Dental Drunkenness and Other Musings

So, I've had a very, very, very shitty week. Most of it is deep, convoluted stuff regarding Julian's diagnosis and developmental issues so I am not getting into all that bizz-nass, but on top of that and everything facing us from that angle, the destiny fairy decided to add a bunch of other crap to my life just to make sure I was good and miserable and adequately flipping out. Julian is very sick with what started as a bad cold about 2 months ago and he can't get better. That story could get long too, but suffice it to say he's still sick, he looks, sounds, and feels horrible, and I feel so sorry for him I could cry. Well, I have cried for him, of course. Poor little guy. Also, I have a GINORMOUS jewelry show for which I'm frantically prepping and I'm peeing in my pants about that too. Then, the huge, awful, cavernous hole in my tooth finally got bad enough that I had to go to the dentist on an emergency appointment this morning. I mean, of course I waited until it hurt like a bizz-natch to do anything about it. Why would I just go ahead and go back in November when A GIANT PIECE OF MY TOOTH AND FILLING FELL OUT ALL HILLBILLY-STYLE IN MY MOM'S WORKSHOP?! (*cue the banjo playing*) I just tossed it over my shoulder and was like "oh well, I guess since it's in the back and no one can see it, I'll worry about that later." Big. Mistake. But I will say this: the dentist this morning was amazing, wonderful, kind, gentle, brilliant, and perfect. And I'm not just saying that b/c she got me FUUUUUUUUU-ed UP!

Yes, b/c I had a very bad previous dental experience she decided to give me the laughing gas while she did her work and determined whether or not I would need 1 (or more!) root canals (I didn't!) and let me tell you, I was very skeptical. I've had the LG before and I'm usually like "bitch, is that all you've got?!" I mean, maybe they don't understand how many recreational drugs I've done, after all I have somewhat of a tolerance to consider. Just kidding. Sort of.

So, anyhow, they kept asking if I was feeling "floaty" yet and I learned quickly to answer that very nonchalantly and all non-affected: a shoulder shrug, an aloof "not really," etc. Thus, they kept turning it up and up and up. Oh man, maybe it's just that I haven't had any illicit substance (including alcohol) in years, but I was flying high. I was like "somebody get this mask off, I need to tell some jokes up in heeeeeee-uh!" I managed to keep my silly mouth shut, but the mental dialogue was still going, going, going and I would like to give my faithful readers a little stream of consciousness taste of some of what was going thru my brain (and please keep in mind that I am paranoid, very medical procedure-phobic, prone to anxiety/panic attacks, and a freak in general):

oh man this is awesome i feel great but i don't feel like i'm drunk i feel high yes i feel high oh my god wait i hate being high wait no i'm ok i have a sticker on my hand it's a chocolate cake sticker that charlotte gave me i want to pull it off no don't pull it off they'll think you're crazy i want to pull that sticker off but it might hurt it was funny in the 40 year old virgin when he got his chest waxed but the sticker wouldn't hurt like that it's less than an inch in diameter or is it circumference i suck at math and measurements and i want to tell this nurse that i do not feel drunk i feel high instead am i going to be able to drive home she said i could drive home but she has to give me oxygen first oh my god why do i need oxygen is everything ok why the dentist just leave oh my god oh wait she had to go check on some lady's dentures i hope i never have to wear dentures that's it i'm taking better care of my teeth starting right now i don't want dentures now i can't stop seeing wind-up chattering teeth and glasses of water by my bed with teeth in them oh god i'm getting a little panicky-kathy stop! stop panicking, you have 2 kids, you have 2 kids, be strong, be like joan-of-arc, wait who was joan-of-arc, was she strong ok get it together get it together ok she's injecting me but it doesn't hurt i need to google joan of arc when I get home.

