the lab techs looked at the order in the computer like it was showing Justin Timberlake on SNL, they outright laughed. Turns out whatever the lovely doc ordered it involved me filling 3 small viles with poop, putting more into another little cup and freezing it and finally getting some into another cup and driving it like a bat out of hell to the hospital on base within 1 HOUR of it being pooped.

Oh and by the way...don't get any urine mixed in. HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Seriously.

No, seriously...he is 4 months old...and poops AND pees in a diaper. No urine, huh. Hmmm. The lab tech acknowledged it would be a challenge.

So three days, a broken poop spatula, and an early morning drive to the hospital before coffee/breakfast/make-up/etc--I went from being annoyed at our doctor to haaaaating our doctor.

And I am pretty sure there is some urine in there.

What the South is Missing

I may be making an overreaching statement here. After all I have lived in only one place in the South so this may be a problem with the area I am in rather than the whole South, but I think it is a persistent problem.

The South doesn't appreciate coffee enough.

I've said it.

I may have to drive like 5 or 6 miles for a coffee shop...not acceptable. And I don't mean when I am in the country I have to drive 6 miles. I mean when I am in a huge shopping area there is not one coffee shop. Not one Starbucks. Nothing. Not acceptable.

I think it has to do with southerners crazy love of sweet tea. Starbucks are hard to find but BoJangles with famous sweet tea are on every corner.

For the first time in my life, since I left my one-stop-light town, I have to drive nearly 10 minutes from work to get to a coffee shop. And I hardly drink coffee now and it is usaully decaf or 1/2 caf.

Gone are the days I walked across the street for coffee. Gone are the days when every grocery store also has a convenient coffee shop. Gone are the days of rich coffee smells and warm caffeine highs. Gone.

And I am pretty sure my one-stop-light town has more coffee shops than Fayetteville. And it only has like 12,000 people in the whole county.

Sweet tea sucks.

I miss my coffee.

Yes, There are Stupid Questions

In every customer service related job there are certain questions that customers ask over and over and over again that drive you freakin batty. While the question must seem totally logical to the customer, as an expert in whatever field you are in, the same question is completely ridiculous.

When I waited tables at a restaurant that served pizza people would always ask "Like how big is a large, how many pieces of pizza does it have?" Now I could tell them the answer...but really is a piece of pizza a standard unit of measurement? I mean I could cut the pizza into as many slices as they want but the actual size of the pizza is the same. 2 big pieces, 8 medium pieces or 100 ittybitty pieces--still the same size of pizza. This question really makes no sense.

Same with my job now. I sell mulch, rocks, top soil, etc and I sell it by a scoop of a bobcat which is 1/2 a cubic yard. So I call out to the little loader guy and tell him how many cubic yards of mulch the client wants and we charge by that lovely standard unit of measurement. 1 Bobcat scoop = 1/2 cubic yard, 2 Bobcat scoops = 1 cubic yard, and so on. It isn't rocket science.

But people constantly want to know how much a pick-up load is. Is a pick-up a standard unit of measurement? No! Yet they expect me to hear that they have a Ford F150 and then to tell them exactly how much it will cost to fill it. Short bed, long bed, extended cab, unextended cab...trucks are all different, am I right? I don't measure mulch by truck size, I measure it by cubic yards. Standard. Units. Of. Measurement.

Now I don't expect them to know how much will fill it up either so we have the option that they can get loaded first then come pay, which I am always happy to offer. But more often than not, the lovely toothless creature in front of me will ask again, "But 'ow much'll it cost me to fill my blue pick-up out 'ere. The one 'ith the toolbox?"

...And yes I did have a woman ask me last week why I couldn't just put a scoop in the back of her Toyota Corolla...

Stupid.

Stick Figure Families and Chocolate Between my Legs

Pet peeves are funny. They really evolve with you as you get older. I am trying to remember what I might have listed as my pet peeves when I was in school...probably "people that talk behind your back," and "my brother poking me."

During each phase of life when you have new things you deal with each day you find new things that annoy you. Right now I am bothered by huge "In Memorandum" stickers on the back of car windows, along with the little stick people families that are plastered on every mini-van in a 100 mile radius.

Remembering the dead is great, but shouldn't the person remembering them be able to see the memorandum? Why is it that I, the car behind them, be stuck reading it when I didn't know the person? How about a nice little token hanging from your rear view mirror, where you can see it? It strikes me as a passive whining device for the driver..."poor me, I lost someone I cared about..."It seems much more about getting attention that remembering the dead.

And don't get me started on the stick figures. Who in their right mind decided that putting a mom with shopping bags, a dad with a golf club, 2 girls with tennis rackets, 3 babies, 2 dogs, and a cat on their car was a good idea?

