Tag Archives: humor

Why Do Our Children Do This To Us?

30 Mar

1. This: When you return home from grocery shopping and have your arms full of grocery bags, the onslaught of requests will begin. BEFORE your shoes are off and the bags are set down. “Can you get me juice? I need a snack. I’m STARVING! Can you wipe me? Here mommy. Take my booger.”

2. And This: When you wear a black shirt to hide the stains from sticky, nasty kid hand smears, someone will throw up on you. You just can’t hide that. No matter what color you’re wearing.

3. Never This: When you wear a white shirt. . . Lol! No sane stay at home mom with little kids ever wears white!

4. And This: You’ll find yourself arguing with a 3 year old about things like why she can’t put picked boogers back into her nose. “But mommy! You told me not to pick my nose! I’m not picking the boogers! I’m putting them back in!”

5. What About This: As soon as you drift off to sleep. . .finally. You will hear a little voice in your ear. “Mommy. Are you awake? I’m scared. Can I sleep with you?”

6. Yeah This: There is no sleeping WITH you. That would imply that both of you are sleeping. They are sleeping BESIDE you. With their feet in your face and their butt poked into your stomach.

7. Always This: You will wash their favorite sheets, get them put nicely on their bed, put them to sleep. . . and they will pee. They will pee the bed every. single. time. And then demand that you wash them again immediately. Because those are their favorite ones.

8. And This: You’re planning on going out somewhere. You make your kid go to the bathroom 5 minutes before you leave. And then you make them go again 1 minute before you leave. You arrive at the store or restaurant or park which is literally 3 minutes away from your house. As soon as they step out of the car, “Mom. I have to go potty! Now! It’s an emergency!” What? Didn’t we just do this? It doesn’t matter. You can try restricting liquids for hours before leaving the house. They won’t pee for DAYS at home. As soon as you are out in public. . .Whoosh! Open up the faucets. Let the pee fest begin.

9. Seriously! Wth? This: The phone. The PHONE!! Why must they torture us while we are on the phone? My children will ignore me for hours. “Go do your homework.” Nothin’. “Stop fighting with your sister.” Nothin’. “Clean your room.” Silence. The phone rings and suddenly I’m the most popular person ever. “Mommy. Oh mommy. I HAVE to tell you a story. Yesterday at school Johnny had a red pencil but really wanted a blue one so he was sad and did you know that one time when I was 4 it snowed and do you remember that you didn’t let me go out and play in it and I’m still really mad at you and I have to poop so I need you to stay right here because I may need help wiping and keep listening because I still have soooo much to tell you and. . . .” Aaggghhh!!!! Where are their mute buttons?

10. Finally This: When you’re sick they will do all of these horrible things plus a thousand more.

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They wouldn’t let me adopt a puppy, but they gave me a baby?

24 Mar

This whole pregnancy, motherhood, taking a baby home, and child rearing situation in our society is whacked!!

Did you know that when I was in college I wanted to adopt a puppy?

Yep.

I lived in a little duplex with a few girls and I wanted to adopt a Boxer puppy from the local Boxer rescue society.

You know what they told me?

No.

Nope. No way in hell we are letting this young college girl, with no yard, a small house, who is not home all day long, adopt one of our cute, precious little puppies. No way lady!! Come back when you graduate, are more responsible, have 3,000 square feet of living space and at least a yard big enough for the dog to take a proper dump in.

They grilled me like they were from the FBI and I was on their Top 10 Most Likely Not To Take Proper Care Of A Puppy List. They wanted to make a home visit. I had to answer a bunch of questions. I thought they were going to ask me for a urine sample and then hook me up to a lie detector.

After I failed and they deemed me unworthy of caring for one of their dogs, I was kind of relieved. I mean, who can handle that kind of pressure? I was too scared and they intimidated me so much that I became convinced that I could not care for their puppy. Maybe there was so much more that goes into the proper raising of a good, respectable, descent, loving, nice puppy that I had not considered. Maybe I would mess it up and it would turn into a Beggin’ Strips addicted, too lazy to fetch, dumb, can’t even walk on a leash, toy stealing, co-dependent dog that I would be ashamed to take to the dog park.

