Merry Christmas - 2014 Edition

1) Throwing up, while pregnant, is as horrible as I imagined it to be. I honestly have no clue how the women who are stricken with nausea/vomiting/"Morning Sickness" have more than one child. (I respect you - greatly.)

2) As of this morning, I lost a total of 8 lbs. (So, I am basically back to pre-pregnancy weight, minus the weight of the baby itself.)

3) I have no idea why bananas are included in the BRAT diet. While they may not irritate the stomach, they are one of the worst things to come up via your mouth and nose, when vomiting.
 

4) When you are pregnant and dehydrated, you do NOT get up multiple times during the night to urinate. You get to sleep more than 2.5 hours at a time. (I think I may be onto something.)

5) We have entirely TOO MANY door knobs, light switches, remotes, iPads, and cordless/cellular phones. It took me every bit of 45 minutes to disinfect them all.

6) Combined, Warren and I have washed right at 30 loads of laundry. It should be noted that these loads were done within a five day span, and NONE of them consisted of regular laundry (clothes, towels, etc). Instead, they consisted of bed sheets, pillows, 647 stuffed animals, bathroom rugs, shower liners/curtains, nightgowns/socks, changing pad covers, and other items which were blown out or vomited on.

7) I developed a closer relationship with God. When you are pregnant, naked, and wet and have to drop down on all fours in the basin of your shower stall to hurl your guts up, you will cry out for God to help you. (If He did not already have my soul, I would have given it to Him.)

8) My mother has decided that they are going to give me drugs to keep me asleep throughout future Christmas Eves, at least those in which I happen to be pregnant. The past two have been brutal - overnight stay in the ER with a kidney stone (5 months pregnant) and a GI virus (4 months pregnant).

9) I have some amazing family and friends. Despite missing - yet another - Christmas Eve Dinner and Christmas Day Breakfast, the crew STILL came over to my house and entered a highly contaminated zone, in order to exchange gifts and spend a little bit of Christmas with me. (I love them all.)

10) I am incredibly grateful to have married a man who is unfazed by vomit and illness. Over the past few days, he could not have taken better care of the girls and I, during some truly horrendous moments for us. He cleaned up more than his fair share, gave the girls multiple baths, got up in the wee hours of the morning - many times - to help either me or one of the girls, and slept on the couch with whichever child was sick. In five days, I have not heard him complain - not even ONCE. (Maybe he is ill, too??)

11) There are few things in life that make you feel more human than eating real food, taking a steaming hot shower, and brushing/flossing your teeth, after being unable to do so for 48 hours.

 

12) Even when you can barely stand, you will find a way to make sure Santa comes and pictures/videos are taken of your children on Christmas Morning. For that period of time, you will forget you feel like death warmed over and will be overcome with emotion, while watching the joy on your kids' faces.

 

13) I cannot wait until this baby arrives and I may take medicine. (I be taking drugs, just because I CAN.)

 

14) I cannot wait until this baby arrives and I may drink. (I be drinking, just because I really WANT to.)

 

15) I cannot wait until this baby arrives and I remember. I remember that this whole week was just a small snippet of a bigger story; a story I will tell Baby #3, when we laugh together and I insist we almost died, but that it was TOTALLY WORTH IT (and I would do it all over, again).

The Magic Show from Hell

By now, we all know how much I dislike (LOATHE with every fiber of my being) Walmart. I rarely (never) have a pleasant experience. If I am in a good mood before walking in, I am angry at the world (demon possessed) by the time I leave. If I am in a bad mood, I am something just short of Satan himself upon leaving. I often describe Walmart as the place where "souls go to die." It literally sucks every happy thought and feeling right out of you. It is the antithesis of Walt Disneyworld. (There is NOTHING magical about it!)

Despite entering the Seventh Circle of Hell, there are some things that get to me (almost every.single.time.).

 
1. The Peanut Butter Disappearing Act

No matter how hard I try, I can NEVER find the effin' peanut butter!! At first, I thought it was because I cannot stand peanut butter and used to never purchase it. (I hated it as a child, and I still do as an adult. I mean, WHY ON EARTH would one want ingest a food that tries to suffocate them on the way down their throat?!) However, now that I am married and have children, it is a household staple. It seems like a simple enough task: "Buy peanut butter." Nonetheless, I absolutely cringe, when I see it on the grocery list.