So, that's just a taste, but seriously, it was intense. And, since I just felt really "messed up" in general, it was so incongruent to have this wonderful dentist constantly patting my shoulder saying sweet, motivational things like "you're doing great, you're doing such a good job, you're such a great patient," etc., etc. I was like "damn, why wasn't someone always standing by me talking like that when I was just messed up by my own volition. That would have been awesome. Instead I usually heard stuff like "ma'am, it's closing time," or "ma'am you can't sleep here," or "We'll take the handcuffs off when you can prove you're no longer a danger to us or yourself!" Ok, kidding, but really, note to potential future-rich, off the wagon self: hire a motivational life coach for when I'm inebriated.)

So, a pretty decent dentist appointment this morning after all. I mean, where else can you go to get high, get your teeth fixed, and replace the traditional hangover, replete with regret and self-loathing, with better dental health and some shiny new fillings?

Can I Get A Witness?!

So, constantly I am thinking no one will believe me when I tell them something crazy-smart and unbelievable that Charlotte did or said. It's always nice to be able to have some corroborate how awesome you think your kids are, but sometimes she's so precocious that I feel like I need actual proof of something so that people won't think I'm just blowing smoke. A couple of times recently, we've been out and about and she's shown her smarts around people we know who've been blown away by her and it's so refreshing to not be at home fumbling for the camera so that I can document it for Justin or to remember all of the wonderful times we're having with our kids. Yesterday, Martha (Julian's teacher) came over for a home visit and she was able to observe Charlotte walking around saying, among many other things, her alphabet backwards. Seriously, WTF? How does she know that? I mean, I feel like she's been hazed or something b/c that's the only time I've ever been able to say any type of alphabet backwards (in GREEK!) Maybe I should start holding a match upside down while she's saying it and then paddle her if she doesn't get it right. Ahem, I mean, I don't know anything about that...

Anyway, she also told me yesterday that a little boy, who wouldn't speak to her after she kept trying to engage him, was "bashful." I was cracking up. Bashful! She also calls me "dollface" and "chocolate eyes" and I just melt b/c I think that is so adorable. Another favorite is listening to her walk around singing the "Activia" song or "Swine Fever," from an SNL skit that Uncle Bobby taught her. She is so. much. fun. It's like hanging out with a friend and being silly, I think pretty soon I'm gonna put her up to prank calls with me. For any of my old college crew who may be reading this you might like this reference: "I got yo' pizza in da lobby!" Ah, good times.

Anyway, for every bit of spicy that Charlotte is Julian is sweet and is constantly loving on me and let me just tell you, I don't care if it's "developmentally appropriate" or not, I freaking love it. He is so sweet and gentle and such a kind soul, I'm just so thankful to have a child like him. He's so lovable and docile. And they're mine, all mine!! I'm so infinitely lucky!

Ok, gotta run to go help with sledding at Julian's school, but I promise to write a funny blog soon, and perhaps w/ slightly less bragging. Maybe. Meh, never mind that last part. I will try to make it funny though. Promise.

Whair is our Hair?

I'm thinking of writing a Dr. Suess-esque book about the phenomenon going on in our house right now regarding hair loss, hair knots/tangles, and general hair issues and catastrophes. Here's an excerpt:

Our hair is here, our hair is there,

Our hair, our hair it's everywhere.

It's in our sinks and in our beds,

It's everywhere but on our heads.

One person has black hair, one has blond,

one's is short, another's long

One is shedding like a freaking cat at the vet

One needs to wear a mother effing hair net

Ok, so maybe not really Dr. Suess-esque, but you get the point. I don't understand what the heck is going on. We have hair issues and I don't mean to be getting all Kathy Brockovich and whatnot, but I'm beginning to wonder if I should start an undercover investigation around NW Rochester and the Country Club Manor/Manorwoods areas to see if there's a secret nuclear power plant around or something. So, neighbors, if you see me taking soil samples in the middle of the night it's for my, um, garden. Yeah, that's it, my garden.