People at the dog park would look at my dog and then think “Well that dogs owner clearly should never have had a dog. Look at him! Sniffing my dogs butt like that. He didn’t even ask if he could play with Fluffy’s ball! He just took it and ran away! Where is his owner? Oh, there she is. Of course. Young. She probably isn’t even home all day to train him properly. She probably just gives him treats when ever he wants and never taught him to sit. Look at her. On her phone, of course. She’s probably wasting time of facebook. She doesn’t care about him. What kind of people gave her a dog? Didn’t they do a background check? Did they even visit her home and make sure that she was capable of taking care of a dog? Obviously not. People like THAT just should not have dogs. Hmph…”

You know what they told me when I gave birth to a baby?

Okay! Time to take him home!

What? Don’t you need to check my pee? Make sure that I’m not hopped up on crack? Where’s the lie detector? I didn’t really weigh what I told you I weighed before I got pregnant. I lied. If I lied about that maybe I lied about more. What if I don’t have a big enough house for a baby? You should know that I don’t have a yard. Nope. No yard. Apartment liver here. Isn’t there some sort of rule that you can’t live in an apartment if you have a baby? Don’t you need to make a home visit? Make sure that I baby proofed it correctly. My husband put together most of the baby furniture, but I did try to help him and put some together myself. You may need to come check it out. I’m not so good with directions. It’s entirely possible that the whole crib will just come crashing down one day. Don’t you want to know what brand of baby formula I intend to feed him? What if I choose a cheap, off brand? Surely you wouldn’t let me take him home if I just choose any old formula and didn’t research it. What about clothes? He’s a boy. What if I choose to dress him like a girl because I’m weird? How do you know I won’t make him wear outfits full of teddy bears and give him a complex later? What if I choose to put a blanket over him at night? What if I let him sleep on his tummy? What if I put him in a Bumbo seat on the table and then leave to go to the bathroom? What if I have no money in savings? What if I never even thought about where the money for his college will come from?

No one is interested in learning these things before you let me take him home? What if I mess him up so badly that if I do end up saving enough money for college he has to spend all of it on therapy?

The ONLY thing I had to have to take my son out of that hospital was an outfit and a car seat. And the outfit was optional.

No one asked me ANY questions. I begged the lactation consultant to come to my house to make sure that I was doing it right. I called my mom hundreds of times in tears certain that I was doing it wrong. I called my husband even more in tears because my baby was nothing like the babies that I had taken care of in the NICU. He did NOT sleep for 3 hours and then wake to be fed. He wanted to eat every 1-2 hours which totally threw me for a loop. He was not supposed to eat that often. Didn’t he know the schedule? We were on a schedule here! He wasn’t supposed to want to nurse for 45 minutes. 30 minutes was the maximum he was allowed. That was how long his lunch break was. He quickly informed me that he did not agree with this allotment of time. Our whole first month was me trying to set rules and schedules and him crying and breaking every rule. He never followed my schedule.

He cried, I cried, and my husband laughed.

“Relax. Relax. He’s going to be fine. You need to just calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t tell me to relax. You don’t understand. Just because you’ve had a baby before doesn’t make you the expert.” I was ready to rip his head off when he mentioned my step daughter’s name.

Didn’t he understand what a big deal this was? Didn’t he know that in the past I was unqualified to care for a puppy? I never told him about that. I was afraid that he wouldn’t want to have babies with me. “Well, I can’t have babies with HER. They wouldn’t even give her a puppy She would mess our kid up FOR SURE!”

Yep.

Our society is whacked.

NO PUPPIES FOR YOU!

But we are handing babies out to every neurotic, crazy, young, under qualified, terrified new mother on the block.

Don’t Put Me In The Room With The Big Comfy Couch!

5 Mar

When I approached the information desk and made eye contact with the woman behind it I must have looked a little “frazzled”. When I asked her if Oli was out of surgery yet she must have sensed my panic, noticed my tightly clenched fists, or saw me on the verge of crying because she immediately went to check for me. She even bypassed pretending to know how to work the phone or computer.

She came back a very long 5 minutes later and said “No. She is still back there, but they will be done soon. She’s doing just fine.”