Over the years, I have become convinced that moving (hiding) the peanut butter is something the stockers do for shits and giggles. Knowing their sick game, I even pause in the middle of the store and think to myself, "Where is the most logical place to stock peanut butter?! "(Then, I go in the opposite direction.) Depending upon the particular Walmart location (and what phase the Moon is in), sometimes it can be found in the Ketchup Aisle (also a condiment, so perhaps), the Baking Aisle (odd, but maybe for cookies), or the Breakfast Aisle (WTF?!). It is always so perplexing and frustrating. Almost 90% of the time, when shopping for the ill-fated food, I end up having to walk back through numerous aisles, slowly scanning the shelves, hoping it hops off and into my cart. It typically ends the same: finally giving up and asking a nearby associate, only to have them point directly in front of my face. (Why is whatever you are searching for RIGHT THERE, once you ask?!)

Personally, I vote peanut butter should be stocked in a separate aisle all by itself or sitting on the shelf next to the arsenic and cyanide. (Seriously, I think it would be much easier to kill someone with a handkerchief and a fistful of peanut butter. Plus, it would be harder to prove foul play.) I would, also, settle for peanut butter stocked with the bread. (Common Sense, Folks!)

Oooooh..no, I got it!! It should be in an aisle with other items, such as lemon juice, the Ranch powder packet thingies used to make dips and/or salad dressings, straws, Velveeta cheese blocks, toothpicks, cans of pineapple juice, and Q-Tips. The aisle would be called, "SHIT THAT IS HARD TO FIND." (I really feel this idea is a mere step or two away from my discovering the answer to World Peace, People!)


2. The Empty Line Trap

(Read carefully! THIS.IS.IMPORTANT!)

Walmart never has enough checkout lanes open, and they are always 5+ people deep. Never.Ever.NEVER trust the "Empty Line Trap!" ("What is this infamous ELT?" you ask. Allow me to set the scene.)

You are merrily bebopping along. Perhaps, you have (somehow) managed to finish your shopping, without so much as a hitch. ("Congrats, you stupid Bitch! I hate you!!) You push your cart toward the checkout lanes and start the "Vulture Pass." (You know, the pass you make once - sometimes more - searching for the lane with the best number of people in line to the number of items in their carts ratio. Vultures do the same thing, when flying over dead carcasses, except they assess the number of other vultures currently eating to the amount of dead animal left.)

During your second (fifth) pass, you come across what you then believe to be the Holy Grail of checkout lanes: one with an EMPTY line! Your brain starts going berserk, as you take in a 0:0 ratio, which computes to a #1 sports foam finger and a 103% awesome rating! (The sad part is that the serotonin levels in your brain - mind boosting neurotransmitter responsible for fluffy puppy excitement and leaf crunching happiness - have spiked waaay beyond the level of sanity and, apparently, mental math.)

Although you should approach cautiously and with some level of deductive reasoning, you push your cart toward the cashier in a flurry of blind elation, while performing some ridiculously, euphoric skip. (Oh yes, you do!) Never once did you stop to think about WHY this was the only lane in the ENTIRE store sitting empty. No, no! You.Were.On.A.Cloud! (You simply failed to realize it was a Black Cloud.)

The moment you pull up to the conveyor belt, one of several things are bound to occur. A) The cashier walks away, presumably to take a break, but more likely it is her turn to hide the peanut butter. B) The cashier refuses to check you out, as Bob is supposed to come relieve her, and she will be DAMNED if she works two more minutes than her schedule depicts. (She would rather just stand there and stare at you, while she holds her cash drawer and waits for Bob, who is NOT effin' coming!!) C) She becomes the Conversational Cashier.


3. The Conveyor Belt of Doom

(If you do not have OCD, I suggest skipping this part. You simply will not understand.)

Like most people with OCD, I am very systematic. This, of course, carries over into cart unloading. For me, I like to unload the heaviest items first (so they can be reloaded first, at the bottom of the cart), followed by boxed items, refrigerated items, soft items, and non-food items. (I get VERY upset, when my toothpaste is bagged with my bread!) My ideal lane is one where there is already another person in line (but ONLY one). I get the chance to use a plastic divider (my weapon of choice, if I am in the store when the Zombie Apocalypse starts) and place my items upon the conveyor belt in a sensical (IT IS AN ADJECTIVE IN MY BOOK!), orderly, and "all labels facing the same direction" way. (Pure logic.) I start to flat out panic, when I am in the middle of the unloading process, when the cashier fires up the conveyor belt. (I believe to watch me unspool.)