Let me start the explanation by saying that these hair issues couldn't happen to anyone more sensitive about hair than yours truly. I abhor hairs in the shower, hair on the floor, and I am pretty sure I'd rather find a bug in my restaurant food than a hair. Anywho, here's the scoop: Charlotte is a compulsive hair twister and I don't mean to sound ungrateful for advice, but please don't give me any b/c it will just make me cry to tell you that I know it won't work. Detangler laughs at us, attempts at pigtails, ponies, or braids result in me in the fetal position in the corner sucking my thumb whilst Charlotte breathes fire at me, and I am regularly having to cut out giant rats and introductory dreadlocks out of her gorgeous hair. It's terrible. I was a twister and so was my mom, but I never remember it being *this* horrendous. Needless to say, we have little rats and balls of hair everywhere.

Next, my hair is falling out like crazy. My diet is healthy, I drink tons of water, etc. etc., but ever since I had Charlotte I have this crazy-thick hair that is constantly feeling the need to replenish itself. It's wild and out of control too. I'm thinking I shouldn't let it be so long, but I like it long and I'm stubborn about that. Probably PTSD from my super-butch lesbian haircut I had when I was little that very unfortunately coincided with my brother's amateur photographer phase, thus permanently documenting my mannish haircut and providing a visual reminder of my boyish look forever. Anyway, I am very neat and clean about my hair, placing each fallen strand into a neat little pile and properly disposing of it. Justin is a total different story...

First of all, he is into this whole outdoors thing right now that both interests and terrifies me: I'm starting to wonder if he has a little cabin somewhere filled with rations, papers scribbled with frantic equations and maps to nowhere, explosives, and wife-killing plans. But, back to the hair: he has a freaking horse's mane on his head right now and I am not kidding you the other night I went to run my hand through it and if I had been doing a blinded touch-test I would've bet the farm that I was touching a horse's mane or tail. And he is shedding like CRAZY. We did our regular family camping night in the basement last Friday night and when I was carrying our stuff up the next morning I went to pick up his pillow I immediately dropped it, jumped a foot and screamed b/c I thought a freaking beaver had climbed in the window and died on it. I mean, seriously, it was a Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia Pillow. It was covered in hair, like really covered. Like he had bought a faux-fur pillowcase and didn't tell me. It was so awful, I am still traumatized from it. And the thing about all of these hairy experiences is that we all have drastically different hair colors and lengths so it's all easily identifiable, I can always blame someone, usually Justin.

So, I'm thinking of a way to turn this positive and capitalize on it. A great idea came to mind when I was vacuuming the other day (thank goodness we have the purple Dyson) and I decided I will propose to have that British dude create the Dyson Voss. It will be the most powerful one yet and we can be on the commercial and everything. We can say "the only thing that sucks more than the Dyson Voss is having hair everywhere." I am full of ideas for the DV! And, if you call in the next 15 minutes we'll also throw in the Yeti HandVac, for the bigfoot-like husband who leaves big, hairy footprints through the house...or just sheds a lot in the shower.

OMG, why can't I keep on track with this blogging? After a couple of false starts, I feel like the loser boyfriend who says "I messed up baby, but it's for real this time." The holiday rush had me so crazed that there was no potential for blogging (or breathing, really) whatsoever. Justin & I decided that next year I will have to get help for my biz since it was so crazy. My brother was visiting for about a week during this time and he commented that I was "like a one woman sweatshop," and how right he was! So for now I'm going to try to stick to a couple of short posts per week and see if I can do better with that.

Anyway, it is becoming very apparent that Charlotte is my little clone and it's scaring the crap out of me. Her personality is so strong and she has a very distinct sense of humor that amazes me for a 2 year old. She does voices and imitations and she loves getting laughs (hmmmmm, sound familiar??) I love her personality at 2, but I also distinctly remember my own personality at, say, 12, 13, 14, or so and I cringe, especially because we are so much alike. The mother/daughter dynamic is usually difficult and fragile at various points anyway, but I'm sure if that mother and daughter have very similar, strong personalities it's even worse. Ugh. For now I'm just basking in her telling me jokes, such as this one, which is the same every time:

Charlotte: Knock-Knock joke (yes, she always says "joke" after "knock-knock")

Me: Who's there?

