Where is the Calgon?!?

I am blessed in many ways.  Too many to count.
One of the reasons I am such a lucky girl, is the fact that I have a hard-working husband, which allows me the opportunity to stay at home with my children (which is easiest job in the whole world....GAG!).

My *BFF*,  *bestie*,  *practical sister*, lives in the midwest with her husband and 2 sons.   They have a vacation home at the beach, 3 hours from our house.  Since their kids are on a traditional school calendar, they are able to spend the summer on the coast.  Which, in turn, gives me a great place to escape the mundane, when I'm ready to crucify my children.  And also allows us to spend time together (and drink together), and the kids to bond and create memories (and come up with new ways to drive us over the edge).

So, here we are, for the third week this month.  No hubbies.  Just us moms, and 4 kids.  Psychotic, over-tired, over-stimulated, sassy, attention-seeking, over-sunned kids.  Under the age of 7.  We are completely out-numbered.  And severely alcohol-deprived.  (And that's mostly because there is barely enough time to take a breath, or a pee, let alone pop the cork on a wine bottle)

Anyway, yesterday we decide to venture to the beach.  With a heat index of 110.  Two adults, four kids.  A beach cart with 300 lbs. of paraphernalia attached to it.  And a pop-up-tent (which it turns out was missing KEY PIECES OF EQUIPMENT in order to actually function.  However, I'm sure the two of us doing our best to set it up anyway, all while screaming at children to stay the hell out of the ocean, provided comical relief to everyone.  You're welcome).

So, how did the day proceed??  Completely sober, somewhat-medicated mommies, attempting to set up a tent with only 3 functioning legs, on a busy beach, after dragging all necessary supplies 1 mile through the hot sand until we actually found  enough space to set up camp.  Lots of profanity.  Lots of whining (by ALL involved).

It ended quite similarly, except THIS time, all four miniature humans were crying.  And tired.  And hot.  Mommies were dripping in sweat.  And highly irritated.  Strangers stared as 'Baby Girl' refused to walk, but mommy couldn't pick her up because she was too busy dragging the monstrosity of beach crap on a 2-wheeler.

Nobody wanted to shower off the sand from their sunburned bodies.  Nobody wanted to assist by carrying even a flippin' towel!  We were all almost backed over/into by some jackass in an F150  (whom I'm certain was NOT sober).......

You'd think after a few days of all this activity, my children would at least sleep well through the night.

HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!


Excuse me while I vomit in my mouth for a minute.  These are MY kids we're talking about.  They were born immune to sleep.


But....we'll be back next week to do it  ALL.  OVER.  AGAIN.


Somebody please smack me upside the head.

Fight Club

OK....I admit, I've got sort of a "temperamental" emotional status when it comes to my children.  Most of the time, I want to fight them...... when I'm not praying that the looney bin arrives to cart me off in a straight jacket, lock me in a padded cell and administer heavy sedatives to me intravenously.

However, going to a semi-enclosed public location with them, where other children and their *un-involved* parents will also be (ie.  the Children's Museum), gives me HIVES.  I swear.  I do it for my kids...... and partly to give them something else to climb on besides each other and me (and, honestly, because if we get couped up in the house together, I'll be "self-medicating" by noon).

But, it is AMAZING to me, how many parents completely ignore their children's behavior, when they set them loose in public.  Do people not realize that children are complete imbeciles when they think they can get away with it??  That they purposely do asinine things to GET attention???

I swear I've never wanted to fight so many people under 5 feet tall  IN MY LIFE!!! (other than my own children, of course)  And then I wanted to sucker punch their completely oblivious parents!!!

Two words people:  Parental Supervision.  WATCH YOUR OWN DAMN CHILDREN!!!  Paying a $5 cover charge at the door, does NOT entitle you to immunity from parenting!!!!

If your kids push, knock over, steal from, grab at, yell at, bully, or otherwise look at MY children cock-eyed, while you sit on your ass in the corner checking Facebook on your iPhone, you better believe this "helicopter-mom" is gonna Take. Them. Out.

