I've been face-timing Sister Bear everyday. Normally, I'll call her everyday - but she's a mumbler. And she's pregnant. So, when I face-time her, not only can I lip read her and catch every word she mutters. But I can also look at her face and get an idea of what her day looks like. Have I mentioned that I LOVE face-time? It really sums up the "a picture is worth a thousand words" saying.
So last year, I made my annual trip, half way to snow bird land, in the middle of August. But Sister Bear was a wheeny whiner and asked if I could come at the end of September this year, so I could be there for the birth of her 2nd baby. Or at least see her new baby.
Well, said baby was stuck as an old tortoise in a balloon. And everyday that I would face-time Sister Bear, she would look a tad more not happy. . . . Let me back up a little more.
Sister Bear was supposed to have a homebirth with her first baby - Gills. But things went a little differently and she ended up in the hospital. With a full fledge hospital birth. Induction, epidural, oxygen, and all the other things hospitals like to use on their poor unsuspecting victims.
So with THIS baby, Sister Bear was feeling the pressure of every day passing. Every day that the baby didn't come. Because our society is stuck in their silly made up game of "due dates". Every day closer to another hospital birth.
And so Sister Bear's growls would accumulate. And her temperament went quite south by the 6th day of being over her prescribed day of baby puttage out.
But I was still planning on visiting for the birth. That was the plan. And I was bringing Murnice and Ed. You know, homeschool science/health lesson.
On the 8th day over due, I packed my car. Stuck the kids in bed. Reminded them that I was going to wake them up offensively early - and to just keep their grumbles to themselves.
And 3 seconds before heading to bed myself, I received a phone ringle from Mother. And she said things like: Sister Bear is a puddle. Sister Bear is nervous about you bringing the kids. Sister Bear doesn't have any food in the house. Sister Bear has been crying all day.
WHAT THE BLOODY DAD GUM???!!!
(Remember I face-time Sister Bear every day? And not once did she let on to any of this)
So I squeezed my buns together real hard, and called Sister Bear. And she said things like: Are you mad at me? My house is too little. I don't have any food. I don't want the kids in the house when I'm pushing a baby out. Can you just drive the kids around the city while I'm having the baby?
That last one did it for me. I put a kibosh to the whole trip. I did not think it would be beneficial to anyone's smiles, to drive most of the day - to only be stuffed back in the car to drive around "the city" for an undefined time limit. Without being fed.
So I said, "That's it. I'm not coming. Good riddance."
And on the 10th overly miserable day - Sister Bear had her baby. Like she wanted. At home. And everything went perfect and grand. And fast. And a transition phase that lasted only 1 contraction.
And I still refused to go see her and wish her well. But I do keep face-timing her.
Take Aways
1) Never believe a word your sister says.
2) Always overstay your visit with your brother and his family.
3) And tell him that he doesn't have a choice. You're staying regardless of how he feels.
4) And then smile as large as your bottom lip will allow.
5) And then really act like you own the place. And forever get your large bottom in the way.
Showing posts with label Sister Bear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sister Bear. Show all posts
Monday, October 14, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 5
So I've kinda been ignoring this story. It's hard to write when I don't feel sad. I skimp on information, and hurry the story. And make it sound more lovely than it is.
I left off where I just found out that I was pregnant for the second time. I felt no bond. I was excited, but it was an outward excitement. My heart felt nothing. Except betrayal. I couldn't trust my body to grow a baby.
I was desperate to feel pregnant. Bloated, tired, achy, nauseous, anything. I wanted confirmation. I wanted to be pregnant. I wanted a baby.
I was in an odd emotional state. Of wanting something, desperate. But not believing, accepting.
At 5 weeks pregnant, Sister Bear had her wedding. The wedding party had to wear all white.
5 weeks pregnant was when I lost my first baby. I was a mess, just thinking about miscarrying and wearing all white. I don't look at Sister Bear's wedding pictures and think, "Sister Bear's wedding". I think - "5 weeks pregnant with a baby I never held".
I survived the wedding.
I played head games of: I think I feel a little nauseous. I think I feel bloaty. But I didn't. I felt nothing. I called my midwives and told them I just didn't feel pregnant even though I was registering as pregnant according to pee tests. I had more blood work done - and it confirmed that I was pregnant. My levels were good.
I named my fetus Ned. So when he died, I could say: "Ned is dead." And that was the way that I was handling my pregnancy. Just knowing that I wouldn't hold this baby.
I still don't know if it was intuition that this baby wasn't mine. Or if it was my nonbelief that killed Ned.
In the middle of August one weekend, I went to Pier 1 with Queen Bee. I told her I was pregnant a few weeks earlier. I ran into an old neighbor. She asked if I was pregnant. I said no.
