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' 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.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

To Debbie

"Uh, T-Bag. We, uh, we mmmiiiight not be at church in time".

"Don't worry. I knew you assholes were going to be late. I told you guys 5 but rehearsal really starts at 5:30.... You're welcome".

That is a brief phone conversation I had with Debbie, Nicole and Jodi the evening before my wedding. They made it to rehearsal on "time", even though they took the worst way to the church and claimed to have been stuck behind a school bus and a tractor.( Pfff, really? In Wisconsin?). I lived with those three for many years of my college life and they were an important part of my and Brad's relationship. They continued with their roles at our wedding, two being bridesmaids and one being my "bitch" (her words, not mine).  Debbie only swore twice in church. I got married and she kept her swearing in single digits. I call it a successful day.

L to R-Debbie, me, Jodi and Nicole.
The last picture of us four.

Three weeks after the wedding, on October 22, we lost Debbie to a car accident. I remember where I was (at home), who I was with (Brad), what I was doing (eating), what I was eating (food I won't eat anymore) and what the weather was like (cold and rainy). You can't accurately describe or portray how you feel, physically or emotionally, when you find out someone you love dies. You can't. It either sounds over sentimental and full of shit or indifferent and cold. So I won't try to. I also won't bore you with the same sentiments of "cherish the times you have" or "be grateful for every person in your life". Even though you should do all of those things. Because if I did, I could hear Debbie say "[It's] Sad that you suck so much".
908 Union Roomies
I met Debbie when I was pledging for the sorority, Phi Omega, my sophomore year of college. I dragged my roommate, Jodi, along with me to some of the events. Debbie definitely stood out. If I could accurately describe her in three words, they would be "Loud as hell". She couldn't help the fact that she was a human megaphone. We affectionately called her "Foghorn". She called me "T-Bag" but NOT for the reason you sickos might think. She liked her food hot, Schmude Hot, which is straight out of the fryer hot. New girls in the sorority, myself once included, had always been intimidated by her. She fronted as a hardass, but she wasn't really that big and bad. At a sorority retreat, the new girls were in charge of making breakfast for all of the active members. Debbie was still sleeping and we told some girls to go and wake her up. "Nuh, uh. I'm not waking her up. She'll yell at us", they said. I reassured them that she would not yell, that was just how her voice was. They didn't believe me. So I told them I would wake her up and that they should watch the master at work. I grabbed a flip flop, got a running start into her room and flew at her like a spider monkey. I smacked her on the ass with the flip flop, tucked and rolled off the bed and shouted "Wake your ass up, Debbie. Breakfast's ready". She grumbled, got up (eventually) and came out for coffee.
Debbie, Jodi, Nicole, Anna, Franny, Jess and I all moved in together (not all of us at the same time) in the shithole known as 908 Union. It was truly terrible; the house and us. We were the messiest group of bitches I've ever encountered. I eventually lived across the hall from Debbie, the only two downstairs. She wouldn't let me forget that she was there. Many days I would wake up at the crack of noon to her blaring ABBA and 80's music in the shower, which was right next to my head. Instead of texting Jodi or going upstairs to talk to her, they would both scream at one another. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH" "I DON'T KNOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH?". Hey guys, you know what I want for lunch? A big helping of shut the hell up and meet at the stairs to discuss this, I have napping to do. We lived there together for two years. We laughed, cried, fought, watched horrible movies, got broken into, got egged, almost started the fucker on fire TWICE and left with five truckloads of garbage that we dumped off at the campus garbage bins. Why? Because we stopped cleaning a month before our lease was up. I could probably go on and on with stories about that house. I'll save it for another time...maybe I'll write a book :)
Debbie had some amazing qualities. She was fiercely loyal. No one messed with her family or friends. Brutally honest as well. She wouldn't sugar coat things and would tell you straight up her honest opinion if you asked for it and even if you didn't. I once had the greatest idea ever. I told her that I was going to take my new phone and record the ringtones from my old phone onto it so I wouldn't have to buy them again. After I laid out my plan, I beamed at her, waiting for her to tell me it was the best thing she's ever heard. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It's not going to work". I told her it was going to work and that she could screw off because she didn't think of it. Five minutes later, after it didn't work, I told her she was right. She nodded her head in agreement, because she already knew that. One thing that I admired the most about Debbie was the fact that she never put herself down. She would never sit around and complain that she didn't have a boyfriend or wish that she was skinny. She was who she was and didn't give a shit. She was like the original Honey Badger.
I would like to finish up with one of my favorite stories with Debbie. (Now, we had many, many stories, quite a few of them being a touch inappropriate to bring up right now.) Every year, Debbie's family (which is like 50 people) would go camping for the weekend at what was called the Thresheree. It was a small town farm equipment thing held every summer at the grounds next to a river. We never really paid much attention to what the weekend truly was about, because we aren't farmers. All we knew was that it was an excuse to camp out for an entire weekend, drink and go tubing down the river. One night, after drinking throughout the day, Debbie became upset about something. She refused to tell anyone what was going on. So I thought I'd cheer her up. I went up to her and sweetly started to serenade "Have I Told You Lately, That I Love You?" by Rod Stewart. Surely this would be the key to her happiness. "Stop it ", she told me. "Why? Doesn't this make you happy?" I asked. "No, it makes me want to punch you". Idle threat. I continued to sing, like a sweet drunken bird. She continued to tell me to stop, but I knew she secretly loved it. "You ease my trouble, that's what you do", I exclaimed. "I'm going to ease my fist into your face if you don't leave me alone". Then she ran away, but I ran after her. She let me catch her and sing to her some more. I wonder if she would've liked me to sing "Rhythm of My Heart" as an encore? (Youtube it, it's good).  She thanked me at some point, whether it was that night or the next morning.
I'm not sure what about that story makes it my favorite. Maybe in hindsight, it's because I was able to tell her I loved her in my own way. Well, in Rod Stewart's words, but my own way nonetheless. Maybe it sticks out because other memories that were of everyday events are starting to fade slightly. But it really described how our relationship was: me annoying Debbie but her not minding it because I was her T-Bag and I earned the right to annoy her. Regardless, I choose not to mourn Debbie today, but to think of all the crazy times I shared with her. Not just my stories with her, but her friends and families memories and stories too. She would have expected that. (I can just hear her say "Oh my gawd, did you seriously just say that? LAAAAAME!!!). 

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Mommy and Daddy Fun Time (Day 1)

Not THAT kind of time perverts, but sweet, sweet, glorious kid-free time! Brad and I had been meaning to get away for a weekend since our last weekend away (October 2012, which is pretty much forever ago) but it didn't happen..... until last weekend (or two weekends ago, depending on when I feel like finishing this post). We had thought long and hard about where we wanted to go this time around, since we went down to Madison the last time. Chicago? St. Louis? Vegas? The options and locations were endless! Not really. When I say endless, I mean within 2-3 hours from us because I don't want to be in the car too long with Brad; it's irritating. So with endless possibilities, we again chose Madison, naturally.

