Stumbling Towards Perfect

If I wasn't so damn scared of getting caught I'd run outside and snap a picture right now. But I don't think I could explain straight-faced, "Sorry, didn't mean to invade your privacy - just thought this would make an excellent post!" Some Grandma is walking a toddler outside our office. As in, the kid is strapped in one of those harness things that dogs wear except it's been cutesified to look like a monkey with the world's longest tail is hanging on to this kid's back. Grandma is seemingly bored following the monkey around (can you blame her? She's walking up and down sidewalks holding a tail), but compensates by puffing on the cigarette she has drooping from the corner of her mouth. If she isn't careful ash will burn monkey's tail. Who am I kidding? It probably has scorched the fur multiple times by now. Anyway, Smokin' Granny isn't exactly paying attention to the toddler on the other end of the monkey... which is why I'm

I'm not a big fan of those on-line quizzes... you know, the kind reminiscent to the back-in-the-day Teen Magazine quiz where you answered ten vague questions and they told you what kind of kisser you were. This during the time the most passionate kiss I ever experienced was with my wrist. I guess I just don't buy into the fact that a ten question on-line quiz can tell me how many children I'll have, what house I should live in, or which part of the country I'm best suited. At this point in my life I think I know what I want. (Now, how I get there is an entirely different story.) Alas, I was suckered into taking a quiz... a handwriting quiz. You write some simple words down and disect away: open letters versus closed letters, slanting to the left or right or standing straight up and down, tails of letters short and chopped off or long and lingering... this is my type of quiz! This is what I learned about myself after my ten word sampling: You tend to be logical and pract

Satan ate our wall. Satan being the dog. V's dog. Not mine. I would not tolerate a dog like this. It is, undeniably, the most destructive dog on the face of the planet. There is nothing off limits to the dog. There is nothing the dog won't try to destroy. The house and everything in it and around it seems to belong to the dog. We just happen to live amongst its belongings. I'm actually surprised I haven't woken up to the dog gnawing its way through my tibia. The dog existed with V before I met him. Just as my girls existed with me before I met V. It seems only fair, as pointed out by V, that since I can keep the kids he can keep the dog. I've pointed out that the kids haven't peed on the carpet, or puked on the floor, or eaten my most favorite pair of heels, or chewed through three couches (yes, three). V pointed out that they do mess up the bathroom with their make-up and hair ties and wet towels on the floor. I pointed out that I can make them clean it up, whe

It's almost 9:30 in the morning... can I call it quits? This job is getting to me. My pregnancy seems to be taking any patience I may have had and is using it for some other valid reason I'm sure. I've been here for an hour and all I've heard is whining. I wish there was a clause in my contract that allowed me to say, "Look, not only are you an adult, but you're actually considered a professional adult. Professional adults don't whine." I can't help but be brought back to when I was a whiney 9-year old with my mother standing over me saying, "You can stand here and complain for twenty minutes, or you can get started on this and be done in twenty minutes - either way it still needs to be done." In a few minutes I will be sending out my third eMail describing the same requirements to the same self-entitled person. * sigh * Really I'm nothing more than a babysitter for really big babies who get paid way more than me.

V and I had yet another baby appointment yesterday. It was scheduled for 3:45 and I think we waiting about an hour. Lovely time, this waiting. We had a loud-talker who insisted on conversing with her friend via her cell phone. We were all suddenly invited into her world where Shaina is going to get her ass kicked the second she gets out of jail, 'cuz she don't play that! Also, we're now very concerned because no one knows where Katie is - she might be in jail, too, but her brother isn't saying nothing. Then came two teen-looking girls, each pushing a stroller containing a toddler along with two very active boys running circles around them. While Teen-Looking Mom #1 pushed her stroller up and down the hallways, Teen-Looking Mom #2 had her blood drawn. This left the second baby stroller (with the toddler still in it) pushed next to the water fountain with the poor child staring at the wall. While toddler was nervous and whimpered quite a bit, there never was a full out wa

I've been forced into attending a baby shower that V's family insists on throwing. Keep in mind this is the warm fuzzy family that has made the following comments to me: "We just don't think you really love V." "If you don't get married in a Catholic church then you don't really love V." "You're taking advantage of V." "You're just using V for his money." "If you and V really do get married, then your daughter will be the first grandchild - and K won't be anymore." "Does V even get a vote?" "You're taking V down." "V should break up with you and date Sarah." "Get back here! I'm not done with you yet!" Yeah, they're a lovely bunch. And so, although it is beyond painfully obvious that they would prefer if I were to get hit by the next Greyhound, they feel "social ettiquette" (their words, not mine) demands that a baby shower be thrown. Yippee us!

