Southern Wannabe

Ramble

I was just updating the Target shopping list I keep in my iphone. Denny has some "issues" and partakes of an occasional suppository. He is all out. So I add "suppositories" to the shopping list. Then I worry about my phone being stolen and pilfered through. The phone thief/pilferer would laugh at me and think I need suppositories. I am pre-embarrassed. So I edit the list to read "Suppositories for baby". I think even phone thieves would feel badly laughing at a constipated baby.

This is a test run of posting from my phone.

Random Act of Lazy

When I am finished with most books, I will either:

a) give it to a friend (books I liked but don't love)

or

b) keep it on my bookshelf, lending it out if asked (books I loved)

For some books though there is a different method that I refer to as Category C Book Disposal. A Category C Book Disposal for very special books:

a) books that are embarrassing to admit to reading (romance novels, exceedingly cheesy chick lit books, books about hobbies I decided I was too stupid to attempt after all, etc)

b) books that were so crappy that I  cannot find a single friend to rehome them with

I used to throw these books in the trash but I felt guilty about that. So then I would toss them in my goodwill donation bags but I worried that they weren't really finding their true calling there either. So I came up with Category C Book Disposal wherein I drop them into the book return box at the public library. Feels sort of like releasing the books back into the wild. I hope that they frolic amongst the other books and find companionship with other readers.

Recently though I worry about Category C Book Disposal. I mean the box says its for "returns" not "donations".  I wonder if the library can take and use these books. I worry that maybe there is some ridiculous red tape situation where they have to toss them out because I am not going through proper donation channels. I would ask the library but I am afraid that they will respond,"Finally we meet the idiot who stuffs all those random/crappy books in the book return" and then I will feel awkward. I really don't want to deal with library awkwardness.

Not Funny

A few weeks ago I was cruising down the road in my minivan. I had just been at Trader Joe's and had bought a box of JoJos (not the peppermint kind, just the regular kind). The sun was shining, my mom had the kids and I was eating JoJos straight from the box because it was December and there are no diets in December. There was another car driving right beside me. I kind of hate that. Either be a bit ahead of me or a bit behind me. Right beside me is creepy and invasive, especially when I am wearing an embarrassing amount of JoJo dust on my shirt. So I was already a little riled up when we rounded a bend in the road and was startled to discover a kid standing in my lane.

Not walking. Standing. Just standing there. In the middle of a busy road.

The other driver and I both slammed on our brakes. The kid mosied slowly over to the sidewalk where another kid was sitting there. Just sitting there. We continued driving. I looked in my rearview in time to see the kid walk back out into the street and stand in the lane again.

These kids were up to no good.

I made the next available U-turn and watched him dodge another car. Oh I see. Funny guy playing a funny game.

I made another U-turn and drove back towards the kids. This time I stopped the car and got out.

Me: What are you guys doing?

Kid: Nothing. *mumble,mumble* *dirty look* *bad attitude*

Me: Huh. Well does your mother know you are standing in the middle of a busy street for no good reason?

Kid:*More mumbling, more attitude* She lets me go where I want.

Me: *whipping out cell phone* Well should we call her and ask specifically if standing in the middle of a busy road is okay? Because I just can't see that.

Kid: I can be where I want. Its not illegal.

Me: No, no I think it might actually be illegal. I think it might be jaywalking. But hey, we can call a cop and ask about that for sure?

Kid: I don't care. *acting all tough for being maybe 10 or 11 years old*

Me: *thought the cop comment would have scared them off and let me get back to the JoJos, damn it* All righty, we'll call the cops then. Just to be sure.

And so I do call the cops. To my astonishment the kids stayed right where they were the whole time. Brave little hoodlums. Cop must have been nearby because he showed up in minutes. I gave him my name, number and a quick recap. Then I told him I had frozen food in the van so I had to be going. My duty here was done. There will be no pre-teen fun on my watch.

Baby Girl

Four years ago today

 

 
  

  

The Best Day of My Life

Today my original baby turns FOUR YEARS OLD! She's four! Which is one year closer to five, which is when she says she can start: saying "shit", driving the car and drinking beer. That oughta be one hell of a birthday....

In tribute to the person who changed my name to "MOMMMMMMMY, come wipe my butt!", here is the I post I wrote shortly after her birth, describing her birth day.

Friday, January 6, 2006 - Throughout my pregnancy I had a low lying placenta. So on Friday I went for a final check of its placement. At this time it is declared that the placenta is too low and a c-section is in order. We schedule the procedure for Monday, January 9th. I feel a personal, anal-retentive triumph in having scheduled the birth. Take that, bebe! I toddle on home and make a list of all the things I will accomplish with my "Last Childfree Weekend". I am in To Do List heaven.

 

Saturday, January 7, 2006 

4:30am - I awake to the disturbing realization that I am wetting the bed. I lay there and bemoan the state of my pregnant body and its newly developed incontinence. I really thought I had managed to escape this particular pitfall of pregnancy.

 

4:32am - Hmmm, am still wetting the bed. Odd, I do not recall having THAT much to drink before bed. I get up and skeedaddle to the bathroom.