Unfortunately, the week of our trip, we all got sick. Brad awoke me Monday and told me he thought he had the flu. He rarely gets sick, so it was unusual because whatever he had knocked him the fluff out. Then, because he is a wonderful, sharing man, he fucking gave it to me. And not the good kind of give it to me, but the give it to me flu version. He then woke me up on Tuesday freaking out because he thought Teagan's eye was swollen shut, which it wasn't. We took the girls to urgent care to discover they had bookend ear infections. One on the right, one on the left. Because I didn't feel good, it took all my strength not to pass out at the doctors because I didn't want to A)incur a bill to see the dr myself, B)lay on a couch full of germs and people's DNA and C)fall over like a rhino being shot with a tranq gun in slow motion. I was even sick on our anniversary. You know shit's bad when I not only miss our anniversary dinner, but I turn down pie. PIE!!  Everyone eventually got better...except me. But I'll be damned if I was going to miss a once a year opportunity because my body wouldn't cooperate. It may be old and saggy (that's what she said) but I was going to force this old battleax into the car for a three hour trip.

Now, because I'm super geeked that I was able to have an entire weekend as Tara and not as "She Who Provides the Num Nums", I'm going to go through EVERY freaking detail. It's like being invited to someones house under the assumption there will hard liquor and cheese dip only to find out you will have to go through that persons boring ass vacation pictures. If the pics aren't of kids, people I know or people making complete asses out of themselves, then assume I'm sleeping with my eyes open. So here's our trip. Savor it...

That Friday, we had dropped the girls off at my parents house. Now this was a big deal, because my parents didn't like the idea of having them out of their natural habitat, but they have all adapted nicely. Honestly, I don't even think the girls knew we left because my parents house looks like Toys R Us barfed everywhere.

The trip was long and boring (hopefully not what she said) and we got to the hotel without incident. Before dinner, I had to change out of my mom clothes and turn into a normal human being. Now, I forgot to take a "Before" picture, so I took the liberty of creating what I thought I looked like.

Before                        After
**Just be aware it is very difficult to draw boobs in Microsoft Paint. And those are yoga pants, not Aladdin's pants.**
That first night, we decided to go out to a fancy sushi restaurant. I made sure to ask one of my friends where the best place was, as I didn't want to get the sushits. We walked in and we were surrounded by hipsters. We settled into our small ass table and order a bunch of food that we really had no idea what it was. Then, a hipster couple and their small child, I'd say about 2-3 years old, sat down right next to us. How modern of them to have their toddler eat a meal that cost more then it does to fill up my gas tank. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, even though I was irritated that we had to sit next to a kid. So irritated, that I inadvertently elbowed the waiter in the junk while I was making fun of the douchenozzles on the other side of us because he kept coming at me from my blind side. Which, because I have glasses, is both sides. I shouldn't have given the kid the benefit of the doubt, because about three minutes into him sitting down, he chucked a chopstick at the table behind him. The best part though, was when his parents began having a deep discussion on how people should parent.  You know, after their child javelined a utensil into an unsuspecting table full of people. I struggle to try to remember exact quotes because I'm not sure my mind could wrap around the shear denseness that came out of those people's sushi holes. The food was very yummy though. PS, the other table of douchenozzles next to us were middle aged women who sat down, looked at their water glass and questioned, "Hmmmm, is this sparkling water? Sir, can we get some sparkling water? Gosh, I LURV sparkling water".
Then we went to get gourmet cupcakes. Soooo sophisticated.
Gratuitous food shot.
I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the night. But it involved swimming and early sleep. Real, actual sleep, not the "other" type of sleep. You just don't do that after sushi.
If you want to read about the rest of the weekend, I'll have another post shortly. I didn't want this one to get too long (that's what she..ok that's enough of that).

Monday, September 30, 2013

My Favorite 'F' Word

In all fairness, I also like to say the real "F" word...and my last name starts with 'F', so that's pretty high up there too, but football, my friends, is fan-fucking-tastic and the season is upon us!
The NFL season started last night, but it doesn't really count because I couldn't watch any of it. So my perceived real kickoff is this Sunday. In my eyes, the greatest, most magical team in the world is the Green Bay Packers. I've been a fan my entire life. When fall arrives and football starts, I'm filled to the brim with joy, green and gold and beer dip.  But there's also a dark side to this cheese product filled momma. Everyone who knows me, and probably some people that don't really know me, describe me as a "die-hard" fan. I would up that word a notch and call myself "die-hardiest". As in, don't cross me on Sundays after a loss man, because I will end you, hard. While I may enjoy being balls deep in the season, it's not always the most pleasant for those around me. I am trying to be somewhat open and honest (because if I was completely honest, I would scare people) as I outline my illness. Not only do I suffer from Chronic Bitchy-Resting Face, but I also suffer from Seasonal "I Will Cut a Bitch Who Speaks Ill of the Packers" Syndrome, both which are new in the DSM-V.
As in all things that are wrong with people, I blame my parents for this one. Every Sunday, we would sit and watch the Packers with fervent dedication. We had a routine of standing together in a huddle during kickoff. We would then shut our mouths and watch silently until commercials. Cheering, jeering and throwing of objects were allowed, obviously, but no talking. I once voiced my sadness at Dan Dierdorf's lisp and I got my ass chewed out. Goddamn Dan Dierdorf. At half time, we would eat and then repeat for the second half. We even had a list of rules that were posted for visitors. We did not get many visitors by choice. We hosted a big Super Bowl party during the Packers '96 run. The day of, I remember as if it were yesterday, I sat quietly and nervously reflecting my concerns: What if they lost? What if no one came to our party? What if my favorite Trapper Keeper was no longer cool? I asked my mom what would happen if we lost. "Don't worry", she said, "we won't". Long story short, after being raised in this environment, is it any wonder I turned out this way?
Throughout the Years
This was all several years, a few lb's and 2 chins ago. But yes, I did have my wedding pictures at Lambeau Field and had a Packers themed wedding. My choice, of course. I wanted a field goal post brought in the reception, but the room wasn't tall enough and I couldn't figure out how to kick it into the uprights in a heavy wedding dress.
Passing on the Tradition

What can I say? One of the girls middle names is after a player after a bet I made with Brad. Plus, they were born during a bye week, so they obviously have their shit together. Oh, and they were born 9 months, 1 day after the Super Bowl. Tara for the win.