I bought a personal pan pizza and breadstick meal at the gas station for lunch yesterday. Except my stomach can't fit that much food, so I ate one piece of pizza and the breadsticks with the spicy nacho cheese before warding off the heartburn. This morning I was sitting here working on the most boring review EVER which included such things as fuel tanks and lake water, while trying to block out this elderly gentleman who had been droning on to my co-worker for the past twenty minutes about how things were done forty years ago, when I started getting dizzy. Oh, boy. Got to eat... I know! MY LEFTOVER PIZZA!!! I must admit I was salivating something fierce while skipping to the lunch room fridge... but 'lo and behold MY PIZZA WAS GONE!! Every so often this guy in the office gets a cob up his butt where he throws anything and everything that isn't important to him away. As in, "I don't need it - it's gone!" Not just food, mind you, but things like files, repor

I take a slow country road into work each day. This is a long, straight, seriously should be 55 mph but only allows you to go as fast as 35 mph kind of road. It's very important to not exceed 35 mph. I know this because I've gotten a speeding ticket along this road. Twice. But that's not the point. The point is when traveling at a speed that ridiculously slow on a long, straight country road, you have a lot of time to take in the view. Today's view included a minivan approaching in the opposite direction. They were also going slow, which may or may not be indicitive of any speeding tickets they may have received along this particular roadway. The view also included the farm to my right.... which happened to have a red farm truck bouncing its way up the driveway and directly out into the road. According to my super quick calculations said farm truck would meet said minivan at the exact same time said minivan was passing the driveway, and from the way said farm truck was

No one told me my crotch was going to sweat this much. Yeah, yeah, I know - waaayyy too much information. Whatever. I've got a feral chihuahua taking over my uterus - Cletus the Fetus has been hitting, kicking, and beating at me for the past three hours. Yes, three hours of me trying to come across as professional in a conference room full of egotistical males with titles and salaries that far exceed my measley portions, while my stomach contorts itself in astounding, never before seen patterns and I sweat profusely - apparently only between my thighs. I was afraid to stand up after the hour-and-a-half pow-wow; fearful they'd think my water broke. Another joy of pregnancy that I had not experienced the first two rounds.

On a good note, Dotter's latest test results came back looking normal. No blood or proteins in the urine. Not a drop out of line. Yeah for good test results. On the flip side, what the heck? Are we ever going to find out what's going on in that little body of hers? Or is she just to be labeled the sickly one? Today she skipped off to school with her backpack strapped to her back, conveniently filled with a pair of sneakers, fresh pair of socks, a box of crayons and a sketchbook. On our way to school I asked her about lunch - whether they could sit anywhere or if they had assigned tables by grade. She told me they have assigned seats. She doesn't know who she sits by so it's like she sits by herself. My heart tore in pieces. My precious, sweet, kind hearted daughter sits alone as she eats? I wanted to cry. The ironic part was she didn't think there was anything wrong with it at all. "Don't you talk to them?" I asked. She looked at me like I was missing

With my first pregnancy I barely gained 20 pounds. I wore my own pants until, well, pretty much until she climbed out of my vagina and introduced herself to me. My second pregnancy I was slightly bigger. At least one would gaze upon me and ponder the possibility that there may be a child in there... or I drank a ton of beer and had a manly beer-belly. I tried to wear maternity clothes because mine didn't fit, but I ended up looking more like a haggard bag lady than a cute little pregnant woman that you see in the movies. This pregnancy has got me beat. I'm seven months along and already weigh more than I did coming out of the Army. (Trust me: lots of exercise and lots of free food equals massive weight gain; but I swear it was all muscle.) I have gained more than my 'healthy' 25 pounds. I have leaped to a size Large in maternity pants. And I have two months left to go. I realize now is not the time to diet, so I'm spending this afternoon googling "hip, young mu

Satan (the dog) took a giant dump center stage in the sunroom. Couldn't miss it. Open the door, there it was. The odor nearly knocked me out. And yet there she sat, proud as can be on the other side of the dumpage as if to show me, "Look what I have for YOU!" I sent a text to V: "Your dog took a shit big time on the floor. Going to my mom's until it's cleaned." I know it sounds mean... but I knew what happened... and it was confirmed hours later upon my return... see, the Big V plays ball... any and every kind of ball. Right now he's busy with three leagues of softball (and playing with golf balls on Tuesdays). Anyway, it's very important to get to the fields early, you see, so one can warm up, watch the competition, relive glory days and brag about how awesome your current team is and how you're going to dominate the league. One needs to arrive at least an hour and a half before game time - if you're serious about ball, that is. So, V w