 

4:34am - Walking back to bed, I wet my pants AGAIN.

 

4:35am - *slaps self on forehead* Wait a minute! I am not losing control of my bladder! My water has broken!!!! I announce this to Jeff. He springs awake from a deep sleep. I am impressed. He asks me if I know who to call and/or what to do. I do  not have the number handy. I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist and hobble off to the internet to look up the doctor's number.

 

4:40am - I say to the doctor on call,"My water just broke but my c-section is scheduled for Monday". She gently informs me that, despite my schedule, the baby will need to be born today. Take that, mama! I take a minute to grieve the To Do List I had prepared for today. I ask if I can take a shower before we go to the hospital, as my hair is greasy. She allows me this accomodation and I hang up.

 

5:30am - I have showered, blow dried, applied make up and packed a hospital bag in record time. Jeff has made himself a cup of tea. We are ready to have a baby. We hop into the car and head off. Being civic minded, we find time to drop by the library on the way to the hospital to drop off a book that was due.

 

6:00am - We arrive to find a passel of nurses behind the check in desk. I again announce that my water has broken but that my c-section is Monday. I am again told the baby will be born today. The To Do List can't get any respect. Bebe has won. I make a note on my Memo to Santa.

 

6:30am - We are shown to our "Birthing Suite". Its lovely, complete with whirlpool tub and a delightful little patio. I am issued a flattering hospital gown, some monitors are strapped to the belly and the paperwork parade begins.

 

7:00am - The IV Incident.

 

I am becoming nervous about the pending surgery and the needles that I will become acquainted with before that can even begin. The nurse is getting ready to start IV. Because I am a total glutton for punishment I ask,"So does the IV hurt?" and she responds with a pitying expression and,"Yeah its pretty uncomfortable" *Blink,blink* Whatever happened to,"This won't hurt a bit" ?!?!?!?

 

Her foreshadowing of the pain coming my way sends me straight into panic mode. Ironically enough when I panic my veins apparently go and hide out in Siberia somewhere. So now the nurse cannot find a vein and I cannot find my way back to calm. She calls another nurse. This nurse, she is a brave little soldier. She will not be deterred by my veins' disappearance. She marches forward and begins to DIG for a vein. It felt as though she was driving nails straight into my bones.

 

(I should stop now and say that this IV thing was the only real discomfort I experienced in my entire child birth experience and for that I count myself lucky. Its just that it was truly horrifying pain, at least for me and I have to talk about it because its all I have. I have no 24 hours of labor or gruesome contractions or pushing the baby out stories. All I have is a gnarly IV story and I will milk it for all its worth.)

 

Its at this point that I start to sweat and the room starts to spin. Jeff and the nurses are talking to me, I can tell by their faces, but I cannot hear them at all. I fizzle out for a minute. They open a window and throw some cold, wet towels on my head. My hearing comes back and a sense embarrassment hits instantly. I passed out. From the IV. Women all up and down the corridor are sweating through labor and delivery and I passed out. FROM THE IV. I am awarded the "Sissy of the Day" title.

 

I get a little misty-eyed over the fact that I still have to face the spinal block needle in the operating room. I ask the nurse if that is better or worse than the IV (Why do I gamble with my emotional health by asking these questions!?!?) She repeatedly assures me that the IV is way worse and that I will be fine. She tells me this is the happiest day of my life. I decide thats real easy for her to say, from her non-IV stabbed side of the situation.

 

8:15am - The nurses wheel me to the operating room while Jeff dons scrubs. I have to endure the spinal on my own. He can come in once I am numb. The surgical assistant introduces herself as I climb onto the table and my gown falls open in the back. Nervousness has taken over my ability to behave normally so I say,"Hi Rosie, I'm Katie and that is my butt". She responds,"Hello Butt, nice to meet you" I decide I like Rosie a lot. So much so that I can face the spinal if she will hug me while the doctor stabs me. And lo and behold, the spinal was NOTHING. Little pin prick of pain and voila! Relief came over me in the form of a sudden need to talk a million miles a minute. The surgical staff dutifully listens to me ramble on and on while my legs go numb.

 

8:30am-8:40am (I am not exactly sure, I forgot to bring the palm pilot into the OR with me for note taking) - Jeff enters the operating room and the surgery begins. I have made him promise not to watch the surgery. I look up and he is watching the surgery. I smack at him with my free arm (the nurse has a pretty strong grip on the other one for reasons I am unaware of) and tell him to stop looking. He says, with his eyes firmly looking over the curtain at the surgical field,"I am not watching.." We play this game for the next 10-20 minutes, until...

 

8:56am - Anna is born! They hold her over the curtain so I can see her. There are tears from the whole family. Then she is whisked away for whatever it is they do with her, maybe a pedicure or something. Jeff wanders off to take pictures.

 

The rest of our stay passed in a drug induced and baby-love coated haze. All in all, a lovely weekend getaway, I highly reccommend it.

 

 

*Based on a true story, some details may be enhanced for comedic effect. (Don't get all Oprah to my James Frey and ask for back up on every single statement. Much of this occured during early morning hours and/or under the influence of narcotics. I am recounting my memory/interpretation of the events)

Baby Bird

This is Denny's newest most frequent expression.

