It Bothers Me

“The doctor is running late. He’ll be in....well, when he can,” the nurse told me sweetly before leaving.

Ugh.

I hate when the doctor is running late. If I can show up for my appointment on time, he should too.

Granted, I know it’s not entirely his fault. Sometimes he’s held back by those mothers who ask a billion questions: “what’s that on my kid’s eye, my kid made a weird sound just now, can you hear it? No? I can clearly hear it. It sounded like a wheeze. Here, bend down and you can hear it. That’s funny, he was JUST making that noise. Wait, what’s on his toe? Oh, his nail? Oh, I guess you are right. While I have you, doctor, my daughter has a cough should I give her Tylenol? Could you look at her now?”

Look, I admit I can be somewhat paranoid. I still check to make sure my kids are breathing before I go to bed at night. But I’m not that paranoid.

“This bothers me that we have to wait,” Tommy spoke up, plopping down in a miniature blue chair in the room.

We were at Natalie’s three year checkup. I had to take him because he’s on Spring Break this week. Tommy’s latest thing is using the word “bother” whenever he’s miffed. He’ll latch onto a word or phrase and use it for a week before he drops it and moves onto another one. The past four days he’s been dropping the bother bomb as in “it bothers me when you burn dinner, it makes my food taste weird,” and “it bothers me that Natalie screams and it bothers me even more when I cover her mouth and then she tries to bite my hand off” and “it bothers me when you say I can’t have a cookie. I don’t want an apple instead. It bothers me that you’d even say that.”

Bother, bother, bother.

“It bothers me too, Tommy,” I said dryly as I settled down in the adult sized chair.

Natalie had failed miserably when the nurse had her try to read an eye chart. All Natalie had to do was name shapes but instead she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head roughly.

“What’s this?” the nurse had said, pointing to a circle.

Natalie shook her head.

“What’s this?” the nurse tried again, pointing to a square.

Natalie shook her head.

“Natalie, come on, you know those shapes,” I said.

“What’s this?” the nurse continued.

“A heart!” Tommy called out.

I frowned at him. “Tommy, shhh.”

Tommy scowled. “It bothers me that Natalie won’t say anything!”

Well, you and me both, kid.

In the end the nurse just gave up.

“I bet her eyesight is just fine,” the nurse said, scribbling something into Natalie’s chart. She probably wrote “STUBBORN CHILD!” and underlined it three times.

We waited for the doctor.

And we waited.

And waited.

Natalie had gone through all the books in the room and was bored. She started to climb on the exam table and tried to leap off of it.

I caught her just in time.

“Do you want to crack your head open?” I hissed, putting her on the ground.

“Cool, then we’d see Natalie’s brains!” Tommy spoke up.

I checked the clock. We had been waiting for nearly a half hour.

Then the kids started scooting around in the tiny chairs. They made horrible scraping sounds to the point where a nurse popped her head in and asked if everything was okay. This was her polite way of saying, “Tell your kids to can it.”

“Guys, stop,” I instructed. “The noise bothers me.”

Tommy glared at me. It was as if he was saying, “Hey, that’s MY word, woman!”

Finally, the doctor came in.

“You took a long time,” Tommy said bluntly.

The doctor blanched. “Sorry about that. I’m just running behind.” He went over to wash his hands. “How are you doing, sweetie?” he asked Natalie, who was now hiding behind my knee.

I tried to sit her down on the exam table but she held onto my arms in a death grip.

“Can I listen to your heart?” the doctor asked.

“No thanks,” Natalie answered.

“If you don’t listen to the doctor, Natalie, you’re going to jail!” Tommy sing-songed.

“No brother, you stop that!” Natalie yelled. If he had been next to her, she’d have surely bonked him on the head. That’s HER latest thing: if you say something she doesn’t like, she bonks you on the head.

I had to sit her on my lap so the doctor could look her over.

“I’m just going to feel your belly,” the doctor said, lifting up her shirt.

Natalie lifted her hand. I knew what was coming.

“You stop it,” I warned her because she was all set to bonk the doctor.

Thankfully she listened.

And it turns out she’s perfectly healthy. She weighs 25 pounds, about the same as Giselle Bundchen. (Who, I must point out, has already lost all her baby weight. She quipped in an interview that some people while pregnant act like garbage disposables and eat whatever they want while she was mindful of what she ate. Well lah-di-dah, Giselle. Lah-di-dah.) (By the way. I was a garbage disposable while pregnant. Oops.) (And still sort of am now. Oops again.)

Natalie is also 36 inches. Yes, she’s petite but the doctor isn’t concerned because she’s always been petite.

Some people have said, “I never knew such a noise could come out of someone so tiny,” when they’ve witnessed one of Natalie’s tantrums.

And Natalie is where she should be developmentally for a three year old. It’s always startling to me to hear that a child is on track seeing as what I went through with Tommy (“he’s speech delayed, he should know how to do all of this already, flapping his arms could mean he has something called Autism. Do you know what Autism is?”)

We left after that. I got the kids in the car and the second I started driving off, the fighting began.

“Natalie, that’s MY toy. HEY! Mommy, she just BONKED me. That BOTHERS me!” Tommy yelled.

“NO BROTHER!”

“SHE BONKED ME AGAIN!”

Is Spring Break over yet?

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

Hey, It's Okay....


To not understand why people bring their miniature dogs everywhere. It’s an animal, not a purse. I don’t need Fido me eyeing me in the store, thanks.


To know that you’ll never use a Diva Cup (but be in awe of those who do.)


To think the Paparazzi need to be banned from taking photos when celebrities are out with their children.


To only eat flavored oatmeal because plain oatmeal reminds you of paste.


To know that you’ll just be using one of those boxed Easter egg dye kits to decorate eggs and nothing more than that because you are allergic to crafts.


To wonder what the hell Jesse James was thinking.


To wish Supernanny was available for rent.


To want to shriek, “What did I DO? How can I make it better?” when you realize you’ve lost a blog follower. (Same goes for a Twitter follower. I lose Twitter followers on a daily basis. Guess people don’t like to hear about farting children. Oops.)


To have bought ANOTHER pair of shoes for your daughter even though she has plenty. But hello....gold seahorses?! PERFECT for the upcoming beach trip.

Not A Fan Of Spiders

I shuffled downstairs, half asleep.

For some reason Sundays exhaust me.

I was walking into the living room and that’s when I saw it.

“Stop!” I shouted, pushing my kids into the hall. They had been following me, hoping for some breakfast.

“What?” Tommy demanded.

“I saw…a spider.” My voice dropped down into a whisper. I’m not sure why. Probably because spiders can speak English, sense fear, and suck out your insides. At least that’s what they all do in my mind.