“Oh okay. Thank you. I knew everything was fine, but you know…..well, I had to check because you see, she’s blind and autistic and has this rare gene deletion, so we don’t really know a whole lot about it and this gene caused her eyes not to develop so she wears prosthetic ones and she started having seizures in 2011 and…..”

Crap. I lost her.

She’s “working on the computer” now and trying to politely get me to go sit down.

What?

You don’t want to hear Oli’s life story?

Are you sure?

I can tell it 2.5 minutes if I talk really fast and run all my sentences together.

No?

Whatever. You’re missing out on a really good moment of mommy-gone-mad. Especially since I didn’t sleep last night. It’s an even better show when I don’t sleep. I’m much more likely to cry and then burst into fits of uncontrolled laughter.

Oh well. Your loss. That’s some quality entertainment your missing out on.

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You better believe that I sat my butt down in the nearest chair and did not move until that pager lit up and vibrated.

I finished my much needed cup of coffee, checked my Facebook (thanks for the prayers guys!) and waited.

6 hours later…..no, it wasn’t really that long. It just felt like it. They called my name and walked me back to another little waiting room.

This one was WAY better. It had a nice big squishy couch, a table and chairs, a little TV….

Wait!

No!

I don’t want to be in this nice room!

This looks like a “bad news room”!

You never give parents bad news in uncomfortable chairs. That’s just plain mean. You give them bad news in rooms with big comfy couches and little TV’s. Rooms with a circular table and chairs for having “discussions”.

I want to go back to that other room! I want to go sit in those crappy vinyl covered chairs with the fish again! NEMO! HELP!
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“Make yourself comfortable. The audiologist will be with you soon.” The volunteer tells me.

Make myself comfortable? I am going to get the worse news of my life, well….the second worse, behind “Your baby is blind, do you have any questions?” It will be the same. “Your daughter is deaf, do you have any questions?” I should call the School for the Deaf right now and just get this ball rolling. No need to waste time…Good thing I have my Tab, I’ll just Google it.

I mean…the news cannot possibly be good. This couch is just way too comfortable.

Maybe I’ll hold off just a minute. Google will be there in 5 minutes. Maybe I’ll take a nap.

I’m feeling a little over-tired and the craziness has begun to set in quite rapidly.

Luckily I did not have to wait long enough to be able take a nap. (Well I guess it wasn’t so lucky for everyone else that had to deal with me the rest or the day.) The audiologist walked in and sat down.

Uh-oh. She’s sitting. Number one rule of doctors and nurses: always sit and be at eye level when delivering bad news to parents.

Stand up lady! Stand up!

“The results of Oli’s hearing screen were 100% normal. She has perfect, beautiful hearing. No problem.” She doesn’t give me the chance to spin out of control with panic.

“Really?” I exhale for the first time all morning.

“She’s fine. But her eardrum on the right is still not moving well. I think that it’s probably just scarred and thickened from having so many infections in it and then rupturing. It DOES NOT affect her hearing. She can hear you just fine.” She explains.

SHE CAN HEAR! OLI CAN HEAR!

To say that I was ecstatically, fantastically, wonderfully, overjoyed…would be an understatement.

I now knew, 100% without a doubt, that my sweet girl can hear me.

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(I know how to carry on. I just do not know how to keep calm while doing it.)

Don’t Go And Get Coffee While Your Child Is In Surgery

5 Mar

If you can’t laugh at yourself, nothing else seems very funny. -me

As soon as the nurse’s walked out of the doorway carrying Oli, I began to cry. Some of the tears were shed from fear. That irrational fear that I would never see her again. Fear that the audiologist would walk back into the room and tell me that her hearing on the right was lost. Fear that she felt alone and scared. Some of the tears were shed because I was just sad because she is so young and has been through so much. No child should have to go through the things that Oli has had to go through. And the rest of the tears were shed because I am a mother. What mother wouldn’t cry if her child has surgery? What mother doesn’t cry when their child has anything that she can’t fix herself?

I waited in the pre-op room until the ENT came back to talk to me about his recommendations for putting tubes in her ears. He walked back into the room about 20 minutes later.

“She does not need tubes in her ears again at this time. They were perfectly clear. No sign of infection and no fluid. I was surprised. I’ll keep a close eye on them and we’ll see if they stay clear.”