Just sayin'.

My Week in Recap

I'm going to pretend for just a moment, that 1 or 2 of you are actually wondering why I haven't posted anything in a week.......  (just let me live in my delusional reality for a bit, if you don't mind).

I feel this past week in my life bears to be written (ie. 'complained') about.  And more importantly, justifies my increased consumption of wine.

It all began 1 week ago......my Aunt L came for a visit.  Now, Aunt L, is my mother's sister.  My mother passed away 3 years ago, so Aunt L has taken over position of mother/grandmother.  And GOD BLESS HER for that!  Truly.  However, any outside visitors create a chaotic environment in my household.  That's just how we roll in this house.  "Little Man" tends to turn into a ......PSYCHOTIC LUNATIC....when his routine gets disrupted in any way (I'm not saying he gets this from me, but it's remotely possible).

During this same time, I was in communication with the Principal, Vice Principal, and Curriculum Director of Little Man's elementary school, in order to switch him from one Track to another Track (please refer to earlier posts about the school system here).  My reasoning was to get him in a class with other children closer in age to him (he was the youngest and smallest in his kindergarten class), because I feel it will benefit him socially - now and in the future.  I felt frantic about this situation, because school was due to start THIS Monday.  I'm not usually a procrastinator, but I had a gut feeling about things, and I needed to act on them - FAST.

After some severe GI-stress-related issues, and 2 nights of insomnia, I am happy to say HE GOT SWITCHED.  However, he's home for 3 more weeks.....not so sure I'm mentally prepared for that.

Anyway, during Aunt L's stay, "Baby Girl" developed a high fever (and by "high", I mean 105+).  I gave her some ibuprofen, which she choked on, so I naturally assumed it was strep throat.  After coordinating drop-off of my Little Man to VBS,  I took Baby Girl to the pediatrician.  She began twitching severely, looked up at me, her eyes rolled back, and she seized.  Right there.  In the doctor's office.  In my arms.

I think I actually stopped breathing for a few minutes.

After the entire staff of receptionists and nurses came running out into the waiting area, she came to, and projectile vomited all over us.  So, I spent the next 2 hours, covered in pink vomit, trying to figure out what was wrong with my child.  Her fever was still 105.  They gave her a Tylenol suppository, stuck her with needles & a urinary catheter.  Cultures of all kinds were performed.  Then they gave her a double dose of an antibiotic that is used to treat bacterial meningitis.  Two injections.  One in each thigh.  It took me and 2 nurses to hold her down (this "fight" mentality will definitely be beneficial for her later in life).

I am strongly convinced I now suffer from PTSD.

Aside from an elevated white blood cell count, we still have no idea what was wrong.  Thankfully, her fever came down after 24 hours.

A few days later, with oral antibiotics in tow, we ventured off to the beach, to stay with our dear friends and their 2 young boys.  This trip had been planned for months, and we were intent on celebrating Little Man's 6th birthday.

All went great, and everyone had F.U.N.........

despite the 11pm bedtimes, and 6am wake up calls, the diarrhea caused by antibiotics.....

Oh, and Little Man pissing his pants during the fireworks show, saying "holy $hit" in front of everyone, and Baby Girl getting into the ant spray under the non-childproofed cupboards.  (I've never claimed to be Mother of the Year, people).

Now, please excuse me while I go make myself a stiff drink.

Where have I been for the last 6 years??!

Happy 6th Birthday to my amazing, sensitive, funny, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, outgoing, loving Little Boy.  I can't even begin to tell you how much joy you have brought to my life over the last 6 years.  I have never cried, laughed, drank or had as many anxiety attacks as I have since welcoming you into my arms at 6:12am, July 3rd, 2005.

I haven't had a solid nights sleep since you were born.  I never stop worrying about you.  Never stop wanting to protect you.  I love watching you turn into a young man, with your own opinions and feelings.  I love that you still ask me to cuddle with you on the couch, yet have no problem establishing your independence when there is something you don't want to do.