Charlotte: Daddy

Me: Daddy who?

Charlotte: Daddy Leanne* Ha Ha (yes, she always says "ha ha" after "Daddy Leanne*" and not as in she laughs, but she says "ha ha.")

*Leanne is Julian's school speech therapist and I have no idea how she made it into our family's knock-knock jokes, but she did.

She thinks she's pretty funny, and I have to agree, she really is. I took her and Julian into Justin's work today for a visit and Kris (the office manager at Justin's office) was totally amazed by Charlotte. Not to sound like too much of a bragging mom, but she actually frightens sometimes me with all that she knows. As she was labeling shapes from pictures and impressing us with "cube, pyramid, and cylinder" which are her latest shape acquisitions, we asked her to say the letters that were on a box on the floor. She walked over to it and instead of telling us all of the letters like she usually does (I'm proud to say she knows all of her letters, even goes around saying the alphabet backwards sometimes!) she turned around and grinned and said "dot com!" I looked at the box and sure enough, the company's web address was there. How. Does. She. Know. That???????? And don't worry, I was brought down off of my genius-child-having high horse very swiftly by my brother, who, after discussing with my Mom how watching Charlotte is like getting in a time machine and watching me when I was her age, he provided this sweet revelation: "well, see, just b/c she's a genius now doesn't really mean anything. I mean, you seriously were too and it's not like you did anything really great with your life." He's so cut out of my lottery winnings.

I'm Baaaaaaaack!

So, I hated to take a break so early in my blog-life, but I had to tend to some real-life issues and let me just say that no one would have wanted to read anything I would have had to blog about over the last couple of weeks. Seriously unfunny stuff. But, I am happy to say I am ready to blog again and I hope at least one person out there missed reading my posts...

I have to discuss funniness today, more specifically, unfunniness. Even more specifically, a total lack of a sense of humor. I don't understand this phenomenon and I have decided I can't be around an overly serious person who seems to have a total lack of a sense of humor. Now don't get me wrong, I understand that some people just don't share my exact sense of humor and I can accept that, although of course I think they're crazy...but it's the seriously serious that disturb me. I mean, I think we can agree that some things are just universally funny, like the time at the Home Depot when my kids kept saying "daddy, daddy!" emphatically to a random dude in the paint aisle. He was chatting with a salesperson and as we rolled past him I said "don't you remember that beautiful night we spent together...twice?" He looked at me so puzzled and then just uncomfortably looked away. The salesperson was laughing and I thought it was pretty darn funny if I do say so myself. I only said it b/c my kids were so obviously and blatantly calling him "daddy" that it couldn't just go ignored. I couldn't just roll past without saying anything at all, so I opted for the joke-out method. As I was driving home that day I was thinking about how I hated that dude for not thinking I was funny. I guess I should give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he didn't get it right away but when he realized what I meant on his way home he couldn't control the car b/c he was laughing so hard. Yeah, let's go with that theory.

That wasn't the case with my computer science professor from college. He was such an odd man and I was a little worried when he called me into his office one day to go over a recent paper I had written. He had made a copy and we were each holding one, and he was going over a few concepts I wasn't quite grasping (like all of it) and while he was reading he got to a part that was circled in red and he sort of stammered. I looked down and noticed that I had typed "3 1/2 inch floppy dick" instead of "disk" (hey, the "s" and the "c" are very close on the keyboard...and yes I'm that old that we were using those then-the disks that is.) Anyway, I busted out laughing completely involuntarily and I looked up expecting him to be chuckling or at least grinning, but nope, he was frowning and his brows were all angry-furrowed and whatnot. I tried to compose myself and I said "Oh my God, now come on, that's hilarious, right?" He just cleared his throat and continued all serious-like. Ugh. How boring. I mean, I know that might have been a tad bit juvenile, but the shit was funny. I'm sorry, it just was.

