FAQ Friday
Where have you been the last 4 days?
Alright, so technically no one asked me this question but I'm sure some of you are wondering so I'll give you all the gory details. You've been warned, there is a lot of talk about urine in the paragraphs ahead.
Tuesday I just didn't feel like blogging. I had zero energy. I had about 4 different ideas floating around in my head and just couldn't settle on one long enough to get an opening sentence. Zilch. Despite wanting to just lay around all day I managed to get some pretty big things done in preparation for my trip to Montana this morning. Tires rotated, trip to Costco, laundry and some initial packing. I was done in though. By that afternoon I was looking at the calendar to see if I was supposed to be getting my period because only that typically makes me that tired.
I went our for a margarita with Kara that night. Despite being tired, I felt fine and had a delightful time. I was home by 10:00 and in bed by 11. I awoke at 1:00am with severe abdomen pain. I woke Jeff up and thus began our long night. By 2:00 my pain was worsening and we were starting to toss around the idea of going to the emergency room, which made me super nervous and gave me the 'rhea (oh that's just the beginning of TMI). By 2:30 we had decided I would drive myself to the hospital, he would call and wake his parents in 2 hours and meet me there. My pain was intensifying but I felt ok enough to drive and we wanted to let his parents sleep as long as we could sensing they may be in for a long day with our midgets.
Upon arriving at the ER the admitting nurse took me right back to a triage room; I was sweating, pale, wiggling and jiggling from the pain and shivering. Before even registering me they whisked me back for a urine sample. Really funny story involving urine coming your way...
I pee'd in the cup and with trembling hands screwed the lid on. I placed it in the thick, brown bag and washed my hands. I walked down the long corridor, turned the corner to head back in to the triage area when I felt a drip, drip on my toes through my sandals. Knowingly I looked at the bag...yes, the cup was leaking. By the matchless grace of God there was a random sink in this long hallway. I rushed the bag to the sink, removed the cup and screwed the lid on tight salvaging the little bit of urine left in the cup. Sighing, sweating and racked with pain I did what all mothers would do: I grabbed a hand full of paper towels and cleaned up the drops of urine the entire way back to the bathroom. Oh, I wish you could have seen it.
Back in the triage room, another nurse took blood, got my vitals and encouraged me to breathe through the pain like I learned in childbirth classes. Genius.
Within a few minutes the admitting nurse took me back to an ER room where I was quickly hooked up to an IV and the sweet stinging sensation of morphine was in my veins. Hooray. I sat back, closed my eyes and took a several deep breaths. Wait for it. Wait for it. Minutes passed but no relief. Little D, the amazing ER nurse, noticed the pain on my face and said she was going to give me another dose. Heat rushed to my neck and I felt like I was floating, I remember telling Little D I would make a terrible drug addict because I did not love that feeling. Wait for it. Wait for it. Several more minutes passed without any relief. Another dose. 3 doses of morphine baby! Are you kidding me? When the third only took the edge off she brought out the big guns of dolotin (and the only way I can remember that name is because it reminded me of gelatin). That was the drug that made me a satisfied customer and ready for a CT scan.
By 5:00 am Hot Jeff had found me and had gotten there in time to hear the ER doctor tell me the CT had spotted a 6mm kidney stone in my left kidney. 6mm is about the size of a large peppercorn and he informed me that his experience had shown them that is too big to pass and I would need to surgery to remove it. All nervousness that had risen in my chest immediately dissipated when he said I would be admitted. Admitted?? Best news all week. I gave high fives all around thinking of an overnight stay and break from cooking, cleaning and diapering. (Side note: cute ER doctor told me there is a 4mm kidney stone ticking in my right kidney. Urologist wouldn't remove it yesterday because he didn't want "to work on both engines at the same time". Kind of a bummer.)
By 9 am I was admitted to a room on the 5th floor with a surgery time of 2:15pm on the schedule. Around 1:30 they wheeled me back to the OR prep; Hot Jeff was able to wait with me right up until they gave me happy juice in my IV and wheeled me back to the actual operating room. It was a bright, pristine, cold room that I remember seeing for all of 60 seconds.
I woke up in the recovery room oriented and knowing what had happened so instead of the 2 hours of recovery time as they had told Hot Jeff to anticipate I was in my room within about 45 minutes. On the way to my room, lying in a bed, I saw another woman in a bed being wheeled towards me. She had a cat sitting on her shoulders! I told the guy transporting me, "That woman has a cat on her shoulders. I wish I would have brought my cat!" He responded, "Lady, you are on some good dope".