Natalie buried her face into my leg. “I don’t YIKE spi-dahs!”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “Nona says we shouldn’t be afraid of bugs. She says they help the planet.” He was naming his grandma, my mother. Would you believe that my mother loves bugs? She does. She’s sort of like a hippie in a way. She loves plants, bugs, and leftovers. Yes, leftovers. I usually throw our leftover food out and she’s horrified by this. She’s probably wondering how she could have raised a daughter afraid of bugs, too.

“Well, Nona was alive in the 60s,” I replied, peeking around the corner to see if the spider was making its move to attack.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy asked.

“I’ll…explain it when you’re older,” I promised. “But right now Mommy needs to figure out what we’re going to do and how we’re going to kill it.”

“Nona says we shouldn’t kill bugs but let them go outside,” Tommy explained.

Ugh. Mom! This is true though. She DOES think that. Back when Tom and I lived in Nebraska she came to visit and there was this disgusting spider by our front door. Tom was all set to kill the thing and Mom was all, “WAIT!” Then she scooped it up and carried it across the street to safety.

Once when I visited her in Texas a spider ran across my FOOT as I was throwing some laundry in.

Yes, I screamed.

I mean, a spider ran across my FOOT!

“What?” Mom shrieked, thinking that I was being attacked. And in a way, I was. Did I mention that a spider ran across my FOOT?!

“A spider ran across my foot!” I wailed.

Mom frowned at me. “Amber…honestly…” Then she got down on her knees, found the spider, scooped it up in her palm (shudders), and brought it outside.

“It’s just easier to kill the spider so it doesn’t attack,” I told Tommy, reaching for my tennis shoe that sat by the front door.

“But Nona said—”

“Shhhh! Mommy will take care of this,” I cut him off. I held the shoe out. “Say Tommy? How would you like to be the hero? Want to kill a spider?” I said, trying to make it sound like it was the most exciting thing ever. This could be like Tommy’s rite of passage. They do that all the time in Africa.

“No,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

“You sure?” I prodded.

Tommy gave me a Look. “I said no.”

Fine. Geez. It looked as though it would be up to me.

Then Max the Cat walked by.

“Hey Max? Could you kill a spider for us?” I picked him up and pointed to the offensive spider who was STILL IN THE SAME SPOT PLOTTING. “Sic him!” I bellowed, setting Max down. I expected the cat to take off and protect us from the spider. But no. He just lay down and started licking his butt.

DID NO ONE IN THE HOUSE WANT TO BE A HERO?

Tom was not an option because he was sleeping after working the night shift.

Natalie…well, Natalie was holding my leg in a death grip.

So I’d have to do it. Fine.

“You guys stay here,” I said to the kids, prying Natalie off of me. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I gave birth twice for craps sake. Killing a spider is nothing next to that. “Here I go,” I said, holding the shoe out so I could strike quickly.

“You’re not moving,” Tommy observed.

“I’m taking my time so I don’t startle the thing,” I answered. This was partly true. The other part was that I was working up my nerve to move.

I took one step. Then another.

The spider still wasn’t moving.

Maybe it was already dead! Maybe it had a heart attack. Can spiders have heart attacks?

I was almost there. Almost there….almost….wait….wait….

I peered closer at the spider.

Why did it look familiar? Why did it—

OH.



OH!

It was fake. It was from Tommy’s bug kit. Well, it wasn’t my fault that I thought it was real! It LOOKED real and I was half asleep.

I had to save face. I couldn’t let my children know that I was cowering in fear over a plastic spider. I had to keep some sort of dignity. So I brought the shoe down and went, “Mommy got it!” Then I quickly grabbed the fake spider and stuck it in the drawer.

“Can I see?” Tommy asked.

“No. It’s too gruesome. It’ll give you nightmares. You stay there while I…shake the body outside.” I pretended to do this and then came back in all set for praise from my children. But no.

All they cared about was getting some breakfast. And okay, the spider turned out to be fake but THEY didn’t know it. Where was my thanks?

That’s the last time I protect them from a fake spider, let me tell you.

The Mom Who Reads Books About People With No Heads

“What’s your book about?” the little boy asked me curiously. He looked to be around six or seven.

“Oh. Anne Boleyn. She was a Queen before her husband, the King, had her beheaded,” I answered kindly.

“What’s beheaded?” the boy wondered.

“When your head is chopped off.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, I knew I had said the wrong thing. The little boy’s eyes grew huge and then he ran off towards his parents. I watched as he flung his arms around his mother’s neck and whispered something into her ear. Then she turned and glared at me.

I am not good with children.

I admit that.

I mean, most people would know that it’s not good form to talk about heads being removed from a body. But I didn’t. I tend to speak to children like they’re adults and I forget that there are some things that I might want to omit.

Crap.

See, I was at Reading/Pajama Night at my son Tommy’s school. It was a night to get kids excited about books and reading, you see. We were all scattered around the auditorium with our books. The paper that Tommy came home with had said that you could bring whatever book you wanted. So I brought my Anne Boleyn one. Of course when I got to the school I realized that most of the adults were reading children’s books.

Oops.

Well, I’m sorry. I was excited over the prospect of reading in peace for a few minutes. I don’t get the chance to do it much at home. The second I crack open a book my daughter takes it from me and says, “No.” Then she drags me onto the floor where I’m forced to play with her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba toys.

“You can borrow one of my books,” Tommy offered. I think he was a little embarrassed that I was the only parent flipping through a giant book while the others were browsing colorful books for children. He was also on edge because we were supposed to bring a blanket to sit on.

I brought a towel.

He was mortified when he saw other families fluff out their blankets.

“You see? They have a blanket!” Tommy moaned, pointing.

Then another family would roll out a blanket.

“And so do they,” Tommy added. Then he started counting the families with the blankets. “They have one, so do they, and them, and—”

“I get it, Tommy. You wanted a blanket. I thought a towel would suffice,” I cut in.

“It doesn’t!” Tommy griped.

“Well, then you’ll have a lot to discuss with your therapist won’t you? You can talk about how your mother didn’t bring a blanket on reading night,” I said.

“I will,” Tommy confirmed even though he doesn’t even know what a therapist is.

So yes. He was already unhappy with me and then I go talking about rolling heads. When he offered me a book, I figured I ought to take it.

“What do you have?” I asked, shutting my Anne Boleyn book.

“Oh, The Things You Can Think and McElligot’s Pool,” Tommy said grandly.

I swallowed back my groan. They were both Dr. Seuss books. Dr. Seuss books give me a headache.

I eventually took Oh, The Things You Can Think. I really wasn’t reading the words though. I was thinking, “Is this thing almost over?”

I mean, what is going on here?



My eyes eventually started to wander to other people. I counted two women with Kate Gosselin’s old hairstyle (!), four teenagers with Twilight books (blech), and eight children picking their nose.

Then I took a picture of Tommy. He was not amused.



