September 29, 2010

Blech. Blech. Blech

Sooooooooo I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow - ladies you know the one (sigh).   It is with a new doctor who a couple of friends have recommended and insisted I go as I have not been in (blah blah) number of years.  I haven't canceled at this point so my guess is I will actually put on big girl panties and keep the appointment.
Blech. Blech. Blech.  Oh So So So Very........ Blech.

I had a lovely OB/GYN doctor - her name was [say with your best french accent] Marie Lemmonier.  I LOVED her.  I chose her because she was next door to where I lived - le convenient.  Dr. Marie was right from France and, bless her heart, I could not understand a damn thing she said.   She was always so happy.  We had a blissful relationship.  It was so beautiful. She would talk all le frenchy french pretty words and I would nod and smile.   She never looked worried or concerned.  I loved her even when after 26 hours of labor she told she was going to eat dinner and I had been sucking on ice chips for the better part of a day.   I still loved her even when she came back from her lovely french dinner and I ended up with a c-section. I kept loving her when I shivered from head to toe for hours after the delivery.  She did excellent work - love in every stitch - nurses, doctors, interns, the janitors all came in to admire her work.  People gushed I was such a lucky lucky girl to have her!!  J-Toad was born at 10PM and I was up and about at 7AM with not so much as a tylenol.  
I Heart Her Still.

Then hubby and I moved while I was pregnant with Z-Toad.  Not technically that far but still more than 2 hours.   Everyone said I needed a local doctor.  I was aghast and did not want to change from my french filly midstream.  But somewhere in between working, taking care of J-Toad, and trying to get to the appointments without stopping to pee,  I caved and decided to find a local doctor.

I took advice from my friends - whom I have since divored - and booked an appt. with Dr. Tom Selleck.   Okay - no not really but if you cloned Tom and gave him a medical degree - viola, meet my new doctor.    On a appointment to see the baby via ultrasound I took my mom and frankly I don't think she ever looked at the monitor - she melted herself into a puddle when he walked in.   Well Dr. Selleck also KNEW he was hotstuff.  The nurses at the hospital would ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh at his very presence and Selleckness.    I cursed my friends,  Dr. Psycho Selleck was not nice unless he had an audience.   I had to fight with him to schedule a c-section cause HE decided I should try and go normal (it is the patients decision in MA if the first one was a c-section).   Then another fight as to the date to schedule the C.   He wanted to deliver on my FIL's birthday and there was NO friggin way that was gonna happen if I had to crazy glue my legs shut.   Then I told him I wanted to be stitched closed not stapled.  To which Dr. Selleck Douche Bag asked "Why - Are you gonna tell me you wear a bikini"?   HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.   Really?  You met me at 7.5 months pregnant?!?!?  
What. an. ass.    THE mother of the mother of all asses.

By the time I was ready to deliver Z-Toad I was completely done with this man. During Z-Toad's delivery he LOST something (a sponge I think) and they had to reopen part of me and dig around to find it.  It was the nurse who insisted they look.  Dr. Douchebag said they must have had the wrong count to begin with. He did a horrible job.   When the nurses would come in there were remarks.  "Yeah he is good looking but he wouldn't deliver anything of mine."   "He is hot but I wouldn't let him deliver puppies." Oh fucking wonderful.  The recovery was long and painful.   I HATED him.   I wanted a voodoo doll of him so I could shove a Ken barbie up his arrogant ass.  Horizontal.  With the arms stretched over his head.

Oh. My French Doctor of All That Is Good (and french) How. I. Missed. Thee.

So tomorrow I go to a new doctor.  I am assured he is the opposite of Dr. Douche.   Although he is in Dr. Douche's building - on the same floor.  Do you think that is a bad sign?   He is on the opposite side of the elevators.   I am going to bring my I-Pod, listen to Les Miserables and pretend that my new little jewish doctor is my pretty French Dr. Marie.


