Stumbling Towards Perfect

And because you all know school  drop off / pick up circles are the bane of my existence  I have created a Facebook Page dedicated to the complex rules of the entire phenomenon. It's called Just Pull Forward  and I invite each and every one of you to share your experiences, lest you blow your top and go psycho on some poor soul in the drop off zone, thus ruining your child's chances of ever receiving play date invitations ever again. I'm not entirely sure what makes them so complicated. They seem simple enough. Pull in, kid gets out, drive away. Or, if you're picking up - which, granted can be slightly trickier since kids aren't exiting school in the exact order as the cars are lined up - you pull in, wait until your kid hops in, and then drive away. And if the car in front of you drives away -- and this is the tricky part -- you just pull forward (even if you're kid isn't in the car yet). The reason you do this is to make room for the car waiting behind

I was about 16 years old when the house phone rang and my mom said it was for me. I answered, excited like any teen would be to have a friend calling. Except this friend - a girl I had known for years; I had been to her house to play and she to mine - the words she used were cruel. Threatening. And I didn't understand why. As quickly as she began, the call was over. I stood there stunned. Replaced the phone on the hook and walked silently to my room, never saying a word to my mom who stood just steps away. It was hell at school the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Days turned to weeks. I was threatened, called names, followed into the bathroom. Not just by the first girl, but by a second as well. Girls I thought I had no quarrel with. [Apparently, they thought I had found out something about them and were afraid I would tell. Except I really didn't know anything about it until they don't me during threatening me. Der! ] It didn't matter

I need a colonoscopy.  I know you know this because I already told you about it. Because that's how I roll. Anyway. The first odd thing that happened occurred over lunch. At work. When I was asked in a hushed voice if I needed it because of constipation. And I was like, uh.... no . I would take an enema or a stool softener for that. Again, uh.... no . But you're close. The first step of the process was to meet with a specialist. And I had all the information printed out for me on a piece of paper. The information included the name of the doctor, the date and time of the appointment and the building the appointment (and the doctor) was located in. It would help immensely if that information was correct. Because pulling up to the valet in a violent downpour one does not want to hear well, that building is located clear across the city. And, knowing there's no way I can get clear across the city in fifteen minutes, I call, ready to cry and complain and reschedule, only to fi

Big V and I went out in public this weekend and he decided to wear his best jeans. He likes them because they're baggy and long. Meaning that when he sits down the pant legs don't get pulled up into that elusive dorkus zone. So he comes out in these: And I tell him there is no possible way these can be his best jeans. But he insists they are. And I say, no, no they're not. And the 16-year old Fashion Diva also says no, no they're not. But he keeps insisting they are. And so I took a picture (see above) and showed him and he said, "well... they aren't that bad" and I said yes, yes, they are. Because no matter how longish they are in the front they're stupidly short in the back. And I asked how the jeans got that way, which he shrugged off and said simply "the dog got them." Then he promised they'd look better with shoes.  Except they didn't. Guess who's getting jeans for his birthday?

Because of my new bible study - the one where I'm going to learn how to change my attitude and become a positive, grateful person - I'm not going to complain that my car's a piece of crap needing $3,000 worth of repair. Instead, I'm going to be thankful that I've been blessed with finally paying off my car. Two months ago. Instead of panicking that we don't have extra money laying around for such necessary repairs ( how important can one head gasket actually be? ) I'm going to be thankful that we paid off the last of the credit card debt. Last month. Instead of worrying about how on God's green earth I'm going to get each of the three children and myself where we need to be while my car is sitting in some mechanic's garage I'm going to be happy that Big V doesn't have any employment lined up these next few days so he'll be home and able to assist. And obviously, I'm not going to worry about the fact that without jobs lined u

You know how you're getting ready to go on vacation and everyone is telling you how much you're just going to absolutely love it? And that oh my god it's so beautiful in the mountains and I'm so jealous because I have always wanted to go skiing and then you go and you realize it's just freaking cold out and your nose was dripping snot for four days straight and you can't feel your fingers and suddenly you realize that no matter how much everyone else thinks a ski vacation in the mountains is perfect for you it's really not? And next year you vow to go someplace warm? And so then you tell everyone you're going someplace warm. And you meet someone and they're all I love warm! I want to go someplace warm! And you're all yeah! Let's go someplace warm together! And you get all excited about the warm but when you get there all you see is endless beach with 18 bazillion grains of sand that will surely be touching your feet and you hate sand .