At first, I think I can keep up and quickly hasten my unload pace. However, I always fall behind, as I frantically dig through my cart to find similar items. Once the panic fully sets in, I start just haphazardly tossing things on the belt (some even directly at the cashier), watching them conveyor (IT IS A VERB IN MY BOOK!) away, now in a line of SINGLE items. (This is EXACTLY how eggs get bagged with toilet paper and macaroni with laundry detergent! THE WORLD IS NOT MEANT TO WORK IN THIS WAY!!) My mind starts to spin, and I begin to black out. I fight it, though, as I know this bitch is purposely effing with me!


4. The Conversational Cashier Stunt

(Did you really think I was going to forget to explain the Conversational Cashier? Where is the trust??)
 
As if the hell you have had to endure up to this moment has not been enough, you will (occasionally) get the Conversational Cashier. This is the cashier who will NOT shut the eff up! She is chipper. She is chatty. (She is high.) Her sole purpose in life is to make friends (and annoy you). She (genuinely) likes working with the public, as she can trap people into having conversations with her. She starts with small talk, asking you about your day. (You respond with a one word answer.) She may even try the "you look familiar" bit, in hopes you tell her who you are, so that she can stalk you and add you as a friend on Facebook. (I like to go with the, "Possibly. Are you a nurse?" I, then, explain how I was recently released from the mental ward, in which I had just spent the last six months for choking someone out who would not stop talking.) Her last resort is often making direct comments about your item selections. "Look at these fun toys! You must have children!" ("No, I just looooove My Little Ponies.") "OOOoooh! Looks like someone is having a par-TAA-AAAAY!"  ("No, I just eat a lot.") "OH MY GOODNESS! ARE YOU GOING TO USE THIS PREGNANCY TEST, TONIGHT?! I HOPE IT IS A GIRL!!" ("It is for my whore of a dog.") "These are some odd items?? A crowbar, rope, duct ta...." **She trails off into silence.** ("I am sorry, what were you saying? Or was I still telling you about the time I killed someone who would not mind her own business?")


5. The Receipt Highlighter Effect

WHY THE EFF DO YOU WANT TO HIGHLIGHT MY RECEIPT?! IT LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING! YOU DO NOT EVEN READ IT (AND WHY WOULD YOU?!?!)! IT DOES NOT CHANGE WHAT I HAVE PURCHASED NOR WHAT I CAN RETURN! YOU ARE PURPOSELY TRYING TO PISS ME OFF (AND IT IS WORKING!!!!)! I SWEAR I WILL SIT OUT THERE IN THE PARKING LOT, IN THE CLOAK OF DARKNESS, AND WAIT FOR YOU TO DRIVE HOME (AND I WILL FOLLOW YOU!!)! IF YOU WANT TO HIGHLIGHT MY RECEIPT, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO WRESTLE ME TO THE GROUND!! IT IS MINE, DAMN IT, AND I HAVE NOT GIVEN YOU PERMISSION TO WRITE ON IT! (I WILL GRANT SAID PERMISSION, ONCE HELL FREEZES OVER!) EFF YOU! EFF YOUR MOTHER! EFF YOUR GRANDMOTHER! I HOPE YOU GET DYSENTERY AND DIE!!!! WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING SECURITY?!?!

The definition of IRONY

Friday night, we had some friends over for dinner. While they were here, we somehow got on the topic of our two dogs, Samson and Bailey. During the discussion, Warren and I talked about how and why we chose the Chow Chow breed, what we love about them, what we find difficult about them, fun breed facts, etc. I mentioned that they are wonderful dogs to own, but not if you have a pool. I cited some statistic I had once read about how Chow Chows die each year from accidental drownings MORE than any other cause. (Chow Chows have a dense, double coat, which makes it almost impossible to swim. Their coats become so heavy, when wet, that they are literally dragged down to the bottom.)

Fast forward to Saturday morning...