When I got home, I used the bathroom. And was bleeding. I told Queen Bee to go home. Big D had a friend over. He got kicked out too. I like to think about how that conversation went. Big D: "So, um - my wife is losing our baby, so you need to go home." Brandon: "Um, this is weird. Good-bye." (In my head, that's how the conversation went.)
The next day was Murnice's 4th birthday. I made a tie-dye cake while wearing a big crunchy pad. Waiting for my baby to fall out. I cried all day. We went to the beach. I made 4 trips to the park bathroom. Waiting. Hoping that I wouldn't have to say good-bye to my baby in a dirty, sandy public bathroom.
Big D and I did the best we could celebrating. Celebrating life. Celebrating Murnice. Celebrating what we had been given.
We put our new 4-year-old to bed. And around 9 that night, Ned slipped out. The finalization is hardest. Because there is always hope. The devastation, rampant. And Big D is in the shadows. Again. Unwilling to mourn with me, together. Unwilling to acknowledge that this was ours.
Ned laid in the bottom of the toilet. I did not have the heart to flush our baby. And I did not have the strength to scoop him out. He was just there. And I was stuck. Feeling so guilty for not feeling brave enough to scoop him out.
Jesus was so kind. I had prayed earlier that it would be a gentle miscarriage. And it was. So peaceful, so gentle and complete.
The end.
I left off where I just found out that I was pregnant for the second time. I felt no bond. I was excited, but it was an outward excitement. My heart felt nothing. Except betrayal. I couldn't trust my body to grow a baby.
I was desperate to feel pregnant. Bloated, tired, achy, nauseous, anything. I wanted confirmation. I wanted to be pregnant. I wanted a baby.
I was in an odd emotional state. Of wanting something, desperate. But not believing, accepting.
At 5 weeks pregnant, Sister Bear had her wedding. The wedding party had to wear all white.
5 weeks pregnant was when I lost my first baby. I was a mess, just thinking about miscarrying and wearing all white. I don't look at Sister Bear's wedding pictures and think, "Sister Bear's wedding". I think - "5 weeks pregnant with a baby I never held".
I survived the wedding.
I played head games of: I think I feel a little nauseous. I think I feel bloaty. But I didn't. I felt nothing. I called my midwives and told them I just didn't feel pregnant even though I was registering as pregnant according to pee tests. I had more blood work done - and it confirmed that I was pregnant. My levels were good.
I named my fetus Ned. So when he died, I could say: "Ned is dead." And that was the way that I was handling my pregnancy. Just knowing that I wouldn't hold this baby.
I still don't know if it was intuition that this baby wasn't mine. Or if it was my nonbelief that killed Ned.
In the middle of August one weekend, I went to Pier 1 with Queen Bee. I told her I was pregnant a few weeks earlier. I ran into an old neighbor. She asked if I was pregnant. I said no.
When I got home, I used the bathroom. And was bleeding. I told Queen Bee to go home. Big D had a friend over. He got kicked out too. I like to think about how that conversation went. Big D: "So, um - my wife is losing our baby, so you need to go home." Brandon: "Um, this is weird. Good-bye." (In my head, that's how the conversation went.)
The next day was Murnice's 4th birthday. I made a tie-dye cake while wearing a big crunchy pad. Waiting for my baby to fall out. I cried all day. We went to the beach. I made 4 trips to the park bathroom. Waiting. Hoping that I wouldn't have to say good-bye to my baby in a dirty, sandy public bathroom.
Big D and I did the best we could celebrating. Celebrating life. Celebrating Murnice. Celebrating what we had been given.
We put our new 4-year-old to bed. And around 9 that night, Ned slipped out. The finalization is hardest. Because there is always hope. The devastation, rampant. And Big D is in the shadows. Again. Unwilling to mourn with me, together. Unwilling to acknowledge that this was ours.
Ned laid in the bottom of the toilet. I did not have the heart to flush our baby. And I did not have the strength to scoop him out. He was just there. And I was stuck. Feeling so guilty for not feeling brave enough to scoop him out.
Jesus was so kind. I had prayed earlier that it would be a gentle miscarriage. And it was. So peaceful, so gentle and complete.
The end.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Weekend Catch Up - Labor Day
Yeah, I've been slack in writing. The problem being: Sister Bear is in town. And I've been spending probably, too much time with her.
Sister Bear is 37 weeks, great with child. She also is starting a photography biznazz. She wanted to use me and the rest of us, the Witherhalls to play around with different poses and backgrounds. Things of that nature. Things to broaden her portfolio.
So, she thought it would be neat to try a more "intimate" shoot. Which included Big D and myself.
First she picked out all these clothes that were a) either plastered to my bottom. Or, b) falling off of me in a boner-inducing way.