OWENGE the color of a warrior Once you become a mother, there's no going back. Your heart has been opened and the hearts of your children have been poured in. No matter what you do, no matter where life takes you, you are always their mother. Why "Owenge?" For Owen . I didn't know Owen. I don't know his family. But I know the love a mother has for their child and I simply cannot imagine the prayers of strength and peace The Bissing Family  needs now and forever.

I believe in forcing encouraging Big V to spend one-on-one alone time with his son as a form of punishment an opportunity for bonding. I mean, why should I experience all the bonding? I like to share. Saturday was a day that fried the ends of each and every one of my nerves. The fact that the toddler did not take a nap was of no help whatsoever. And let me tell you, I tried. For the love of all that is holy, I tried to get that kid to take a nap. Big V worked all day. Which we needed and I'm totally not complaining about. But, I mean, it is kind of his fault that he's not Chief of Surgery at a well known hospital. Perhaps if he hadn't spent all that time in high school playing football... but I digress. Anyway, the point is I spent a whole lot of hours with a kid that never stopped moving. I don't know about you, but in my old age, I need to stop. A lot. The whole day kind of sucked. I mean, the kid is cute and all - but it kind of went like this: We do not t

Two years ago today, I was totally ignoring Big V chow down on a slice of pizza because I was busy cracking up via text messages with my sister. For Christmas I hope she gets me a transcript from our phone records because that conversation was epic! I look totally okay with this whole giving birth thing. Don't I? I was scheduled to deliver a baby and things were going pretty well - I was laughing, V was eating - when all of a sudden a team of health specialists stormed my room and in twenty-five seconds had me racing down the hall for an emergency c-section. All I heard was trouble with his heart and dangerously low level and so your dad is from Australia ? (That last one coming from the super spunky anesthesiologist who gave me my epidural about 45 minutes earlier.)   Someone's a little too giddy to get into surgery. So cesarean it was! Big V was in charge of pictures. I wanted one the second the baby was born... I am now the proud owner of a pictorial play-by-pl

* office phone rings * Good Afternoon. How can I help you? Can you get two movies from the library? ( It's the Teen Bean .) Um, no. OH MY GOD, MOM!  WHY CAN'T YOU JUST GET SOME MOVIES FOR ME?! Um... I am working. OH MY GOD! I JUST --- UGHH!!! --- I CAN'T ---- OH MY GOD! Or you could walk to the library and get some yourself.... ( the library is about 5 blocks away ) OH MY GOD! I AM NOT GOING TO WALK TO THE LIBRARY! .... Is it possible to actually explode from hormonal combustion?

I am incredibly allergic to smoke. When people who smoke come in the office I start sneezing within two seconds. It gives me a headache and leaves my throat raw and scratchy. My eyes get red and start tearing up. I think it's fair to say I would not have made a sexy smoker. Although I did try smoking. I so desperately wanted to be a smoker because I imagined that first deep inhale to be like an instant calming drug. Which it  is, I suppose, but wouldn't actually know about because I never could figure out that whole swallowing air thing. Really, smoking is much more complicated than what I am capable of. Before going out to the bars I would pop some allergy meds and enjoy the rest of my evening dancing the night away. The next morning I would wake up sounding like the biggest bar hag you've ever come across. My throat would feel like it had been cut into a million pieces. It's kind of weird, really, but it's me. And so, when I ventured outside today I thought (1

