Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Too Much Whine, Not Enough Beer

In honor of Father's Day (I know, I know, it was like 2 weeks ago. What can I say? I procrastinate and get distracted by shiny things), I thought I would do a Q&A with my husband, Brad. He's a pretty funny guy, so I told him his answers had to be funny. Well, he didn't fail miserably, but he was getting kind of mushy and everything, so I may have to clarify or interpret some of the answers for everyone who doesn't speak emo dad, which will be in bold. (Which is a total woman thing to do, I know).

A little background on Brad: He's originally from the area where we currently live. He works in IT as a programmer, therefore he's a big old nerd. Strengthening that argument is the fact that he likes to watch "The Universe". He blogs about politics and likes to brew beer. He's not a hipster though (because hipsters brew beer), because I'm pretty sure he'd wear socks with his sandals if I didn't stop him (which hipsters won't wear). He recently told me he's into birds. Not the way you may think, he just likes to watch them.... that still sounds creepy. He's also beyond patient with our daughters and would read to them for hours. Here's a picture of him yelling at a fake duck (which probably should've set off the bird alarms in my head earlier)


So, Mr. Firky, what did you think when I told you I was pregnant?

I didn't expect it to happen that soon (You potent SOB), that day, that way.

You mean missionary style?

No, no, I didn't expect it to happen that quickly. I was excited, I just didn't expect it so soon.

Where was your mind at during my pregnancy? 

I knew big changes were on the way and I needed to prepare, read and learn (kind of like for a storm or Armageddon). It would also be the last time it was just you and me. Also I felt like I gotta do this or that one last time (ask him about having his 7.5 month pregnant wife pick him up from a bachelor party at 3 am with NO reward of pizza for said pregnant wife. Oh wait, I just told you).

And when there was two babies in there?

All I could do was laugh. I had a feeling there were two in there. That's why I said if there were two, we'd have to go to Fazoli's to eat that night. (We still went to the expensiveish restaurant. Ballers.)

We expected them to be boys. How did you react them both being girls?

I immediately became skeptical of all boys. Every toddler boy with an attitude? You bring that to my house, I'll kick your ass!

Since pregnancy was such a breeze for you, what was your expectations of labor and delivery?

I thought it would be six hours or less, in and out. (No Brad, labor usually takes longer than it takes to make crockpot tacos). It seemed really uncomfortable for you (insert Tara's desire to donkey kick Brad's nuts into the next room and then comment on how uncomfortable he appears). I thought we would have the girls by dinner (this body ain't Jimmy Johns, no freaky fast). 

After a full day of labor with no progress, we decided on a c-section. You were the first one to see Teagan, the lead twin. What was the first thought you had?

She was a lot bluer than I expected and she had a misshapen Quasimodo head.

How many beers have you had?

Almost two.

What did you think of me after seeing me go through labor?

You're a tough lady.

You can compliment me more.

**silence**

Would you put me through that again?

Not without consent.

Do you have any advice for first time fathers?

Don't wait for the last minute. Be prepared otherwise you'll have to buy the display model crib.

What is the best thing about being a father?

Having two little people love you unconditionally. And to remember that they love you, especially when they are being little assholes (not really assholes, that's how Teagan pronounces angels....)

How many glasses of wine do you think I've had?

I dunno. Not enough.

If you were to handpick a person for the girls to date, what would they be like?

They would be kind, smart, respectful and a little tubby so they're easier to hit with a shotgun.

What is the best father trick/deception you've pulled?

The spider. (Telling the girls if they scream inside, spiders will want to see if there's a party and will come in looking for them. So don't scream. Therapy, here we come!)

Any parting words of wisdom?

Be careful what shows you expose your kids to. (You'll end up memorizing a show that involves a boy tiger that doesn't wear pants when everyone else does, a bilingual girl that speaks to inanimate objects and expects you to do the same or the goddamn Teletubbies. Thanks Grandma and Papa)

How does it feel to be married to such a smart, funny, awesome lady like me?