Social Situations and Relationships
Social situations become difficult. When I lived at home when I was older, my parents didn't really like to watch the games with me and I preferred it that way. I also have just recently been able to watch with other people around. There is nothing worse than sitting in a bar watching a game with several types of jackass surrounding you. There's always ONE person who is intolerable and my bullshit bar is very low. On the flip side, I don't care for my "own kind" that would watch the games with me and watch (or worse, egg on) my reaction to every bad play. One instance was when I was watching the 2010 opener with my dad and Brad and some bad play happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad staring at me to see if I'd freak out. Without looking at him, I told him to stop staring at me. He laughed until I told him he made me this way.
And then there are relationships. I made sure to choose a husband that was a Packer fan, because if he was any other kind of fan, especially of a team within our division, he wouldn't have gotten any from September until February, if at all. I can be as frigid as the Frozen Tundra if needed. Brad knew what he was getting himself into. About three years into our relationship, the Packers were in the NFC Championship against the New York Giants. It happened to be my midnight birthday (the day before your birthday when you went out and drank until your actual bday. Thank you college). Well, old man winter, Brett Favre (whom I am still struggling to forgive) ended his career with the Pack with a big, fat loss due to an interception. Brad came over to comfort me. "Just leave me alone" I said as I cried for the next two hours. I cried in my vodka that night. Well, several vodkas. People are also afraid to talk to me after a loss. I have gotten much better within the past few years, so people can stop putting the concerned facebook posts up worrying for Brad's safety. "I'm not going to doooo, what you all THINK I'm going to do and FLIP OUT MAN".
It's like the beer commercial, "It's only weird if it doesn't work". I'm not sure when this all happened, but the first superstition I recall is my dad rubbing the belly of troll doll that I made into a green and gold cheesehead wearing badass. I eventually developed my own superstitions. Now I know, being a rational person, that nothing I do can affect the outcome of the game but I feel off if I don't perform several of my rituals. Now I can't tell you what they are, because it's bad luck, but I can say that some of them are obvious (at least I think they are) and some are pretty hidden. Don't try and figure them out, because that will only piss me off. People try, oh yes they do. But don't. It's bad luck. I will say that one of my rituals may have been in "The Silver Linings Playbook", I may have geeked out when I saw it and Brad may have looked at me immediately and slow shook his head. Hey, if Bobby DeNiro does it, it must freaking work.
Now I may seem a little "obsessive" or "crazy" or "awesome", but this is my passion. I love talking about football and I (usually) know what I'm talking about. I do enjoy watching other teams play, but I won't root for anyone else. Even whatever teams playing the Vikings/Bears/San Fran/Giants/Cowboys/Seattle/Atlanta/Patriots/Lions, etc, etc. I will give credit to a great play by other players, but I won't cheer for anyone. And that's why Fantasy Football can go to hell. 
NOTE: Some of this was written before the season began, so I was hopeful, optimistic and the Pack was 0-0. Then we lost to San Fran and I didn't feel like writing it. Then we won against Washington and I was all gung-ho and happy. Then we lost against Cincy and I become grumpy again. So, it was only natural that I finished it up during a bye week, so I'm all balanced out.


Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Ridin' the Storm Out

On a Tuesday night in August, right before Brad and I had gone to bed, we checked the local weather station. Thunderstorms to the north of the state, but we shouldn't see anything down by us. Since meteorologists are super accurate, we left the windows open in the whole house and went to bed.

I was in the middle of a dream where I was on a boat, being gently sprayed by sea mist, when I woke up confused because I was actually being rained on (I was going to frame it as saying "in the middle of a wet dream, literally", but the thought kind of grossed me out). Then the blinds began to hit the ceiling and our doors started slamming shut. Either we have some Poltergeist shit up in this hole to hell or we were in the middle of a storm. As Brad was shutting our window, I somehow fell back asleep for about 5 seconds before I told him he needed to go and shut the girls window. He did and proceeded to yell for me to get up and help shut the rest of the house up. Our entire kitchen floor was soaking by the time we closed up shop. We looked outside and saw orange skies, torrential rain, trees and branches everywhere and heard the sound of a train. I am well aware that if you hear that, you either better be in the basement in .2 seconds or bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, because you're about to star in the remake of "Twister". Our electricity was out, but using the power of 4G and WiFi, Brad was checking the weather while I was checking my mom's group to see what everyone else was doing. Because there were no warnings of tornadoes or anything else and no sirens, we assumed everything was fine and nothing more than a severe thunderstorm, so we went back to bed.

We woke up to a damn shit storm. Luckily, we only had some small tree branches down by us, but the former drug house across the street had a tree for a roof (which was just taken care of yesterday). Still without power, both Brad and I attempted to go to work, only to be sent home due to widespread power outages that covered tens of thousands of people. It was reported that it could take days to a week to get power back everywhere. Panic mode set in. How was I going to cook? Would we lose all of our cold food? Will I get to drink my quarter bottle of wine? Why does my phone only have 5% battery left after I charged it last night? How will I entertain my children? Good lord! There's no access to "Bubble Guppies" and they start jonesing for their fix around lunch time! I'm never going to make it. I'm not sure if I can entertain them for an undetermined amount of time. Without outside visual and audio stimulation, their other senses are going to perk up and they will be able to smell my fear!! Even more terrifying, is that I could foresee what life would be like at home 1800's style and it didn't look pretty.

This is how I would have to dress and the accessories I would have to carry around:

That is a hat with lights.

Whenever I think of a freezer thawing out, I always think of the scene in "Jurassic Park" where they had to eat gallons of different delicious ice cream. We didn't have any of that. This was all that was left of our freezer...

Bottle is from Christmas three years ago.
 Strange things began to happen. Our clock had stopped about 6 weeks earlier. We tried changing it's batteries and it still wouldn't work. Out of the blue, after ALL of our power went out, the thing started up again.

"Don't worry guys, I got this. I'm the Regulator. Mount up".
But probably the worst, most awkward thing of that time, is the fact that I would have to put my phone, computer and anything else I love away and have face to face contact and interaction with people. Like my husband. Painful.

"Hey...uh...come here often?"
"Holy shit, since when have your eyes been blue?"

F this in the A, if we are going to be out of power for days, I'm taking the girls to my parents house. I offered to allow (yes, allow) Brad to come with us, but he wanted to be Grizzly Adams manly and stay until the power came back on. Which is guy code for he wants to have some peace and quiet and go to the bar. We left and spent 18 glorious hours in present day culture. Except, I still didn't have internet connection for my laptop. First world problems. This also happened to be the first trip/time in which the girls almost perfectly mimicked my road rage and started saying "Fah-King?! Faaaahhhhh-King?!" Loose lips sink ships? More like loose lips nominate you for Parent of the Year.

When the three of us returned, we were still without power for 24 more hours. Luckily, I had to go to work in another city that night, so Brad got to take care of the girls in the dark. I guess the blackout wasn't too bad on me, since I wasn't there for the worst part of it.

Day 3 without power proved to be a little more difficult.  While the girls weren't actively going through cartoon DT's, they were still itching for the good stuff. Instead, we built towers, chased each other around, tried to jump off the couch, tried to jump onto me, successfully jumped onto me and got to eat their weight in PB sandwiches. We did "Patty Cake" until I wanted to punch myself in the face. I didn't have the heart to tell them they would be waiting for a long time for their cake to be baked, as the bakers man had no access to an oven. We all laid down for a nap and when we awoke, power had been restored. I busted out with an my version of "This Little Light of Mine" while I hugged my electronics. Don't leave me again, microwave. I'll clean you real good for coming back to me.

It took a awhile for everyone to clean up after the storm. After days of speculation and a lot of pissed off people, it was eventually confirmed that there was a tornado that went through the area. Six tornadoes confirmed to be exact, including one that went by a block from us. There are controversies surrounding the sirens not going off. There's a county that's telling people it wasn't their responsibility to sound the sirens, it was the citizens needing to take some "personal responsibility" for their safety. Nice Facebook PR "Unnamed Wisconsin County".