Then she chauffeured us in Mother's minivan out to the edge of civility. Where we found my father hiding in the tall grass spying on a rabid raccoon covered in flies, but still alive
Rabid raccoon and intimacy. I was completely overjoyed. For multiple reasons 1) I was half dressed, and we drove to the precise location of where my father was. 2) There was a rabid raccoon meandering about with flies. 3) We could not see rabid raccoon approaching because of tall grass. 4) We had to listen for rustling and watch for grass movement. 4) I could not run in the clothes I was wearing. 5) There were no rocks to throw when rabid raccoon with flies, appeared.
I guess the title of that photo shoot - if it had a name, would be called: Lips and Buns. It was not my favorite moment in time. Big D is still giggling and trying to keep his "manhood" under wraps.
Also, the least flattering moment, was when Sister Bear was doing a close-up. And these were her precise words: "ew! your mustache is growing. Relax your face!"
*AHEM* Did that really just happen? You just said my mustache is growing? I mean, I know I have blonde fuzzies, but is it really that noticeable/horrific? And then you want me to completely relax my face after saying something like that to me?
That was great. I guess I'll just blame it on the pregnancy hormones.
Other highlights include:
1) Having quite a few more photo shoots. Including trespassing. A lot. Sister Bear is so talented.
2) Fighting with Big D most of the weekend.
3) Having an important man at church ask how I was. And I told him that we were fighting. And he felt nervous. Maybe because I had crazy eyes. And asked us to lunch. And it was magical.
4) Started a bible study called: Good Morning Girls. Not the best name. But I'm trying . . . .
5) Celebrated Murnice's birthday for the 3rd? time. She wanted spaghetti and balls. (she doesn't call them balls - just me) And I spent all day making a cauldron of sauce and balls - and she didn't really like it. It's a good thing I like her.
6) Going to a wedding. Where Sister Bear lost it. And Big D was in the wedding. So it was me, with 3 wittle kids and a very pregnant hormonal emotional lady that I was in charge of. It got REALLY exciting for about 58 minutes.
7) Big D and I are still sleeping in the same bed = miracle.
The raccoon is no longer with us. It happened to be in the road when Mother was driving. One account said she ran and backed over it 5 times. Another account said 7. She enjoys wilderness hit and runs. I think she likes to use it as her hand/eye coordination practice.
The end.
Sister Bear is 37 weeks, great with child. She also is starting a photography biznazz. She wanted to use me and the rest of us, the Witherhalls to play around with different poses and backgrounds. Things of that nature. Things to broaden her portfolio.
So, she thought it would be neat to try a more "intimate" shoot. Which included Big D and myself.
First she picked out all these clothes that were a) either plastered to my bottom. Or, b) falling off of me in a boner-inducing way.
Then she chauffeured us in Mother's minivan out to the edge of civility. Where we found my father hiding in the tall grass spying on a rabid raccoon covered in flies, but still alive
Rabid raccoon and intimacy. I was completely overjoyed. For multiple reasons 1) I was half dressed, and we drove to the precise location of where my father was. 2) There was a rabid raccoon meandering about with flies. 3) We could not see rabid raccoon approaching because of tall grass. 4) We had to listen for rustling and watch for grass movement. 4) I could not run in the clothes I was wearing. 5) There were no rocks to throw when rabid raccoon with flies, appeared.
I guess the title of that photo shoot - if it had a name, would be called: Lips and Buns. It was not my favorite moment in time. Big D is still giggling and trying to keep his "manhood" under wraps.
Also, the least flattering moment, was when Sister Bear was doing a close-up. And these were her precise words: "ew! your mustache is growing. Relax your face!"
*AHEM* Did that really just happen? You just said my mustache is growing? I mean, I know I have blonde fuzzies, but is it really that noticeable/horrific? And then you want me to completely relax my face after saying something like that to me?
That was great. I guess I'll just blame it on the pregnancy hormones.
Other highlights include:
1) Having quite a few more photo shoots. Including trespassing. A lot. Sister Bear is so talented.
2) Fighting with Big D most of the weekend.
3) Having an important man at church ask how I was. And I told him that we were fighting. And he felt nervous. Maybe because I had crazy eyes. And asked us to lunch. And it was magical.
4) Started a bible study called: Good Morning Girls. Not the best name. But I'm trying . . . .
5) Celebrated Murnice's birthday for the 3rd? time. She wanted spaghetti and balls. (she doesn't call them balls - just me) And I spent all day making a cauldron of sauce and balls - and she didn't really like it. It's a good thing I like her.
6) Going to a wedding. Where Sister Bear lost it. And Big D was in the wedding. So it was me, with 3 wittle kids and a very pregnant hormonal emotional lady that I was in charge of. It got REALLY exciting for about 58 minutes.
7) Big D and I are still sleeping in the same bed = miracle.
The raccoon is no longer with us. It happened to be in the road when Mother was driving. One account said she ran and backed over it 5 times. Another account said 7. She enjoys wilderness hit and runs. I think she likes to use it as her hand/eye coordination practice.