September 27, 2010

Religion and Profit

I happened into a conversation with the principal of my children's school.   They attend a private catholic school in I guess what you would call a smaller inner city.   There are only about 400 -450 students which makes for about 200-225 families-ish.

The school is not overly expensive - we pay under $800 per month for both of them to attend.  For the most part I love the school.   We did not choose it for the religious aspects as we as a family rarely (okay never) go to any organized church.   It is more because the faculty really seem to care about the students and I liked their approach to teaching/reading.  Also very small class sizes.  I do think it is important that the kids have a religious background.  I as a child went to CCD but my parents never went to church so neither did us kids.  My hubby's family was a "church" family but 1) He got kicked out because he baked pot into some brownies for a fund raising event and 2) Hubby's dad was cheating on the mom with a member of the church choir.  Okay - so much for being all pious.

I was at the school this summer with Z-Toad who I felt would benefit from having some extra reading / grammar /phonics over the summer.   During some of these visits the principal would come sit with me to chat while I waited for him.   Up until that point I was quit sure she had no use for me.   You know the type of person that one day says "Hi" to you but the next time you see them you could be buck naked covered in honey and they would walk past with not so much as a nod?   That is her.   I like her - she is everything a principal should be - and when I am around her I feel like I am back in school again myself.   Smile and nod is my motto.  Sometimes my mouth totally ignores my brain yelling at it to stop.  Safer to just smile.

During one particular conversation we were talking about the economy.  She said that the school was actually not full for the coming year and they were still "woo'ing" outside students.  That conversation turned to the tuition, how it was pretty reasonable, and that over 50% of the students get some sort of financial aid.   Hmph - really?   The financial aid form is riddled with "place of worship" questions so I am guessing money would not be tossed in our direction.

THEN she says how last year there were at least 40 - FORTY!! - families that came to her and couldn't pay their tuition cause of lost jobs/income.   Now I thought - god, that is awful - I would hate to be in that position.  So I make what I thought was a safe comment, "That would be terrible to have to pull your kids out of their school."

She says "Oh, I don't tell them to leave."   I really really really had to bite my lips, tongue, AND cheeks to keep from saying..... "SAY WHAT???"      I know it is sad - really, really, REALLY I do get it.   So after some awkward silence she says "When I get to those pearly gates, I am not going to have to answer for kicking kids out."  Honestly  I said nothing - every business/entrepreneurial/conservative bone in my body was slowly shattering.  

First - Is that the WORSE thing she has to explain for when she dies?   Dear God - I am So. Very. Screwed.
Secondly - The school is still a business, right? There are costs involved.   Forty families I would think make up at least 20% of the school.  Yikes!!!  What number family is the tipping point?  I bet the teachers wouldn't stay if they didn't get a paycheck.     

Isn't it possible that god also understands a profit margin??


September 23, 2010

Don't Make Me Go All Mac-n-Cheese On You!

A few months ago Mr. Toad was making mac-n-cheese for dinner.  In this toadstool we take it up a notch and add hotdogs cut-up into it (god, it just makes me wanna barf just typing that).  We spare no expense in this house.  Hmmmm - ya think Mrs. Obama would be pleased with our food choices?   Yeah, the hell with her.  

Actually it was one of those nights in which there is a little bit of everything left over so everyone kind of does their own thing.   Z-Toad and I were actually finished eating.   Mr. Toad was making the m-n-c for himself and J-Toad.   Z-Toad was on the kitchen floor with some friggin truck or whatever.  Z-Toad has been told 1,353,204 times to NOT play in the kitchen.

Mr. Toad took the pot off the stove to drain it and because we have such a HUGE Martha Stewart type kitchen - on the long walk between the stove and the sink (um I think 2') - he and Zach bumped into each other. The water did some sloshing around came up out the pot and landed on Z-Toad.   He was actually very lucky that Mr. Toad managed to keep the whole pot from not falling on him!   It was pretty serious.  