All in all, I am very grateful that no one got hurt and that the kids slept through most of the storm. And that they forgot all about the naughty word I shouted at some dipshit driver.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

1st Convo with my 1.5 Year Old

Destroyer of Life
I realize that the conversation I had with one of my 1.5 year olds wasn't really a conversation, but I felt like it was the start of something. We were outside and she was on the bottom of the slide. She saw a bug, some sort of small winged thing, and started poking at it. She looked at me with questioning on her face. So here it goes:
Me: It's a bug.
Teags: Bud?
M: No, bug. BuGGG.
T: Bug-ah.
*She starts to poke at it and it's now half squished*
M: Oh no, you're squishing it, Lenny (from 'Of Mice and Men')
*She finishes the job and it's squished*
T: All DONE. (She then just stares at me, like I'm next)
2.5 minutes later, she sees the bug she just squished stuck to the side of the slide.
T: Ooooooo, bug-ah!!
I know everything thinks kids say the funniest things, but I truly think I have my work cut out for me with these two. Good luck to me.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Nail Fail

The last time I really got into doing my nails was in 6th grade. I hadn't been allowed to wear makeup or paint my nails up until that time, well, I still didn't wear makeup, but  I could paint my nails. At first, my parents didn't want me to put any kind of devils color on my body but after unrelenting pre-teen whining, they finally broke down. I assume one can only take hearing "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS, WAAAAAA!!" so many times before you just don't give a shit anymore. I would go to the store and buy every crazy color I could imagine. Once, I painted each nail a different color! For a 12 year old, that's like bitch-slapping society in the face. Plus, I liked the smell. Reminded me of my other favorite, brain-cell erasing smell: gasoline.

Flash forward to now and my interest in "nail art" has piqued once again, thanks to the ladies I work with. They do their nails fairly regularly, where I paint mine and let them chip off naturally. I once had  nail polish chip off (by itself) into the profile of George Lucas, I shit you not. I'd put the picture on here, but I'm hoping to Tweet it to George Lucas and get something free from him. But the girls at work are true dye hards (see the wording, huh? huh? Punny), doing some really interesting stuff that I can't make work. I once totally branched out and painted all my nails turquoise and then had one gold, glitter accent nail. I showed Brad and he said, "Why is one nail painted like that?". "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS, WAAAAAA!!" and I ran off to Instagram it to the people that do understand.

So, as you can imagine, I don't get much time to pamper myself. But one night, before a wedding, I decided to pamper myself by taking a nice bath, drink some wine and paint my nails. Well, the bathtub made me realize why I don't take baths anymore, with the sitting in your own dirty water and the noticing places in the tub that you don't clean good enough. Then I took the girls picnic bench and set up shop. I decided to do the "Saran Wrap" nails. I got my base on and thought, hell, this looks nice. Looking back, it was probably the 3rd glass of wine talking. So I started putting the second coat on and did the Saran Wrap thing and my god in heaven, it was awful. I suck at fancy nail painting......

I felt I had one of two options: 1)Take the monstrosity down with some nail polish remover or 2)make my face up to look like the Joker to complete the look. I chose the first option because I was fresh out of crazy . Needless to say, I think I'll stick with plain polish from now on. Fucking Pinterest tutorial.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Mother of the Ear

 I am recently on the mend from an extremely painful and complicated ear infection. Whenever I used to hear of that illness, I just thought of a sore ear, fixed up with antibiotics within a day or two. But I can say first hand, I would not wish that kind of pain on anyone, no matter how much I hated them. I had the good fortune of having both an outer and middle ear infection and I would rather be in labor than have that happen again. It felt like my ear turned into Satan's asshole or something.

I think I got the Swimmer's Ear from when I went into a hot tub and pool. I had gotten a pedicure that day and my foot was cut, so I was afraid of going into the water for fear my foot would get infected. I believe I was told "Your foot's not going to get infected, don't worry".

Flash forward two days later and my ear hurt. I knew I should go in right away before it got too bad, but it was Memorial Day so only an urgent care type place was open. I was in and out within an hour and given antibiotics. By late evening, I felt as if the outside of my ear and cheek were swelling, so I asked Brad if he thought it felt swollen. He looked at it and said "Yep, uh, it's swollen alright".  The pain was getting worse and so was the swelling. I decided to call the on call nurse, who suggested I go to the ER.

There I sat at the ER, feeling like a tremendous asshole for being there. I didn't have a temp, but the pain was pretty awful. I began shaking and sweating profusely but was very cold. I put my hood up and started bouncing my legs. Everyone who was in the waiting room had glanced at me a few times. They probably thought I was going through detox or withdrawals, looking for pain meds.

Was eventually seen by the doctor who told me it wasn't the worse thing he's ever seen. Gave me a script for ear drops and sent me on my way. By that time my temp rose almost 4 degrees. I asked if anything could happen that would indicate my ear was getting worse and I should return. "Nope", he said.

So I went back home, took the drops and tried to sleep. By morning, nothing was better and I had zero energy. Luckily, I called my mom and sounded pitiful enough that she came over and watched the girls for me while I slept.

The next day was pretty much the same, but my dad came over to help. By this time, it had been over 48 hours that I had been on the meds and drops with no relief. I couldn't find a position to sleep, sit, turn my head or stand that didn't result in horrible pain. I tried everything I could think of: warm, wet washcloth, heated rice pack, tilting my head to one side, tilting it to the other side, blowdrying it. I even cut up a piece of garlic and placed in in the outer part of my ear, as one hippie told me to do. I had no luck whatsoever and I was starting to smell like Fazoli's. So I call the on call nurse back again. She asked me some questions and told me to go to the ER ASAP as she wanted to make sure I didn't have Meningitis. Her exact words. I went to the ER, waited and was seen by a nurse. She stated that my ear had completely closed and I probably had some bacteria in there that couldn't be destroyed by the meds I was on (from that goddamned hot tub!!). They were going to put me on IV antibiotics and do some blood work. A male nurse came in and told me they wanted to do a CT scan too. Aye Paco. Luckily, the male nurse had taken his time prepping my arm for the IV (I had told him the last 2 times I had an IV put in, I had either passed out and/or thrown up. Plus, the bed I was in didn't have rails) and the head nurse lady came in and told me I could go straight to the ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) Dr., with no IV. Whew.

The ENT was a very nice, young man. He reiterated that my ear was completely closed and he couldn't see my eardrum at all, so he didn't know what kind of shape it was in. By this time, I was completely deaf in the left ear. He told me he had to put some wicks in the ear to open it up. He warned me that there was going to be pressure, but I told him it couldn't be as bad as what I had been going through. I was dead fucking wrong. He placed two wicks in my ear. I mean, he shoved two wicks, which are like stiff cotton ear tampons, into an ear hole that WASN'T OPEN. I screamed and tried to roll away. I got through it by saying the pain was temporary and he would take them out in a few minutes. "See you Friday!!". I looked at him like he just kicked a puppy. It was Wednesday and no way would I be able to have these devil sticks all up in my unopened ear. He told me not to worry, the wicks would open my ear up and allow the drops to do their jobs. And he would give me pain meds. Pain meds make me vomit.