The end.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
List of Gratefulness/Things I Love - But Only For Today
Things that I love love love - or possibly don't love, but am grateful for.
1) A story to tell that hopefully brings something good to others. (I was lying in bed last night and realized that it's going to be a never ending story - mainly because I'm writing every blue-dog detail of 5ish years.)
2) Ed saying to Murnice, "Murny, you wanna make babies?" - Meaning, draw babies. Um, I fell in love with him 31 pounds more.
3) Sister Bear calling me at quarter of eleven last night to ask what my message was that I gave B.B. Bobby. (Seriously!) The message I gave to Bobby was, "tell S.B. 11 o'clock at the beach". And Bobby couldn't remember that? And then S.B. has to call me when I'm fast asleep? I guess at this point you're all thinking, "don't answer the phone." But I have to keep my phone 3 inches from my head at night because I've had just enough late calls that have to do with spousal fights and cockroaches and smashed Tupperware and tinker on the edge of having to call the SWAT team in to diffuse.
4) Ed has been telling Big D for a few weeks now that he loves him. It's very sweet. But Ed hasn't shared his love with anybody else, and being the person who pushed him out of my vagina - I feel I should be the first that he loves. Out of pure devotion. But yesterday, when I was scrounging in the fridge, Ed saw a whole bowl of hard boiled eggs. And he told me he loved me. a) I am thrilled he finally found it in his heart to utter those words to me. b) I am horrified that the only reason he loves me is because I boiled some eggs for him.
5) Getting a text from S.B. saying that she was going to McDicks. (for coffee). Um . . . "mcdicks" cracks me up. Or maybe I'm over tired from less than important phone calls in the middle of the night. Yes, quarter of eleven is the middle of the night.
6) Ed obsessed with his "nest" in our bedroom. Ok, so Ed has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. And it's so sweet and not snugly with very little sleep. Big D gets very hateful over this topic. And I'm getting grumpier night by night. So I ended up making a "nest" on the floor by our bed that he is, can we say - in love with. I made it so when he woke up in the middle of the night he could come to his nest. But his nest is the only place he's sleeping. And for quite a few nights in a row, it has greatly impinged on Big D's and my very adult time that was supposed to go down.
7) Finding some "workout" clothes at TJMAXX that I can stomach wearing. AKA - Big D hates them. I say they are "workout" clothes because I found them in the workout section. I legitimately will feel like a queen wearing them. You may find me wearing workyouty clothes every once in awhile. But you will NEVER find me wearing sneaks. EVER. Or if i do, it will be a very hidden and private affair.
8) Watching B.B. Wensleydale twirly grow into man. He recently became a believer, and his maturity has just blown me to the moon. And possibly the stars. I'm so excited to see what this next year has for him.
9) I recently became privy to some very disheartening/angering/appalling/shocking/wear-my-boxing-mitts, information. And I want nothing more than to yell it from the roof tops. Shedding light where the darkness is. Bringing truth to the deceived. Letting the world know what's happening to a blind eye. So I prayed about it. Asking God what I was supposed to do with this information. And he IMMEDIATELY said, "use it for good". Not fully sure what that means, but I'll do my best. P.S. have I ever mentioned how much I love getting an answer, not to mention an immediate answer from God?
Take Aways
1) I think there are 13 more things I want to chat about - but I must get ready for the leachy beach.
2) I'm not quite sure why I'm in such a grateful mood this morning.
3) Also I said a blessing over Big D has he walked out the door to work. He got really weirded out. And left real fast.
4) Can you believe today is Thursday?!
5) Now that's good news. I love Fridays best.
1) A story to tell that hopefully brings something good to others. (I was lying in bed last night and realized that it's going to be a never ending story - mainly because I'm writing every blue-dog detail of 5ish years.)
2) Ed saying to Murnice, "Murny, you wanna make babies?" - Meaning, draw babies. Um, I fell in love with him 31 pounds more.
3) Sister Bear calling me at quarter of eleven last night to ask what my message was that I gave B.B. Bobby. (Seriously!) The message I gave to Bobby was, "tell S.B. 11 o'clock at the beach". And Bobby couldn't remember that? And then S.B. has to call me when I'm fast asleep? I guess at this point you're all thinking, "don't answer the phone." But I have to keep my phone 3 inches from my head at night because I've had just enough late calls that have to do with spousal fights and cockroaches and smashed Tupperware and tinker on the edge of having to call the SWAT team in to diffuse.
4) Ed has been telling Big D for a few weeks now that he loves him. It's very sweet. But Ed hasn't shared his love with anybody else, and being the person who pushed him out of my vagina - I feel I should be the first that he loves. Out of pure devotion. But yesterday, when I was scrounging in the fridge, Ed saw a whole bowl of hard boiled eggs. And he told me he loved me. a) I am thrilled he finally found it in his heart to utter those words to me. b) I am horrified that the only reason he loves me is because I boiled some eggs for him.