“Why, Mommy? Why?” he whined.

The reading seemed to go on forever. I wanted to read my Anne Boleyn book, dammit. Look, I’m all for having an imagination but I think Dr. Seuss went overboard. Surely he had to have been drunk when he wrote his books.

Finally we could stop reading and Tommy’s class went up to perform songs from Seussical The Musical.

He was a water boy.



You see?

He was the best water boy up there, I tell you.

When he was finished, we headed for the exit to go home. On our way out I heard a tiny voice say, “That’s her! The Mom who reads books about people with no heads!”

Oh crap.

Tommy gave me a Look.

Now he’s going to be the kid whose Mom reads about people with no heads.

“Er...how about some ice cream when we get home?” I suggested.

The Picture Fight

So most of you know that I eventually got a cute picture of Natalie in her birthday outfit.



But it wasn’t easy.

It took a lot of work to get that picture.



When we first started, she wanted nothing to do with the camera. I started singing a Yo Gabba Gabba song and she promptly shushed me. Then I did some wild moves that made it look as though I had an ice cube down my back and I was working hard to get it out. Her response? “I don’t YIKE this.”



So I sang another Yo Gabba Gabba song. I was all, “I want to be big, big, big, not small, small, small,” and a guy walking past went, “Sorry to hear that.” “It’s a song!” I shouted back. Great. Now Stranger Dude thinks I have height issues.

Still, Natalie refused to smile.



I asked her, “What do you think of the health care bill?” And she was all, “Dude, it’s 2000 pages, who knows?”



Then she blatantly ignored me. Apparently grass was more interesting than her mother. The woman who birthed her.

I refused to give up. So I went to what usually works.

I ran into the side of the house.



A-ha. I was getting somewhere. And yes, it’s a little disturbing that violence gets her to smile.

But....

If bumping into the house gets her to smile for me....



Then I’ll do it.

Bruises be damned.

Ahem Ahem Ahem

Ahem Ahem Ahem Tom went.

He said his throat was sore and he was just trying to clear it.

Ahem Ahem Ahem

It wears on ones nerves to hear this noise for over an hour, let me tell you.

Ahem Ahem Ahem

“Tom,” I said, my voice tense. “Can I get you something? A Halls? A Ricola?” I wanted to add, “A sock down your throat so you’ll shut up for two seconds,” but that probably would have been insensitive. The poor guy was sick. But at the same time, the poor guy was seriously irritating the crap out of me.

“It’s just my throat,” Tom said from the computer. “Ahem ahem ahem. I’m trying to clear it.”

“Obviously it’s not working. Just go suck on a Halls or get some soda,” I suggested.

It was quiet for a few minutes. I enjoyed the silence as I sat on the floor. Natalie was doing my hair. And by doing my hair, I mean she was practically pulling it from its roots with her toy Princess brush. But whatever. It was keeping her quiet. I tried not to whimper as she twisted my hair into her plastic curling iron.

Ahem Ahem Ahem

“Tom!” I yelped at the same time Natalie pulled some of my hair free with her pretend flat iron.

“What?” Tom answered.

“The aheming is really getting annoying. Could you stop? Doing that won’t clear your throat. Natalie, precious, be gentle. I’d like to have some hair left by the time you’re done.”

“No, I can’t stop. My throat hurts,” Tom whined.

“I’ll make you some soup,” I offered.

“I don’t care for soup.”

He’s the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t CARE for soup. Who doesn’t care for soup? Soup is like a warm hug when you’re ill.

“Please take a Halls,” I begged.

“Don’t need one,” Tom insisted and then sneezed all over the keyboard. Ew. Did he miss the memo about sneezing into the crook of your elbow?

After I cleaned the keyboard with a Clorox wipe, I went to unload the dishwasher. As I was bent over, Tom came up behind me and started humping my back. Seriously, men have GOT to have a signal in their brain that goes off the second a woman has her ass in the air.

“Hi,” Tom said suggestively. I can almost bet he was wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

I pushed him away gently. “You’re sick,” I said. “I can’t afford to be sick so there will be no sex until you’re better.” Unlike him, I can’t lounge around on the couch and stay on the computer for hours when I’m ill. I once tried to rest on the couch when I had a massive headache and a stuffed up nose and Natalie sat on my face. She didn’t understand the concept that Mommy needed to rest.

“I’m really not sick,” Tom insisted. “Ahem ahem ahem.”

I took a step back. “Gross. You are sick. We can resume...relations when you’re better,” I promised.

“But I’m not...ahem ahem ahem!” Tom rubbed his throat.

I dug into the cupboard and pulled out a bag of Halls. “Take one. For my sanity. Take one now.”

He popped one in his mouth but it didn’t help much.

He was still aheming an hour later.

When Lost was on.

I cannot have distractions during Lost.

I was in the middle of trying to figure out what was going on when..

Ahem Ahem Ahem

“Tom! No noises during Lost!”

“I can’t help it! Ahem ahem ahem.”

“Do you see that man on the TV, Tom? His name is Richard. He never ages. I really need to watch this so I can figure out why this is. So shhhh.”

AHEM AHEM AHEM

It seemed like he was only getting louder.

“Say, how about we tuck you into bed?” I said.

“Are you trying to get rid of me? Ahem ahem ahem.” Tom tried to puff his lip out but as soon as he did, he started coughing wildly.

Oh yuck. I’d have to sanitize the entire house.

Tom thankfully decided to head off to bed though. Of course he tried to seduce me but phlegm is not really sexy. So I passed.

When I came to bed later, I prayed that Tom would be silent so I could get some sleep.

I closed my eyes.

I was about to drift off…..

AHEM AHEM AHEM

Yeah. It was a long night.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

Hey, It's Okay....


To wonder why people eat String Cheese whole. It’s called STRING cheese for a reason. You pull it off in STRINGS. (I’m talking to you, Tom.)


To never wear animal print clothing.


To not be able to do the Macarena so when the music pops on, you’re left flinging your arms and shaking your butt in confusion while people gape at you as though you have a thong on your head.


To roll your eyes when actors go on about “forgetting to eat because they’re so busy.” No one FORGETS to eat.


To not enjoy Dancing with the Stars and be a little bitter that it takes up so much air space.


To know that your right thigh probably weighs as much as an Olsen Twin.


To give your computer screen the finger when someone outbids you on eBay.


To be a little afraid of giving your honest opinion over the health care bill because some people are cah-razy!


To want to burst into tears when people keep telling you that “chick lit is dead.” Especially because that’s what you write.

A Yo Gabba Gabba Celebration (Yikes)

“Happy Birthday, Natalie,” I said on Friday morning when I went to get her up.



She ignored me.

“You get some presents,” I tried again.



This time her eyes flew open.