If a utensil gets within 2 feet of his face he goes for it.

 

Wreckage

Christmas trees are always a little sad on New Year's day. Yesterday they were a sparkly and romantic symbol of a festive season. Today they are sad, giftless, droopy and just taking up valuable living room space. Tree, you have served us well but today you get your walking papers.

Wait a second, it appears last night's party guests took it upon themselves to leave their mark (and most of the wine bottles) on my tree.

Actually a few marks.

Why its tree graffiti in the form of all the holiday decor from the mantle relocated into the tree. All the more convenient for packing up the holiday decor later today I suppose. (They also relocated half the contents of the garage into Jeff's car. So special, my party guests.)

 Oh and the last two cold Diet Cokes. I had gone straight from my bed to the fridge and was upset to find it devoid of Diet Coke. I was quite pleased to find one in the tree actually.

I shouldn't be surprised by my mischevious party guests, I just figured we were more mature than the children.

 

Not pictured is the pile of poop Brody left on the hearth. Just like a dog to take mischief a touch too far.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Oh and Party Guest Ringleader, I know where you live!

 

Stand Off

I hate it when the candy bar gets stuck and does not fall out of the vending machine.

I feel like its the vending machine gently suggesting that I do not need the Twix bar.

Then I feel like telling the vending machine that when I want its opinion I will ask for it.

Alas the vending machine knows I will not kick, shake or otherise molester it in order to get the stuck candy. I will not make a public scene over the candy. The vending machine knows it has me where it wants me.

So then I kick it when nobody is looking.

Self Inflicted

Today, as I was leaving the gas station, I nearly dislocated my left arm. This is not the first time I have narrowly escaped this exact near calamity. I would estimate I do this about twice a month. I know how we all love a good National Lampoon's Day in Katie's Life story so let's call this one your Christmas present. Its long and it sorta meanders but the back story is neccessary so be patient.

Once upon a time I had a little compact car. I bought it brand new all by myself when I was 20. I, as I am wont to do, completely ignored all suggested maintenance on it. Hello? Spend money on car maintenance? I had bar tabs to pay, ya'll! So this little car had maybe 3 oil changes in the 6 years I drove it. It got new tires and brakes a couple of times because I tend to go through those things at an alarming rate. A-larming, I tell you.

The week of our (Mine and Jeff's, not mine and the compact car's) wedding, the air conditioning stopped working (the compact car's, not Jeff's. Jeff didn't even have air conditioning. I can't believe I married that...). The death of the air conditioning was timed perfectly with a scorching heat wave. I hate to be hot. Hate. Hate. Hate. So here I am running around town doing last minute wedding errands and the air conditioning is no longer. I called Jeff in a sputtering rage and told him I was going to buy a new car that night. Jeff panicked because the compact car was paid off. A paid off car is a FREE car and tossing away a FREE car (even a scorching hot one) was insanity. He offered to trade cars with me immediately. I agreed. Jeff's car was the same age as the compact car but it had been spoiled rotten with regularly scheduled maintenance and oil changes, etc.

As an amusing side note, Jeff took both cars in for check ups shortly after our trade. The neglected compact car? It needed an oil change (and brakes and tires but we saw that coming, didn't we?). I believe the total was around $300. The spoiled rotten, perfectly maintained SUV? It needed $1500 worth of hullabaloo. You see, you give a car an inch and it will take a mile. Spare the rod, spoil the import. Just sayin.

Okay so we switched cars and all was well. Until the gas gauge on the SUV stopped working entirely. The gauge read at empty all the time and the gas light stayed on. I ran out of gas twice before I figured out that I would need to use the "Trip Odometer" to track my fuel usage. And that is what I continued to do for the rest of my relationship with the SUV.

Last year we bought a minivan to complete my suburban mom ensemble. Jeff got his SUV back (anyone else seeing the theme wherein Jeff never gets his own new car? That's because he is extra special that way. Smooches, honey!) and promptly fixed the  gas gauge (Hey! What the....!?). The gas gauge in the van works just fine but old habits die hard so I continue to use the trip odometer to track fuel usage.

And here is where we allow the back story to fade out and we pick up the current story. Whew. You were getting concerned, weren't you? Like maybe we were never going to get back to my nearly broken arm. And your Christmas? Totally ruined as you sit bereft and lacking a story....Fear not!

So I filled up the gas tank and got back into the car. I turned the car on and started to make a hard right away from the gas pump. It is at this moment when I remember to reach through the steering wheel and reset the trip odometer.

Raise your hand if you already see where this is going? Clearly I don't because I have done this multiple times.

For the slow pokes in the audience, let me recap, my steering wheel is cranked to the right and my left arm is through the steering wheel pressing a button on the dash.

And then I press on the gas and let the steering wheel start to slide back out of the right turn and point the car into a forward direction. And my left arm? The one stuck through the steering wheel? It gets twisted and yanked hard and I scream and slam on the brakes and narrowly avoid dislocating my own arm in my own steering wheel all by myself. People stare. Anna freaks. I ponder how I can keep getting older and but never getting any wiser.

The End.