.....it's like Christmas everyday. It's fun.


Woohoo, Christmas errday!


Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Three

Through my writing on here, I've often tried to make light of some situations and use sarcasm and possibly some (a wee bit) wit in order to get through some difficult times as a parent. But, unfortunately, not all situations can be made into a joke and sometimes people have to go through some truly shitty situations with nothing but humility and whatever faith you can muster. At the risk of sounding like one of those "a very special episode of", like the t.v. show's from when we were younger, I'll cut to the chase. I am writing about my recent second pregnancy and the outcome no one thinks will happen, but sadly occurs often; a miscarriage. The subject is sad, touchy, angry and awkward. It makes many people feel uncomfortable and if that's the case and you don't want to continue, then adios brochacho. But chances are, even if you think it doesn't relate to you, it probably does, whoever you are, man or woman.


For whatever reason, I decided on April 3rd that I was going to take a pregnancy test. I must've thought, "What the hell. The kids are behaving themselves, might as well pee on something". I had felt slightly different the few days prior, but I just attributed that to being a hypochondriac. So Brad left for work and I did my thing, waited two minutes, went to go glance at it before I threw it away and saw a perfect plus staring up at me. Since I am eloquent, classy and intellectual, the first words that escaped me was "Holy fuck". Shaking hands and feet wobbled me back into the living room to sit down and figure out how to tell Brad immediately without having to do so over the phone or text. Brilliant me just called and asked if I could meet him sometime that afternoon. Unfortunately, poor Caroline got sick at the babysitters and I had to get her and have Brad come back home. I told him to sit down and I let him know baby number three was on it's way. It came as no shock to him, as he already crossed off the likelihood that I was leaving him. I immediately made a call to the doctor for a confirmation test, because I thought since I had a high risk twin pregnancy the first go around, they would want to see me right away and check how many little ones took up occupancy. They asked if I wanted a blood draw or regular test and I requested the blood draw. I went that afternoon and received a call the next morning confirming the pregnancy. But they told me they need a comparison blood test to check the hormone (hcg) levels and asked that I go in on Monday. I was still trying to let this sink in. When you are pregnant with your first, it's like your head is up in the clouds and rainbows shoot out of your ass. When it's a second, third, etc, you are now a realist, who understands the chaos of what you are about to be thrown into. Financially, mentally, logistically you can only grasp what you are in for. Plus, you have other kids who's lives and feelings you have to worry about. I'm not trying to take away from how wonderful it can be, but you know how things work and maybe some of my excitement was stifled by the enormity of the situation.


On Monday, I went to the office, gave some blood and was told I would be called later with the results. As I was getting ready to sit down at a staff meeting a few hours later, the doctors office called and I took the call in the hallway. The nurse told me the numbers went up but not the way they were supposed to. I needed to come back in 48 hours for another draw. Confused, I thanked her and hung up. I had no idea what that meant, so I called her back and asked her to explain. She informed me that these levels needed to double every 24 hours and mine had gone up, but not doubled for how far apart as the draws were. I prodded her further on what this could mean. She said that it could mean that "this was just the way it is or it could point to the start of a miscarriage". That word smacked me right in the face. I never once thought this could even be a possibility. I had a successful first pregnancy and led a mostly charmed life up to this point, this doesn't happen.

The next day, I stayed home from work to rest as much as possible. I gave in to the evil Dr. Google, who did nothing but fuel the fire that I was going to lose this baby. The dr wanted me to come back on Wednesday for another draw. So I did and I waited six long hours for results. I called three times for my results and finally was ready to call it a day when I returned back to work to discover I had started to bleed. Not much at all, but it was enough for me to speed home, reckless, to let Brad know I didn't need any test results to know I had lost the baby. The nurse called soon after I returned home and said the hormone levels went up again, but was still not doubling the way it should. She scheduled me for an ultrasound the following Monday; five days away. I told her about the bleeding and she said, "Oh, maybe we should just do a draw and not an ultrasound". I told her to keep it as I wanted confirmation. She said with bleeding, it could be a miscarriage or could just be normal. Again with no definitive answers. I called my parents to let them know I was most likely losing their fourth grandchild. I hadn't told them that I was pregnant, so it came as an obvious shock. They came to be with us that night to help me and take care of the girls. I stayed home and in bed for most of the next several days, waiting for my symptoms to get worse. They never did. Sitting and waiting to miscarry is cruel. Not knowing if this pain or that pull or a twinge was the start. "This is it. It's starting" echoed through my mind at least 50 times.