The night before I had set up downstairs in anticipation for her birthday. Her theme? Yo Gabba Gabba. I know. Tres scary. (If your child also likes creepy Yo Gabba Gabba, I bought everything here.)





I even put pictures of the Yo Gabba Gabba characters against the wall. Brobee is already ruined. Natalie took it off the wall and tried to sleep with him. Poor Brobee got stuck to her and she flipped out.

“BROBEE SICK!” Natalie had hollered.

RIP Brobee.

Natalie came downstairs and opened some presents.







She also got a bike. She can’t pedal yet so this is pissing her off. Lots of shouting is coming from our household.



Later, she had some friends come over for some cupcakes. We passed out Yo Gabba Gabba gift boxes. Yes, Natalie got one, too. She’d have never let me hear the end of it.



She picked Olive Garden for her birthday dinner. I find it amusing that my children prefer to go out rather than have me make something. I don’t mind though. Because hello, it means I don’t have to cook.

Then it was CAKE TIME. Yes, I changed Natalie. Didn’t want her ultra adorable white shirt get stained. We do not have good luck with white shirts over here. Tom wonders why I keep buying white shirts then and I’m all, “What can I say, Gymboree keeps making cute white shirts.”





As Natalie gobbled her cake down, I thought back to her first birthday.



She was NOT amused by the cake then. She was insulted when the frosting got on her precious fingers. I was all, “Lick it off!” and this infuriated her even more. I remember thinking, “Whose child is this? Why is she not respecting the frosting?”

She definitely respects frosting now. In fact, that’s usually the only thing she eats from a cake.

All in all I think she had a good birthday. Thank you all for the birthday wishes.







I can’t believe that she’s THREE. Here comes the sass! (What am I talking about, the sass has been here since she was born..)

Happy 3rd Birthday, Natalie!

Dear Natalie,

Here’s the thing, sweetheart.

You cried.

A lot.

I don’t think you liked me very much in the beginning.

Our relationship back then could be summed up with these pictures:



First you’d be all, “WTF? I’m entrusting my life to THIS woman?”



Then you’d be all, “I don’t think I like this. I demand a replacement.”



Then you’d cry. For like an hour.



Then you’d resemble a pissed off old lady. You thought again, “I’m entrusting my life to THIS woman? Where is the damned replacement?”



And the whole thing would start all over again when you realized that there would be no replacement.

I tried my best! You’re lucky that you were my second child. You’d have been incredibly ticked off had you been my first. Your poor brother had a mother who had no idea what she was doing. You at least had an experienced parent.

At least I thought I was experienced.

Then you came along and WOULDN’T STOP CRYING and I started to fear that I had no idea what I was doing all over again.



You cried.



And you cried.



And oh yeah, YOU CRIED.

I think I know what upset you so much. It was the fact that I sang to you, wasn’t it? Because when I sang to you when you turned one, you covered my mouth and went, “Shhhh.” You do that even now. Were you crying because that was your way of saying, “Jesus woman, could you SHUT your yapper? You are NOT the next American Idol.”

It also could be that I was always putting stuff on your head. I couldn’t help it, Natalie! I had a boy first, I couldn’t decorate his head. Then you came along and I was all, “Yay, hair pretties!”





Apparently you didn’t like the hair pretties.



At around six months, you cheered up. I think it’s because you realized that I was the best you were going to get.

Sure, you still had an attitude. At a year old you informed me that you were mad. You followed this up by, “No.” Soon it was, “No this,” and “no that.” No, no, no.





You keep things interesting though. You give me a lot of write about in my blog and for that I am appreciative.

I cannot believe that you are three.

I cannot believe you enjoy watching a creepy show called Yo Gabba Gabba. One of the characters looks like a diseased male appendage, darling. And should I be concerned that he is your favorite?

Thank you so much for allowing me to dress you up.

Thank you so much for keeping me on my toes.

I wouldn’t change anything for the world.

Happy Third Birthday, Natalie Elizabeth!



Love,
The one you love to torture the most


PS. I’m sorry, but you probably won’t be able to date. Ever. Blame your father.





--------------------

I made a video of Natalie and the outfits that I put her in. It is just for fun. The song is "Material Girl" and I usually always get a note saying that material things aren't important, blah blah blah. I GET that. It's just for FUN.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

St. Patrick's Day Blunder

How could I forget?

I had just made a Facebook update about it, for God’s sake.

But it was true.

I had forgotten to put my son in green for St. Patrick’s Day.

And he had just left for the bus stop clad in jeans and a blue shirt.

That just would NOT do.

Kids are horrible, horrible creatures these days. And my son bruises easily. Yeah, teachers would probably make an announcement saying that pinching was not allowed. But kids are sneaky and pinches would most definitely sneak in.

I couldn’t let that happen to Tommy.

So I ran at top speed to his room and yanked a green shirt down from the closet. I was panting heavily as I did this which proves how out of shape I am. I ran outside, thinking that Tommy would already be at the bus stop. But no. He was still in our driveway, observing something in the grass. Thank God for his ADHD. It’s why I send him out to the bus stop early because I know he’ll totally take his time since he gets distracted so easily.

He’s sort of like those shirts that say “They say I have ADHD but I don’t think so—hey, a chicken!”

“Tommy!” I shouted, gripping the shirt triumphantly over my head. “Tommy, I found you a green shirt. I FOUND YOU A GREEN SHIRT!”

Woah. Calm down, Amber. I was all pumped up from the rush.

Tommy stared at me with wide eyes.

“What are you DOING?” He did not look happy to see me which I found to be a little rude. Did he not SEE that I had a green shirt with me? And that with the green shirt I was saving him from potential pinches? Okay, I’d have been mortified if my Mom had done this. But my mind wasn’t thinking clearly since it was the morning and all. Have I mentioned that I am NOT a morning person? I’m either half asleep or I’m....spazzing out.

“I found you a green shirt, Tommy. You’re not wearing green. So…” I started lifting off his old shirt because he only had a few minutes left until the bus came.

Tommy held his old shirt down. “MOM. I can’t change here. There are PEOPLE…” And he nodded towards the group of kids waiting at the bus stop across the street. Most were talking and didn’t even know what was going on with us. But a couple were gazing over with interest. One girl shouted, “You okay, Tommy?” What, if he had said no would she have run over and taken me down? (She probably could. I’m also weak first thing in the morning.)

“Fine. Behind your Dad’s truck,” I said, pulling him over.

“But I don’t want—”

“Green shirt, no pinches, green shirt, no pinches,” I chanted. Why wasn’t he freaked out over the prospect of pinches? Did he forget that he bruises easily? Maybe I was traumatized because one time I didn’t wear green on St. Patrick’s Day and this awful kid named Gert pinched me so hard that I had a gross welt on my arm for over a week.

Tommy reluctantly took his old shirt off and put the green one on.

“There,” he said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders. “I’m going now.”