I couldn't eat and could barely sleep for the next few days. I went back on Friday to a new ENT who looked like this guy...
I had been feeling a little bit better until New ENT ripped the enlarged ear tampons out of me. He said two things 1) "It looks like new skin grew around the wicks and when I took them out, I ripped that new skin. It may bleed". and 2)"Well, your ear isn't the most open thing in America". With as painful as the removal was, I was two shakes of a kitten's whisker away from telling him his mother was the most open thing in America, but I feared he would put in a jumbo super plus ear tampon the next time. He made an appointment with me for the following week and told me if the ear wasn't healed by then, "then something's really wrong with your ear". I took that as him telling me I should google the shit out of this problem and scare myself senseless by thinking I have some weird brain infection.
Flash forward to the following Tuesday. I was feeling better, could eat more than mashed taters and pudding and didn't need pain meds. I still couldn't hear out of the ear and it was doing some pretty gross things still (I'll spare you those deets) but I was optimistic. There wasn't any dramatic unveiling of a condition that would be applicable to "Mystery Diagnosis". He looked in, said it looked like it healed, used a little vacuum which felt like a little snake's tongue flickering my ear drum and told me everything was fine. I wanted him to tell me it was the biggest, most healthy looking hole he's ever seen, but I thought things might get weird. Although I couldn't hear, he said it was likely due to the trauma of the wicks being shoved and ripped out and it will go back to normal soon. Which it mostly did.
Moral of the story? Always trust your own body, even moms get sick and need extra help and if someone tells you a hole on your body isn't the most open thing in America, it's not always a compliment. 

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday: Voice Change and Emo Emu

Parent Wise
I learned this week that toddlers voices change akin to puberty. I can have a sweet sounding angel calling out "Mama" only to hear 5 seconds later "DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE?" in baritone. After many sleepless nights and discussions with therapists (not really), I have determined they are saying "Daddy" but not pronunciating the double d's. Whew. But you better believe I'm on the defensive when both of them are lunging at me, just in case. In addition, they have discovered octaves only dogs can hear. If you take that block away from Teagan, she will kick up her scream in a pitch only dogs can hear. It's starting to sound like Mariah Carey up in here.
Life Wise
I've learned a bunch of emo stuff that's not really funny nor entertaining. Along the lines of not being able to count on those you should, humanity going down the shitter, blah blah blah. Can't control situations or people, but I can control my actions and how I react to things, which is my motto now I guess. After that insightful, downer gem, I'm going to go find my black eyeliner and baggy jeans. At least I'm not this guy...

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday: Thursday Edition

The girls are starting to talk up a storm. They have a few words they repeat over and over again. Becoming more receptive to trying to repeat words I say. I have slipped a couple "mofo's" in there, I couldn't help myself. But it's all fun and games until one of your kids goes up to the Jehovah's Witness that won't leave me alone and call them a mofo. It hasn't happened...yet. A favorite word in this house is 'baby'. All children are 'baby' and most inanimate objects as well. Caroline came up to me while I was scratching my stomach, looked at it, slapped it and said "Baby?". Uhm, no sweetheart. Not baby. That's half of an almond kringle. Now I'm going to wallow and eat the other half.
Every year I totally geek out over rummage sales. I come from a long line of "thrify people", otherwise known as cheapskates, so I love me some deals. I was popping tags with $20 in my pocket way before it was cool. But every year I get disappointed. With Craigslist, every rummage sounds like a bargain bin at the Pitt/Jolie house. But I'll reiterate how disappointing they can turn out. If you are going to caps lock "NAME BRAND" clothes in your ad, I expect clothes from this century. No one wants to buy a baby pair of Jordache jeans just because they were cool back in the Clinton administration. And is inflation a bitch!? You know you're cheap when you say "7 dollars? Aw naw. Where's Honey Boo Boo shop, maybe I'll go there". 

Saturday, May 11, 2013

What Men Want to Hear on Mothers' Day

1) What men want to hear: "Oh honey, it's okay you forgot Mother's Day, there's always next year. Want a  foot massage?"

Reality: "For fucks sake, I reminded you about it, wrote it on the calender, put a link to the gift I want on your Facebook page and bought  my own card. I'll massage your ass with my foot!"

2) What men want to hear: " No way do I need breakfast in bed, that's so much work. But what can I make you?"

Reality: "I'll take breakfast in bed, lunch in bed, snack in bed and I'll drink my bed".

3) What men want to hear: "This gift of the best of the home shopping network vacuums with the two nozzle attachments will really help me get a nice, deep clean."

Reality: "This gift assures me you aren't getting a nice, deep anything".

4) What men want to hear: "Let's not pay our cellphone bill, so we have an excuse why we can't talk to our mothers today".

Reality: "Let's not pay our cellphone bill, so we have an excuse why we can't talk to your mother today". (Just kidding, really).

5) What men want to hear: " I am so grateful you chose me to be the bearer of your children, you manly, hairy alpha male you."

Reality: "You're lucky double bubble and my biological clock were working in your favor".

6)What men want to hear: "You didn't have to buy me anything. The gift of our children is gift enough".

Reality: "Can you buy me five minutes of peace so I can poop without worrying about our children getting into trouble, getting into the cabinets, falling, hitting their heads, hitting each other's heads, headbutting, kicking, choking or trying to bust down this damn bathroom door?"

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday-5/8/13

 I learned this week that the real terrible two's are a horrible myth. The same myth that says morning sickness only happens in the morning. Both myths being bullshit. The girls turned 18 months old the other day and are having numerous daily meltdowns. Teag's meltdown #4 was due to her feeding Caroline a Cheerio. She must not have seen the 347 other Cheerios on the table and the floor. I also learned that no matter how awful you think your situation is, how frustrated you get or how crazy you think you are becoming, someone will remind you that they have been in worse situations and things will get worse. "Just wait...", they say. Well I say, just wait until I destroy you.
Ah, nerds. I've always had a deep seeded hatred towards them. I know they can't help it, being nerdy and all. But I think I've realized why I've loathed them for so long, why they make me physically angry. Because I AM ONE (and everyone secretly hates themselves for some reason). The first step is admitting you have a problem. And I have a big one. I am obsessed with "Doctor Who". Obsessed to the point where I might be a fangirl. A sign that the apocalypse is upon us I suppose.  


Wednesday, May 1, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday-5/1/13

The girls are polar opposites at times. The weather is starting to get nice here and they have been outside a lot. One loves the outdoors and will explore and run around, while the other is literally frozen in one spot out of fear. I think next time, I'll park my chair next to her and have her hold my drink.
There are generational gaps all over the place. I don't know if I'm just at that age where it's a middle ground or if I'm just that out of touch with those who are younger and older than myself. Case in point: If I were to say "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S", a bunch of youngin's would say "That was my favorite song in 4th grade". Gahhh. The opposite of that? I was driving with my mom and told her the song on the radio was my favorite. She asked who it was and I said "The Black Keys". "Oh! The Black Eyed Keys?". Not quite.
I'm enjoying the subject of generation gaps so much, I think it'll be my next post. Stay tuned!

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday-4/24/13

I learned that children will mimic the shit out of you whether you like it or not. For example, if you partly lift up your shirt, in broad daylight, in front of your living room window (not realizing of course) to scratch your belly, they will also do this. Remind me not to scratch my ass in front of them.
If you are going to surprise one of your friends with a birthday shot 10 minutes before midnight, make sure they aren't allergic to whatever you are giving them. It's not wise to kill the birthday girl. 