I love how you treat everyone equally.  You know no evil in the world.  I love how you try to see the best in every situation.  I love how forgiving you are, even to people who may not deserve it (myself included).  I love your fearlessness.  I love to see how easily you make new friends.  I love to see how each new day brings excitement to your eyes.  I love to see your desire to please others.

I am so in love with you, that it almost breaks my heart.  I feel lucky to be your mother.  I am proud to call you my son.

You are truly a miracle.  The world became more blessed the day you arrived in it.

You will hold my heart forever.

INhumane Treatment

So, I think it's safe to say, I like to "write" my feelings.  Okay, and "drink" them too, but, whatever.

Anyway, upon a recent visit to the local SPCA to adopt a dog (because I clearly lack enough chaos and drama in my life), I was in amazement at the stupidity, self-righteousness, and utter rudeness of the "adoption counselor" who interviewed us as a potential adoptive family.  Seriously.  I felt like I was on trial.

Apparently, you need to sign a contract in blood, donate a kidney, and agree that if the dog bites your child in the face, it's the child's fault, not the dogs. I got the feeling they would rather you give up your child in this situation, than relinquish an aggressive animal.  Because, who doesn't want to live in a home where they feel their life is being threatened by a four-legged creature??!  Right?

After waking up this morning, I still couldn't let it go.  So, I wrote a letter the SPCA we visited, as well as the ASPCA, and now I'm passing it along to you.  I feel my soul might be able to rest now.  A little bit.  Maybe.

To whom it may concern:

I am writing to you with sadness and disappointment over the way my family was treated on a recent visit to the Wake County SPCA facility, in hopes of finding a dog to adopt. 

We sat down to what we thought would begin the "interview" process in which to find a good fit for our family, consisting of my husband, myself and 2 young children.  What it ended up becoming, was not an interview, but an interrogation. 

I am strongly concerned about the qualifications of the "adoption counselors" at this facility.  She was rude, condescending, and very self-righteous.  I have a degree in Animal Science.  I have been a Licensed Veterinary Nurse for ten years.  I worked in the same specialty hospital for almost 12 years before deciding to be a stay at home mother.  I have donated several hours of my life to working in shelters and with various rescue organizations in order to treat and rehabilitate sick and abused animals.  I have worked among amazing veterinarians treating animals that were lost and injured during Hurricane Katrina, as well as some of the pit-bulls rescued from the Michael Vick compound.  Over the years, I have donated funds to the ASPCA.

Does this make me a perfect person?  Of course not.  But I do believe I am worthy of respect, especially when reaching out to adopt an animal in need of a good home.  I find it extremely disheartening that an organization such as the SPCA employs people with this caliber of flippancy towards others.

I completely agree that potential adoptive families should go through an interview procedure and, perhaps, even counseling services.  However, I feel this should be done by qualified  individuals, with actual social skills. 

I sincerely hope this was an isolated incident, and that other families/couples/individuals have not been treated this way at this particular facility, or any other.  Regardless, it is for this reason, the poor and insulting treatment of myself and my family, that we will choose another avenue to adopt a pet.

Enuff said......

Anonymous Letter

Dear 'Fat Lady' at the pool, who was too busy yappin' on your cell phone to be bothered with actually watching your eight children under the age of 10 play in the pool:

I, too, dread bathing suit season.  There is nothing flattering about these thick, cottage cheese thighs being exposed for all to see.  However, nothing takes presedence over watching my young children while in a giant tub of water!!


So, perhaps you could get off your fat ass long enough, to watch over said children, so that when your 3 year old (albeit strapped into a life vest, which I'm sure gives you a FALSE sense of security) falls on his face while climbing out of the pool, I'm not the one who has to comfort him.  While he screams hysterically. 

'Cause you see....I'm actually BUSY watching my own damn children!!!!  I don't have time to be responsible for yours.  Although, I'm sure you're conversation with "Tina.  I have to call you back.  I'm dealing with drama here" was quite riveting.

Sincerely,
Very irritated mother of 2