The night before the ultrasound, Brad was optimistic. We already knew what the worse case scenario was and he believed the best case would be that the baby was there but they had no idea what was going on and they would see us in two weeks. I had a small inkling that things might not be as over as I had begun to thought, but refused to let myself believe anything good would come from this, for fear of going over the edge when it went wrong.

Monday morning came around again and we found ourselves waiting for the first ultrasound slot. We went in, I got ready and they started. Not being able to turn away from the screen, even though every part of me wanted to, I continued to look up, pretending I knew what I was looking for. I saw one little blob shifting around with a light in its middle blinking away furiously. We had a baby and it had a heartbeat. The tech said Baby Three had a strong, mid 120's heartbeat, congratulated us and sent us to see my doctor. She was the same one who had delivered the girls and when she came into the room, she told us there was great news. The baby looked good! Nice heartbeat, measuring just a day or two behind at 6 weeks 4 days, while I was estimated at 7 weeks along. Brad had joked when we left that if the "Queen of Darkness" was optimistic, he would be too. She was referred to as such because she was very up front and blunt with us about the difficulties we had with Baby B (aka Caroline) the first time around, as she often gave us odds like 50/50 for her survival in utero. She did state that we "weren't out of the woods yet" and we still had the chance of miscarrying, but once you see the heartbeat, that chance goes down. I'm not a bettin' man, but I liked those odds. When I returned home after work, Brad and I stole a minute to ourselves and just breathed. Then I started bleeding. The on-call doctor didn't seem to be too concerned. She explained the trauma of the ultrasound and examination was most likely causing the blood and it should go away and things will be fine. "You saw the heartbeat", she said, "everything will be fine".

Brad and I thought we could breath a little easier and start making plans. Since my parents already knew, we would wait until the next ultrasound, (the redundant, "See you in 2 weeks" ultrasound was already scheduled) to tell his. I told people at both my jobs and we told the girls and our brothers. Brad went and got me some of my craving foods and I was overjoyed when morning sickness didn't knock me out. But something in me didn't feel right. I wanted to tell people, but it felt wrong, like something was off. I was obviously pregnant; myself and three other people saw the little thing, but I couldn't shake that feeling. I had spotting and bleeding on and off, every couple days, but everytime I called the doctor, I was told it was fine as long as it didn't get worse. Brad told his parents the day before the routine ultrasound.

May 5th, routine ultrasound day, arrived and we couldn't find parking spots. Bad juju I thought. We got settled into the room and tech started explaining the routine pictures she needed to take first. Now, I've had a good dozen plus ultrasounds from complications with the twins, and they never took ten minutes at the beginning to look around everywhere. She wouldn't settle on the baby long enough for us to see any movement, but I did see a glimpse of him/her and it looked like there was growth, as I saw a silhouette of a baby and not a blob. Getting irritated with her, I silently urged her to stop keeping us in suspense when finally she settled on the baby. Then she said, "I'm...not detecting...any cardiac activity". I can honestly tell you, I felt absolutely nothing when she said that, I just kept focusing on those words said and not the meaning in hopes that I wouldn't crumble into a heap when I sat back up. She looked some more and clicked some button that was supposed to record the heart measurements and there was nothing there. Silence. I had managed to see the measurements 8w 5d for a few of the earlier measurements, which was spot on given the estimates of the last ultrasound. The tech then said she was sorry and told me that once I was dressed, we could go sit in an empty room until the doctor was ready, as to save me from being in the waiting room with a bunch of pregnant ladies. Already I was being treated like some leper, needing to be quarantined from the healthy ones.