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

What I Learned Wednesday

I was thinking about starting a weekly little blurb to ensure I have something new every week. Since everyday is a learning experience (SOOOO clique), I think I'll write about 1 thing I learned about parenting and 1 think I learned in general. So here's the first entry!

I learned this week that some genes are so strong, even if your child is not exposed to the behavior, they will engage in the behavior. Like pooping in the tub. Which I may or may not have done as a toddler myself.
Hollywood's always going to mess up any good memories you had as child. For example, Megan Fox as April in "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles". She's about as plastic as the mutant turtles. 

Monday, April 1, 2013

Ready or Not, Here They Come (Part II)

Ok, so where was I? Oh yes, everyone came back after lunch. And they all looked like this:

 The contractions were becoming more intense and the nurses had been telling me for the last few hours that I could have an epidural whenever. So when the nurse told me I could have the drugs anytime I wanted to, I felt like I should tough it out and experience "real" pregnancy pain. Like if I had it then, I would be missing out on something. Which is probably one of the dumbest thoughts I ever thunk. After a few more doozy's, I decided it was time for the good stuff. I had everyone leave the room except for Brad. The anesthesiologist came in, in all his red-headed glory. After signing all the papers dismissing liability of the hospital in case I became paralyzed because myself or the drug dr. sneezed and severed something or whatever, they shot it in me. God, there are so many dirty references during child birth. I am forever grateful that I was unable to see any of this being done and that it wasn't too horribly painful. But almost immediately, I could feel nothing from my udders down. No pressure, no movement, nothing. Not even when I pissed myself.

Nothing real exciting happened the next few hours. I had to have an internal and external heart monitor for the babies and they kept losing the "signal" on the external monitor, so they had to keep flipping me over. I felt like a pancake. During the course of these turns, I accidentally tooted, but played it cool. Don't look at me, I didn't do it. Those who felt it dealt it and I can't feel a thing. Then it dawned on me. If I couldn't feel that, what if I had been pooping this whole time? Dear lord, those poor nurses. I'll have to write them an apology note and send some candy. But not chocolate, I wouldn't want them to think I was mocking them.

The nurses kept coming in and checking to see how far my dilation had progressed and every time, it was hardly anything. Nothing was progressing and they kept upping the Pitocin. It was so disappointing because I thought I was doing good work but had no results. Like dieting.

It got later in the evening and everyone wanted to go out to eat. Again. Really guys, like you didn't already have TWO full meals and some snacks today?!? Don't you make me get up out of this bed. I will smack you with my IV hand. "It's ok" they said. "Watch some tv and rest" they said. "Monday Night Football is on" they said. Ok, it's cool, I'll rest with the babies trying to Kung Fu fight their way out. They all left and I turned on MNF, wondering who was playing. Hopefully it's not the Bears. Whew, it's the Eagles and they are playing the, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO the Bears! Ugh, maybe I will try and sleep.

More and more time had passed with little to no progress. Everyone returned from eating and they brought my sister-in-law, Keri, with them. By this time, I was frustrated and upset that nothing was moving and that everyone kept asking "I wonder when will they be born? This is taking so long". The Pitocin was as high as it could go. My doctor finally showed back up, checked me and said she'd be back later.

After the entire day without progress, the doctor came in and told me that while I tried to have them naturally, it may be time to consider having a C-section. She told me, "You can continue to try to have them naturally, but I can't guarantee that you won't be in the same spot 12 hours from now". I told her I didn't want either option. She's smart, she's a doctor, I'm sure she could figure out another way.

We deliberated and decided we were going to go the C-section route. After this decision, things picked up pretty fast. Brad will try and convince you that the only reason I picked the C-section was because it was getting close to midnight and he had picked the 8th in the due date pool. This is not true, but it was an added bonus that he lost.

It was asked if I minded if my family could go into a room to see the girls being born. At that point, the film crew from "Jersey Shore" could have been in there and I wouldn't have cared. I was wheeled into surgery and prepped. The anesthesiologist came in and gave me an extra dose of pain meds, saying he was going to be my new best friend. I believe that it wasn't extra meds, but a shot of his ginger hair, which would explain the girls red hair. He also asked if I wanted some anti-nausea meds, which I declined because I felt fine. Approximately 3 minutes later, I began throwing up and took him up on his offer.

So this was it. I declined the offer to watch the surgery in the mirror for fear of passing out. My family didn't have that option. No one informed them or myself that the view they were going to get was of them cutting me open. They could see everything! But they were taking pulls from celebratory flasks, so I didn't feel too bad for them.

Once they started, it happened quickly. At twenty to twelve, they yanked Teagan out, with Caroline following a minute later. Of course, I had to act like a big girl and started crying after hearing Caroline cry. Brad got to see them first, but didn't watch as they were being taken out. He later told me he was terrified because Teags came out blue with a misshapen head. We later found out the reason why I hardly dilated was because Teagan was coming out forehead first and crooked. If you know her, it's  not too hard to believe that. She does what she wants.

The rest of the night went as follows. Mom sees babies. Mom can only see part of babies, so assumes she birthed only 2 sets of eyes with no bodies. Dad takes babies out to hoard of people, who cannot touch said babies because Mom hasn't held them yet and will destroy anyone who tries to touch them first. Mom finally meets little ones up close. Mom almost suffocates Caroline while breastfeeding. But that's a different post. Mom gets compression socks and everyone falls asleep.

So that's their story. It wasn't too dramatic or eventful. They obviously changed our lives and were the best things to happen to us, blah blah. Leave a comment so I know if you liked it or not. Which I'm sure you will,because I'm awesome and humble.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Ready or Not, Here They Come (Part I)

I've talked about finding out I was pregnant and some pregnancy stuff, so I think it's about time I get down to the nitty gritty and discuss the day they were born. There may be some gross things, so any man reading this, I caution you. But, for any man that's grossed out by words like "amniotic fluid" or "placenta" remember, I'm assuming most of you place your dong where those come out (not in mine, of course), so it can't be that gross.

I was told by my doctor that full term for twins is 38 weeks and they would schedule an induction at that time. I was confident that I would go into labor myself before then, partly because I was terrified of being induced. The only induction I'd ever been apart of was with my sorority and I assumed this one would have more pain and less beer. I was also told there was a possibility I could go into labor at any point, especially after 35 weeks. However, my stubborn Polish daughters decided they'd make themselves cozy until they were forced to be evicted.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, I was extremely and understandably uncomfortable. I wasn't huge, but I felt like a walrus. I couldn't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time and I often stayed up all night and tried to sleep during the day without much success. So many people would laugh and say "Just getting you ready for when they are here, HAHA!". While I understood what they were saying, I also understood no cop in their right mind would jail a pregnant beast who attacked someone for saying that stupid comment. The girls put so much pressure on my lower back and nether regions that I did everything to try and get comfy and get them out. I tried to bargain with them, I offered them money, I tried to get Baby A to fight with Baby B in hopes they would just accidentally fall out or bust through. I got so desperate for some kind of relief, I began to Raji. For those who do not know, Youtube "Raji Touchdown Dance" and that's what I looked like at 9 months.

Because all of my efforts were futile, I had my induction set for 0600 on Monday, November 7th. I of course could not sleep and I was starving because I couldn't eat after 10 pm on Sunday. At about 4 am, I heard a popping noise and I was terrified that I my water had broken. It had not and I had saved my guest bed a very wet surprise.