I woke up to a text from my realtor. She asked if our house could be shown later in the afternoon. I agreed and, immediately, started to get the house "Show Ready." (Due to the fact that our dogs do not handle strangers walking in very well, particularly without us in the house, we have been locking them on the deck during said showings.)

Noting the beautiful weather, we decided to go over to my parents' place to swim, while the house was shown. We left half an hour before the showing agent and potential buyers were to arrive. We put the dogs outside, with the intention of one of us quickly running back over to let them inside after the showing.

Almost immediately after arriving at my parents' house, our realtor sent me another text stating that the showing agent was running about half an hour late. Quickly doing the math in my head, I realized that our dogs would be subjected to 85-90 degree weather for almost TWO HOURS, with a small bowl of water and ZERO shade. Believing that they would have a heat stroke before we returned (another thing to be mindful of when owning Chow Chows), I voiced my concerns to both Warren and my mother. Mom told us to simply bring them over to her place, until the showing was finished.

While Mom and I chilled poolside, Warren and the girls (they just HAD to go with their Daddy) went back to our house to get the pups. Just as Warren returned, it started to sprinkle. Due to the rain, he did not want to try to corral both dogs AND both girls at the same time. So, instead, he decided to bring the dogs down to the pool area to hang with Mom and I, while he got the girls out of his vehicle.

As anyone who owns a dog knows, they get PSYCHOTICALLY HAPPY, when they get to go somewhere out of the ordinary. My dogs, for instance, run around every square inch of their new domain - running so fast that their fur is slick against their backs. Bailey is MUCH worse than Samson! Some of this is attributed to the fact that she is half his age. The majority, however, is the simple fact that Bailey is one CRAZY BITCH! (Pun most definitely intended.)

So, naturally, the moment Warren got Bailey out of the back of his truck, she took off running - FULL SPEED AHEAD! He did not even have time to get a leash on her. In all her glory, she came sprinting down the stairwell leading to the pool. She ran from one end of the pool area to the next - and back again - with Samson right behind her. I shouted for them to come under the kitchen area, so they did not get wet from the rain. Warren had turned and was standing at the bottom of the stairs, about to scale them to bring the girls down. Still yelling at them to calm down, I pushed myself up from the chair upon which I was sitting. Although I could not see either canine, I could hear their paws hitting the concrete and their gasps for air mid-run. Just as I stood, I heard it. "SPLASH!!" (I knew, before even seeing, what had happened.)

Bailey, who has never seen a pool in her life, ran straight into it. (I presume she thought it was merely blue concrete.) I was no more than 20 feet away, but it felt like it took me an ETERNITY to get to the edge of the pool. (During those EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG SECONDS, the Chow Chow drowning facts from the night before were BLARING in my head, and I saw - firsthand - their truth.) 

As I ran, I could see her rolling around, trying to get into an innate swimming position, all while UNDER the water. (Although it was mere seconds, her head never once came back up above the water's surface.) Fully clothed, with my shoes on, I jumped straight into the pool to rescue my 55 lb (about 80 lbs, when wet), ABSOLUTELY FREAKING OUT dog! (The diameter of her nails encompass a good part of a dime, so you can only imagine what my thighs currently look like, as she was scratching and pawing in a PANICKED attempt to swim!) Holding her in a chokehold (much like you do, when saving a human), I swam her toward the steps Warren stood on waiting to pull her out. (I will tell you this. I have, now, saved both a person and an animal from drowning. The person, a 6 ft 2 in overweight man - in the middle of the ocean - was MUCH easier!!) 

Bailey, obviously, survived. Nothing but her pride hurt (or maybe just mine.) As one of my friends pointed out, "As much trouble as she causes, you must love her to have not hesitated at jumping in after her!" (I would not be so certain, as I would have taken her out back and shot her in the head had my cell phone been in my pocket.)

As I exited the pool, the TORRENTIAL downpour arrived. Standing there (already soaking wet), I put my arms out to both sides, looked up at the sky and said, "Are you FREAKING serious?!" (After all the drama we went through, whomever looked at my house this weekend better buy it, or I will likely hunt them down.)

Just before I put on a pair of Mom's pajama pants and one of her t-shirts, Warren snapped these photos. They will be a lovely addition to our fur ball inclusive Gardner Family Album.