Worth Noting: In the following days, the MIL's first question was "Why were you making dinner, honey?   Didn't you just get home from work?"  Hmph.   I was tempted to say "Before I chain Mr. Toad up for the night he has to make dinner for everyone!  You don't expect me to get up off the couch and put my bon-bon's down, do you?".    Oh dear readers she is SO her own post(s)! 

Z-toad screamed so loud and was writhing on the floor "Get it off!  Get it off".  I grabbed him - got him into the bathroom and stripped his clothes off.   Not pretty - his skin on his lower back had literally melted away - blood - everywhere.  I am the calm one in a crisis.  You want me around when something happens.  Mr. Toad - not so much - he wanted to bring in a helicopter and have him airlifted to the hospital.

Mr. Toad sent J-Toad into the bathroom with ice.    By now Z-Toad has stopped crying.  There was a momentary "discussion" about the ice as I did not think it should go on a burn.  The ice ended up all over the room in the heat (no pun intended) of the moment.  Ended up getting towels - soaking them with water and putting them on his body.   Called the doctor.  Called mom to tell her to expect J-toad.

Now Mr. Toad is apologizing over and over and over and over again.  Z-Toad is actually calm.  He asked "Am I gonna die?" "Can you see my bones?"  Mr. Toad is still apologizing over and over and over and OVAH!   Z-Toad is getting all frustrated and says "Dad, enough, it was an accident, just let it go."   Meanwhile J-Toad just keeps pointing out that he had absolutely nothing to do with what happened.  Assured him that he was not in any trouble.  J-Toad had to leave the room - he does not do blood.   And we are off to the ER.

Do you know that a child with a burn gets you IMMEDIATELY into the ER?   The nurse could barely look at me to check us in.   Z-toad was really really calm so she thought "great here we go - what does he have a tummy ache?".   I whip up the back of his shirt - here look at this ms. bitchy -  hmph - holy hell that got her to jump out of her chair.  OH MY - Nurse, Nurse!   Poor Z-toad is like "what - what?"  A burn also gets you a ton of questions from the nurses/doctors!  Go figure.    Z-Toad ended up with 3rd degree burns on 8% of his body.  No plastic surgery needed (although that may change cause a little section did not heal entirely).

Z-Toad was AWESOME during this whole thing.  Not one tear.   They had him lying on a stretcher on his belly and the nurse came by with some drugs.  Z-Toad put his hand up and said "No thank you the pain isn't that bad."  LOL    But it looked horrid.    They loved him.   Goddess here was taking pics cause of the whole scrapbooking thing (Scrapbooking 101: Never let an event/crisis go to waste.  Exceptions: Death or what looks like it may result in death:  meaning subject is turning blue, foaming at the mouth, or if a limb is hanging on by a thread).   And you know what - taking pics of your child's injury gets you questioned even more!!!  Z-Toad just looked at them and said "She scrapbooks, duh!!!".  Very funny.  

Scrapbooking also allows you to record events in young tadpoles lives as you see them *wink wink*.  So when it does come time for therapy they will know which parent to blame.

All in I think we were there about 6 hours.  We waited in the little waiting area for Mr. Toad to bring the car around front to go home.  Z-toad was leafing through a magazine when he saw a m-n-c ad.  He shows me the page and starts cracking up.   He is an awesome little guy!

So now in our house - when one of the toads acts up I say
"Do you want me to have Daddy make mac-n-cheese"?

And just cause VK suggested I have pics with my posts:

Notice the hair - that is from me - thick, curly, looking like a bush.
Oh, and that is EXACTLY what my ass looks like (refer to previous post).   Except smaller.


September 19, 2010

Holy Scrap Shit!