It was cold that morning and Brad and I headed to a local hospital which was about 2 miles from our house. By 7 am, we were all checked in and I had my first contraction while getting my gown on, although it could have been the girls planting their feet in protest . So I get into my bed while the nurses are looking for the best vein to put my IV in. They tried and stabbed three times before they got it in (kind of like the events that got me in this position to begin with) which caused me to go into some kind of shock. I was at the hospital for an hour and not even in labor yet and I'm about to pass out and start throwing up all over. I thought maybe I should have looked at Brad and said "Look what you did to me" but that may have been a little too dramatic a little too early. I'll save that for later. After that debacle, it was smooth sailing and the girls were born 15 minutes later. Just kidding.

My parents wanted to stay with me for the duration of the labor and they showed up a few hours into it. They, of course, were over the moon excited and impatient right off the bat. My brother was also there and got there about 3-4 hours into labor. They were lucky enough to miss my water being broke. I had heard all these horror stories about this being more painful than labor or contractions and I was pleasantly surprised that it did not hurt in the least. But I was naive and thought once the water was broken, it stayed broken. I didn't realize that it regenerated like some kind of weird alien water that squirts out whenever it wants. *Cough* Amniotic fluid. *Sneeze*Amniotic fluid. Laugh? *Ha* Amni *Ha* otic *Ha* fluid.

There's another thing that no one really tells you about being in labor. No one says that every nurse that works in the L&D unit will be coming by to check dilation. I had more hands checking me out downtown than high school and college combined.

Throughout the morning, I hadn't progressed much, maybe a centimeter. I was so hungry and my dad looked into the fridge and found some pudding. I was like, fuck yeah, pudding it is. A nurse had heard this and said "Whoops, no pudding for you. I don't know how that got into your fridge. Hmm". Uh, what? Freaking jello it is then I guess. Everyone else must have been sooo famished because those a-holes all left me to go and eat. I'll be fine, just attempting to get this baby party started, but no, you go ahead and eat. I've got ice chips to hold me over until I can eat again in 24 hours. And wouldn't you know, within 15 minutes after they left, I began having the worst contractions. The kind that make you curse every time you ever hade sex in your life and the kind that make you cling to the sides of the bed in pain. But I made 'er until they all got back. I could have bore holes through them with my intense laser eyes when they got back, but I couldn't chance having them explode and get pizza and subs all over the room.

This seems like a good cut off point. Suspenseful, dramatic, people exploding. I promise I'll have part II up soon after this one. I have important texts to send.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Shop Til you Drop, Grocery Style.

If there's one thing in the world that I hate, it's going grocery shopping. And hippies. And politicians. And green beans. Ok, so there's a lot of things in the world that I hate, but grocery shopping is at the top of the list. I go once a week and usually go between a mega-store (Woodmans) and a regional store (Festy). Being a SAHM, others may see this as an opportunity to "get out" like a mini vacation. "Oh, you do get to go out to the store, isn't that a nice little break?". Well, if someone thinks going to the grocery store is a vacation, I have a nice time share to sell you in Cuba. I could send Brad to the store. I have threatened to do so on a few occasions, but when push comes to shove, I'm a way better, smarter, thriftier shopper then he is, partially because I'm cheap as fuck. Everyone has experienced this chore and if you haven't, you should thank whoever goes out and shops because honestly, I'd rather get a bikini wax with lukewarm wax than do this. Regardless, I will take you through a typical supermarket sweep in the Tarable'sTwo household.

Friday Night, typically 7:30pm: Babies are put to sleep, dinners over and I still have 3.5 hours until "Duck Dynasty" reruns are on. I've fiddled with different times and days to go to the store, but I find that this is the optimal time to go out if I have to go across town to Woodmans. I get into the car and my grocery shopping jam is on: "Eye of the Tiger". It really gets me in the mood to find deals. I am determined to slap my grocery bill in the (figurative) face with all my savings.

8:00: Now, if you've never been to a big mega discount grocery store like Woodmans before, it is quite the experience. First off, it's fricking ginormous and secondly, it's pretty much picked over at this time and day of the week. So it's off to the produce area to sort through that junk. Is this supposed to be fuzzy? I haven't seen anything that shriveled up in quite a while.

8:15: First dilemma. Should I get my meat and whatnot first before my canned goods and chance it might thaw out and poison us all? Ah, what the hell, the babies don't really eat all that much meat anyway and I could stand to lose a few lb's.

8:30: Second dilemma: Frozen desserts. They look so tasty. Sugar's good for you, right?

8:32: Now the shit show known as canned foods part aka the entire middle of the store. It's not so much the fact that every time I touch a canned good, I get an electric shock and when I pull away in pain, I receive a second, more lethal one from the cart that feels like the fence from "Jurassic Park". No, no. It's the fact that even at 8:30 at night, there's still a crap ton of people shopping and it seems everyone is going to the same aisle. Worse, is the cart-rage I get from stupid people stopping in the middle of the aisle, blissfully unaware of EVERYONE else around them. And then everyone being so nice to one another, trying to let the other person go first. I feel like I should put a snow plow in the front of my cart to move the stragglers along. Then there's a big traffic jam because everyone's so nice and can't figure out how to maneuver their carts. Really people, we aren't playing Tetris. The carts will fit through.

8:45: Finally make it across the store and I feel like I'm forgetting something. Of course. Whatever it is, it's on the clear other side of the store, over some mountains and teenager stock boys.

9:01: Shit, it's past the time they sell alcohol. I really wanted a bottle of mommy juice... wine. I guess I'll just have to start day drinking next week like I've been planning. On a side note, on another occasion at the other store I go to I had been shopping as fast as I could, because I wanted to purchase a bottle of Moscato and it was 8:45. I had gotten done in record time and they had 1 damn check out person. With, I kid you not, 8 people with full carts in front of me. I'm rarely one to speak up in public. I mostly mutter and complain under my breath, but this was the last straw. I said somewhat loudly, "Really, one cashier for all these people?", I scoffed and muttered "I have things to drink, people." I was getting really angry and fearful I wouldn't be able to check out in time. But a higher being helped out and I was done checking out by 9:00. I guess it wouldn't have been a big deal if I didn't get the wine. I live quite close to a bar.

9:15: The young check out girl, clearly thrilled that a bunch of assholes think this late on a Friday night is the best time to grocery shop, quickly scans everything and silently stabs me in the eyes in her mind. But I'm relieved this trip is almost done.

9:20: FREEDOM!!!!!!!!! Now, is Culver's still open? Because I'm hungry and there's nothing to eat.

10:00: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, I forgot buns.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Bubble Girls

15.5 months. We made it 15.5 months with only one minor instance of any kind of sickness (I am knocking on wood right now). Until now. Teags came down some kind of bug that gave her a pretty high temperature and a case of the cuddles. Which is somewhat rare, because she'd rather smother her mother than snuggle. This didn't sit well with Caroline, who almost matched Teagan cry for cry the past few days.