Warren thinks I look like the Hobbit, in the above photo, but I am leaning towards the Hunchback of Notre Dame.



Clown Purple Paint

Let me tell you about my day.

It started with a HORRIBLE night's sleep. (I would not even call it sleep, as that never really happened.) I was restless thinking of all the things I had to accomplish today, the appointments that needed to be shifted, and the errands that were essential. When I decided I could no longer pretend that I was doing anything near "sleeping," I forced myself out of bed. THROBBING HEADACHE! (I recognized it immediately as one of the headaches I get, when I have had almost zero sleep.) The first thing I did was take a Motrin with my Quaker Breakfast Shake. (Swallowing a pill with a lukewarm, melted milkshake is NOT fantastic. I do not recommend it.) I, then, crawled back into my bed and created my Daily To-Do List. (A must for all people with OCD.)

After I made my list, I hopped in the shower. The shower is, typically, my most favorite place. Forty percent of the time, it is my haven. I am alone, with my thoughts, no one to bother me. (It dropped to 40%, once my girls were old enough to realize the joy of showers and how to ruin Mommy's alone time. Now, the majority of my showers are spent trying to step between two toddlers playing at the basin, while I lean my head into the stream of water that they are ALWAYS DIRECTLY UNDER!) Today, it was not so great, as the water was pelting my head like a stream of tiny bullets, only worsening my headache.

Once out and ready (and by ready I mean an old pair of jeans, a comfy t-shirt, flip-flops, and a ball cap), I started my list of appointments and errands. It started with a spa pedicure. (HEAVEN!) Everything was going so well. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. My headache had subsided. I saw a friend from Bootcamp. The new chairs were kneading and vibrating at my lower back in all the right places. (PURE BLISS!) Then, the young girl beside me accidentally knocked her chosen nail polish off the arm of her chair. It was purple (like Phoenix Suns Purple). It fell to the floor and broke, while a color of purple that made my head spin, went flying in all directions - floor, chairs, ME! There was nothing to do. It happened so fast. I had no choice but to sit there, as bright, purple nail polish flung across my right leg and North Face flip-flops. Obviously, it was an accident, so there was no need in choking out the 15 year old beside me. (Plus, I am still young enough to totally rock out the purple polish on my jeans and shoes.) So, I chose to accept her apology and forget about it. (Her mother drives a Suburban. I may have followed them home, just incase I change my mind about forgetting.)

Upon leaving the nail salon, I ran several other mundane errands, which ended in a trip to Walmart. (In retrospect, I should have done this first, so that my day got better, not worse. Saving Walmart for last is a BAD idea.) Much like the past few days around here, today's weather had been unpredictable and flat out insane. (It goes from 85 and sunny to an unexpected and MASSIVE, 15 minute thunderstorm. Then, back to beautiful.) It was sunny, when I walked into Walmart, but there were dark clouds on the horizon. However, noting that I only had a few items on my list, I paid no mind and quickly ran inside.

My shopping trip was fairly uneventful (a nice change from the usual), until I was walking back to the front to find an available cashier. I had them in sight and was carefully choosing my lane. (This decision should never be made lightly. The wrong choice can add an extra 20 minutes to the hell that is Walmart.) As I was surveying the scene, walking past the various lanes that were lit up, a woman walked right up to me and asked, "Do you work here?" (*uncomfortable silence*) "Do I work here? Do I work HERE?! NO, YOU STUPID BITCH?! WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH WOULD MAKE YOU THINK THAT **I** WORK HERE?!?!" (Okay, I did not actually say that, but it is EXACTLY what I was thinking!) I, honestly, do not believe that I have ever been so insulted! I mean, I guess I could take it as a compliment. I am sure I looked like I knew what the eff was going on, as I walk swiftly and with a purpose in that place - but - seriously, "DO I WORK HERE?" I WOULD RATHER DIE A LONG AND PAINFUL DEATH, THAN TO WORK HERE IN DEPTHS OF HELL!! I realize I was not dressed to the nines (and not in Walmart Blue), but the fact that someone thought I looked like a Walmart employee was DEVASTATING!! Fortunately, I work with the public and am quick on my toes, so I politely (through gritted teeth) said, "No, Ma'am, I do not. However, I believe the gentleman dressed in the BLUE WALMART VEST DOES!"