5) Getting a text from S.B. saying that she was going to McDicks. (for coffee). Um . . . "mcdicks" cracks me up. Or maybe I'm over tired from less than important phone calls in the middle of the night. Yes, quarter of eleven is the middle of the night.
6) Ed obsessed with his "nest" in our bedroom. Ok, so Ed has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. And it's so sweet and not snugly with very little sleep. Big D gets very hateful over this topic. And I'm getting grumpier night by night. So I ended up making a "nest" on the floor by our bed that he is, can we say - in love with. I made it so when he woke up in the middle of the night he could come to his nest. But his nest is the only place he's sleeping. And for quite a few nights in a row, it has greatly impinged on Big D's and my very adult time that was supposed to go down.
7) Finding some "workout" clothes at TJMAXX that I can stomach wearing. AKA - Big D hates them. I say they are "workout" clothes because I found them in the workout section. I legitimately will feel like a queen wearing them. You may find me wearing workyouty clothes every once in awhile. But you will NEVER find me wearing sneaks. EVER. Or if i do, it will be a very hidden and private affair.
8) Watching B.B. Wensleydale twirly grow into man. He recently became a believer, and his maturity has just blown me to the moon. And possibly the stars. I'm so excited to see what this next year has for him.
9) I recently became privy to some very disheartening/angering/appalling/shocking/wear-my-boxing-mitts, information. And I want nothing more than to yell it from the roof tops. Shedding light where the darkness is. Bringing truth to the deceived. Letting the world know what's happening to a blind eye. So I prayed about it. Asking God what I was supposed to do with this information. And he IMMEDIATELY said, "use it for good". Not fully sure what that means, but I'll do my best. P.S. have I ever mentioned how much I love getting an answer, not to mention an immediate answer from God?
Take Aways
1) I think there are 13 more things I want to chat about - but I must get ready for the leachy beach.
2) I'm not quite sure why I'm in such a grateful mood this morning.
3) Also I said a blessing over Big D has he walked out the door to work. He got really weirded out. And left real fast.
4) Can you believe today is Thursday?!
5) Now that's good news. I love Fridays best.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Low Lady on the Totem Pole
Big D and I have a severe difference. It's "OUR" fight. (You know, every couple has a fight that ALL the fights go back to)(Sister Bear's is about cockroaches. Friday Friends is about car key placement.) Our fight is about Big D never being home.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Romanticism
I have had the most romantic thoughts about what life was going to be like once I moved back home.
Sometimes, I get a bit silly - thinking such foolish thoughts. There has been nothing even remotely romantic about the past few days - minus that one time on Saturday that I got a movie from Red Box. But it was Lincoln. And although it was educational, and the script was excellent - I have never enjoyed watching movies that are filmed in the dark. It makes me quite batty. Physically and mentally. I chomped Big D's ninnies too hard. He screamed.
So in lieu of my romantic dreams being smashed and for my love of lists, here is a list of my grossly unromantic life here, at the Witherhalls:
1) Finding massively large, leggy, fast, spiders all throughout the house. Hidden is secret corners that aren't really secret. But when SOMEBODY doesn't clean for 6-weeks, including sweeping the kitchen floor because they think that they are as crumb-less as a piece of turkey breast - (*cough cough*) spiders do indeed take up residency. And then I have to spend my whole day babysitting these said spiders because I'm too afraid of trying to kill them. Missing completely while closing my eyes and screaming - and then the spider is lost, crawling over cozy spots instead of corners.
2) Sitting on my own toilet seat, and bathing my bottom in urine. Thank you Ed. Who pees 3000 times a day because he gets a starburst every time he pees. And he literally will pee, grab his "ink" starburst (that I have to unwrap because they are from last year's candy hunt and too old and too sticky for any sane person to unwrap is any sort of distinguished manner) And while he's still slurping the juice running down his chin from the very old and sloppy starburst, he will then run back to the toilet to squeeze out another 1/2 a drop of urine (that inevitably lands on the toilet seat) just to have another tasty "reat". Over and over. Multiplied by 3000 . . . . . .
3) Almost screaming and knifing make-believe person 17 times, in the bathroom. Big D has decided that triathlons are for him. And I'm so pleased that he is in love, working his degenerating muscles. However, Big D wants to feel fancy, and has bought any and everything that you could possibly need, want, use, think-about, dream-about, fantasize-about, lust after, wonder-about, and or wear. Including the full body size wetsuit. It's black. And very large. And Big D hangs it in the shower. Today I am cursing my peripheral vision.
THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN !!!!!!!!!!
Ok, so as I was typing all the unromantic love busters, the most romantic thing happened.