As we sat silent in the empty room, I couldn't even bare to look Brad in the eyes. I was entrusted with this life and I fucking failed and I was ashamed. My doctor came in, expressed her condolences and intimated that she wasn't surprised given the symptoms I had been having, the low hormones and the low heartbeat. The last part was news to me, since they all said the heartbeat at first was looking good. She indicated that she was unable to tell us when the baby died and couldn't tell us why the measurements were on time. She said it could have happened as recently as yesterday or maybe the measurements were off to begin with. She gave me the options of what I could do, because she diagnosed it as a missed miscarriage, meaning my body still thought itself pregnant. I was seething inside. My goddamn body couldn't support this pregnancy and now it was too stupid to realize it was gone. She gave me the option of letting it happen naturally but no way in hell was I going to sit around for Lord knows how long waiting to it to happen, thinking to myself again, "This is it, it's starting". I had already gone through several days of this despondence and mental agony, thinking it was gone when it really wasn't. I was not going to sit around feeling pregnant and carrying my dead child inside of me on the off chance "nature would take its course". I opted for the surgical procedure as I wanted this to stop immediately.

A few days later, while under anesthetic, it was all over. They sent samples off for genetic testing and assured me when it was done, the "remains would be buried with all the other miscarriages between whatever certain dates". Wonderful. I won't describe how I felt at that moment, because I was in a pretty dark, angry place.

It's been over two weeks since the miscarriage. Even that word I hate using as it just sinks like a rock when I say it. Many people have been supportive to me, including many that have been through a miscarriage. It's a club that no one wants to be apart of. I felt very broken the first few days afterwards, like I didn't work correctly. I continued to have pregnancy symptoms for a little over a week, which really pissed me off. It was a very painful physical recovery, as I didn't heal as fast as my doctor had said most others heal. Typical. There were a few times where I didn't take the pain medications that were given to me because I felt like I had to punish myself, let myself feel the pain because I deserved it somehow. While it is still fresh for me, I can't say that I don't still feel that way sometimes. I don't want anyone to pity me or look down on me or see me differently because I shared this. I can assure you that probably almost every woman who has experienced this has had these same thoughts, be it at different levels of intensity or belief. There also wasn't much online for anecdotes on miscarriages and the material out there was more in forum settings and small snippets. It hasn't been that long, but I have gotten my mind into a better place. I am good most of the day, it's the nights that get hard. Sitting up late because I can't sleep unless something puts me to sleep. I'm not sure where to go from here. I'm not going to pretend that everything is going to be butterflies and roses; I'm also not going to be believe it's going to be all darkness either. So I'll keep on keeping on and take things breath by aching breath.


Monday, April 28, 2014

Two 'Fer One?!

As a mother of twins, one of the most common questions/statements I get is,"Oh, twins?! Two for the price of one, am I right?". No, two for the price of motherfluffing two. While doctors should really bundle their services or offer a BOGO sale for twins, that's not what happens, unfortunately. There are a lot of other preconceived notions when it comes to twins and people seem to think they are like some rare unicorns that shoot glitter out of their butts. Which means lots of Nosey Nancys and Ned's asking a bunch of the same questions I get all of the time. If you are pregnant with twins, be prepared to get these questions from EVERYONE!! I have recreated a conversation that I've had many times, but I will put my answers that I actually vocalize and the ones I wish I could say instead.


Random Lady/Mister: Oh, are they twins?
Polite Me: Yep, yes they are!
Real Me: No, I fed that one after midnight and the next day, the other one had popped out. Twins are more like Gremlins than you think. Don't get your water bottle too close.


RL/M: Do twins run in your family?
PM: Well, I'm not really sure, possibly. It's hard to tell because it has to be on the maternal side, any history on the paternal side is pretty useless so (blank stare from random lady/mister).
RM: The only thing that runs in my family is our thirst for alcohol and Polish men.