Mind spinning out of control, I chose a lane and tried to mentally calm myself down. It was one of my favorite cashiers. (If it is possible to have a favorite anything in Hell.) She is friendly, but does not strike up a random and uncomfortable conversation. She does her job and gets you out of there. I thanked her, as she handed me the receipt, and headed for the exit.

When I arrived at the door, I realized that I had made a FATAL mistake! (There is really no other excuse.) I ALWAYS have an umbrella resting in the cargo space of my door. It is the first thing I see when I get in my vehicle and the first thing I see when I get out. WHY I did not grab the umbrella, I will never know. (Laziness? Stupidity? Egotisticalness?) (SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I CAN MAKE UP WORDS, IF I WANT TO! **MY** BLOG!!) BEHOLD, before me was a DOWNPOUR! (One of the crazy thunderstorms that have been happening, as of late.) I pulled my cart over to the side. (Uncertain why, as no one ever extends this same courtesy to me at Walmart.) I had to make a decision - wait it out in the doorway of Hell or make a run for it. I quickly decided I would rather get wet than burned, so I tied up my grocery bags and rolled up my jeans. I, then, tried to look throw the torrential downpour and find the aisle I was parked in. Once I was certain, I made a run for it. There I was, looking like a mental patient escaped from the ward, doing a weird run-hop thing, while wearing flip-flops, sporting freshly pedicured toes, and my right side covered in Clown Purple paint! By the time I got to my vehicle, which was conveniently parked at the VERY END, I was SOAKED!! I literally threw my bags in the back, pushed the cart into oblivion, and got in. I sat there, freezing, trying to collect myself (and my dignity).

Arriving at home, I unloaded my vehicle, put everything away, and started to cook dinner. Making dinner went off without a hitch. I had just finished about five minutes before my friend came to pick up my oldest for VBS. I called my daughter into the kitchen and told her to get on her shoes. As she walked away, I noticed something on the back of the shorts I had JUST put her in. Upon inspection, I realized she had sat in chocolate - of all things. (Consequent to further investigation, I discovered she had eaten a granola bar earlier in the day and one of the chips must have fallen to the ground, unnoticed. SOMEHOW, she found said chip and sat on top of it, TWO minutes before she had to leave.) After a frantic outfit change, I sent her out the door with my friend.

Being almost by myself (2 year old still in the house), I opted for a quiet dinner alone. Once I finished, I started to clean up. I opened the dishwasher to load the dishes I just used, to discover that my husband did NOT start the dishwasher last night, leaving me barely enough room to load the new, dirty dishes. Being irked, but not irate, I started to shift things about and find room for the majority of the dishes. However, while I was rinsing off one of the last bowls, the water created some sort of jet shooting action, swirled around the bowl, up into the air, and landed all over my shirt. (At this point, I was more than irked, but still breathing.) Grabbing the kitchen towel, I vaguely dried myself off.

During this time of madness and chaos, my WAS quiet toddler came up to me holding some sort of bobblehead cat. (I recognized it from the craft project my oldest was doing yesterday.) She was yelling something, which I could not hear over the jet sprays of water coming from my kitchen sink. I tried to shoo her away, but she just kept repeating herself. Finally, I leaned closer to the floor and her head and heard her say, "Wet, Mommy! Wet!"

"I know Mommy is wet, Honey. No big deal!"

"No, Mommy! Kitty wet! KITTY WET!"

Presuming that somehow the water that was all over me, the floor, and the sink also attacked the kitty, I grabbed it from her hands and told her that I would set it on the kitchen counter to dry. As I released the kitty, I felt something weird on my hands. It was like gel, but not. Wet, but not really. I looked down, but am uncertain what happened next. (I believe I went into a blind panic and fainted.) All I know, when I came to, there was what I can only describe as a GLITTER glue or something of the sort ALL OVER MY HANDS, MY KITCHEN SINK, MY TODDLER, AND THAT DAMNED KITTY!! (You all know from previous blogs that glitter is my arch nemesis. Glitter. Spiders. Clowns. In no particular order.) Naturally, this glue glitter substance sticks to you and surfaces like Herpes. (YOU.CAN.NEVER.GET.RID.OF.IT!)

