Can't We Just Keep A Couple Impediments...For Laughs?

My friends China and V were lamenting with me the other day my decision to put DJ into speech classes. It's really ruining all our fun. D asked the other day if "cwap was a sweah wood" and could he say it. I almost told him yes just so I could hear him say cwap all the time. Sure, we have our classics that we'll always enjoy, like James Bombs, webbons for weapons, bideo games, churkboys for turquoise, and ED DAR 2 for R2 D2. But the problem is, we're not getting a lot of new stuff now that he's progressing in speech. We've had to resort to making things up that he'd say with his current speech problems...if he could swear. Like if he was suffering a little road rage, "That piece of cwap got a blinka? Fwickin' bastoad."

That may a touch more on the pathetic side if a 35 year old man talked that way though. I know no one would take him seriously, they'd be laughing their asses off. It's killing me, but I guess we'll stick with the speech therapy just to save some poor idiot being called a "cwap-ass potlicko", or "son of a whoah cocksucko".

I Guess It Could Be Worse, He Could've Washed Them Down With Beer

Let us reminisce a little longer, Readers. Two years ago, shortly after the whole house had recovered from the dreaded strep 1.0, my husband decided to take the kids sledding. He went with a few friends from the neighborhood, so some of you Readers will be able to relive this cherished memory with me. My husband, the good dad that he is, took darling 8 year old A, and little 5 year old D to the local sled hill. It was a good day for sledding so the sled hill was quite busy. There were kids of all ages, including some 10-12 year old boys. Some of them were taking their sleds and standing on them going down the hill. Clearly, they weren't gifted, but they are adolescent boys, it's to be expected. D and A had received new saucer sleds for Christmas, so that's what they brought to the hill. My husband thought that standing on the sleds looked like fun, and shoot, everyone else was doing it. So he took the new saucer sleds and proceeded down the sled hill....standing. Lo and behold...he fell....hard. Definitely not gifted, and he can't fall back on, "But I'm only a 10 year old boy, I'm required to try and crack my skull open no less than 2 times per year."

When they made it home, there was anguish, there was pain, and on my part, there was much laughter. In truth, I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. I asked if he noticed the difference in age 10 versus 33, if not, did he notice the difference in weight, 100 lbs versus 220 lbs. This was not funny to my husband. He was able to walk, albeit with a limp, but we figured he'd be fine in a few days.

So the next morning he woke up at 4:30am like usual and when he went to get out of bed....he fell. He tried to stand, he fell, he howled, he crawled back to the bed. His leg wouldn't bend, this was bad, really bad. We quickly determined he needed to call in to work since there was no way he would be able to drive (or even get out of bed), he needed crutches to get around, and finally, he needed to see a doctor. Our doctor was clearly the correct one to go to as she just had the exact same thing happen to her...only with skis, not standing on a frickin' saucer sled. I was pleased that her reaction to the sled was similar to mine, a snicker followed by asking him how old he is. Anyway, she knew exactly what to do for his ailing knee.

Now, you would think that this would've been more than enough crap from him. I mean it lasted for over a week and cost a great deal of money by the time the medical bills came due. But no, Readers, this was not to be the end of his bullshit. I had no idea I would have to continue to monitor him just so he didn't kill himself.

The doctor prescribed 2 prescriptions. Prescription strength Ibuprofen for the swelling and Tylenol 3 with Codeine for the pain if he needed it. She gave us instructions and sent us on our way. This is where things went terribly wrong. I underestimated my ability to scare the shit out of my husband with the whole overdose lecture 2 months previous. He clearly didn't learn a lesson from the night spent in the bathroom or from my lecture and he certainly didn't listen to the doctor. Later, at home, I see him opening his pill bottles and I question if he is in pain. No, he feels fine he says. Then I look at what he's doing. He's clearly lost his mind. He still believes that in order to heal, he has to take all the medicine. He's been taking his Ibuprofen and 2 Tylenol 3 pills every 4 hours. I just march up to him, grab the Tylenol bottle out of his hand, grab the pills out of his other hand, head right for the bathroom and flush the whole fu*king mess of them once and for all. I'm yelling at him down the stairs about him doing his damnedest to kill himself and I can't trust him for one second in the medicine cabinet, and no wonder he's slept the whole day away he's high on pain pills, and how long since he's taken his last bit of pills because I think he should stick his finger down his throat to throw them up, and how embarrassing it's going to be for me to have to call poison control about my 33 year old adult husband popping pills.