“You’re welcome!” I said pointedly.

Tommy blinked at me.

“Say cheese!” I said and brought out the camera.

“MO-OM!”

“Say cheese!”



Doesn’t Tommy just look thrilled?

Oh well.

At least he didn’t get pinched.

Where Were Her Pants?

“I think it’s funny that you can’t swim,” my son Tommy told me from the backseat as I drove him to his swim lessons.

Okay, look, I CAN swim.

Just not well.

I mean, dog paddling is swimming, right? I can dog paddle across the pool without going under. That’s something.

“I can swim,” I argued.

“But not underwater,” Tommy said cheerfully.

This is true. I can’t swim underwater. My parents put me in swim lessons and when it came to the part where I had to stick my head in the water, I freaked out.

“I’m a better swimmer than you,” Tommy informed me as I parked in front of the YMCA.

“You are,” I confirmed. Is it sad that my eight-year-old swims better than me? Probably.

I’m glad he’s not afraid to go under the water. In fact, as soon as he got into the pool he dunked his head in.

“BROTHER!” Natalie bellowed beside me on the bleachers. I hate when I have to take Natalie to the swim lessons. She never wants to sit. She’ll give me a defiant look and inch closer and closer to the pool. Then I’ll have to drag her back and she’ll screech at the top of her lungs. One time a kid announced, “That baby has a loud mouth.”

If Natalie isn’t acting as though she’s about to leap into the pool, she lays down on the floor. Do you know how many germs are probably on that floor? And is it wrong that I usually just let her do it because it means I have a few minutes of silence?

Sometimes she’ll tell me quite seriously, “I don’t YIKE this,” and cross her arms over her chest. I’ll say, “Sometimes in life we do things we don’t like. Such as listen to the Crazy Twilight Lady go on and on about how New Moon is coming out this week.”

After the swim lessons we headed into the locker room so Tommy could change. I bring him in the women’s one because he’s worried he’ll get lost if he goes in the men one alone. I always drag him into a corner and instruct him to face the wall in case a woman strolls by nude.

“Beautiful kids,” a voice called out as I handed Tommy his pants.

I turned around. “Thank—OH! I mean thank you,” I answered. I was shocked because a woman was standing about five feet from me. Butt naked.

Tommy tried to turn too but I griped his shoulder and made him stay against the wall.

“Vagina,” Natalie said, pointing.

I tossed her a Look.

The woman didn’t even seem bothered. A part of me wanted to say, “Can I get you a pair of pants?”

“How old is your little girl?” the woman wondered. STILL STANDING THERE WITH NO PANTS ON.

“Um. She’s nearly three,” I stuttered. It’s really hard to converse with someone who doesn’t have clothes on. Where do you look? I tried to pretend that a crotch wasn’t staring at me. It was really disturbing that I didn’t even know this woman but that I was privy to the fact that the carpet didn’t match the drapes.

The woman seemed to be in her forties. And I’m all for being proud of your body and all of that but sheesh. If you want to talk to someone, PUT SOME PANTS ON. Or wrap a towel around you. Please.

“Vagina,” Natalie said again.

“Where?” Tommy said and tried to turn around again. I wouldn’t let him.

“So is your boy in swim lessons?” the woman said kindly.

Seriously, where were her clothes? I didn’t see any around.

“Yes…swim lessons,” I said stupidly. I still couldn’t believe that this woman had dropped trou and was speaking as though it were perfectly normal to carry on a conversation without clothes.

“What’s happening?” Tommy whined.

“Vagina, brother,” Natalie explained.

I could feel my face warm. Surprisingly the naked woman did not seem embarrassed at all. She continued beaming at us.

“I just wanted to say that you have beautiful children,” she said.

“Thank you!” I replied quickly.

The woman turned. Hello butt of a perfect stranger! “Nancy!” she called out, strolling over to a woman who was (thankfully) clothed. Nancy apparently seemed used to Naked Woman being, well, naked and didn’t even seem taken aback.

As we were walking out of the locker room, Naked Woman (yup, still no pants) shouted, “Goodbye!”

Tommy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “That woman is naked,” he whispered.

I covered his eyes. “Goodbye!” I yelled.

“Goodbye, vagina!” Natalie chimed in.

“Where were her pants?” Tommy asked incredulously as we walked across the parking lot to our car.

Good question, son.

Good question.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in! When I figure out the McLinky thingy I'll add that to my entry.

Hey, It's Okay....


To not want to be called “ma’am.” Ever.


To not allow your children to use Facebook until they are 13 like it states in the Facebook rules.


To think coffee flavored chocolates should ALWAYS BE LABELED so people who don’t like coffee don’t accidentally bite into one.


To not be able to take Bret Michaels from The Celebrity Apprentice seriously because you picture a tattooed chick wrapping her thighs around his waist from his Rock of Love show.


To laugh hysterically when your eight-year-old asks for a cell phone.


To think that Rielle Hunter was in poor taste doing the GQ interview. And what was UP with her sitting with those stuffed animals without any pants on?


To pretend you don’t speak English when a telemarketer calls.


To cheer at the end of Independence Day.

Kid Free Time

“Look at all this hair!”

“Have you SEEN so much hair?”

“It’s so incredibly thick.”

“It’s really pretty.”

“Yes, pretty, but I imagine it takes a lot of work.”

I sat in the chair at Regis Hair Salon while my hairdresser and her hairdresser friend spoke about my hair as if I weren’t even there.

A part of me wanted to clear my throat and remind them that hello, the thick hair had an owner.

I was enjoying some Kid Free time as I got my hair done. In fact, I was enjoying a Kid Free couple of hours with my friend Amanda. I had left the kids with my husband Tom and was enjoying being able to sit for five minutes without having to get up and break up a fight or find someone a snack. It was bliss.

Well, aside from the fact that people were behaving like I wasn’t actually there.

“I wonder how long it takes to wash?” my hairdresser mused.

“About twenty minutes,” I spoke up.

Both hairdressers startled as though they had forgotten that I was sitting less than two feet from them.

“SO much hair!” my hairdresser’s friend said.

This is when I felt the urge to be snarky and be all, “SO much blonde!” because she happened to have a head full of (fake) blond hair. I didn’t though. I bit my tongue.

My hair took about three hours to do. But I didn’t mind. I was able to read my book in peace ( The Lady in the Tower about Anne Boleyn) and sip on an iced tea from Chick-Fil-A without having to share with my daughter.

After the hair appointment, Amanda and I went to get our makeup done. Neither of us knows what we’re doing with makeup. I nearly took my eye out with mascara before and have been slightly traumatized by it.

“How do you want your makeup?” the lady chirped at us.

“Natural. Please don’t make us look like tarts,” I explained.

We wanted to be made up for the Girls Night In we were having over at Amanda’s house.