After getting the post-op pain manageable, kept dinner down and pee'd on my own my doctor told me the devastating news that he would be sending me home that night. I held in my tears and disappointment as I looked at the clock and knew my in-laws would have put my babies down and I would be able to go home and go straight to bed, well straight to bed after I updated my Facebook page.
Day one of of post-op has been up and down but mostly good which means I will be taking my pathetic kidneys to Montana as planned. Wahoo!
Have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend and I'll try to stay out of the hospital. Posts from Big Sky Country on Monday!
Showing posts with label Things I Don't Like. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things I Don't Like. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Thirty-Three aka As One Foot In the Grave and Another On a Banana Peel
I know that really isn't true and 33 is young, vibrant and only the first third of my life but today it feels a little old because I found a grey hair. Gasp.
Hot Jeff is nearly half grey-haired but he is 40. And a man. And men look distinguished, not old, with grey hair. He's also blond so you can't even tell unless the sun is shining on it.
Normally I wouldn't even know if I had a grey hair or not because Salon Sara colors it for me but it just so happens I've gone a little long since my last color and have some pretty substantial grow out. In addition, it was a nice weekend and I was driving around with the sun roof open. And here's the ironic thing, while driving with the sun roof open I was listening to MJ's Pretty Young Thing. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute to mentally picture me driving around, feeling all hot and sassy with the music blaring and the sun roof open and to pee your pants laughing.
Ok, stop laughing...here comes the Greek tragedy: stopped at a light I look in the rearview mirror. I see a flash. I tilt my head. Another flash. I lower my glasses and look closer. It couldn't be. I pluck it out and inspect it closer as the cars behind me start to honk vehemently. Yes, it was a grey hair.
I sulked in to my seat and instead of driving home as planned I drove to Walmart where I bought some wrinkle cream.
I have come to terms with this butt. No matter how much weight I lose or gain I will always have this enormous fanny. I have realized, grieved and accepted that I will never get to have sex with Brad Pitt. There have been books written on the things I have accepted about getting older but grey hair and wrinkles are not things I am willing to accept. Especially not at 33.
My Mama, who is lovely and has the most beautiful black hair has decided to stop coloring and let it go grey. This is a decision I firmly and vocally disagree with but whatever, she can do whatever she wants. I on the other hand intend on coloring my hair until I'm too old to be coloring my hair and people start talking about me behind my back. My only hope is that as it goes greyer and becomes less dark I can finally go blond like I've always wanted to be. And maybe I'll get a boob job too. 80 year olds with boob jobs are so hot.
I know that really isn't true and 33 is young, vibrant and only the first third of my life but today it feels a little old because I found a grey hair. Gasp.
Hot Jeff is nearly half grey-haired but he is 40. And a man. And men look distinguished, not old, with grey hair. He's also blond so you can't even tell unless the sun is shining on it.
Normally I wouldn't even know if I had a grey hair or not because Salon Sara colors it for me but it just so happens I've gone a little long since my last color and have some pretty substantial grow out. In addition, it was a nice weekend and I was driving around with the sun roof open. And here's the ironic thing, while driving with the sun roof open I was listening to MJ's Pretty Young Thing. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute to mentally picture me driving around, feeling all hot and sassy with the music blaring and the sun roof open and to pee your pants laughing.
Ok, stop laughing...here comes the Greek tragedy: stopped at a light I look in the rearview mirror. I see a flash. I tilt my head. Another flash. I lower my glasses and look closer. It couldn't be. I pluck it out and inspect it closer as the cars behind me start to honk vehemently. Yes, it was a grey hair.
I sulked in to my seat and instead of driving home as planned I drove to Walmart where I bought some wrinkle cream.
I have come to terms with this butt. No matter how much weight I lose or gain I will always have this enormous fanny. I have realized, grieved and accepted that I will never get to have sex with Brad Pitt. There have been books written on the things I have accepted about getting older but grey hair and wrinkles are not things I am willing to accept. Especially not at 33.
My Mama, who is lovely and has the most beautiful black hair has decided to stop coloring and let it go grey. This is a decision I firmly and vocally disagree with but whatever, she can do whatever she wants. I on the other hand intend on coloring my hair until I'm too old to be coloring my hair and people start talking about me behind my back. My only hope is that as it goes greyer and becomes less dark I can finally go blond like I've always wanted to be. And maybe I'll get a boob job too. 80 year olds with boob jobs are so hot.