I was surprised too! Usually when she has a runny nose and goopy eyes (which is did that morning) she also has fluid in her ears. I thanked him for his time and gathered my things to go wait in the surgery waiting room until they called me for the results of the hearing screen.

I walked back out to sit in those very uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Who designs these waiting rooms? It’s like they said, “What kind of chairs should we put in here? We know that these parents are nervous, afraid, and will be unable to sit still while they wait for hours for their child to get out of surgery. You know what would be the best idea for chairs in here? Hard, plastic ones with a thin vinyl covering with just enough padding to avoid bruising and corporate complaints. Why make this process any easier by providing sufficient butt comfort? Oh… and let’s put a few gazillion gallon fish tanks in here. Who isn’t comforted by Nemo and Dory? And make sure to build the cafeteria at least 5 miles from here. It’ll give them something to do.”

“Sounds like a great idea Bob! I have one more! Make sure the person at the information desk is at least 100 years old, has no idea where anything is located and can’t work the computer or the phone. Parents will think that’s hilarious and won’t be at all frustrated or annoyed.”

Before the ENT left the room and sent me to this wonderful waiting area he said that the audiologist would come find me in the waiting room sometime between 1 hour and next Tuesday to tell me the results of the ABR. They gave me this little blue pager that was supposed to light up and vibrate when Oli was done. I had to keep it with me just in case they couldn’t get a hold of me by my cell phone. I really wanted to go get a cup of coffee, but I hated the thought leaving the waiting room. What if the little blue pager only works within a certain distance from the surgery area? I doubted it would work 5 miles away and in an underground cave-like area, which is where the cafeteria was located. I seriously doubted that my cell phone would work there either. My cell phone only works half the time, above ground in my apartment.

I spent the next 10 minutes having an inner debate about coffee.

Did I really need it? My butt was really starting to hurt already. Maybe a little stroll would take my mind off imaginary surgical catastrophe situations. No, I can’t go. What if Oli needs me? What if the pager and the cell phone fail and something happens that requires the one thing that no nurse, doctor, tech, therapists, specialist, aide, helper, or 100 year old woman can help with. What if it can only be fixed by my immediate action or Oli will die? I don’t need coffee that bad. Wait…that would never happen. Oli’s fine and in good hands. I will only be gone a little while.

I decide to make a go of it and fast-walked my way out of the waiting room. My pager and cell phone were clutched tightly in one hand. A few weeks later I stumbled back into the waiting room, pager and cell phone non-vibrating, lit, or ringing. I sat down and glanced at the brown card attached to the pager. It was directions on how to use the pager. Aaaaa….I had been in enough restaurants (pre-children) to know how to use one. I didn’t bother reading the card when they gave me the thing. I read it now.

________Do not place pager and cell phone in direct contact. The pager may not work properly if this happens._____________

What?!

I was holding onto them both in the same hand!

Oh My God!! Something terrible has happened and I was GETTING F****** COFFEE IN EGYPT!!

I rushed the old lady at the information desk.

“My daughter Oli is in surgery. I went to go get coffee and I had my cell phone and the pager on me, but I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to put them in the same place because I didn’t read the card because, you know, I thought I knew how to work one, but then I got back and I read the little card and now I think you probably definitely tried to get a hold of me but my cell phone doesn’t work very well and of course the pager didn’t work because I had it in THE SAME FLIPPIN’ HAND AS MY CELL PHONE, STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I HAVE LOST MY MIND AND TELL ME MY DAUGHTER IS OKAY!!”

Of course I didn’t really say any of this. They might not let me take Oli home with me. I steadied my trembling hands, took a deep breath, and said “Can you tell me if Oliana is out of surgery yet?”

I Choose To Call It “Helpfulness”

1 Mar

“No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you’ve got, say “Oh, my gosh,” and recognize that of all the balls there ever were, this is the one you should not drop. It’s not a question of choice.”

― Marisa de los Santos, Love Walked In

All I have to say today is: Good thing I started a blog when Oli was born and updated it a few times because I have forgotten half of the things that Oli did between the ages of 1 and 2. Stress induced amnesia? Sleep deprivation?