After scalding my hand off with nuclear temperature water and scrubbing my kitchen sink until I bled, I decided I would feed my toddler and write this blog. Who would have guessed it?! Tonight is the night that my toddler is REFUSING to eat and has done nothing but SQUALLED the ENTIRE time I have been typing!! At one point, I even did my threatening "1-2-3 count," followed with "Are you done crying?" (They always whimper, through muffled tears, "Yes.") Tonight, though, NOPE! She actually said, "No, I not done crying." (Which, in truth, made me laugh.)

Now that I have finished, I am going to make myself a strong cocktail (maybe seven) and work diligently to scrub off the stickers I just now noticed on my kitchen table. (I have no doubt my toddler did this as a punishment for me ignoring her freak out, while demanding she eat her dinner, as I composed this blog.) In the end, I will probably leave them for my husband.





This is actually happening - right now.

That cannot be right!?

Something horrifying happened to me earlier this week. It was so alarming and full of emotion that the story would best be conveyed through interpretive dance. (Must remember to upload the video I plan to choreograph, perform, and record for your viewing pleasure.) Nevertheless, I shall do my best to describe the event here in black and white (and, sometimes, pink).

Monday morning started off fairly normal for me. I woke up early. I paid some bills. I played with my girls. (We made and decorated fairy dolls!!) We ate a yummy lunch. While my youngest was taking a nap, I hopped in the shower. (Originally, I had plans to run to the grocery store later in the day, so I wanted to utilize the opportunity to take a kid-free shower. That notion lasted approximately 30 seconds, before I turned around and found my oldest standing outside the shower doors, completely naked. *sigh*)

After I showered (and my toddler played with mermaids on the shower floor), we got out and started to get dressed. My daughter chose a clean pair of pajamas, stating she wanted to stay "warm and comfy, until ballet class." I chose my standard jeans and tshirt. All were blissful. All were enjoying the day. Then, I started to put on my jeans.

My first leg went in without hesitation. The second leg went in, as well, but I specifically remember thinking, "Why do I feel like my legs are pinched so close together?" I continued to put the jeans on, pulling them up toward my waist. (That in itself was a sheer act of willpower. I had to continuously shift from left to right, stop breathing, and jump up and down on one foot, while pulling with all my might, before the jeans finally came up over - what I knew to be the largest part of my body, but nothing abnormal or scary - my butt.) I was completely stunned, as I looked down, trying to comprehend what was happening. I quickly turned away from my bathroom mirror, in order to look over my shoulder at the back pockets of my jeans in the reflection. (Every female, whether they admit it or not, has at least one pair of "fat" jeans and one pair of "skinny" jeans. Occasionally our weight will fluctuate a bit. Not to the "Buy an Entire New Wardrobe" point, but to either the "Bad, Bloaty Period/I Hate Myself for Eating All Those Cookies" or - what we all strive for - the "OMG!! I LOOK AMAZING! I AM WEARING MY SKINNY JEANS THAT I LAST WORE NEVER!!!") The mirror confirmed what I already knew (but for whatever reason needed concrete proof), I was wearing a REGULAR pair of jeans. Jeans that are included in my normal jean rotation. Knowing this (with the mirror to back me up), I attempted to button the jeans. (In retrospect, I should have stopped at the, "Why do I feel like my legs are pinched so close together?" WHY I would insist upon disproving the "girl staring back in the glass" still remains a mystery - and haunts me in my sleep.) No dice! They would NOT button! (If I am being perfectly honest, it was not even close.) Still so deeply in denial, I found myself saying out loud, "That cannot be right!?" 

Now, panic-stricken, I quickly stripped off the jeans. (Okay, fine. There was nothing quick about it, as they were basically glued to my legs. I found myself lying on the floor of my bathroom, while my 3 year old pulled the jeans from my ankles, as I grasped onto the bottom part of the closet door frame - hanging on for dear life, hoping my body would not rip in two. When we discovered the jeans were too tight/she was not strong enough, I cut them off with scissors.) I rushed into the closet off of my bathroom and frantically pulled out my scale. (My fears must have went from the internal to the external, as I heard my daughter ask, "Mommy, why are you praying?") As the numbers popped up, I stood there for a moment - AGAIN - unable to comprehend. Then, I found myself saying once more, "That CANNOT be right!?" 