It comes with a little story:
For those of you that talk on the phone with me (Sister Bear and Mother) know that my phone (my beloved Blueberry) is a piece of rotten butt juice. And PRAISE THE LORD, it was time for my early get-a-new-phone. And I got the iphone 4s. Not because I want to feel fancy, but more because it is the relative size of my Blueberry - and my hands are small. *snicker snicker* Now all weekend, nobody had called me. Because I only talk to Sister Bear and Mother - and they were busy with their important lives. But today, today I got a call from the very important Iss. And gee darn barn, I missed the call. But she left a voice message. Well, the iphone is a piece of junk that tries to appear fancier than it really is. It tells you that you have secret codes to get your voice mail. It said that I had an old secret code, and needed to make a new secret code. That's the biggest bunch of diarrhea squirts I've heard all day. So I tried to rectify the situation by calling my phone company. Alas, everything is under Big D's name and I don't have his important numbers memorized. (This is the longest lamest story ever . . . . ) Jumping to the end . . . . I just got a text message from said phone company that said what my secret wizard twirls had been changed. Which means that Big D, in the throws of trying to act professional and flirty with all the bimbos he works with - made a very important phone call. And fixed my ever alarming problem. (Ooohh baby, mama's getting hot tonight.)
(Kidding. But maybe not.)
I feel like a queen. And I'm going to make dinner now. And it's going to be good.
Take Aways
1) I hate surprises, but I loved this one.
2) You need good peripheral vision for spider babysitting, but not for wetsuit hangings.
3) My wanky eye is still wanky.
4) I am so hungry because I've eaten minus three corn kernels all day, due to my starburst unwrapping.
5) I'm going to eat 7 bowls of soup tonight.
Sometimes, I get a bit silly - thinking such foolish thoughts. There has been nothing even remotely romantic about the past few days - minus that one time on Saturday that I got a movie from Red Box. But it was Lincoln. And although it was educational, and the script was excellent - I have never enjoyed watching movies that are filmed in the dark. It makes me quite batty. Physically and mentally. I chomped Big D's ninnies too hard. He screamed.
So in lieu of my romantic dreams being smashed and for my love of lists, here is a list of my grossly unromantic life here, at the Witherhalls:
1) Finding massively large, leggy, fast, spiders all throughout the house. Hidden is secret corners that aren't really secret. But when SOMEBODY doesn't clean for 6-weeks, including sweeping the kitchen floor because they think that they are as crumb-less as a piece of turkey breast - (*cough cough*) spiders do indeed take up residency. And then I have to spend my whole day babysitting these said spiders because I'm too afraid of trying to kill them. Missing completely while closing my eyes and screaming - and then the spider is lost, crawling over cozy spots instead of corners.
2) Sitting on my own toilet seat, and bathing my bottom in urine. Thank you Ed. Who pees 3000 times a day because he gets a starburst every time he pees. And he literally will pee, grab his "ink" starburst (that I have to unwrap because they are from last year's candy hunt and too old and too sticky for any sane person to unwrap is any sort of distinguished manner) And while he's still slurping the juice running down his chin from the very old and sloppy starburst, he will then run back to the toilet to squeeze out another 1/2 a drop of urine (that inevitably lands on the toilet seat) just to have another tasty "reat". Over and over. Multiplied by 3000 . . . . . .
3) Almost screaming and knifing make-believe person 17 times, in the bathroom. Big D has decided that triathlons are for him. And I'm so pleased that he is in love, working his degenerating muscles. However, Big D wants to feel fancy, and has bought any and everything that you could possibly need, want, use, think-about, dream-about, fantasize-about, lust after, wonder-about, and or wear. Including the full body size wetsuit. It's black. And very large. And Big D hangs it in the shower. Today I am cursing my peripheral vision.
THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN !!!!!!!!!!
Ok, so as I was typing all the unromantic love busters, the most romantic thing happened.
It comes with a little story:
For those of you that talk on the phone with me (Sister Bear and Mother) know that my phone (my beloved Blueberry) is a piece of rotten butt juice. And PRAISE THE LORD, it was time for my early get-a-new-phone. And I got the iphone 4s. Not because I want to feel fancy, but more because it is the relative size of my Blueberry - and my hands are small. *snicker snicker* Now all weekend, nobody had called me. Because I only talk to Sister Bear and Mother - and they were busy with their important lives. But today, today I got a call from the very important Iss. And gee darn barn, I missed the call. But she left a voice message. Well, the iphone is a piece of junk that tries to appear fancier than it really is. It tells you that you have secret codes to get your voice mail. It said that I had an old secret code, and needed to make a new secret code. That's the biggest bunch of diarrhea squirts I've heard all day. So I tried to rectify the situation by calling my phone company. Alas, everything is under Big D's name and I don't have his important numbers memorized. (This is the longest lamest story ever . . . . ) Jumping to the end . . . . I just got a text message from said phone company that said what my secret wizard twirls had been changed. Which means that Big D, in the throws of trying to act professional and flirty with all the bimbos he works with - made a very important phone call. And fixed my ever alarming problem. (Ooohh baby, mama's getting hot tonight.)