She started talking around the age of 2. She had about 15-20 words back then. She only said one word at a time except on one occasion where she used two. I guess this happened?.. because I blogged about it. True to my absent minded, fog clogged brain self I didn’t mention in the post what that two word sentence was. I have no idea now. That sucks…

She used to say the beginning or the end of a word. For milk she would say “ka” and later “ilk”. For drink she would say “dri”. She did say mamma all the time. It started as “ma-ma-ma” and later became “mom-mom”. Always strung together.

Maybe she got it from Kekoa? That boy never said my name just once and still doesn’t. It’s always “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.” It doesn’t matter if I answer right away or not. Of course I tell him he sounds like a broken record. Apparently I am no longer allowed to use this terminology with children, per the husband. He told me yesterday “People under the age of 25 have no idea what that even means. You can’t say record, tape, VHS…”

I can say it as long as I want. I can even yell it into a phone and then slam down the receiver!

When did I become old?

What was I talking about?….

Oh yeah, Oli. The main character in my story.

She also started learning to walk around this age. Not walk- walk, but Oli walk which started with me holding her up and moving her legs in a walking like motion.

So…basically it was just me, puppeteering her around the room.

I guess now that I think about it, it was ALL me.

I should describe this part instead of Oli learning to walk as Mommy forcing Oli to learn to walk. I was so impatient. Instead of waiting for the poor girl to do things at her own pace and in her own time I would impose my “helpfulness” on her.

I can only imagine what Oli is thinking when I set out to help her learn something new. Walking… talking… perhaps braille reading?

“Really mom? Why don’t you just go ahead and do that by yourself and come on back down to earth when you’re done. I’ll be here waiting in the land of reality when you get back.”

I chose to pretend that I helped her learn to walk.

Okay, really I didn’t. But I tried. I tried for almost 2 years. When Oli was ready to walk she did. When she was 3 and a half. Despite my deceptive attempts to tell people she was learning to when she was 20 months old. Who did I think I was fooling? If you came over to my house and saw me hunched over, carrying my 2yr old with just her feet dragging on the floor, would you have been convinced that she was walking?

“Look World! I am a genius! I give you—-Oli’s first steps! Just pretend you don’t see me here doing everything for her.”

I can’t help but laugh at my faked enthusiasm, my I-rock-at-this-parent-thing attitude and blatant foolery in my old blog posts.

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Flies, Trash, and Dead Bodies

25 Feb

“Like a corpse left in a garbage dumpster in the middle of summer.” -Sin City quotes

Right around the time that Oli turned 1 and got her first pair of prosthetic eyes, my mom moved in with me to help with the kids.

Which means she moved to the town of. . .Pahrump.

I wish I could tell you that it was a quaint little cozy city with white picket fences and the scent of fresh flowers in the air.

It was more like a city from Stephen King’s book Desperation with trailers sporting rotting sideboard and the scent of dead bodies in the air.

When we moved there we were sold on the idea of Parump becoming an up and coming city. With the housing prices sky rocketing in Vegas, we thought it would be an excellent idea to purchase a house in another town and wait for their market to increase. We thought there would be an influx of buyers recognizing the beauty and the quiet peace of living in the middle of the desert.

At least. . .this is what my realtor told me.

“Buy here! Buy now! You won’t regret it when your house doubles in value in a year!”

It didn’t work out quite like that.

Apparently everyone else spotted what I missed when touring Pahrump. The poverty, high rate of meth use, decaying landscape, trash, and a disturbing amount of flies. I guess the fact that Sherry’s Ranch was just down the road didn’t encourage families to move there either. Yes, this is a brothel.

What in the hell were we thinking?

And then I asked my mom to move there?

Granted we technically didn’t live in Pahrump. We lived in a track community about 5 miles outside of town.

It wasn’t far enough. The trickle of garbage, fly larvae, and stench of unbrushed teeth eventually made it’s way right to my front door.

The housing market in Vegas started on its downward spiral the year after we moved, which subsequently really plunged the value of my house into the toilet.

After my mom moved in with us she began to recognize that my optimism when describing my city was really just an act of desperation to get her to move to Nevada.

I used to tell her “It’s really not that bad. You’ll get used to it.”

I think she wanted to believe me at first until one afternoon she told a coworker that she had a blind date that night. The woman looked at her with hope and jealousy in her eyes, and sincerely asked “Does he have all of his teeth?”