My point is, it's really annoying when someone doesn't find the same things funny that I do, but it's simply infuriating when you can tell that that person really just finds nothing funny. The main reason that I have hardly any "Mommy-friends" in town is b/c they are all too "mommy-mommy" serious for me and not nearly irreverent enough. I needs me some laughter, even if it's ridiculously immature every once in awhile. I met a mom at the park one day over the summer, as I so often do (parks : moms :: singles bars : singles) and we were chatting about mundane mommy crap and I was doing my best to stay focused on the topics she was discussing (very tough for me b/c usually I just. don't. care.) Anyway, she was talking about potty training (titillating!) and she said "I'm just going to go ahead and potty train my 9 month old, I remember my mom potty training me, don't you." I said "well, I do have this one memory of sitting on a potty out in the hallway and everyone standing over me cheering me on. Come to think of it though, I think that might be a college memory." She stared at me really strangely and then kind of ended the conversation with me and gathered her kids to go home. That's ok though, for me it's like weeding out the no-potential friends before I have to waste a bunch of time figuring out that she and her husband are in some religious cult that teaches that laughter is evil or something. If I can make someone uncomfortable on our first park date by making a silly & pretty benign joke, I'm pretty sure we shouldn't be swapping recipes and diaper-rash cream recommendations anyway...

So, I guess the moral of this whole thing is to just laugh at me dammit. It will make me like you much more.

Husbands Say the Darndest Things

So, Justin e-mailed me after reading my blog post the other day and in the e-mail he said something like "thanks for throwing me under the bus yet again in your blog." I replied "as long as I'm blogging you will likely be taking a permanent seat under the bus." I don't know why, but it's so easy to bitch about him in my blog, it's like my diary for spousal complaints for some reason. I think it's because our dynamic is just humorous. I mean, we don't really fight, we just bicker and argue and often end up laughing. And I guess b/c we feel so secure with each other and b/c we really do love each other (puke, puke) that it seems really harmless and comical to publish our banter for all to read and enjoy. And who knows, perhaps some other crazy, dysfunctional, irreverent couple somewhere can even relate.

Once, in the grocery store we were basically about to come to blows in the freezer section about some damn chicken: I was like "yes we did get that kind last time and we liked it. Why do you have to be such a freaking JERK?!?! God I hate you!" and he was all "Just shut up. I hate you too!" And then (this part sounds made-up b/c I didn't think people like this actually existed) a young couple approached and their conversation was "honey, should we get this skillet meal?" "Oh sure sweetie, that looks good, we could eat that one on Thursday..." We just looked at each other and I said "you guys aren't married are you?" The girl smiled sweetly and flashed her ring finger, which was adorned with a diamond solitaire, and said "No, engaged." I said "well you just wait! Your shopping conversations will change!" Anyway, there have been many times where we have been about to throw down while grocery shopping. One day I think some poor store clerk may get a little more than he/she bargains for when responding to a call for "cleanup on aisle 4."

The grocery store nightmares, however, pale upon comparison to my husband's comments or suggestions that are just, well, I don't really know how to put it. Like the time I said, "ooooh, look, my legs really look skinny right now," and he replied "oh, it's probably just the lighting." Thanks honey. And the other night he offers this one up: "Kathy, do you want me to watch the kids for awhile so you can go do the treadmill?" Yes, he seriously did say this. Let me clarify by saying there has been no "doing" of ye olde treadmill for quite some time now (and I've got the thighs to prove it.) This made his "suggestion" far, far worse. Really, does he *not* understand that this recommendation, or as he called it an "offer," is basically like me saying "Hey honey, want me to hold down the fort for awhile so you can go use your penis pump?" I mean, it's just as insulting. When I told him this, he replied all doe-eyed that he was "just trying to be helpful." And the thing is, he really, honestly, seriously, and genuinely probably was. He just doesn't understand that brutal honesty isn't my fave mode of communicado. I prefer the "oh-my-gorgeous-bride-you-are-perfect-the-way-you-are-and-there-is-nothing-you-could-do-to-improve-yourself-ever" blatant lying type of communication, thank-you-very-much! And, just for full disclosure, since I just know he's going to annoyingly bring this up after reading this, I did tell him that the night before I went down to (dust off and) use the treadmill but I got scared b/c I saw police cars outside and had just read about something creepy online and I thought someone was going to break in and kill me while I was exercising. While it was true, it's also the wildest excuse I've ever come up with to dodge a workout...