It was suppose to be a stay at home day.  Quickie shower in the morning. Just me, the toads, and a bottle of Chlorox.   A fun-filled day for the goddess of cleaning bathrooms.
Until a customer called with a emergency request.  A scrapbooking emergency.  Oh Please.  So I promise her it will go out that day.   Now it is 3:45 and I have to get to the Post Office STAT.  Quick mental checklist.
Sweats.  {check}
T-Shirt - Achmed the Dead Terrorist "Silence I Keel You".{check}
Perfume - Ode du Chlorox {check}
Makeup - Nope.  {check}
Bra - Yes (thank god).  {check}
Hair - Well um, yes, hair but it is unruly bedhead and i have LOTS of thick curly hair.  Not your beautiful "cause I'm worth it" curly tresses kind of hair.  Curly - matted -OMG - "you know dreadlocks don't work on white girl" kind of hair. {check}
Toads - Argh!  Holy hell what is stuck on their faces?? {check and check}

We jump into the goddess minivan and are off to the Post Office with the emergency package.

I walk in and notice there is a line (shit, shit, shit).  Oh look, isn't that nice, someone is holding the door open for us.
"Hi Tracie"...... Oh. Dear. God.  Really?  Now?

Some pertinent background info:
Girl dates boy (let's call him Mr.Shithead - Mr. S) a long long long time ago.
Mr. S does not tell girl he is married right up front.  Bad, Bad Boy.
Girl thinks Mr.S is hot (if you like bald, cops, and motorcycles - um, yes, please).
Mr. S says he is getting divorce - still wants to date.
Keep your panties on!   I did. 
And SURPRISE Mr. S doesn't want to "date" anymore.
10 Months Later Mr. S is seeking the goddess again - divorce papers in hand.
Huh - Why not? girl thinks.
Dinner is um, cheap.  Girl is SO not impressed.
Mr. Now Divorced Shithead takes girl back to his place.
Yeah - girl is not feeling it anymore.  Mr. NDS - Surpise! - is clueless.
Mr. NDS is getting his grove on (not kidding - music - mood lighting (I think he dimmed the lights or maybe flicked his bic a few times)).
Mr. NDS is gettin' busy.   All impressed with his bad self.   Girl not so much.
Girl starts laughing.  Full-out laughter.   Tears streaming down face laughter.
Mr. NDS is amused........ at first.
Girl can't stop laughing.   Ladies, did you know that ruins the mood?? 
Girl goes home.
Hmph - He never called for a second date!  Pssssssshay!

Fast forward to today.  Mr. NDS is 15 years older and is now Mr. Married Yet Again (Mr. MYA). 
The goddess is still hot of course (EXCEPT for this ONE day at the Post Office) with the 2 toads.  He is on wife number 13 or so.  Big flippin' surprise, huh?   Now I realize I need to walk past him to get to my counter.  It is then that my brain starts laughing at me. Full-out snort my drink out my nose mind laughter.

My sweats say "Holy Scrap" on the ass.   And NOT in little letters all cute in cursive writing right under your right butt cheek.   Nope - this is kick ass thick block letters across my booty - flippin' NEON WHITE letters (so in case of a black out I can lead the way - just follow my ass) on black yoga pants.   "HOLY" on my left butt and "SCRAP" on my right.   Just awesome.  I am the epitome of chic.  Yes.  Yes I am.

He may have the last laugh but I bet his little weinie forever remembers me laughing at  it him.


-ps- As an FYI: "Holy Scrap" pants are also not appreciated at a catholic elementary school.

September 15, 2010

The Road from Sane Casual Stalker to Batshit Crazy

Everyone has a bit of stalker in them.   You meet someone - get curious about what they do when you are not around - or what the hell they are doing instead of calling you - cause it has been like 2 whole days since your last date. 
You drive by their work - house - school.  A couple of times - 10 times maximum - in an hour.
In a borrowed car with a hat, wig, and sunglasses.
You  Park.  You Wait.   You Watch.  You have Binoculars.   Ahem. 
Well at least that is how I think a stalker would behave.  Of course, having only been the stalkee I am merely hypothesizing.