I can barely speak in coherent sentences today because Big V left me alone to deal with the toddler. As in he went to the ball field to play softball. All. Day. Long. Saturday AND Sunday. From 8am until 6pm. Both days. Absolutely I'm bitter. Like you have to ask? The kid is going to be two on Friday but I wasn't going to say anything because things happen when kids turn two . But someone must have told him because he quickly put two and two together and came up with terrible two's which he has ramped into overdrive. I put that kid in a time out roughly 587 times this weekend. I tried to be all Super Nanny consistent about it, silently cussing Big V's life and soul while attempting to appear nonchalant and aloof that my not quite two year old was screaming hysterically, kicking his feet and pounding his fists on the wall while perched on a time out stool. (And I put that blasted timer on 2 minutes, people, each and every time.) And then.... Dotter w

After whining yesterday about my life being pathetic, it was like the heavens opened up and showered me with blog fodder! (Thank you, Confessions of a Corn Fed Girl  for coining the phrase blog fodder . It has come in handy a lot!) Yesterday I had this little thing planned called an Annual Exam with my favorite snarky gyno. It was a requirement that my doctor be skilled in sarcasm and I found the best . She has a Polish accent and even referred to me as Kermit the Frog due to my lack of those things that hang down in the back of your throat. Anyway, yesterday she introduced me to the wonderful world of the Rectal Exam after I joked about the return of hemorrhoids and my solemn vow to never do THAT again!   Oh, I'm sorry; you're uncomfortable? Imagine how I felt. Then came the magic words: you just bought yourself a colonoscopy, lady. Because apparently there are no hemorrhoids. Which, means I've obviously got cancer. Because that's how my mind works. And the good

I have nothing to blog about. Because my life is no longer funny. My life is merely pathetic. Mostly because it took me a week to figure out the gross odor wafting through the house wasn't Big V's shoes after all, but rather the oversized freezer we keep in the basement with all the meat in it. We lost a cow. So we spent the day cleaning up stinky room temperature meat dripping gallons of blood. I was so busy cursing I didn't realize the awesomeness of the situation; my sister did . "Did you take all the meat out of the butcher paper and then wrap it up in a large carpet roll bound with duct tape and haul it to the end of the road?" What?! No! Opportunity Lost. And then one of my favorite older lady person who is really spry and someone I would love to be like when I'm almost 80 (because she's kind of nutty) came into my place of employment and was all I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving and -- oh my goodness! I didn't know you were expe

My dad is like a big kid. Always laughing and joking and hanging out with friends and never wanting to come home. But he does. Sometimes under the influence of alcohol, but he always comes home. He's always worked hard to support his family - two or three jobs, and even now in retirement, he continues to work. He's got a pretty great work ethic which makes me wonder why I managed to date every unemployed idiot in our county. He's pretty much had poor health his entire life (many times he had way worse than poor health) yet he never complains about it. You know those people that have to whine and cry and tell the world every time they have an ache or pain or a hang nail; yeah, we get it. You don't feel well. Ever. If my dad had been like that we would have killed him long ago. Basically, my father has a pretty decent sense of humor. He "gets me." Which can be scary. A couple weeks ago  I gave him some balls  for his birthday because he's old and he migh

If I could guarantee I'd be one of those wearing floppy sun hats while driving my convertible with the top down in the middle of winter, dancing in the fountain at the downtown plaza kind of crazy people, I would gladly welcome insanity. Unfortunately, it's more likely I'll end up one of those haven't taken a shower in eight months, walking up and down main street with my hands clasped together while shouting vulgarities at passing school children kind. If it comes to that, I blame this: Exhibit A : the ugly coffee table. Big V had this table before I moved in. Yes, it's real wood. That's about the only thing it has going for it. He's never used a coaster. So there are water marks every where. And dog scratches. And random Sharpie marks because he never quite got the whole "it bleeds through" concept. It's not pretty. And it's huge. Plus, it's round. And I despise round. Unless it's a chocolate mousse pie. Then round is okay. I