RL/M: Were they natural?
PM: Mmhmm. Dumb luck I guess. Either that or I'm a two egg popper. (Disgusted look from Random that may imply that I have farted, but I double check and it was definitely just my answer).
RM: Mmhmm. Dumb luck I guess. Reaaaaaaaal dumb luck. And they can smell fear, which is highly unnatural.

RL/M: Were you surprised you were pregnant with twins?
PM:  Oh yes, super duper. I was like, whaaaaaaa?
RM: Oh hell yes! You coulda slapped my ass and called me Sally. Which coincidentally was what started this whole ordeal, you know what I'm saying?


RL/M: Are they identical?
PM: We aren't really sure. They each had their own little 'homes' inside me but came out the exact same size and weight and everything. Doctor said it could really be either way but we don't know for sure without a DNA test.
RM: We aren't...RL/M: Wait, what? You don't know if they are identical or not? Huh.
RM-cont: Well, I don't have an extra $100 lying around because A)if it was lying around, the twins would have found it and spent it already on hookers and blow and B) why find out when I can keep answering questions like these. But if I was paid $1 for every stupid question I've gotten asked about my girls, I could have paid for the test 3 years ago.

RL/M: 1 boy, 1 girl?
PM: Nope, two girls.
RM: Yes, one of each. Because I regularly dress my boy in pink hearts and shit, just to strengthen his manhood.

RL/M: Did you have them naturally or did you have to have a csection?
PM: I labored for the day but they didn't want to come out, so I had a csection.
RL/M: Ohhhh, yeah, well some women have to have csections.
RM: Ahhh hell no, someone hold my toddlers so I can fight this witch.

RL/M: Are they hard to manage, one going one way and the other going the other way?
PM: Sometimes.
RM: Is a garbage bag full of angry badgers hard to manage? Yes! Of course they can be hard to handle. (Public service announcement: do not place badgers in garbage bags. Or any other living thing for that matter).

RL/M: Oh, well, twins.... that's nice. I've always wanted twins (ME: You can have mine? Haha, but seriously). My mom's sisters cousins sons mom has twins, so I kind of get it.
PM and RM: Blank stare that implies the random may have farted, but it was really their answer.

I'm sure many other twin moms have had to deal with these questions hundreds of times as well, from everyone from the cashier at the store to people you don't know at a cookout. Now I don't think that anyone that asks these questions are annoying or trying to be annoying. I'm sure it's just an intriguing idea. I've caught myself asking a question or two like this to new twin moms too. And not every parent of twins is as big of an asshole as I am, so these questions might not bother some. But it's always nice to have a general standby answer, just in case you get caught off guard.  I'll leave you with one last question that I always get, even if they don't ask if they are twins.

RL/M: Ooooooooooo, red hair. Where did they get that from?
ME: Satan.







Sunday, February 9, 2014

So you're gonna have a baby?

This winter in Wisconsin has been pretty shitastic. The top 5 coldest winters ever. There were days where we couldn't leave the house because you'd freeze within 5 minutes. So naturally, everyone is getting it on like bunnies around here. Wait, no one is shaving either, so it's more like getting it on like Sasquatches. Seriously. I know someone having a baby in every month from April until September.  Some are first time moms, some are not. So I thought about some things that moms could expect and of course I want to share them, because that's what I do.


1) People are going to be happy for you: Well duh Tara, ya dipshit, of course they are going to be happy for you. But, there are some people that aren't going to be happy for you and that's not something that is ever really brought up. People are assholes. They might not acknowledge your pregnancy, ignore you or lose contact with you. We had a guy, before we ever even had kids, that was disappointed that I wanted kids soon because then Brad couldn't hang out with him. Really? Let me hit the snooze button on my biological clock so you and my husband could go hang out and drink beer. (For the record, Brad can go out and drink beer now if he wants, as long as he leaves a case of wine for me. Or vodka.)