That was the last straw for my mom.

It also didn’t help that her date turned out to only be in possession of most of his teeth and then offered her a sad plastic rose at the end of the evening.

She stayed though. She didn’t hightail it out of there fleeing like a woman who is being chased by smelly, aging, toothless men.

It did, however, end her dating career in Pahrump.

Can You See Me? I’m Here In The Darkness. (Part 1)

22 Feb

I had the AMAZING opportunity to eat dinner last night at the Blind Café. Dinner and music in the complete darkness.

“Hold on to the shoulder of the person standing in front of you. Okay. Everyone ready to experience the Blind Café?” The woman at the front of the line leading us into the darkness has an advantage. An advantage that normally, in the sighted world she lives in, is a disadvantage. The woman in the black dress, holding a long white cane…is blind.

I quickly introduce myself to the woman in front of me and hold tightly to her slim shoulder.

The line begins to move. I walk behind a heavy white curtain and am immediately plunged into pitch blackness. As I took my first blind steps into the café my heart started pounding in my chest. I didn’t know where I was and I didn’t know where I was going. I simply had to trust the woman in front of me and hope that I didn’t walk into anything or fall over.

“Watch your head!” the woman in front of me suddenly shouts.

“What? Where?” I am ducking my head and swerving to avoid an unseen attacker.

“Left? Right? Where is it? What am I watching out for?”

No details are given. Those were the beginning moments that made me acutely aware of the importance of descriptive details when speaking to Oli about her surroundings.

We all follow in line until we reach our table. Our blind waiter begins to help each of us find our seat. We were told that our food would already be waiting for us on the table. I cautiously sit down and move my hands across the table.

What am I touching?

I have no idea.

There’s some squishy stuff to my left at 10 o’clock. There is a bowl of little balls and a short, fat, cone shaped object beneath the squishy stuff. The plate in front of me has a large, papery thing on it with a stick poking out of its center. Above that is more wet squishy stuff on little flat circles. Someone at my table said that there was bread in the middle of the table. I slowly reach my hand out and above my plate. I find more little balls. I move to the right. What is this? It’s slimy and wet. Now my fingers are dripping with a slimy oily substance. Where is my napkin? Did they give us napkins? Do we have utensils?

I search to the right of my plate and thankfully find my napkin. I also find a plastic fork. I contemplate using my fork to try and stab at some of my food and then quickly realize how pointless that seems. It will be way more efficient to use my fingers. Beside how will I know what I am eating unless I actually pick it up with my fingers? I find the bowl of little balls again and search for the cone shaped thing. I find it and decide to pick it up and smell it. My senses should be enhanced right? Since my vision is gone. Wrong. Total myth! I can’t smell it at all. It smells like something, but I have no idea what? It smells like my fingers and whatever that slimy stuff was.

After touching everything on my plate and probably everything on my neighbor’s plate too, I couldn’t tell where my food stopped and hers started, I decided to taste something. I find the squishy stuff on the flat circles and pick one up. I identified the circles to be crackers. I could feel the salt and circles. I raise it to my lips and take an apprehensive bite. Olives! Aaaccckkkk!! I HATE olives. The squishy stuff was some kind of spread. I don’t know what else was in it, but I could taste olives. I put the cracker down. Do I have a drink somewhere around here to wash the nasty olive taste from my mouth? I feel my way a little farther to my left, past my plate. I find a water bottle. Of course, I didn’t know it was water until I took a sip.

Moving on.

I’m really getting brave with my hands now. I find the bowl of balls again. I pick one up and pop it in my mouth. A grape. Yay! Win!

I pick up another ball. I think it’s another grape. Wrong. Olive! What-Is-With-The-OLIVES!! Tricky, sneaky, blind café.

FYI. An olive feels like a grape.

Fasten Your Seatbelt, This Road May Get Bumpy

19 Feb

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It was sometime around this point in Oli’s life that I decided I would learn braille. I mean, why not, right? My daughter was still in diapers, had about 4 teeth, could say one word and had just learned to sit up. Why wouldn’t I want to learn braille so I could start teaching her immediately something that blind kids don’t really learn until they are about 5 years old(give or take-I’m not completely sure because Oli hasn’t even started it yet. So glad I ran that gauntlet 5 YEARS AGO!!).