Readers, I don't think I have to tell you that I don't fill his prescriptions anymore. Last year he had some trouble with a pulled muscle near his heart....I told the doctor he could just rip up the prescription he wrote out for the Tylenol 3 because it wasn't getting filled for damn sure.

Sometimes The Apple Falls Really Far From The Tree

Meeting D's classmates parents always throws me for a loop. They always appear so nice and normal. Like people I'd hang out with even. Sometimes I find I have to hold my tongue, I don't think saying, "Oh, hi. So you're Gage's dad? Gage The Wood Chip Eater? Huh, and you're so normal.", would go over so well. I just want to state right here though, that that is what I'm thinking.

And Now I've Forgotten

I'm ticked. I was almost done with my next memory classic of Vader nearly overdosing and it didn't save properly and now it's lost. That was yesterday. Today, I'm still too upset to finish it and so I'm protesting. Okay, okay, in truth my mind is a complete blank now and I'm having a hard time remembering what I was trying to say. My memory is shit since having kids. Shit I tell you.

Delsym - The Root Of All Evil

Same story, different day. Still feeling like crap. My advice, do not try fighting off a cold, you just prolong it. It'll take it's time, and have it's way with you anyway. I decided to give up and lay on the couch for a few days with my book. I managed to finish the 1200 page tome. Because of this I really have nothing too interesting to write unless you want a detailed essay and critique of said book.

What I've decided to do is instead write a little anecdote about pre-35 Vader. Yes, I've gotten him sick too and it's making me remember the first time D brought strep throat home to share with his whole family. (Not a good month, thanks a lot preschool.) Vader thinks two things; first he believes that cough medicine actually cures the cough, doesn't just stop the symptoms, and also he believes that the dosage he takes should correspond to how crappy he feels, not what the bottle says. We use the Delsym in this house, I'm a strong believer in it. (Granted, it hasn't helped me with this cold, but normally it's very good. Vader is sure I'd be cured by now if I was taking it regularly.) So one day 2 years ago, while we're all suffering with the strep, Vader can't take it anymore, he goes to get some Delsym. I walk in as he's literally drinking cupfuls of it. I start yelling, waving my hands, yanking his medicine-taking arm, grabbing for the medicine, clawing his eyes out, anything to stop him. Vader gets pissed. He explains how he's very sick and he's a big man, he can't take any "kid" doses. I asked if he even looked at the dosage. Of course he didn't. He explains that last time he must've taken too small a dosage because he's still sick, so if he wants it to do some good, he's got to take a lot. I start yelling about overdoses, cough medicine not curing anything, stomach pumping, drug addiction, and how he's making me lose my sanity. Shortly thereafter we head for bed. Vader, however, didn't spend more than a couple hours in bed. Poor Vader, didn't read directions, or even god forbid listen to his wife, he got to sit up in the bathroom for most of the night with explosive diarrhea. Lesson learned you ask, indeed it wasn't. More on that another day, Readers.

Officially Allergic To Winter

I'm heading north for the weekend. It's an actual city-wide planned Winter-Fest that I'm going up there for. You know how much I love winter, it's my life's dream to celebrate in the form of a festival where we get to frolic for hours upon hours in the freezing cold. Actually, I think I'm going to plead mental disability and stay at home with my mom. I mean, let's be serious, there is going to be a lot of ice there, in the form of sculptures, sno-cones, skating and god knows what all. And I have clearly documented my phobia of ice. I can hardly be expected to make an appearance. I can already imagine the crunching of the ice underfoot and in little one's mouths, oh the horrors of it....on second thought it might just be best to stay away from the Fest altogether.

Cakes & Cookies & Pies, Oh My!

I'm not going to lie to you Readers, not much interesting is going on at the house of J. I feel like crap, however I continue to cook high fat/calorie/sugar, sinful baked goods. Why not? Yes, I have a "spot" on my thigh, which is giving me heart palpitations, but I have nothing against a layer of fat in general. I just want to be toned underneath that layer.

I have spent much of my last two days "getting better". To my home-schooled child this means I give her her lessons, she disappears, and I read. Or alternately snack....on yummy baked goods....waiting for my husband, Vader, to come home and question what on earth happened to all the cookies/cake/pie. I pretend like I hadn't noticed everything is gone. Like he needs to worry, I'll just make more. I think my new plan of attack is going to be re-making said cake or cookies while he's at work and then he'll never know the difference. That Vader, always so high maintenance.