(Kidding. But maybe not.)
I feel like a queen. And I'm going to make dinner now. And it's going to be good.
Take Aways
1) I hate surprises, but I loved this one.
2) You need good peripheral vision for spider babysitting, but not for wetsuit hangings.
3) My wanky eye is still wanky.
4) I am so hungry because I've eaten minus three corn kernels all day, due to my starburst unwrapping.
5) I'm going to eat 7 bowls of soup tonight.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Swapped Butt Juice
Bruver Bear (B. B.) Wensleydale and B. B. Bobby are still living at home. Which means that I get to see them every morning and during the working day - because they work with me at the pool teaching swim lessons. I won't say that I see them at night because they are off with their hussy ladies that care WAY too much about their appearance.
Anyway, B. B. Bobby always gets up so cheerful and eager to great the day. B. B. Wensleydale wakes up wanting to kill everything in sight. Including me and B. B. Bobby. Bobby eats breakfast with me every morning and Wensleydale is just rolling out of bed when Bobby and I are leaving for work. Bobby and I chat morning pleasantries. Wensleydale growls worse than I do when I haven't had morning tea.
So last week, Bobby and I were eating breakfast, exchanging morning smiles - him filling me in on the hussy evening (which. just. gets. my. blood. BOILING.) And who do you suppose comes charging through kitchen doorway? Bruver Bear Wensleydale, that's who. Oh, and he was gruff. Actually, livid.
Bobby is just a hair larger than Wensleydale. But Wensleydale is older. And both of them have matching swim trunks. And they both hate that they have matching swim trunks. But that's what Mother bought. Mother loves. LOVES for us to match. It's hideous and a curse.
When Sister Bear and I were younger, we had to make family matching outfits for pictures or vacations. And Mother never bought appropriate material. Material that would make us look somewhat like a normal family. She would only buy the loudest, brightest, most laugh appropriate fabric. Neon cats or huge toucan jungle theme. Mmmm fond memories.
So, apparently Wensleydale (who is more grumpy about the matching suits than Bobby is) told Bobby to NEVER to hang up their suits next to each other (when drying - or ever) And for whatever reason the suits got too close to each other the night before.
Which brings me back to Wensleydale, who is now livid standing in the kitchen doorway. With his brow furrowed down into his nose hair, he roared, "GIVE ME BACK MY SUIT". To which Bobby responded, "oh, I just thought my abs got a little bigger". And then Bobby shook and smooshed his manly buns (while still sitting) all around in multiple circles singing, "I'm naked in your swim suit, I'm naked in your swim suit". Which got Wensleydale REALLY excited. And then I think there was some mooning, and maybe a few punches. Followed by an exchange of swapped butt juice trunks.
Take Aways
1) Yes, this is what I'm living with for the next 3 weeks.
2) Please pray that neither fellas get mixed up with my swim suit.
3) Don't ever match your kids or cousins or friends. It only invokes awful memories.
Anyway, B. B. Bobby always gets up so cheerful and eager to great the day. B. B. Wensleydale wakes up wanting to kill everything in sight. Including me and B. B. Bobby. Bobby eats breakfast with me every morning and Wensleydale is just rolling out of bed when Bobby and I are leaving for work. Bobby and I chat morning pleasantries. Wensleydale growls worse than I do when I haven't had morning tea.
So last week, Bobby and I were eating breakfast, exchanging morning smiles - him filling me in on the hussy evening (which. just. gets. my. blood. BOILING.) And who do you suppose comes charging through kitchen doorway? Bruver Bear Wensleydale, that's who. Oh, and he was gruff. Actually, livid.
Bobby is just a hair larger than Wensleydale. But Wensleydale is older. And both of them have matching swim trunks. And they both hate that they have matching swim trunks. But that's what Mother bought. Mother loves. LOVES for us to match. It's hideous and a curse.
When Sister Bear and I were younger, we had to make family matching outfits for pictures or vacations. And Mother never bought appropriate material. Material that would make us look somewhat like a normal family. She would only buy the loudest, brightest, most laugh appropriate fabric. Neon cats or huge toucan jungle theme. Mmmm fond memories.
So, apparently Wensleydale (who is more grumpy about the matching suits than Bobby is) told Bobby to NEVER to hang up their suits next to each other (when drying - or ever) And for whatever reason the suits got too close to each other the night before.
Which brings me back to Wensleydale, who is now livid standing in the kitchen doorway. With his brow furrowed down into his nose hair, he roared, "GIVE ME BACK MY SUIT". To which Bobby responded, "oh, I just thought my abs got a little bigger". And then Bobby shook and smooshed his manly buns (while still sitting) all around in multiple circles singing, "I'm naked in your swim suit, I'm naked in your swim suit". Which got Wensleydale REALLY excited. And then I think there was some mooning, and maybe a few punches. Followed by an exchange of swapped butt juice trunks.