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Mommy Dance
The kids and I were at OMSI the other day and I found myself doing an all too familiar dance. Most likely you've done this dance too.
187,000 children were playing in the sand area and I was sitting on a nearby bench watching Samuel and Emily building a little mound of sand together. They were happy clams until little Daisy came along... trying to get to her mom who was sitting next to me and talking to her friend, Daisy stepped on the sand mound, barely missing Samuel and Emily's fingers.
"Its ok", I said to Samuel and Emily's disappointed faces, "It was an accident and you can make another one". Daisy's mom looked at me and smiled before turning her attention back to her friend. Thus began the dance.
Daisy tromped back over the kids' sand mound, abruptly turned around, bend down and wiped the sand mound down to a flat pancake. Samuel and Emily looked at me with surprise on their faces and waited to see what I would say to Daisy. I looked at her mom and waited to see what she would say to Daisy.
Nothing. She said nothing. Then looked at me audaciously and smiled.
I cleared my throat, "Honey, please be gentle; the kids are trying to build something." My words were kind but also loud enough for her mother to hear.
Daisy, not new to this dance, picked up a sand toy and dropped it in the middle of where Samuel and Emily had resumed play, narrowly missing Emily's head.
I waited. 1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. 3 Mississippi. Nothing from Darling Daisy's mother.
Throat clear. "Hey sweetie, please play nice; your friends are playing right here". At last, Daisy's mother looks at her and says, "Did you hear the lady?" Daisy doesn't reply but walks over to the other side of the sand pit to torture some other happy kids. Daisy's mother turns back to her conversation.
Now my kids aren't perfect--I don't ever claim they are but come on Daisy's mom...GET A CLUE!! Maybe we wouldn't be in this awkward position of me parenting your child IF YOU WOULD DO IT.
Tell me about your experiences with "the dance"; I love to hear other stories of painful awkwardness and how you handled it!
The kids and I were at OMSI the other day and I found myself doing an all too familiar dance. Most likely you've done this dance too.
187,000 children were playing in the sand area and I was sitting on a nearby bench watching Samuel and Emily building a little mound of sand together. They were happy clams until little Daisy came along... trying to get to her mom who was sitting next to me and talking to her friend, Daisy stepped on the sand mound, barely missing Samuel and Emily's fingers.
"Its ok", I said to Samuel and Emily's disappointed faces, "It was an accident and you can make another one". Daisy's mom looked at me and smiled before turning her attention back to her friend. Thus began the dance.
Daisy tromped back over the kids' sand mound, abruptly turned around, bend down and wiped the sand mound down to a flat pancake. Samuel and Emily looked at me with surprise on their faces and waited to see what I would say to Daisy. I looked at her mom and waited to see what she would say to Daisy.
Nothing. She said nothing. Then looked at me audaciously and smiled.
I cleared my throat, "Honey, please be gentle; the kids are trying to build something." My words were kind but also loud enough for her mother to hear.
Daisy, not new to this dance, picked up a sand toy and dropped it in the middle of where Samuel and Emily had resumed play, narrowly missing Emily's head.
I waited. 1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. 3 Mississippi. Nothing from Darling Daisy's mother.
Throat clear. "Hey sweetie, please play nice; your friends are playing right here". At last, Daisy's mother looks at her and says, "Did you hear the lady?" Daisy doesn't reply but walks over to the other side of the sand pit to torture some other happy kids. Daisy's mother turns back to her conversation.
Now my kids aren't perfect--I don't ever claim they are but come on Daisy's mom...GET A CLUE!! Maybe we wouldn't be in this awkward position of me parenting your child IF YOU WOULD DO IT.
Tell me about your experiences with "the dance"; I love to hear other stories of painful awkwardness and how you handled it!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
For the Record...
For the record I like cats. I have a cat. I've had a cat all my life and I just love to snuggle with a sweet, purring kitty. We got Hailey the Wonder Cat before we had kids and I still like her better than Samuel or Emily.
For the record.
I'm not in to hurting animals. When I see something on the news or see something in the newspaper about animal abuse or neglect I can't even read/watch it because it haunts me; really messes with me.