2) You will get felt up: A lot.  People LOVE pregnant women. But, if there is one thing people love more than pregnant women is feeling up a baby bump. I have no idea why, it's like a compulsion. Some may ask to touch, like a normal human being would, but many will just come up and feel away. You have every right to tell them to step the f off. Or you can treat them like a mini dog that is humping your leg...let them do their thing, finish and walk away to look for hand sanitizer. I had to let a client into the bathroom at work when I was pregnant and she couldn't see my stomach until I got closer to her. She zeroed in on the bump and reached out for it, kind of like that fat German kid on "Willy Wonka". I swore I saw her lick her lips. But, I learned how to duck and weave, say thanks but no thanks and go on my merry fluffing way.

3) There is something seriously wrong with you: Or so you're going to think. Because your body will transform a little every day, you probably won't be able to keep up mentally with all of the changes. There will be one symptom that you'll get that will completely throw you for a loop and you'll do the unthinkable: you'll Google that symptom. The results from Dr. Google will inevitably suggest some kind of  fungus, flesh eating bacterial tumor, and because you are crazy (pregnancy hormones will do that) you will for sure think you are dying. But you are not. Probably.

4) Everyone's a critic: Men, women, old people, teenagers, parents, your parents, the random at the grocery store. Everyone will have advice for you. You may be asking yourself, "Tara, aren't you giving out advice?" to which my face would reply to you:

 
 
Uh, this is funny advice,. Anyway, yeah. The amount of advice and information you are going to get and from whom is kind of ridiculous. Some if it might be useful, but really, it's more of people's opinions than anything else. It seems as if everyone is an expert. In the words Trick Daddy, "And everybody know somebody that know somebody that know somethin bout it".   Take advice in stride. Apply it if you'd like. Or thank the person and just smile and wave, smile and wave.  But if it ends in "and MY kids are still alive", I might leave it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


Tuesday, December 3, 2013

'Tis the Season


'Tis the season for:

- The switching of all things pumpkin to all things peppermint (Peppermint Schnapps tastes WAYYYY better than Pumpkin Schnapps).

-Holiday cookie and wine parties. I read about parties in the '70's where you'd put your keys in a bowl and pick a different set of keys and get to take whoever they belonged to for a "test drive". I'm not saying I'd be interested in a party like that (I wouldn't tell you Noseldas if I was). But I'm curious as to how those holiday parties evolved from that into ones with a bunch of chicks getting drunk and balls deep on appetizers? Maybe there were too many broken stick shifts in the 70's..no clue.

-The Elf of the Shelf. I'm sure one day my children will enjoy the hell out of him, but until then, that creepy little fucker is staying out of my house.

-Ice fisherman, who go out on the water way too early. There's thicker ice around my cold, black heart than on the lake. Calm your asses down and go drink in the garage like everybody else.

-Shitty Wisconsin weather. There are two types of people who live in Wisconsin: Those who hate cold and wintery weather and endlessly bitch about it and those who tolerate it and endlessly bitch about it. I, however, am neither of those. I'm like an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, covered in Cheerio crumbs.

-Bundling the girls up in all of their outside gear and watching them attempt to walk. I know it's mean to laugh at their struggles, but it's what little joy I have. I'm sure they will repay me once they are potty trained and decide to need to piddle once they have all of their stuff on. They will learn to hold it. Mommies do. It's never too early to learn the value of a Kegel.

-Dealing with other people during the holidays. These can be your in-laws, family members, People of Walmart or the random person who looks like Kris Kringle blew his sack on them because they are covered in tinsel and holiday cheer.

-Buying earplugs, so you don't have to listen to everybody and their mothers rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock". I had to listen to Ali Lohan's Christmas CD on repeat when I worked at a daycare in college. If that doesn't drive you to the brink of madness, then there's something deeply wrong with you.


Overall, Christmastime and impending winter solitude isn't as bad as it seems. But, I may have to call in reinforcements. Sorry wine, you aren't going to cut it this time. Imma have to call in the vodka big guns with a whiskey chaser. (Responsibly and in a reindeer mug).