That picture of the crazy mom at the top of my blog, that is cartoon me. She has blond hair because what suburban house wife/stay at home mom doesn’t picture herself as a smoking hot blond bombshell. Or is that just me? Maybe I watch too much reality TV.

I love how chic it is to say “housewife” now. Much better I say that, than tell people I don’t have a job or tell them I take care of my 3 children…all day…everyday…and I never get out of the house…or put real clothes on. . .or have any friends…

See how she’s holding her head. That’s me totally flabbergasted by this whole crazy, loopy, bumpy path that is the road of a mom with a child with disabilities.

Before I had kids my road looked like this:

road 1

It was smooth, newly paved, no potholes and was 100% safe. I didn’t even need a seat belt.

When I decided to have kids it looked like this:

road 2

Highs and lows, a few tiny pot holes, but I could still see where I was going. There were beautiful flowers by the side of the road and sunsets and rainbows in the distance. (I’ll bet you didn’t know that I am also an artist. I will now add that to my resume of blog writer, magic Q-tip eye ball manipulator, Binky locating expert, and projectile vomit catcher.)

After Oli was born my road started looking like this:

road 3

Most of the time I can’t even see where the hell I am going and have no clue where to turn next. I just bump along, twisting, crashing through potholes the size of Connecticut, and try to avoid the boulders falling on my head. A 5 point restraint race car driver seat belt is required for this road. It gives me a terrible headache. That’s also why I’m holding my head.

And I’m holding it because I get crazy ideas like learning braille when my baby is 8 months old and I run with them full force, balls to the wall. It makes my head spin so I’m trying to hold it on so it doesn’t fly off while my mind is traveling at 500 million miles a minute.

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I might have a few issues, but I did learn un-contracted braille that year:)

I probably get my neurosis from my mother. She learned un-contracted and contracted braille that same year. Along with the numbers, math, and maybe music? Basically the whole shebang of braille. She was ready to open up her own little braille school and teach all the little blind babies of the greater Las Vegas valley.

Never underestimate the love that my mom has for her grandchildren.

10 Reasons To Give Up Newborn Hell

13 Feb

I know some mothers get really sad when they realize they are done having babies. I just want to give you some things to look forward to when you give up Newborn Hell.

1. Sleep. Oh sweet, sweet sleep. I think I forgot that word was in my vocabulary when I had babies.

2. Little purses. No more 50 lb diaper bags packed with 400 of your baby’s things and the tiniest wallet you can find crammed into the little front zipper.

3. Clean shirts. Good bye booger, throw up and drool stains!

4. Cute bras. No more nursing bras. Dear God! Could someone please make a cute nursing bra?

5. No more leaky boobs. You can now sit in the same room with another baby without checking to make sure your nursing pads haven’t shifted positions notifying everyone that you are the milk machine.

6. No more carrying enormous car seats everywhere. It was a fabulous day in my house when I sold my last child’s baby car seat. Why did I feel the need to leave her in the seat, carry it a mile through the parking lot, into the store or doctor’s office, only to lift her out and carry her on my hip and then the seat in my other hand? Why? I did though…every…single…time…

7. You can have sex again…like maybe even longer than 5 minutes. I don’t know about you, but every little sound on that baby monitor when my husband and I were…you know…. Instantly killed my mood. Oh, and the leaky boob thing didn’t help either.

8. Hot showers. You may now actually wait for the shower to heat up and stay in it long enough to get ALL of the soap out of your hair.

9. You get your living room back. Say good bye to the giant swing, exersaucer, play pen, floor play mats and bouncy seat that now dominate your living space.

10. If you’re lucky…very lucky, you may even get your sanity back. Months and months of crying, pooping, spitting up, not leaving the house and children’s music will take a toll on ones psyche. This is not a guarantee however. I am still looking for mine.

By the way…I guess I should mention that none of these actually apply to me except for the bras and the non leaky boobs because I still have Oli. The baby equipment in my house has now just been replaced with therapy equipment. That may be why I am continuing to search for my sanity;) But the bright side is I no longer have to tote a baby along for the ride!

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Logan is challenged but not limited, and he is living his life like a boss. I am just lucky enough to be along for the ride.

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