I don't watch animal movies for fear something sad will happen to the main animal and I'll cry until the sobs rack my body and the people around me point and mock me (yes, this did happen to me in the 4th grade when Mrs. Lynch, in all her ridiculous wisdom, had us watch "Ol Yeller" as some sort of cruel and unusual reward). When I see a spider in my house I scoop it up and release it outside.
I'm a fan of God's creatures. For the record.
With all of that said I have a confession: I got online yesterday and researched ways to kill my neighbor's cat.
Gasp.
And in case you think you read that wrong I'll say it again. I got online yesterday and researched ways to kill my neighbor's cat.
The neighbor's cat's name is Jersey. It is black and white and thinks my yard is its veritable litter box. Jersey used to be an indoor cat and then its owners got a dog and so like many cats it has become an outdoor cat. When this first happened I really felt bad for it. I would see it sitting on the porch on cold, rainy nights and my heart just went out to it. But time progressed and Jersey seemed to get used to its new outdoor life (and now he kind of seems to like it) and now I hate Jersey and want it dead.
I'm pretty fond of my yard. Hot Jeff and I are yard people. We love green grass and pretty flowers and big, shady trees. We spend a lot of time and money on our yard and so when I'm out pulling weeds I get pretty freaking angry when I smell cat crap and have to shovel poop in to my weed bucket.
I'm pretty fond of the lovely fence my husband built around our backyard so that our kids could play outside in their playhouse and sandbox and backyard without having to worry about being hit by a car or kidnapped by a looney. I like sitting out on the patio and watching them fill dump trucks up with dirt and race them around the grass. I do not like hearing Samuel yell to me that he got cat poop on his hands while scooping dirt into a dump truck. I get pretty darn pissed off thinking about the diseases that are carried in that filthy cat's feces and potentially being passed to my children who are just innocently playing in their backyard.
My anger vacillates between the cat and the owners. I know the cat is just doing what cats do. We have barkdust and it likes pooping in it. Yep, I get it. It doesn't keep me from wanting to poison it.
But my neighbors...yeah, I may need to work it out during Shrink Tuesday because I have some real anger issues with them. If you're going to get a cat then take care of it. Seriously, what is the point of having a cat who never comes inside? I'm pretty sure you don't have some serious mouse problem that you need a cat to help you control. I'm pretty sure your home isn't finally free from the hideous rat infestation you used to battle because you have a cat. I'm pretty sure you had a cat that you really dug until you got a dog who you really dig more. And now because you are a terrible and irresponsible pet owner your neighbors have to suffer. Yeah, I think I got it.
So yesterday, after working in my yard for four hours and getting it all spiffed up and ready for Spring I was pretty fed up. Pretty much up-to-here with the amount of cat crap I had shoveled into a bucket. So I told Hot Jeff I was going in to the house to research ways to poison Jersey.
He thought I was joking.
I wasn't.
Turns out there are all sorts of ways to poison a cat. It also sounds like I am not the first neighbor to think of, attempt to or follow through with killing a neighbor's cat. In fact, some lady on yahooanswers.com has lost 3 cats to poison and is pretty certain her neighbor did it.
Here's what is keeping me from poisoning Jersey (and it isn't my conscience): it sounds like I could actually get in to some trouble for killing a cat. Like serious-criminal-charges-trouble. My bestie's husband Drew is an attorney but I'm not sure he could get me off for cat murder. Especially after they confiscated my computer and saw my google search "How Do I Poison My Neighbor's Cat" (I wanted very specific results). This blog post probably wouldn't help my defense too much either.
Today when I told my other neighbor/good friend Melissa I had researched ways to kill Jersey she looked at me like I had gone mad. She then suggested the most unreasonable thing I have ever heard of--talking to the owners; try telling them I was concerned about my kids' ingesting something horrible and seeing if we could find a solution. I'm assuming Melissa's "solution" has nothing to do with antifreeze so I told her to "suck it".
Hot Jeff and I are actually thinking of putting carpet tack strips on top of our fence, all the way around, so that it wouldpuncture and cause a nasty, fatal infection poke the cat and deter it from future pooping rendezvous with my barkdust. I like this idea. Hot Jeff isn't totally on board yet but I'm withholding sex until he gets on board. I've never tried this trick before but when I was researching how to murder cats I found this little gem and thought I would give it a try also.
