Wednesday, February 29, 2012


In case you weren't already aware, I am getting my tonsils out next Tuesday. Yep, tonsillectomy. And, I am 33.

Pause for you to tell your computer screen (representing me) the most horrific story about adults getting tonsils removed ever. Include all painful and gory details. Don't leave out a second of your friend of a friend's grandmother's day nurse who had them out at age 27 and the pain was so wretched that she went to the East side to buy crack to take her mind off it, ended up addicted and unable to swallow at the same time and is now a homeless, drug addict, throat broken hooker. And the blood... don't forget the swallowing blood part. You know, when your cousin's dentist's handyman had it done at age 41 and he bled so much that he eventually got such a taste for it that now he lives as a vampire? Good one.

Seriously, I appreciate two things about the human need to chime in about their tonsil experiences.... 1. Tips on how to manage the pain from people who have been there. 2. Survival stories that include, "and she had it done on Friday and was at church just fine as can be on Sunday." Anything else.... really?!?!? Why is it we feel the need to do that? If you've never had surgery before to compare this reaction, mention pregnancy to a woman with kids and you will undoubtedly get the full on gory details of the births.

Seriously, start a little experiment today. Ask a currently pregnant woman what women with kids do as soon as you mention that you're pregnant? I do it too, so I am not throwing stones. They will dish out the most horrible details known to mankind. "Oh, you're pregnant? Congratulations! Let me tell you about how I pooped myself on the delivery table and then they ripped me from here.... to... here," (which is always a distance of no less than nine inches). Heart transplants would leave less of a scar.

The problem these days is that none of us (or I should say the few of us that have this habit) have been in battle. Back in the day, there were tribal wars and revolutionary wars and fights for land with bitter cattle ranchers (I've seen Young Guns... I know what's up). So battle scars were real. They were everywhere. Now, we don't have those lives, but I think we still feel compelled to show our scars and be the battle heroes when we can. For me, it's having two kids. Yeah, I did that. (Puff out chest and stand up straighter). After next Tuesday, I will have survived a tonsillectomy, too. So, when either activity comes up in convo, then I get to dust off my invisible Purple Heart and talk about how I conquered sitting on a toilet after a C-section. "I almost gave up, but the need to pee spurred me on. And, with my bladder depending on me to be strong, I took that toilet.... and I won the battle." Bring it on, tonsils... Bring. It. On.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

That's A-Parenthood

Your kids are in bed, and you hear a scream you dread, that's a-parenthood!

You hear your son cry and you go lay by his side, that's a-parenthood.

Then you feel wet and you can bet that it's his vomit, that's a-parenthood.

You clean your son, don't get to you until you're done, that's a-parenthood.

When you sleep on the floor, because your son needs your bed more, that's a-parenthood.

Watching Phineas and Ferb at midnight without a fight, that's a-parenthood.

Then at dawn, stifling a yawn while you set up breathing machines, that's a-parenthood!

Spending the day tired as hell, but your son's breathing well... that's a-PARENTHOOD!!!

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Why Am I So Happy?

The other day, someone asked me why I was so happy. The question took me aback. First, isn't it funny that someone would think that I am "so happy?" Second, isn't it a bad sign that someone would think my being happy is so rare, it is worth asking about? Last, isn't it funny that I couldn't think of an answer? I couldn't point to something and say that I am happy because of anything. I didn't just get married or have a baby or win the lottery (the only one of the three options proven to lead to happiness every time).... I think I have just reached a point in my life where (at the risk of being trite) life is good.

Don't get me wrong. This is not an invasion of the body snatchers moment. I am still bitter, cynical, rude and sometimes mean. I can still come up with a litany of things to bitch about. After all, I need to buy Will new pants, but I have to wait til Mark gets paid again because we have no money. Jack is a snot machine and I am sick to death of everyone in this house being sick as death. I wore my favorite jeans last week and when I just pulled them out of the dryer, there was a huge hole in the ass begging the question... am I just sad that my jeans died, or humiliated that my ass was on display all last Thursday? And seriously, if I have to wash bedwetted sheets one more time this week, my head may explode, AND ITS ONLY TUESDAY!!! See.... same girl. But instead of being so bogged down in all that wah wah stuff... I am doing ok. Better than ok.

I used to wonder if I needed Prozac. Seriously, I even wrote about it here back in 2009. The little things were the size of ants... if I was starring in "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids" and ants were 100 times my size. I couldn't cope. I wondered if I had a chemical imbalance or something, but now, I think I had three very specific things. I think I had children. Seriously. I had three in a short period of time. I gave birth to Will... a year later Tabbi moved in.... and a year later I birthed Jack. That means I had three kids in two years, and one of them popped out a mouthy 8 year old. It was hard. And maybe we as women aren't supposed to admit that... but it was hard. On top of that, we've had a job loss, before that we had to learn how to exist on one income.... and I just couldn't cope. I was mad and frustrated and beyond those two.... I was tired. All. The. Time. Baby having is a rough business. I realize now that I never needed Prozac. I needed sleep.... and maybe a nanny.

My kids (and more importantly I) have settled into a lovely routine now. I love all three of them, but man is my life good now that they all go to school. Tabbi has settled into our lives in a beautiful way, and while I may still get frustrated and want to rip my hair out (or hers) on occasion, I can finally say after a 4 year struggle that we have hit our stride. Will is in full day Kindergarten and while I find myself missing him still during the day, I love the little guy he is becoming. Last night during dinner he went into detail about his science journal at school, and I was bursting with pride. And Jack.... my sweet formerly Satanic little angel is in preschool two mornings a week. He is speaking better, behaving better.... and he is just as cuddly as can be when he comes home. We have schedules and routines (insert joke from my friend Homa here, as she thinks my schedules are hilarious), and they have given me the greatest gifts.... peace. Comfort. Enjoyment of my kids and this job titled Motherhood.

Don't get me wrong.... Tonight Mark has a home owners association meeting and I promised the kids that we'd go to the YMCA carnival without him. I have a hair cut at 5 and both Tabbi and Will have to get their homework done before dinner and the carnival... plus, Jack's entire head is filled with snot. So, motherhood still isn't easy. My guess is my mom would say the same thing and her kids are 35 and 33. But, the hard just seems a little easier these days, and I guess that's why I am happy.