Cold Be Damned, I Think I See A Blade Of Grass

Oh Readers, I feel like shit. I think I may have finally gotten my dose of flu/cold for the season. I don't know why, maybe my kids brought it home, maybe my body just finally let down it's defenses, or perhaps it was all the romping around in the 30ish degree weather during the Brooklyn Street Winter-Fest this weekend. I have to say though, if it has anything to do with the Winter-Fest, I'll take my punishment because that was just plain good for my mental state of mind. That damn January thaw waited until February and I was about to become a side show with all the different personalities I'd created during my month & a half as a shut-in. I see nothing wrong with celebrating the first sign of a thaw in weeks, who cares about some chills, fever, cough, sore throat, aches, pains and whatever else I may end up with. All worth it because I got to have pork shoulder & a S'more over a bonfire on Saturday night. Added bonus, I feel completely sane again....and that's not just the cold medicine talking. Oh...hacking coughs....too weak to carry on...

PS. Quick note to China and V, who puts the V in VD, my sanity thanks you eternally, probably my family too, for the developing and hosting of the Winter-Fest. I'm bound and determined to believe it was the kick off to spring, I will ignore all snowflakes from this point forward.

New Motto: Avoid The Humorless Like The Plague

I just don't understand it. There are a few people that I've come across here, in the great Dutch home away from the homeland that is Grand Rapids, that don't appear to have any discernible sense of humor. It's been my misfortune to find these ill-fated individuals amongst the antiques dealers, the school employees, and even my acquaintances around the city. This does not impress me. The worst of it is they make me question my own sense of humor. Because they don't understand sarcasm or irony, I wonder if it's me, if I'm simply being obtuse. Sometimes, I'm perhaps too ambiguous with my snappy sarcasm and witty remarks. Well readers, let me assure you, it's not me. Oh no.

I used to get rather embarrassed when I would say something funny, laugh, and they didn't join me. Perhaps I offended? Now, I realize, I shouldn't be embarrassed, they didn't catch on that a joke even was in their presence. They don't realize anything has happened at all as a matter of fact, and they're certainly not going to go around telling people I told a bad joke because they wouldn't know one if it smacked 'em on the ass. I have never in my life had more awkward, stilted, conversations than I have with a truly, humor-less person. I don't recommend it, if it can be avoided. I've been known to literally run the other way to avoid it, this, I do recommend.

Anyway Readers, it's not just the lack of a sense of humor I don't understand, which admittedly is unfathomable, it's that they are alive at all. Humorless = suicide watch. Let's not forget we live in Michigan. Michigan without a sense of humor....Really? Michigan? It's bad enough with the snow and cold, then you have the yearly percentage of sunlight, which is some piddly number of like 18%. Now to top it all off is the highest percentage of unemployed, highest percentage of people moving to other states, in the top 5 of home foreclosures, top 5 highest gasoline prices....you get the picture. You've got to have a sense of humor to live here, otherwise you better flush the prescription meds and start letting the legs and under-arms go au naturel.

Seriously, You Can't Be Serious

My husband has sleep apnea. He stops breathing frequently while he sleeps. He now has a sleep machine because I insisted he go to the doctor because I was afraid it would be the death of him. Mostly because I would spend my nights slapping, elbowing, and punching him in order to make him breath again. The sleep machine is interesting, it shoots out a constant stream of oxygen through these tubes into a little mask that goes over his nose all the way down over his mouth. My BFF and I call it the Darth Vader mask, though really, because of all the tubes I would say it's more of the Tie Fighter mask. You know, the bad guys in Star Wars that flew around the little ships with octagonal wings and had these masks and all the tubes on them...oh forget it. Anyway, it's definitely like Darth in the fact that there is the noise of the oxygen going through it, which really isn't loud, and then when he talks, it's very muffled, very, well, James Earl Jones. Anyhu, it's all very necessary, very life-saving, very un-sexy.

I think my husband needs to be very clear on a couple of things when he is wearing the mask.

Number one, I have no illicit fantasties of Darth Vader so don't start rubbing my leg while wearing it, I just can't take you seriously. Don't even get me started on the fact that you look like and ICU patient and all those tubes are hooked to a machine on the bedside table which doesn't exactly make you mobile. Secondly, if you turn to face me wearing the machine, expect me to turn as well, with my back to you. Most obvious reason is, again, because I can't take you seriously. Beyond that though, the amazing, wonderful, life-saving machine blows freezing cold air all over my face. Now, I could be completely alone in this, but I certainly don't have any lewd fantasies of Darth Vader, while having freezing cold air blowing in my face with such force that it gags me and I literally can't take a single breath. That's. Not. Hot. At all.