So there you have it. I am paradoxically an animal lover who wants to murder my neighbor's cat. I am, however, NOT GOING TO KILL JERSEY or any other cat so just relax and put the phone down. And so help me, if even ONE of you sends me an email or writes a comment about spraying something in my yard that acts as a deterrent I will publicly mock you and may just come over and poison you.
For the record I like cats. I have a cat. I've had a cat all my life and I just love to snuggle with a sweet, purring kitty. We got Hailey the Wonder Cat before we had kids and I still like her better than Samuel or Emily.
For the record.
I'm not in to hurting animals. When I see something on the news or see something in the newspaper about animal abuse or neglect I can't even read/watch it because it haunts me; really messes with me.
I don't watch animal movies for fear something sad will happen to the main animal and I'll cry until the sobs rack my body and the people around me point and mock me (yes, this did happen to me in the 4th grade when Mrs. Lynch, in all her ridiculous wisdom, had us watch "Ol Yeller" as some sort of cruel and unusual reward). When I see a spider in my house I scoop it up and release it outside.
I'm a fan of God's creatures. For the record.
With all of that said I have a confession: I got online yesterday and researched ways to kill my neighbor's cat.
Gasp.
And in case you think you read that wrong I'll say it again. I got online yesterday and researched ways to kill my neighbor's cat.
The neighbor's cat's name is Jersey. It is black and white and thinks my yard is its veritable litter box. Jersey used to be an indoor cat and then its owners got a dog and so like many cats it has become an outdoor cat. When this first happened I really felt bad for it. I would see it sitting on the porch on cold, rainy nights and my heart just went out to it. But time progressed and Jersey seemed to get used to its new outdoor life (and now he kind of seems to like it) and now I hate Jersey and want it dead.
I'm pretty fond of my yard. Hot Jeff and I are yard people. We love green grass and pretty flowers and big, shady trees. We spend a lot of time and money on our yard and so when I'm out pulling weeds I get pretty freaking angry when I smell cat crap and have to shovel poop in to my weed bucket.
I'm pretty fond of the lovely fence my husband built around our backyard so that our kids could play outside in their playhouse and sandbox and backyard without having to worry about being hit by a car or kidnapped by a looney. I like sitting out on the patio and watching them fill dump trucks up with dirt and race them around the grass. I do not like hearing Samuel yell to me that he got cat poop on his hands while scooping dirt into a dump truck. I get pretty darn pissed off thinking about the diseases that are carried in that filthy cat's feces and potentially being passed to my children who are just innocently playing in their backyard.
My anger vacillates between the cat and the owners. I know the cat is just doing what cats do. We have barkdust and it likes pooping in it. Yep, I get it. It doesn't keep me from wanting to poison it.
But my neighbors...yeah, I may need to work it out during Shrink Tuesday because I have some real anger issues with them. If you're going to get a cat then take care of it. Seriously, what is the point of having a cat who never comes inside? I'm pretty sure you don't have some serious mouse problem that you need a cat to help you control. I'm pretty sure your home isn't finally free from the hideous rat infestation you used to battle because you have a cat. I'm pretty sure you had a cat that you really dug until you got a dog who you really dig more. And now because you are a terrible and irresponsible pet owner your neighbors have to suffer. Yeah, I think I got it.
So yesterday, after working in my yard for four hours and getting it all spiffed up and ready for Spring I was pretty fed up. Pretty much up-to-here with the amount of cat crap I had shoveled into a bucket. So I told Hot Jeff I was going in to the house to research ways to poison Jersey.
He thought I was joking.
I wasn't.
Turns out there are all sorts of ways to poison a cat. It also sounds like I am not the first neighbor to think of, attempt to or follow through with killing a neighbor's cat. In fact, some lady on yahooanswers.com has lost 3 cats to poison and is pretty certain her neighbor did it.
Here's what is keeping me from poisoning Jersey (and it isn't my conscience): it sounds like I could actually get in to some trouble for killing a cat. Like serious-criminal-charges-trouble. My bestie's husband Drew is an attorney but I'm not sure he could get me off for cat murder. Especially after they confiscated my computer and saw my google search "How Do I Poison My Neighbor's Cat" (I wanted very specific results). This blog post probably wouldn't help my defense too much either.
Today when I told my other neighbor/good friend Melissa I had researched ways to kill Jersey she looked at me like I had gone mad. She then suggested the most unreasonable thing I have ever heard of--talking to the owners; try telling them I was concerned about my kids' ingesting something horrible and seeing if we could find a solution. I'm assuming Melissa's "solution" has nothing to do with antifreeze so I told her to "suck it".