So how do you know when you have crossed that line?  You know the one that takes you into batshit crazy - white coats - police & handcuffs territory?   A recent news story tickled me.

A woman died (yes it is tragic - no peeps I am not making fun - just using this as a valuable lesson) cause she got stuck in the chimney of the man she was stalking in love with.   She was some sort of heart doctor.  A DOCTOR people!!!!   Way to go for the feminist movement.   Imagine the parents proudly bragging to their friends "my daughter is a doctor" only to have to eulogize her because she got her ass STUCK in a chimney for some prick.  Holy hell.  One step forward - ten steps back.  She couldn't just buy a friggin' pint of Ben & Jerry's like any other female, key his car, or casually inform new girlfriends that the itch will eventually go away?  

Her body was found in the chimney 2 days after she went missing.   The babysitter noticed a strange liquid dripping and a foul smell coming from the chimney. How many of you would have checked that shit out?    I can tell you that I am a HUGE ASS chicken shit.  I would have called 911, the fire department, my mommy, and got the hell OUT!  I still look under my bed at night before I get in it - no way this chick would have been anywhere near a leaky foul smelling chimney.

The male newscaster pointed out she was crazy - ya think Einstein?  But I think he missed the point.  He chuckle-chuckle-snorted through the story - just another crazy woman after her man.  But, dear readers, that is NOT why Dr. Heart Chickadee was batshit crazy.   Perhaps, a tad over-persistent.  Of course we do not know what the prick boyfriend did to drive her nuts.  We should not judge.

How do I know she was crazy?   What women on this planet - I don't care what size her clothes - thinks she is small enough to fit down a friggin' chimney flu??  Once you climbed up onto the roof and looked down the narrow dark insect filled hole would reality not bitch-slap you?  Or would you look down and think should I go head or feet first?

BTW - she went down feet first.  

What is the craziest thing you have done??


September 12, 2010

Who Got the Life Lesson?

You've all seen the movie Shallow Hal, right?   Jack Black (who I adore) gets brainwashed by Tony Robbins (freakishly tall with equally large hands.... I wonder if that old saying is true..... Big hands......... Big shoes, right ;)~

So Robbins makes Jack Black see a woman based on her inner beauty.   He falls for Gweneth Paltrow's character.  Black sees Paltrow - the rest of the world sees the chunky chub express (Paltrow in a fat suit).  Black's best friend reverses the spell so he can see the ALL of her.  Black realizes he was happy even with {{GASP}} the fat girl and wins her back.   Everyone's happy.  

Z-Toad (6 years old) was watching the movie and wanted it explained.  I thought this would be a great lesson for him.  Don't judge a book by its cover.  Just because a girl is pretty doesn't mean she is nice (actually she is probably a bitch).   You should look to see what is inside a person - inner beauty - blah blah blah.   I thought I did a pretty good job of it.  And that is where I should have stopped.   But did I?   Of course I didn't I am female so we can NOT let it go.   So what was his life lesson became mine.

Me: "So Z-Toad do you understand".  

Queue thoughtful moment on his adorable face (my kids totally rock the cuteness factor)........

Z-Toad:  "So Daddy married you because you have a big heart and you are nice."   I believe if this had been uttered by my husband it would have been grounds for divorce and I may have allowed him to still breathe....... with a ventilator...... with the plug just outta reach......crawl for it babe!      

Me: "So .... {child who never wishes to receive another present }...... what does that mean?"   I say while trying not to let the little self-esteem I have left shrink like a penis exposed to frigid waters.

Z-Toad: "Mom you are gorgeous." 

Quick Recovery!   Way to Rebound!   Santa's elves get ready to dump a truckload here!
I am ready to high-five my little shit precious child.

And then in true 6 year old fashion (or is it because he is male?)..... he feels the need to repeat his comment but now with a disclaimer.

Z-Toad: "Mom your face is gorgeous."

Elves - you've officially been laid off for Christmas 2010.