So our makeup was put on. We did not look like tarts.

Then I returned home and wasn’t sure how the house would look. Things could be flying through the air. Food could be smeared on the walls. I placed my hand on the knob, turned it and....

....the house was clean?

The children were still alive.

“I cleaned!” Tom said proudly. “I don’t know why you say it’s so hard to stay at home. It was easy for me.”

Yes, it took all of my strength not to smack him on the side of my head with my purse. Of course the children are good for him! He’s big and scary and loves Chuck Norris.

“I like your hair,” Tom continued. “Wanna go upstairs and christen it?” He came over and pulled me close.

“Sure, but just so you know it’s my time of the month.”

He dropped me like I was on fire. He won’t touch me during that time.

Sometimes I’ve been known to lie and say that it’s my time of month if I’m not in the mood. It’s probably why he believes that some women can have periods for two weeks.

Later that night, I got dressed to go to Amanda’s house.

I tried to take a photo myself because Tom can't take a decent photo of me to save his life.





Apparently I can't get a good photo either. But you get the idea.

Then I went to Amanda’s house where we played Wii Dance.

I learned that I still CANNOT dance.

Seriously.

I looked as though I was having a convulsion as I tried to copy the moves. At one point I nearly hit myself in the head with the Wii Remote. I’ll probably give myself a concussion one day and when I’m wheeled into the ER I’ll be all, “All I was doing was trying to copy some dance moves!”

Hi, I’m Amber and I can’t dance.

Our Next Base

The phone rang at 9:34.

It was Tom calling from work.

“Yo,” I said.

“Yo?” Tom was a little confused.

“Yo,” I confirmed.

“Okay. Uh. Yo. Guess what? I have some news.”

News? Uh oh.

“What kind of news?” I wondered.

“I got orders for our next base.”

Oh.

THAT news.

We had been waiting to hear about where we’ll be going next for awhile. See, Tom is going to Korea for a year. He leaves in August. When he gets back we figured we’d be moving. We just didn’t know where.

“Is it....a good base?” I gripped the phone tightly. Awhile back the Air Force had tried to send us to Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana. Yes, I might have pitched a fit about that only because I had heard awful things about it. Plus, it was another missile base. The base that we’re at now is a missile base. All we wanted was a bit of a change and it seemed like the Air Force wasn’t willing to give us one. Thankfully Tom’s supervisor was able to pull some strings and we got to stay here.

“I don’t know,” Tom answered. He was teasing me. He knows I have very little patience. I tried to read his voice but it was difficult. He didn’t sound upset...but he didn’t sound happy either. Oh my God, what if we got one of those Middle of Nowhere bases?

“Is it…Texas?” I crossed my fingers. I’d love to go to Texas since my family is there.

“No.”

Crap.

“Ohio?” I crossed my fingers harder.

“No.”

My heart was beginning to drop.

“Florida?” I squeaked out.

“No.” I could tell Tom was enjoying this.

“Could you just tell me then?”

“I don’t know...” Tom said playfully. He’s lucky he wasn’t home. I’d have jumped on his back and forced the news out of him. Granted he’d have probably easily gotten me OFF his back but then I’d have gone for his armpits because that’s where he’s especially ticklish. Really, we have a healthy relationship.

“Just TELL me,” I demanded. “Should I be sitting down?”

What if it was another crappy base?

“Sit down only if you don’t like Oklahoma,” Tom replied.

Oklahoma?

Oklahoma…

“Oklahoma where the sun comes sweeping down the plain...and the something something something....” I sang, off key.

“Huh?” Tom was perplexed.

“When I hear the name Oklahoma, I immediately think of that song in the musical.”

“Um okay. Anyway,” Tom said. “We’re going to Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. Is that okay with you?” He said this sarcastically.

“I don’t know. Does it have a Target?”

Tom made a noise. “How would I know? I could care less about Target—”

“Tom, that’s blasphemy.”

“All I know is that I’m happy with the base,” Tom finished. “Please tell me that you aren’t going to freak out like last time.”

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter. “No freak outs here. Unless Oklahoma doesn’t have a Target.”

“I can almost bet that it does,” Tom assured me.

“Let me check.” I strolled over to the computer and typed in a quick search. And..phew! A Target popped up not far from the military base. “I’m good to go!”

“Great,” Tom said dryly.

“So when do we go?” I asked.

“Not until I get back. My report no later than date is the end of September 2011. I should get back in August so that’s when we’ll start the move. Unless the Air Force takes the orders away. I’ve heard stories where they’ve done that,” Tom grumbled.

“Oklahoma then,” I breathed. I typed in Tinker AFB in Google and a Murder-Suicide story popped up. “TOM! People have been MURDERED around the base.”

“People have been murdered around every base,” Tom reminded me.

True.

“TOM!” I shrieked. “It says here that there are gang shootings at certain areas. I don’t want to be shopping at Target and have to dodge bullets at the same time.”

“So avoid those certain areas. Sheesh,” Tom pointed out.

“I hope we get a big house. I have a lot of stuff,” I continued.

“You might want to consider getting rid of that stuff. You don’t need your old high school notebooks,” Tom said.

“But I do. Suppose I want to remind myself what the French word for door is?”

“Over the summer we’re throwing out a lot of stuff,” Tom said firmly.

I laughed and let him think that he was in charge.

“So Oklahoma,” I said.

“Oklahoma,” Tom repeated.

“Oklahoma where the sun comes sweeping down the plains!”

“I’m going now.”

“Are you saying you don’t like it when I sing?”

*Click*

What Ghost?

I was already frazzled.

I had thought this was a gigantic spider and had screamed at the top of my lungs.



I mean, okay, up close you can tell it’s definitely not a spider. But when you spot it from the corner of your eye it looks quite sinister. I was positive it was a huge spider, all set to jump up and suck my insides out.

I probably shouldn’t have watched Arachnophobia as a child.

I eventually calmed down and realized it was plastic but my nerves were still shaken.

Then Natalie had to go and point to the corner of the room and say, “I see a ghost.”

The hair on the back of my neck immediately stood up.

“What?” I asked, trying not to panic. I forced myself to glance at the corner where she was pointing even though I didn’t want to. It’s sort of like how I feel about the Twilight movies: I know they’re going to be utterly ridiculous but I can’t NOT watch. I have to see what Edward is blah blah blahing about and mock the grown adults who screech when Taylor Lautner comes on the screen.

I saw nothing in the corner. I relaxed. I mean, what did I expect to see? A ghost head with glowing red eyes? I shuddered at that. I was starting to freak myself out again. I tried to think about happy things: Happy Bunny, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, Target....

“I see a ghost. Hi ghost!” Natalie’s voice broke into my happy thoughts.

WHAT DID SHE MEAN ‘HI GHOST?!’