Hot Jeff and I are actually thinking of putting carpet tack strips on top of our fence, all the way around, so that it would
So there you have it. I am paradoxically an animal lover who wants to murder my neighbor's cat. I am, however, NOT GOING TO KILL JERSEY or any other cat so just relax and put the phone down. And so help me, if even ONE of you sends me an email or writes a comment about spraying something in my yard that acts as a deterrent I will publicly mock you and may just come over and poison you.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Big Girl Bed = 15 Cents Less on the Dollar?
Hot Jeff decided Baby Roo needed a big girl bed. And remember that "baby" in my world means 2 in February. Anyway, she hadn't been sleeping well and Jeff was all well-she-needs-a-big-girl-bed and I was all you-must-be-drunk-she's-not-even-two and then Bestie Kim was all he-must-be-drunk-she's-not-even-two and I was all I-know but Jeff won and Emily is sleeping like an angel in her big girl bed and I had to admit I was wrong (which is something I DON'T like). One night of big girl bed madness with her crying and trying to get out and then she's ok, I think I dig this and she's sleeping way better than her brother has ever dreamed of sleeping in his bed.
So we headed out to Toys R Us in the heart of Christmas season which was much like going to Les Schwab the night before freezing rain has been predicted. It was madness and Samuel was pointing to every Lightning McQueen and Buzz Lightyear thing he saw which was EVERY OTHER FRIGGIN' ITEM and screeching that he wanted Santa to bring it to him at this VERY MOMENT or he would DIE and my head was spinning and I just wanted to go home and hide... but a bed girl bed mission we were on.
And you do think in my moment of misery I could just find a sweet little bed? No. Every toddler bed for a girl is pink Disney princess. Every one of them. I hate Disney princesses. Why can't Disney come up with some princess alternative? I just don't understand why every female heroine is unhappy, unsatisfied, and unfulfilled until she lands a man. Why don't I buy Emily the princess bed AND a copy Breaking the Chains of Low Self-Esteem while I'm at it.
I know what you're going to say so go ahead and say it. I'm out of line and I've taken the princess thing too far but let me ask you this: how many "boys" movies end with the male hero being married? Um, let me help you out: ZERO. I've watched a lot of Toy Story, Cars and Peter Pan and the happy ending has nothing to do with kissing or happily ever after.
I LOVE marriage. And I think God designed many of us to be in union with another person, however, I think there is a real danger in teaching our daughters at such early ages (or ANY age) that their self-worth and happiness is wrapped up in finding a mate. I want Emily to grow up finding her value and significance in Jesus and I just don't think Cinderella and the Little Mermaid and all those other princess movies send a very good message to our daughters. Never mind the fact that all those movies end immediately after the "I do's" are said.
So with that said, I was pretty annoyed when the only alternative to a princess bed was a Tinkerbell bed. And while I'm annoyed with the body image issues I think Tinkerbell (along with the others) possibly present I'm a little better with her because she isn't all hell bent on finding a man but is instead a little feisty and the movie's theme is being true to one's self.
So there you have it: my rant on princesses. And someday when Emily comes trick or treating at your door dressed as Snow White you can pull this out of the archive, wave it in my face and tell me how I've gone all soft and that Helene Cixous is going to stop following my blog.
But maybe, just maybe, someday when Emily DOESN'T make only 84% of what her male counterpart makes she will call me up and thank me for never letting her sleep in a princess bed.
Hot Jeff decided Baby Roo needed a big girl bed. And remember that "baby" in my world means 2 in February. Anyway, she hadn't been sleeping well and Jeff was all well-she-needs-a-big-girl-bed and I was all you-must-be-drunk-she's-not-even-two and then Bestie Kim was all he-must-be-drunk-she's-not-even-two and I was all I-know but Jeff won and Emily is sleeping like an angel in her big girl bed and I had to admit I was wrong (which is something I DON'T like). One night of big girl bed madness with her crying and trying to get out and then she's ok, I think I dig this and she's sleeping way better than her brother has ever dreamed of sleeping in his bed.
So we headed out to Toys R Us in the heart of Christmas season which was much like going to Les Schwab the night before freezing rain has been predicted. It was madness and Samuel was pointing to every Lightning McQueen and Buzz Lightyear thing he saw which was EVERY OTHER FRIGGIN' ITEM and screeching that he wanted Santa to bring it to him at this VERY MOMENT or he would DIE and my head was spinning and I just wanted to go home and hide... but a bed girl bed mission we were on.