Frankly, I don't care who is in your family, I just want you to get off your cell phone and drive like a normal person. And I believe you may need to rethink your birth control methods.

These decals annoy me beyond belief.

And I have so many questions--Do these people change them out as the kids grow? Or change hobbies? What about divorce? Talk about a sad day...not only do you have to change your Facebook status to single but you have to cut Dad out of the stick figure family on the mini-van. It just seems like over-sharing to me.

Does anyone else out there have a major pet peeve about themselves? I have one that I know I should change because every time I do this I drive myself nuts. I eat a lot of Fiber One bars--they are full of fiber and have peanut butter or chocolate chip goodness :) And often I eat them in the car between work and the gym or on road trips or really anytime. No matter how careful I try to be, I always end up with a chocolate chip on my lap...which ends up between my legs...

I end up with a brown streak between my legs and on my butt because the chocolate melts and gets all over whatever pants I am wearing. It drives me nuts, yet I can guarantee it will happen again...and again...

What are your pet peeves?

Rant of the Week

Beware, most of this post is a rant and probably not politically correct...maybe I'm a bit hormonal but things have been BUGGING me over this last week. These are the top 3.

1. Zumba 

I admit, I have not been to a Zumba class but after I have sweated my ass off in Spinning I see the last few minutes and I just don't get it. There's some dancing and some shaking.

Now there are many work outs that are not for me, but I still appreciate them. Take Yoga--it is not my style but I see fit women leaving these classes, so it must work. I personally need something that involves more sweat, but that's just my gym hangup. Crossfit--looks daunting and I wish I was cool enough to do but really deep down don't think I am. But the women that come out of there are freaking tough and can probably bench press me.

Zumba class on the other hand, does not spill tough or fit or athletic women out when it ends. This may just be my gym, but 90% of the class is on the larger side and doesn't move nearly fast enough to keep up with the instructor, much less work up too much of a sweat. If no one coming out of the class has a body I would want, why would I take the class?

It may also piss me off that they allow about 50 participants, who take up all the parking in the minuscule parking lot, which in turn makes me late for my spin class...just maybe.

2. Gym Talkers

The other day a woman on a treadmill in front of me set the speed to a moderate walk and pulled out her cell phone. I am not sure if she'd never heard it was rude to talk while in the gym, or if she simply thought that because she was speaking a different language it was okay.

I just wanted to shout, "Just because I can't understand you, doesn't mean I can't hear you!" Maybe she had the same line of thinking that kids do--If I can't see you, you can't see me--kind of thing going. 

Not only was she talking, for at least the last 15 minutes of my workout, but she was also loud. I could here her over LMFAO shuffling in my ears. Rude (and maybe a little crazy)!

3. Stupid Questions/People

While out walking CJ, my very chill and well behaved dog, we started to approach a woman getting cleaning supplies out of the back of a car. She motioned for me to take out my headphones (more LMFAO) and when I did asked,

"Should I get back in my car?" 

I said, "Excuse me?" and when she repeated it I gathered she meant, was I going to let my huge, scary dog off leash to attack her on the spot.

He looks like a killer, right?

I smiled in a good natured way and explained that CJ was very friendly as we crossed to the other side of the street to avoid her. She then decided that he wasn't scary and started talking to him, causing him to pull toward her. When I reprimanded him she was all honey and said how she LOVED dogs and of course he could come see her and could she pet him and how sweet he was and what a nice coat he had and on and on.

So why the hell were you scared of him 3 minutes ago when we were walking along, minding our own business, ignoring you and I was jamming out happy as a clam? HUH?

Okay, Rant over. I feel a bit better. Funny how some things just bug the bajesus out of you and you can't wrap you mind around them and let them go until they have been shared. What bugged you this week?

Tommy Boy Tried to Sell Us a Car

I wish I liked shopping more. More than one person recently, when told that I have spent part of the day car shopping, has gotten an excited glint in their eye. They would love to go car shopping. Not me. I mean I want a new car, but I would rather it just appear in my driveway all shiny with a bow like those Christmas Lexus commercials.

I think I am too analytical for shopping, so I have a hard time making a decision until I have absolutely every single tiny piece of information and have test driven every option. Which makes for lots of shopping. Which I hate.

I started out thinking I knew what I wanted. A Subaru Outback. It matched me--low maintenance, outdoorsy, and low frills. Until I drove one, then kinda wanted a little more frills and some more get-up-and-go. Maybe this says I am more maintenance than I like to own up to?

So the I actually had to drive a whole bunch of other cars and read Car and Driver and look and look and look. It is exhausting and I still don't have a shiny car with a bow.