Take Aways
1) Yes, this is what I'm living with for the next 3 weeks.
2) Please pray that neither fellas get mixed up with my swim suit.
3) Don't ever match your kids or cousins or friends. It only invokes awful memories.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Dear Jesus, Food
Mother has a different way of handling food. She buys lots. And then stores it forever. Until it gets used. OR until one of us can get our hands on it when Mother is not paying attention (aka out of town = never) and feed it to the chickens. Also, she is really good at letting food air marinate (aka keeping refrigerated food on the counter for longer than I would like to know).
Expiration dates mean nothing to Mother. Smells mean everything. Don't throw food out that has mold. Just cut it off. Scrap it out. It's still good, somewhere. Microwave it an extra 3 seconds.
Yup, we don't waste food at Mothers. Eat what you're served or pay $1. And over the years we have had fun with it. Because there was/is no other choice.
Growing up, Bruver Bear Chuck would often say, "I'm a hungry hyena and this is my bone" - to food that was less than appetizing. And then he would proceed to cram his food in his mouth as fast as he could. You know, food spewing everywhere. He would also refer to oatmeal as "great grandmother's soggy old feet".
And once Sister Bear was practicing her culinary skills and thought that making the largest pan known to mankind of frozen, breaded chicken patties covered in alfredo and spaghetti sauce sounded perfect. Did I mention the pan was an illegal size of hugeness? Can't waste food, so we sat down to a gag-induced dinner. The fellas really out did themselves. They had 2nd helpings to finish off the pan. And then all ran across the road to throw up. Did I mention that we also had dinner guests that night?
Thanksgiving turkey carcasses are left on the stove,14 too many hours. And some how in this bacterial oasis, nobody has ever gotten sick. Maybe it's because we pray extra hard to bless the food. Or, perhaps our bodies have built an extra 13 layers of protection in our stomachs. Not quite sure which it is.
***************************************************************************
Dinner last night consisted of cream of chicken soup that expired in 2009, stuffing that expired in 2011, and some sour cream that smelled like a rotten chicken butt hole (didn't check the expiration on that one - just smelled)
We survived. Without even a smudge of a tummy ache. That's the power of Jesus, baby. (You know, pine-sol commercial?)
Anyway, if anybody would like to throw up an extra prayer for me over the next 4 weeks regarding my stomach accepting the food presented to me - I would greatly be pleased.
Take Aways
1) Never ever ever take a microbiology class.
2) Always pray before eating.
3) When life tastes like grandmother's soggy old feet, find something to snicker about.
4) Don't be ashamed of having dinner guests over if your dinner didn't turn out the way you wanted. Building community and memories is way more important than a little episode of puke.
Expiration dates mean nothing to Mother. Smells mean everything. Don't throw food out that has mold. Just cut it off. Scrap it out. It's still good, somewhere. Microwave it an extra 3 seconds.
Yup, we don't waste food at Mothers. Eat what you're served or pay $1. And over the years we have had fun with it. Because there was/is no other choice.
Growing up, Bruver Bear Chuck would often say, "I'm a hungry hyena and this is my bone" - to food that was less than appetizing. And then he would proceed to cram his food in his mouth as fast as he could. You know, food spewing everywhere. He would also refer to oatmeal as "great grandmother's soggy old feet".
And once Sister Bear was practicing her culinary skills and thought that making the largest pan known to mankind of frozen, breaded chicken patties covered in alfredo and spaghetti sauce sounded perfect. Did I mention the pan was an illegal size of hugeness? Can't waste food, so we sat down to a gag-induced dinner. The fellas really out did themselves. They had 2nd helpings to finish off the pan. And then all ran across the road to throw up. Did I mention that we also had dinner guests that night?
Thanksgiving turkey carcasses are left on the stove,14 too many hours. And some how in this bacterial oasis, nobody has ever gotten sick. Maybe it's because we pray extra hard to bless the food. Or, perhaps our bodies have built an extra 13 layers of protection in our stomachs. Not quite sure which it is.
***************************************************************************
Dinner last night consisted of cream of chicken soup that expired in 2009, stuffing that expired in 2011, and some sour cream that smelled like a rotten chicken butt hole (didn't check the expiration on that one - just smelled)
We survived. Without even a smudge of a tummy ache. That's the power of Jesus, baby. (You know, pine-sol commercial?)
Anyway, if anybody would like to throw up an extra prayer for me over the next 4 weeks regarding my stomach accepting the food presented to me - I would greatly be pleased.
Take Aways
1) Never ever ever take a microbiology class.
2) Always pray before eating.
3) When life tastes like grandmother's soggy old feet, find something to snicker about.
4) Don't be ashamed of having dinner guests over if your dinner didn't turn out the way you wanted. Building community and memories is way more important than a little episode of puke.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)