And you do think in my moment of misery I could just find a sweet little bed? No. Every toddler bed for a girl is pink Disney princess. Every one of them. I hate Disney princesses. Why can't Disney come up with some princess alternative? I just don't understand why every female heroine is unhappy, unsatisfied, and unfulfilled until she lands a man. Why don't I buy Emily the princess bed AND a copy Breaking the Chains of Low Self-Esteem while I'm at it.
I know what you're going to say so go ahead and say it. I'm out of line and I've taken the princess thing too far but let me ask you this: how many "boys" movies end with the male hero being married? Um, let me help you out: ZERO. I've watched a lot of Toy Story, Cars and Peter Pan and the happy ending has nothing to do with kissing or happily ever after.
I LOVE marriage. And I think God designed many of us to be in union with another person, however, I think there is a real danger in teaching our daughters at such early ages (or ANY age) that their self-worth and happiness is wrapped up in finding a mate. I want Emily to grow up finding her value and significance in Jesus and I just don't think Cinderella and the Little Mermaid and all those other princess movies send a very good message to our daughters. Never mind the fact that all those movies end immediately after the "I do's" are said.
So with that said, I was pretty annoyed when the only alternative to a princess bed was a Tinkerbell bed. And while I'm annoyed with the body image issues I think Tinkerbell (along with the others) possibly present I'm a little better with her because she isn't all hell bent on finding a man but is instead a little feisty and the movie's theme is being true to one's self.
So there you have it: my rant on princesses. And someday when Emily comes trick or treating at your door dressed as Snow White you can pull this out of the archive, wave it in my face and tell me how I've gone all soft and that Helene Cixous is going to stop following my blog.
But maybe, just maybe, someday when Emily DOESN'T make only 84% of what her male counterpart makes she will call me up and thank me for never letting her sleep in a princess bed.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Would You Like a Side of Mental Imagery With That?
So I am sick. Again. And last night I was in the Urgent Care because I am sick, again, and I knew this was turning into a sinus infection, again, and in the spirit of I don't want another ear infection, I went to the Urgent Care when Jeff got home from work.
And while I'm just talking about being sick let me tell you that my kids have eaten me alive today. Shown me no mercy. Kids 7 Mama 2. They get 7 points for the hours in which they came, saw, conquered and took no prisoners and I get 2 points for the 2 hours I sent them to their grandparents while I slept a wonderful Ny-Quil induced sleep.
Ok, back to Urgent Care. So I'm starting a new Label today called "Things I Don't Like". Here's is the first thing I don't like: sitting on an examination table and coughing so I hard I pee my pants. With the doctor in the room. Not just a little pee. But like wet my pants amount of pee. And it wasn't enough pee that he was calling for a catheter or anything but nevertheless I pee'd my pants at the Urgent Care. And if the sound of my cough, which is a cross between a freight train and a sick, barking dog, wasn't enough to prescribe something with codeine in it the fact that I just pee'd all over his examination table was.
So yes, peeing my pants at Urgent Care or anywhere is else is definitely something I DON'T LIKE.
So I am sick. Again. And last night I was in the Urgent Care because I am sick, again, and I knew this was turning into a sinus infection, again, and in the spirit of I don't want another ear infection, I went to the Urgent Care when Jeff got home from work.
And while I'm just talking about being sick let me tell you that my kids have eaten me alive today. Shown me no mercy. Kids 7 Mama 2. They get 7 points for the hours in which they came, saw, conquered and took no prisoners and I get 2 points for the 2 hours I sent them to their grandparents while I slept a wonderful Ny-Quil induced sleep.
Ok, back to Urgent Care. So I'm starting a new Label today called "Things I Don't Like". Here's is the first thing I don't like: sitting on an examination table and coughing so I hard I pee my pants. With the doctor in the room. Not just a little pee. But like wet my pants amount of pee. And it wasn't enough pee that he was calling for a catheter or anything but nevertheless I pee'd my pants at the Urgent Care. And if the sound of my cough, which is a cross between a freight train and a sick, barking dog, wasn't enough to prescribe something with codeine in it the fact that I just pee'd all over his examination table was.
So yes, peeing my pants at Urgent Care or anywhere is else is definitely something I DON'T LIKE.
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