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Dirty Snuggler

I know what it sounds like, and it's exactly what you are thinking. This post isn't about twins or being a parent or anything like that. It's way worse.

There is an actual business that opened up in Madison, WI where you PAY to snuggle. Like money. To snuggle. Well, actually, for an hour of "touch therapy". The song "Tiny Dancer" immediately popped into my head: "Hold me closer, dirty snuggler. I paid you 60 for the houuuuur". $60 an hour? Fuck that. For that much money, I better be able to choose if I want to be the big spoon or the little spoon.

 I'm just confused. It brings up so many questions. What is the target population to this place? There are pictures of very attractive people, just snuggling away on the website, but I assure you, I doubt this is the type of clientele that will be patrons of this fine establishment. You know that hairy, sweaty guy that you avoid eye contact with at the store? Yeah, client numero uno. The needy, clingy chick that smells like despair? Yep, repeat costumer. Don't even get me started on all the politicians in the states capitol.

 Another question would be, what in the world is the staff thinking? What an awkward class reunion that could make.
"So, what do you do?
"I am a professional snuggler"
"Oh my God, you're a smuggler? Should you really be that open with what you do, with drugs and all?"
"No, I'm a snu...forget it."
What if you go up to a PS (pro snuggler) and give them a hug that lasts a little too long. That'll be $5 sucker. Or if  family member wants a session ONLY with you, because they would be uncomfortable with a stranger?

I'm very curious to see what a session would all entail. I picture walking into a dimly lit room with a bed (naturally). Will the bed be too hard? Do I get to pick my PS out of a lineup? Because I wouldn't want to end with a Sasquatch that mouth breathes into my ear. Ok, so you're in there, picked out the PS, assumed the non-sexual position and...and...what? Feel the loving, paid for embrace of a stranger? Is there talking involved? I wouldn't want to talk because there's nothing worse than forced conversation with someone who is ALL UP ON MY ASS. Could I snuggle for a bit in silence  and then go on Facebook or text or something? Because that's real life.

Are there options for different positions? Or is it all just hugging from the back? Can we front hug/snug? I would think that would be out of the question, because you never know if Mr. Dingy would pop up to say "hi". Of course, the website claims that it's non-sexual, but when's the last time you snuggled with anyone without humping (dry or otherwise) beforehand? It's a well known fact that spooning leads to forking, am I right? I'm sure that's not their intention. They are just trying lift up people's spirits through the power of full body contact.

Ok, last burning question. (Well, I probably shouldn't call it burning. You never know, I may someday choose to try Touch Therapy and I wouldn't want it to get back to them that anything from me was burning.) Why Madison? I could see a big city on one of the coasts or down south, but Madison? It's a town full of damn hippies! I'm sure if you went down to State Street, you'd find someone to uncomfortably snuggle with you for free. The first ones ALWAYS free.

So there you have it. Social media has depleted us of our social skills so badly, that we have to set up craziness like this. These things will pop up all over the country. Soon you'll have the Snuggle Shack, The Cuddle Corral and the seedier Poon Spoon. But, if anyone does take a chance and goes to this place, let me know how it is. And enjoy yourself, Mother Snuggler.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Mommy and Daddy Fun Time (Day 2 &3)

I had gotten sleep. Hardcore sleep. My body hurt after it. That's either a sign that I'm old or the bed was horrible. Regardless, I was able to get like, 9 hours of sleep AT ONE TIME! I had wanted to take a dip in the hot tub, but the hippie market was calling us.


We went to the farmers market day around the capitol. Brad had mentioned that a singer (Pat) that we used to see live while in college was going to be performing. I had never seen him perform any earlier than 9pm, so I knew it was going to be interesting seeing as it was 10 am. If I had to pick out my favorite part of Pat's performance, it would have to be the chorus of one of his songs, which ends in "Screw you". Loved the look on parents faces when Pat didn't sing it, but the audience sang it and fairly loud. I enjoyed what I had heard, but not as much as the middle aged blond with the short patchwork mini skirt and the two adolescent children who were singing songs verbatim. That lady was doing so much wrong and so much right. We left after a few songs, but I wonder if he encored with "Sex and Beer"?