At times like this I really wish my dad lived near us. He gets that magical glimmer in his eye when talking about car shopping. He adores it. He does it for FUN. When he is visiting a city with nothing to do for a day, instead of hitting a museum he goes to car dealerships. I am not kidding, ask him. He is like the dad from The Christmas Story who lights up when buying a Christmas Tree. All business, ready to haggle, getting the job done...pretty much opposite of my shopping persona.

(I have no idea why everything reminds me of Christmas right now)

Image from
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114694/

And somehow I have managed to get the least knowledgeable sales guys ever. They are always "new" which means even more trips to the manager to get information. One poor guy, we'll call him Tommy Boy because he is Chris Farley of the movie reincarnate, had been at his dealership for 3 weeks and regaled us with all the things he had done wrong in those 3 weeks (burned out a clutch trying to drive a stick, broke a key in the big key lock box so no one could get keys to the cars, fell down the stairs, walked into the glass door, etc) Of course he couldn't tell us the difference between where the oil goes verses the coolant but he was endearing.

He also was a tad overweight and told us that he kept getting in trouble by "the meanies" which were his managers because his shirt would come untucked. He was proud of his shirt because it was a great deal at $10 and had come with the tie too. This led Honey to gently but repeatedly tell him when his shirt was untucked in the back. But it was a losing battle.

After hours of learning zip about cars but getting a glimpse into what it would be like to be a young, overweight, inept salesman, he and his "meanie" let us go. We shook hands, turned away, and shook our heads--poor Tommy Boy had a button undone, the back of his shirt half-untucked and hadn't made a sale.

So the car shopping continues...

Puppy, Puke and a Cheerleader

As many of you know--my lovely little Toyota, that I bought myself for my 21st birthday, is dead.

So let me tell you what happened...

It all started Saturday morning with Little Lucy throwing up. Now we had been fighting a case of diarrhea with her since the third day we had her. She'd eat, have some diarrhea, we'd make her fast, she'd get just rice to eat, then finally mix in food...then have more diarrhea. Our fat little puppy was no longer fat at all.

Then she threw up inside her cage. And she wouldn't eat.

Bad, very bad. In the world of puppies this could mean a disease called Parvo.

As I found out when I finally got a hold of a vet that was opened on Saturdays. Parvo could be deadly if not treated, they told me, right before they said they could not possibly get us in.

So, in my head I am thinking I have killed my new puppy because I was too cheap and laid-back to get her to the vet at the first signs of diarrhea. I frantically search the web for every vet and vet hospital within a 50 mile radius, my fingers flying on my phone trying to find someone, anyone that could see us on a Saturday.

Thank god for the PetSmart here which has a vet hospital in it. Pretty handy and open 7 days a week!

So you are wondering what this has to do with my car--I'm getting there.

I get off the phone with PetSmart hospital and they say bring her in RIGHT AWAY. No appointment needed. Which leads me to a mad dash into the bedroom to get dressed and tell my sleeping husband we needed to go to the doctor. I had already had 2 hours to work myself into a major tizzy and his slow movements out of bed and into the bathroom were NOT fast enough for me.

So, I run into dining room, put on a shoe, then see Lucy throw up again. At this point Honey comes out of the bathroom to see me trying to hold back Lucy, clean the puke with a giant wad of paper towels while muttering, "Where the hell is my other shoe?"

In between laps of the house where I am searching for my shoe, while wearing one and grabbing my purse, keys, etc, Honey stops me. As I struggle to put my coat on upside down, he asks what the problem is and why I am in such a rush. I yell to him about "Parvo" and "dead puppies" and "hurry" as I run back into the bedroom throw off the one shoe and put on a full new pair still muttering, "Where the hell is my other shoe?"

Finally we are in the car with the dog, and both shoes, headed to PetSmart. Halfway there a little Jetta decided to make a U-turn...without looking...and slammed into us. Honey swerved, we spun, Lucy shook, we avoided a tree, and stopped facing the destroyed Jetta.

And out steps a very upset little high school cheerleader all dolled for a big competition that day. We realize everyone is fine but I start crying anyway because now we can't get to the vet and my puppy IS GOING TO DIE. So Honey gets a car that pulled up to take me to the vet and he dealt with the car. This could be one of the greatest/sweetest/most wonderful things he has ever done. And he even called the insurance companies too! This is why I married him.

Anyway, I am bawling in a stranger's car answering the incessant questions of the 5 year old next to me between sobs, but make it to PetSmart. And...of course...Lucy doesn't have Parvo. I mean, she could have had it, but she doesn't. She's fine and on upset tummy meds. And wanting to eat everything in sight.

My car, on the other hand, is not fine. You can't open the passenger door and there are shards of the Jetta inside the quarter panel. But you should have see the Jetta, her whole front was gone. Makes me love Toyota!

This week we should find out what the next step is but I needed a new car anyway so it may just happen sooner than expected.

And yes I finally found my shoe--on the dining room table.