Now I'm all for self-responsibility, but she obviously didn't give this sickness to herself, so I need to place blame somewhere else. And I blame the peds office. They have the waiting room divided into two sections: a "well" child section and a "sick" child section. Thank god germs are not airborne, otherwise the sick kids could infect the well kids (insert my not impressed sarcastic face here). I'm also glad they give the sick kids masks to wear. You know the ones I'm talking about right? The ones the kids take off in order to sneeze. Yeah, those.

 I mean, I should get used to this, right? Well maybe I don't have to get used to this because I have a practical, ingenious idea stolen from Jake Gyllenhaal and John Travolta movies. I'll just put the girls in a bubble! Their own separate bubbles of course. And only for the formative years. The only qualm I would have is that Caroline has a pretty stinky butt that may make her bubble uninhabitable for most of the day. And I'm worried about them running over rocks. And wind. Wind's a big issue. But other than that, I think it's a perfectly appropriate solution.

If the girls were in a bubble they wouldn't get sick, therefore, they wouldn't get me sick. I am also sick at this moment and although it's not horrible, it's still a pain in the buns.  I don't typically "do well" with sickness either. I'm fortunate I didn't have a temp as high as Teagan's because the last time I did, I hallucinated Asian children dancing and mocking me around my bed (true story). Teagan won't share her goldfish crackers with me, but she'll share whatever this is. I know the exact moment she infected me. She was sitting next to me on the couch and I allowed her to have her nuk because she wasn't feeling well. I was looking at her and she was looking straight forward. Then she sneezed. You're probably thinking "Oh, well if she was looking straight forward, the sneeze shouldn't have been by you". But you are forgetting she had a nuk in. And that nuk acted as a sneeze shield, which dispersed the sneeze SIDEWAYS!! And directly into my mouth. It was like every scene in the movie "Outbreak". I could actually hear my antibodies scream a collective "shit". It was karma because I laughed a few days earlier when one of the girls (probably Teagan the "Ebola Monkey") drooled into Brad's mouth. Or it was god punishing me. One or the other.

While three years ago, I could have just laid in bed, reading or watching movies all day, as a mother, you just have to power through it. There really are no sick days allowed sometimes (or snow days or mental health days or day drinking days).  So here's to hoping my baby feels better, I feel better and my other one doesn't get sick.

NOTE: No babies were placed in bubbles for the writing of this blog. Tarable's Two also doesn't suggest nor encourage you to place your baby in a bubble, because that's just crazy talk.

*Disclaimer* Before anyone freaks out and wants to scold me because I blamed the doctors office, I realize it was not their fault for my child's sickness. That was used for dramatic effect. And besides, everyone knows liberals are to blame....

That was a joke too, because I'm liberal from my mom's side...

Thursday, February 21, 2013

A Special Kind of Crazy: Stay at Home Mom

When people ask what I do, it's hard to tell them by only using a title. Stay at home mom isn't entirely accurate, because I do work outside of the home too. So I usually break into a long winded description, telling them that I'm a full time SAHM (stay at home mom) and part time crisis counselor, working between 2-3 nights during the week, but not like "night" nights, but, you know, nights. After giving them more information then they cared to have because they were just being polite, I either get one of two looks: a look like I was born with an extra toe (sympathy and pity) or a look like I just slapped their grandma (disgust and possible rage). Then, because they are feeling lots of feelings, I get their opinion on my "job" choice. There's the "Oh, it must be soooooo nice to just sit home all day, watching your own kids and doing whatever you want" or "I wanted to be a SAHM, but I wanted to have a career and do something with my life". When I hear shit like that, I look like this, but the adult version:


 I know some people are just natural born assholes that can't control what comes out of their mouths.  But those people should be warned. It takes a special kind of crazy to be a stay at home mom.

Sometimes I think I am very fortunate that I am able to take advantage of this opportunity and be with my girls while they are growing into real people. But then I'm snapped back into reality while getting smacked in the head by "Goodnight Moon" from one girl while the other one is eating a strand of carpet. And I realized pretty quick that my job isn't the stereotypical description that everyone thinks it is. It's not arts and crafts, watching tv, enjoying long afternoon naps. It is to keep these little death seeking minions alive. I bet most of you didn't know that a toddler has 3 objectives: to terrorize, to disarm one with cuteness, and to seek out ways to harm or maim themselves or others. Seriously. I can place the girls in an absolutely empty room that has one square inch of lead paint and they will find it and they will eat it.

You may be thinking, "I can probably do that, that isn't really all that crazy". That's just part of things, my friend. One doesn't just automatically become a SAHM. It's a slow stumble into madness. So I will discuss physical and social/mental aspects. And this is just my experience, not all SAHM's are the same way. I'm sure there's 1 or 2 sane ones out there.

Physical: It all started when I came home from the hospital with the girls. I had brought some cute clothes to wear at the hospital and on my way home. Instead of wearing those, I wore the same busted, stained up maternity pants and shirt I had worn throughout the pregnancy. And some saweet mesh undies. My wardrobe since then has been consistent. Pajama pants and tshirts. My brother-in-law Mike was helping with the girls one day and I saw one of the lady drug dealers that lives across the street walk by wearing PJ's. I made a comment about how trashy she looked and Mike kind of looked at me funny. Of course that day I was wearing my finest Christmas tree jammies.  You know you're a stay at home mom when you have to go out into public quick and you change into your "good" clothes, which is a nice pair of black sweats (because, you know, the grey is just too casual). But I will try and not wear a sweatshirt at the same time, because I don't need to be wearing a sweat tuxedo. Personal hygiene also takes a backseat. I'm not going to tell you how long between bathing I went when the girls were newborns. I would rather sleep for 10 extra minutes in my bed then chance falling asleep in the shower. But falling over and getting knocked out might have been a welcome reprieve. I don't get to get out of the house very often with the girls. I do go out, but it's usually dark by then. So my skin tone is usually one that is reserved for prison inmates. I can go on and on about this, but for your sake, I'll reign it in a bit.

Before kids

After kids

Social/Mental: I spend pretty much all day every day with the girls during the week. When I work, I leave a few hours before they go to bed so I'm still with them for a majority of the time. Now before you start feeling too sorry for me, I did have help from my dad the days I had to work, where he would watch the girls while I slept in the afternoon. Those days are sadly gone. But there are days where I would have nothing but Toddler Time on my hands. I can't stand some of the new music that's out there, but I have either the "Bubble Guppies" or "Dinosaur Train" songs set to repeat in my head and that's fine with me I guess. But I've noticed that some of my social skills took a digger in the past 1.5 years. I'd much rather text somebody than talk to them. I feel like I don't have anything else to talk about besides my kids. And sometimes, I speak as though English is not my primary language. Have you ever told a colleague that you "had to go potty", cause I have! I should probably invest in some of that there brain training programs to keeps me smarts. Most days, when I think I'm going nuts, I actually have a voice in my head that laughs maniacally. I don't know where it came from and I'm not sure how I can get rid of it. And of course I know it's not real....
But I am, for the most part, happy where I am now. I'm not sure if I'd be able to change it. Because then the big, bad Mom Guilt will come out. So if you are a pregnant mom looking to stay home, don't set up expectations on how you think staying at home will be like. And if you're anyone else, the next SAHM you see, mentally give her a hug. Because uninvited physical contact by someone other than a child may result in a karate chop to the throat.