 

Other highlights of the afternoon:

 

-Thousands of people, and LOTS of hippies, walking around a block in several different lines looking at food. Conformists.

 

-A big cardboard display exclaiming that evolution is not real. "Evolution is NOT real. SHOW ME YOUR EVIDENCE". I didn't feel like arguing with an idiot and I become physically ill at confrontation. I wonder if they believe in the Darwin Awards?

 

-Day drinking! Granted, it was only one old fashion at The Old Fashioned, but it was damn good. I got all pink-faced and fuzzy feeling. The chunks of fruit on the bottom can suck my ass though. Makes it harder to get to the booze.
 

 

And one not so good highlight. It began to rain. I trusted Brad to know his way back to the parking ramp. My trust faltered as he took the most convoluted way back. I was wet, I couldn't catch my breath (from being sick, not from severe lack of exercise my entire life) and our damn umbrella was conveniently in the car. Brad's taller than me and his stupid long legs work way more efficiently. So of course, I always walk several steps behind him. Once we took 4 right turns, I started to get annoyed. Now, I'm not geometry genius, but I'm pretty sure he didn't know where he was going. So I became paranoid and suspicious. If he wanted me to get some exercise in on this trip, he could have asked me so I could have told him no. We stopped at a bus stop hut thing, but NOT because he was getting his bearings. Of course.
 


 I do NOT like Pina Coladas, nor getting caught in the rain.
 
 
I may not have looked very soaked , but I was. And not in the "hey, we're both wet, let's make out in the rain and slip into a dry martini". More like, "hey, I'm gonna take these wet jeans off when we get back and slap ya in the head with them".  But, we eventually made it back to the car and I bit my tongue (for the most part).
 
Returning to the hotel, I believe I took a nap. We were going to go swimming, but I think we just swam on State Street.
 
A few hours later, it was time to go to dinner. Brad was going to surprise me with a place that he had found. I asked what the dress code was and now that my day outfit was drenched, I needed to know if I should wear what I wore the previous night. He told me, and I quote, "Anything. You could wear a sweatshirt. Don't matter". Oooookkk, clothes from the night before it was.
 
I'm so glad I didn't listen to him, because he took me to like a freaking 5 star restaurant, called Harvest. It was an all local, organic, hoity (but not toity) place. It was niiiiiice. Like, I can't take pictures of my food, nice. We got to sit down right away, in a softly lit room that was as lovely as any small wedding venue would be. As soon as we sat down, I told Brad that if he would have allowed me to walk into this heaven in yoga pants and a Brewers sweatshirt, I would have ended him. The waiter came up and gave us an amuse bouche compliments of the chef. I only knew what it was because I watch Food Network. It's a tiny appetizer (because I can't properly spell o'douerve) that is meant to cleanse the palate. Whatever it was, it was pretty tasty. While waiting for our fancy first course, I couldn't help but to overhear the conversation at the table next to us. It was two couples, one English and one American. They were talking about their holiday in South America and Europe. Possibly Africa, but some of the countries sounded unfamiliar or made up. I can't remember. They smelled of leather bound books (not really, well,  maybe). Just overall classy with a capital C.  I wish I could remember specific quotes, and I remember hearing some and thinking "Damn, I should blog about these dandies" but I can't remember. I don't even remember if I ate breakfast today or not. I felt very inferior to them. In fact, after I returned from the bathroom, it took all of my power not to announce "Shitter's full", just so everyone knew there was a line for the bathroom. Instead, I drank a fancy adult beverage, ate a dessert that was prettier than I was at prom and we left. Naturally, we got into Fat Kid zone and walked over to Ian's to get a slice of pizza for a midnight snack.
 
Cut to the next morning and it was already over. Sad day. The girls were happy to see us though and that makes me happy.
 
But let's hope it happens again before a year has passed.