Nothing much going on over here. Unless you count passing out in your boss's office, crawling in delusional fury to the conference room floor to sprawl out on my left side all the while my boss saying things like, "Should I call an ambulance? Do you want water? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" The answer to all of those was unsurprisingly, "No." No, I do not want an ambulance screeching to a halt in front of the building, lights flashing, sirens blaring, announcing to the world "The pregnant chick feels woozy! What a wimp!" No, I do not want water. In fact, I have to pee. Really bad. Right now. On this floor. My crawling and shuffling seems to have rearranged my organs so Cletus the Fetus is now lying completely on my bladder. To be honest, I don't have much control in this area. One sneeze and I can't promise you a thing. No, I do not want YOU to take me to the hospital. Who wants to be taken to the hospital by their boss?

My imagination has been working overtime recently. I attribute this to the large amounts of hormones overtaking my normally calm, zen-like personality. Yeah, that was sarcasm. For those of you that know me (mainly my sister, who right now is running to the bathroom before she wets herself while yelling, "Zen-like?! As if!!") you probably know that I'm a little more, uh, high-strung when it comes to safety. I have been known to caution my children with such advice as: "Don't ever go out of the house without me - because a stranger could take you, throw you in the trunk of their car and kill you - then you'll die!" "Don't ever touch a dead bird - they have really bad germs and you could get them and then you'll die!" "Don't ever go swimming without an adult present - because you could get caught in a current and drown and then you'll die!" (My sister, the child psychologist, seems to think these cautionary stat

Swear to Jesus we'll be "those people" whose kid goes nameless for the first three years of it's life only to be forced to name it something , thus assigning it a number or the name "Baby." Not knowing what the sex of the baby is we are forced to come up with boy names and girl names. (We can't keep calling the child 'Cletus the Fetus' - especially if it's a girl.) The Big V and I cannot - honestly, cannot come up with any name we agree upon. I like different names, unique names - but not bizarre names. The two girls I currently have were named somewhat boy names.... but let's be honest, they were whimpy boy names. I like names that are recognizable yet will cause someone to comment that they've never heard that name and where did we come up with it. And so, I like names like "Elliette" (yep, just like Elliott for a boy) or Eisley or Tamsin or Aeslin. I like Tiernan and Henry (ok - that's after my grandfather, who,

I try to stay away from the controversial headlines for the simple fact that I am well aware that I probably am not privvy to all the facts. I work in local government and am quoted in the local papers often. More times than not the article doesn't quite say what I said. Oftentimes the article is written in a way that sways the reader in one direction or another when I was always taught newspaper reporting should be "just the facts;" the concise answers to Who, What, Where, Why and How Much? That being said, I take what I read/see in any given media with a grain of salt. Do I know if everything I read about Michael Jackson was true? Not at all. Does that mean he never did any of the things he was accused of? Again, not at all. I, personally, will never know. Do I have "feelings about" or "opinions on" - of course. But I'm not an expert and I don't claim to be all-knowing. However, this is the one fact I do know: three little kids lost their fat

I forced Big V to watch an episode of MTV's "16 and Pregnant" because, as I explained, "eventually she gives birth and you need to see it." Quietly he took in the doofus boyfriend who failed to say anything even remotely intellegent, the swoony girlfriend who truly believed they were soul mates, and the can't-quite-deal-with-this mother, who spent the episode cussing out her son and yelling such things as "if you would've just kept it in your pants and not knocked up some girl you wouldn't BE in this situation" in front of the girlfriend. (yes, Awkward!) About midway through the episode, during a 38 second clip showing the girl pushing, face contorted, knees yanked up to her ears, out pops this blicky-covered baby with a head the size of a cantelope. Knowing that I've got a beefy fetus that continues to expand in leaps and bounds I turn to V and frantically announce "Did you see that? Did you SEE how big that head was? There's

The doctor took a long time listening to the baby's heartbeat at the last doctor's visit. A very long time. What was odd was that it wasn't one of those "don't panic but oh my god she can't find the heartbeat" kind of moments. It was more of a "Wow! There it is - nice and strong!" and yet there she was, instrument in hand, swirling and moving it over my exposed abdomen to listen to what? More heartbeats? Different ones? Faster... Slower... first on the left side... now on the right... Big V and I exchanged looks... mine of panic... his of excited anticipation... and for what seemed like hours (but was probably more like two minutes) we waited silently as the noise of horses galloping took over the exam room. Finally the Doc straightened up, smiled, and announced, "Nope. Only one in there!" (V was heartbroken; I relieved.) My little Cletus the Fetus is such an acrobat that s/he wouldn't sit still and confused the doctor with its litt