“There is no ghost.” I said this firmly. There couldn’t be a ghost. Not that night. Not when Tom was at work and wouldn’t return home until the morning.

“Bye ghost,” Natalie said, waving. She went back to coloring. How could she be so calm? If she really saw a ghost, why wasn’t she going, “WTF, why can I see through you?”

Clearly she didn’t really see a ghost then. She probably was just messing with me. She seems the type that would do something like that.

When I put Natalie to bed she suddenly laughed and went, “Ghost says hi.”

Okay. That was it. I was officially FREAKED OUT. I ran from the room and grabbed the phone.

Then I dialed Tom’s number.

When he answered I went, “I think there’s a ghost in the house.”

“Amber?”

“Natalie keeps saying she sees a ghost and I’m not going to lie, I’m scared out of my mind and am tempted to dive underneath the covers,” I explained.

“Can you ever just say hi normally?”

“Hi. We have a GHOST in the house, Tom!” Why wasn’t he reacting to this?

“What do you want me to do about it?” Tom was unmoved. I could hear typing in the background. Was he on the COMPUTER while I was freaking out? And okay, it was probably because I call him at least twice a month flipping out. The last time I called I was positive that aliens were communicating outside our door. It turns out it was just cows mooing in the distance but still, when cows mooing are muffled, it can sound like an entirely different alien language.

“Could they let you off early?” I wondered.

Tom laughed. “Yeah right. And what would I say? Sorry sir, I have to leave early, my wife thinks there’s a ghost in the house.”

“YES!” That made perfect sense to me.

“Just sleep with the lights on,” Tom suggested.

“I can’t. You know I can’t sleep with any lights on,” I said. This is true. Even if I’m afraid I cannot sleep with lights on.

“I don’t know what else to tell you.” Clickity Clickity Click went Tom’s keyboard that I wanted to smack over his head. Why wasn’t he more concerned? Didn’t he remember what happened in Paranormal Activity? There could be a DEMON GHOST lurking around our home and he’s just typing away.

“Thanks a lot, Tom,” I fumed.

“Sorry,” Tom replied but he didn’t sound sorry at all.

“You’re just so mean! You’re hot and you’re cold, you’re yes and you’re no, you’re—” I began passionately.

“Why are you quoting a Katy Perry song to me?”

Oh. I was wondering how the words were flowing so easily. Weird things pop into my head when I’m frightened.

I hung up with Tom soon after that. It was obvious he wasn’t going to do a thing.

When I got into bed that night I said out loud, “If there is a ghost in here and you show yourself to me, I will scream.”

The ghost believed me because I never saw a thing.

I guess it had witnessed me screeching over the fake spider earlier and knew that I was telling the truth.

The Preschool Evaluation

Preschool.

Can you believe my daughter is almost ready for PRESCHOOL?

Wasn’t she just born?

She’s nearly three and she wants to go to school like her brother. She has her own backpack and everything (bought at Gymboree during a sale.)

We went in yesterday for a preschool evaluation. This would determine if Natalie needed any services such as speech or occupational therapy. It would also show where she was in her development.

I dressed Natalie in an adorable outfit that made her look quite studious, if I do say so myself:





On the drive over I reminded Natalie not to be shy and to please please PLEASE not cry.

“Okay Mommy,” she assured me.

But guess what she did the second we were called back?

She cried.

And she cried.

And she CRIED. You’d have thought that I told her that Plex smacked Brobee or something.

“Natalie,” I said as we were led back into a room. “Natalie, it’s okay.” My voice was muffled because Natalie was trying to climb on my head. I have no idea why she always goes for my head when she’s freaked out. I really wish she couldn’t. It messes up my already unruly hair. Then when I’ve wrestled her off of me my hair resembles that of a crazy scientist.

“I don’t YIKE!” Natalie screamed into my ear. I’m seriously going to be deaf by the time she’s five.

“It’s okay,” I tried again, wrestling her onto my lap. She thrashed in my arms and her elbow clocked me in the head.

“We just need to test your hearing,” the woman spoke up. She had been watching us in silence, probably surprised that such a tiny girl could make such a racket.

Eventually Natalie calmed down. It could have been because I gave her my cell phone.

“Just don’t calm Guam,” I begged.

Natalie passed her vision and hearing tests.

Then we were led into another room. This is where the evaluation began. The woman asked Natalie her name. Natalie gave it to her. She asked Natalie to name animals and colors. Natalie did that.

Then it all went downhill from there.

It all started when scissors were brought out. Natalie eyed them with interest.

“Could you cut the paper for me?” the woman wondered sweetly.

Natalie picked up the scissors. It was obvious that she didn’t know how to handle them properly. This is because I make it a habit NOT to give my two year old scissors. Is that wrong of me? Was I meant to hand them over so she could practice? I figured giving a two year old scissors would be akin to shoving a woman wearing fur into a group of PETA members. Pure and utter disaster.

After the scissor bit, the woman would say a series of numbers.

“5 7 8,” she’d go. Then she’d look at Natalie. “Can you repeat those numbers?”

Natalie shook her head. “No thanks.”

“5, 7, 8,” the woman tried again.

“NO THANKS!” Now Natalie was irritated. She gave me a Look like, “Can’t this woman shut up for two seconds? I’m trying to figure out these scissors here.”

“4, 6,” the woman continued.

“SHHHH!” Natalie said, finger on her lips.

So the woman moved on. She built a tiny tower with blocks and asked Natalie to do the same.

Natalie just stacked the blocks one on top of the other. No fancy tower.

“There,” she told the woman triumphantly.

“Can you make a tower like mine?” The woman did something different with the blocks.

“No thanks,” Natalie responded. “Not now.”

The woman blinked a few seconds and stared at her checklist. “Okay. Moving on,” she said. “Can you give me an example of a 3 word sentence that Natalie says?”

“I can do you better than 3 words. This morning Natalie said, ‘I am very mad today, Mommy,’” I answered.

“I am very mad,” Natalie repeated dutifully.

Natalie has been telling us when she was mad since she was one. She marched up to me one day, crossed her tiny arms over her chest and went, “I MAD!”

I think I said something snarky like, “Congratulations. Me too.”

“Why are you mad?” the woman inquired. “You’re too pretty to be mad.”

Natalie nodded firmly. “I am very mad.”

Okay then.

The woman glanced at the papers. “I think that’s it. What we should do is meet again in a month and see if we can’t get Miss Natalie to repeat things, use scissors, and understand ‘on top’ and ‘under’ concepts.”

Because when the teacher asked Natalie to put the block on top of the book, Natalie tried to stick the block down her shirt.

“Ta da!” she had gone. (Natalie, not the woman.)

So I will be taking her back next month. If Natalie doesn’t pass in those areas, she has to go through a two hour evaluation. There is no way she’d tolerate two hours.