Suffering Through With Chocolate

For godsakes, I had to work with the dreaded worm mush, brown sugar again yesterday. I don't just pack it in the cup, I pound it like I'm killing it because I really wonder if it is in fact alive. Don't think I don't check for real worms every single time I open that bag. Anyhu, my point in this is that I made homemade chocolate chip cookies yesterday and they were probably the best ones I've ever made, so it was nearly worth working with the detestable brown sugar. I ate like 20....but I don't know if that really counts because only like 4 of them were actual cooked cookies. I'll just have to suffer through making and eating baked goods for the next couple months, whatever it takes to maintain this fat layer. What else can be done, surely I'll freeze if I don't, the high for the day was like 6, and it's so typical, I'm just used to it now. Please, any of you out of staters, don't think I'm joking....hand to God....6.

A Spot Of WHAT?

Oh my aching ass. I have been doing squats and lunges galore for 2 1/2 weeks now. If I'm brushing my teeth, I'm doing squats. If I'm talking on the phone, I'm doing lunges. If I'm watching tv, I'm doing squats and lunges. All because I think I saw a spot of cellulite on my upper left thigh. I was quite disturbed and rushed out of the bathroom to run up and down the stairs 3 times. It was still there when I came back, so now the constant squat/lunge. If you drove by my house when I'm fixing supper, you'd probably see me through the window, cooking at the stove, doing a set of squats. My husband, he doesn't think I have a spot of cellulite, he says I look awesome. I informed him that he needs to actually look at my thigh when he says that, not my ass. Also, I informed him that I feel very distraught by the whole incident and just because he says I look good, I know in fact it's there, and so compliments do not increase his chances of having sex especially when I know they are in fact lies. I will and I must firm up these thighs, I don't want to end up looking like Tara Reid on the cover of the Enquirer....oh horrors.

Keeping Up With The Dramatics

I love this word that my kids have made up (in the spirit of our former president they make up many non-words), it's "dramatical". They love to be dramatical, or to emphasize how the other one is just acting so dramatical in certain tense instances. They love that their grandma teaches people to be more dramatical in her drama classes. Truly, they just don't feel there is enough drama in their world.

I have friends and relatives, even just people I used to know from my town, who fit this word. There is always some type of drama just waiting in the wings for them. I don't know how drama can almost come to life and pick certain people to just hover over. Sometimes I have some drama, we all do I'm sure, but it's nothing compared to these people. I wouldn't say I'm jealous because much of the drama I wouldn't want happening to me, but I do often wonder if I'm missing out on something in my life, is my life just not exciting enough? The thing is, these friends with the lives full of drama, you can't wait to hear all about their lives and what is going on now. I have many minus-the-drama friends, they are great to have conversations with, talk about common interests, kids, humorous stories etc. These dramatical people though, you want to know everything that has happened to them recently because somehow it's unbelieveable that so many exciting, scary, hilarious, disgusting, ridiculous, and sometimes just plain god-awful things can happen to one person. These are the people that you want to have them talk about themselves non-stop, because no other story they have can be as interesting as their own life. Let's do a "for example": This man I used to work with okayed a cell tower to be put on his land, which led to his house being struck by lightning via the tower, which led to it nearly burning down, which led to him living in a repurposed hurricane Katrina trailer, which led to him being unknowingly bitten by a Brown Recluse spider, which led him to nearly losing his arm and could've cost him his life. What? This shit is spellbinding, believe me, I wanted every last detail. And don't even get me started on the story of him & his wife being thrown off a carriage being pulled by a runaway horse. Really, I have no idea what his politics are, what good books he's read, where he shops for groceries, or even who he prefers for the Superbowl. I just want to hear about all the drama in his life, it's far more interesting to me than any show on tv even.

How do these dramatical people get chosen to have all the drama? I wonder if they even know that the events of their lives are lopsided in comparison to the non-dramatical people. I don't think anyone but my mom wants to hear about every last detail of my life. Not that I want to be bitten by a Brown Recluse or thrown from a runaway horse just so everyone finds my life incredibly interesting. I'll pass, thank you.

Look Out Below

Please note in pic below that D is giving us all the finger. However unintentional that may be, it just proves what a badass he is while in uniform. He can't even control it. You can practically see the badass-ness of it all just oozing out of him.