With a crazed look in my eyes (or so I imagine), I tore out of my bathroom and started sprinting to the door that leads downstairs, all while deliberating with myself, "See! I am not fat! Could a fat person run this fast?!" (When I found myself completely winded and unable to breathe at the bottom of the stairs, the truth began to set in.) Gasping for air, I - now more at a fast walking pace (FINE!! I WAS CRAWLING! BACK OFF!!) - made my way to my husband's bathroom. (Free Tip: This is the key to a successful marriage.) I opened his linen closet and pulled out his scale. "NO EFFIN' WAY! THAT.CANNOT.BE.RIGHT!?"

Although I was still in a wild frenzy (much like a feral cat), I WALKED back up the stairs. (I am fat, now, and fat people cannot run.) Five minutes later (used to take me five seconds), I returned to my bathroom and threw myself face down in the back of my closet floor. (1. I was absolutely exhausted from walking down AND up a flight of stairs, within a 10 minute span. 2. I remembered we own a fancy Tanita InnerScan BC-1000 plus ANT+ Radio Wireless Body Composition Monitor. FYI - This name is the company's nefarious way of selling consumers a scale, with money that should have gone toward their children's college fund.) After a bit of searching, I found the scale designed by astronauts. (Well, I had to tell my husband SOMETHING, so that he would think we got an AWESOME deal - rather than focusing on the fact we would be unable to feed our girls for a week, maybe two.) There she was, in all her glory - still in the box she was shipped in. (*sigh*) According to the receipt, she had been there since August 2013. (This explains why she was hidden so deeply in our closet. I, obviously, had to make certain my husband did not see the equivalent of one of our mortgage payments doing nothing more than accumulating dust.) After opening the box and finding my rescue inhaler (dust = acute asthma attack), I set up our time machine. (Sorry! Defense mechanism! The lies flow so freely, when discussing this scale. They HAVE to, in order to stay happily married.) I, then, hopped on Starship Enterprise and held my breath. (No, not due to fear of what the scale would say, but fear all the dust would send me into respiratory depression.) 

At this point, I must have blacked out. I am uncertain if it was due to dust-induced hypoxia or the sheer HORROR of my circumstance. (All I know - I woke up on the floor, with my daughter poking me, trying to roll me over, and saying, "Mommy, wake up! Wake up, Mommy!" Of course, she could NOT roll me over, as I am a whale!) I pulled myself up to a sitting position and allowed the realization to fully set in. The realization that I have gained **19** pounds!!! NINETEEN! ONE.NINER! Furthermore, this ATROCITY took place in just a bit over **TWO** months! TWO MOTHERF*@#$%^ MONTHS!! 

HOOOOOW did this happen?!?! How does weight almost the size of TWO AND A HALF average full-term newborns sneak up on someone?? Nineteen pounds is more weight than the United States Bowling Congress allows!! (16 lbs, for you fellow trivia buffs.) See those red bricks over there? I gained THREE of them!! Want to know what else weighs around 19 pounds?! A car tire. My KitchenAid mixer. ANY pharmacy school textbook sitting on my bookshelf. A little over two gallons of milk. My cat, Tobey.

Gaining 19 pounds is one thing. Being blissfully unaware it is happening is another! Seriously, how does someone gain 19 lbs and not even NOTICE?! Then, it hit me. (THOSE BITCHES!!) I purportedly have some very close friends. People who see me weekly, if not daily. People who are supposed to care about me and my well-being! Not ONE of those heinous jackasses took me aside and said, "As your friend, who loves you and cares about you, you need to know that you are becoming a hippopotamus. You need to get to the gym. You need to stop eating. You NEED to put down that bottle of wine!" What about my husband, who claims he would do anything for me and loves me unconditionally? Where were HIS comments of concern over my health?! My parents, who live next door?! Nope! Nada! NO ONE SAID A DAMN THING! Everyone just allowed me to fatten for slaughter! (They probably thought it was hilarious that the vegetarian was turning into a heifer!) 

What would I like to say to those loved ones, now? EFFFFFFFF YOUUUUUU!! EFF.YOU.ALL! Once I lose these 19 pounds (OH, AND I WILL!!!), I am going to bend over and let each one of you kiss my PALE, SKINNY ASS!!