Either way, Natalie will be put on the waiting list for the September session and will go twice per week.

Do you know what that means for me?

FREEEDOOMM! <---doing my best Mel Gibson impression.

I mean, okay, she’ll only be gone for like two hours but still. It’ll be helpful seeing as Tom will be going to Korea for a year in August. So I’ll get a tiny break at least. My goal is to go to a gym while she’s in school. Will that happen? Who knows? I might just skip through the house going, “I’m free, I’m free, I’m free.”

Anyhow, after the evaluation we came home and worked on cutting.



Natalie is quite determined. I notice she opens her mouth wide when she’s concentrating. She might want to stop this by the time she starts preschool. I’m worried a kid might mistake it for a trash can seeing as it’s so big and all.

And yes, she’s in a dress. I made the mistake of letting her try on her Easter dress and the little minx refused to take it off!

That’s a whole ‘nother entry in itself.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. So without further ado...


Hey, It's Okay....


To not watch the Academy Awards. The Amazing Race is more entertaining anyhow.


To pull a Kate Gosselin and shout at your husband to “get his ass off his computer game and HELP with the kids,” after he’s been sitting in front of it for over 2 hours.


To say, “So hot...want to touch the hiney,” when James Frain who plays (played) Thomas Cromwell comes on the screen on the show The Tudors.


To still eat sugary cereals. Nuts don’t belong in cereals and neither to things that look like miniature twigs.


To wish that children came with volume controllers.


To have sour jellybeans for dinner.


To wonder why in the WORLD your husband starts talking to you the second you turn on the vacuum. Does he honestly think you can HEAR him?


To refuse to put on scary children’s songs while driving.


To have never watched any of the CSI shows.


To wonder how in the world it would have worked out between the Richard Gere and Julia Roberts characters in Pretty Women. Wouldn’t people be all, “Weren’t you a hooker once?” It would totally be the elephant in the room.

The Girly Appointment

Tom didn’t understand why I was showering before my appointment.

“So I smell fresh!” I had explained. I was getting ready for my dreaded yearly womanly exam. Not that I stink but before I go to one of those appointments I like to make sure I’m as clean as I can be. Just like in the Army how they try to be all they can be. You know?

After my shower (and I realized in there that I needed to shave my legs—yikes, can’t show my gynecologist hairy legs!) I made sure to put on my nice underwear.

“Don’t you hide your underwear?” Tom asked, confused.

Well. Yes. When I undress I always bury my underwear in a ball under my pants and shirt. But still.

I left soon after that.

When I got the hospital I was called back a few minutes later. The nurse weighed me (“don’t tell me what it is!” I said, squishing my eyes shut) and then took my blood pressure. Then before she left she told me to undress and get into the paper gown that was resting on the exam table.

As soon as she was gone, I changed at lightening speed. It is a fear of mine to have the doctor walk in as I’m bending over. Then she’ll inevitably pass out from the shock of my pale bare ass. I stuck my arms though the papery gown and waited on the exam table. It was then when I realized there was a diagram of a vagina less than three feet from my head. It was shocking at first to turn and realize that AHHH I’m looking at a vagina.

Did you know there is something called a Crus down there? I frowned at all the terms and then for some reason, I thought back to an article I read in one of my girl magazines that talked about the things that gynecologists have found in a vagina. Grapes....chocolate....a stamp. I’m not kidding. The food I get because okay, maybe the girl and her mate got carried away. But a stamp? How in the world would a stamp get down there? And how awkward would that be for the gynecologist to pull it out. Would they joke and be like, “Found the stamp. I guess this means you have a first class crotch.”

HA.

I snorted at this and was giggling when the doctor walked in. She seemed a bit startled to see her patient with a wide grin on her face. She’s probably used to people shaking in their paper gowns.

She asked me some questions such as did I smoke (no), drink (only when the kids have been exceptionally bad), and was I sexually active.

I felt my face warm at that one.

“Yes,” I muttered. I felt like there was a neon sign that spelled out SLUT with an arrow pointed at me above my head.

“Do you want to be tested for any STDs?” the doctor continued.

Huh? Excuse me?

“Well, no, I’m married,” I said. “And my husband knows if he cheated on me that I’d rip off his balls so I won’t be needing a STD test.”

I meant it as a JOKE and expected the doctor to laugh. But she just stared at me with saucer eyes. “Okay,” she said slowly, glancing at my chart. “I guess we can begin.”

I tried to think of other things while the doctor did her thing. Like....how in the world can plaid be back in fashion? And how creepy it is when couples color coordinate. And how we could have something called a crus down there. What would I make for dinner? Chicken? Burgers? Would I ever find an agent to represent me? At this rate, no, as I keep getting those query form rejections. You just aren’t good enough blah blah blah…

“All done,” the doctor chirped.

Oh. Awesome.

I’m all healthy. And I have a new prescription for birth control since Tom refuses to get a vasectomy. I don’t think this is fair. I had the babies, now it is his turn to step up to the plate. But he’s all, “Do you know what they DO to me?” and I’m all, “Yes, thanks to the song they sang on Family Guy I do. But you need to take one for the team,” and he’s all, “No.”

So.Not.Fair.

Things That Make Me Go Huh

Things That Make Me Go “HUH?”

A lot of things in this world baffle me.

I decided to show some of these things.





This is a dress. Inspired by lingerie. I’m sorry, but no. I can see one of those Real Housewives of OC strutting around in this though.




These are cookies I tried to make. I followed the instructions and this is how they came out. Oh well. I still ate them anyway. You can’t waste cookies even if they do look like a gigantic blob.




Tom claims the cat likes when you scratch his cheeks. Judging by his expression (the same one I get when Tom talks during Lost) I’m sort of doubting this.




Why is Steve from Blue’s Clues singing about dirt on Nick Jr? I thought he was dead. Apparently he’s alive and happy and singing about the ground. Oh, and wearing fake ears. Is it wrong that I was sort of turned on? Time has aged Steve well.




These are the papers I had to fill out for my annual girly appointment today. Holy crap is it nosy. Suppose I did have sex before the age of 16? Would they beat me with a speculum? What if I have had more than 5 sexual partners? Would I be dubbed as easy? Or would a pamphlet of not giving my love freely be discreetly slipped to me?




This proves how awful I am in math. I didn’t get it at first. I had to read it like five times before my brain clicked on. I mean, this is SECOND GRADE work. In second grade I remember making pictures out of glitter. Not problems like these. (And does anyone ever want to be snarky during word problems? Like when it says, “How many kids came to Taylor’s party?” I always want to say something like, “Don’t really care, am just interested in what kind of cake she had.”)




Tommy was messing with Natalie’s Barbie in the bath the other night. When he got out I found her like this. Should I tell him now that real woman are not this flexible? Sorry to disappoint, son.