I live in a house with a precious 4 year old and a precocious & hysterical soon-to-be 2 year old, but I still think I need to keep a baby book for Justin to detail all of the great (and by great, I usually mean awful) stuff he says...

Rainy Day Blues

What a sucky day it is in Rochester today. Now, normally I love me a rainy day (and a rainy night, as does Eddie Rabbit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMZ4amjbqhU) so it isn't the rain that made this morning a suckfest. Well it is, but only b/c we had to leave the house (dammit.) You see, my love for stormy, rainy, monsoon weather is like my love for snow: fun to sit inside and cuddle happily and warmly and watch the precipitation fall from safely behind closed doors and windows. But, it's a whole different story when you have to get ready, then get an almost 2-year-old ready and then a 4-year-old ready to include breakfast, hygiene, and wardrobe. By the time it's all said and almost done, you've selected and placed approximately 26 articles of clothing on everyone and you head out the door. Now, the chances are pretty good at this point (and it should be noted here that there is a direct correlation between the goodness of the chances and the bigger of the rush that you're in) that when you get to the car one (or more) of three (or more) things will have occurred: someone has pooped in the ten minute span between dressing and car seat placement, something has been left/lost and must be retrieved before departure can take place, something mechanical is preventing exit (car won't start, garage door suddenly broken and won't open, or husband moved car seats from one vehicle to the other and THE CAR SEATS ARE NOT INSTALLED, THEY'RE JUST SITTING ON THE FLOOR OF THE GARAGE AND YOU HAVE TO INSTALL THEM YOURSELF WHICH TAKES ABOUT 30 MINUTES AND YOU USUALLY CRY AND SWEAT AND CURSE TRYING TO GET THEM IN. Ahem, sorry, anyway, you get the point. And I've totally cancelled appointments b/c of that last one. Seriously, the few times that I've walked into the garage to go somewhere and seen the car seats just sitting on the floor I've been close to reacting like they were two dead bodies laying there, like falling to the ground and screaming "Oh God, no!! Why? Why? Oh my God!!" That's how horrible putting in the car seats is for me.)

This morning was only slightly better. We were all in the car and on our short drive to school, but once we got there (Kathy's Law) it starts pouring especially hard, like a little gift from the heavens just for us. Looking around at the kids walking in I was really appreciating the preparedness of their parents: I saw ponchos, umbrellas, rain boots, hats, raincoats, slickers, etc., etc. It was then that I realized not only do I not have an umbrella (not like I don't have it with me, but like I don't think I own one) but my kids are not exactly rain/weather-ready today. Julian is his usual Ralph Lauren model self, but he's wearing khakis and a button down with a cloth jacket over it and Charlotte doesn't have on a jacket at all, let alone the cutesy matching hat/raincoat/rubber rain boots combo that was the apparent choice of everyone else this morning. As I looked around at the lines of cars and buses and the throngs of students, parents, and teachers and contemplated my humiliating walk of shame I seriously considered leaving her in the car while I ran Julian up to the door (which was looking reeeeeaaallllly far away) but my neurotic paranoia of her being kidnapped or carjacking me overrode the threat of humiliation and I grabbed her and Julian and took off for the school entrance. Of course, at this point I feel like I'm feeling like it's in slow motion and that everyone is staring at me with their mouths agape and shielding their kids' eyes from the horror of seeing the lady with the poorly apportioned apparel on her own children. I then discovered that people were indeed staring at me, but it was b/c Charlotte had lost a boot in the middle of the freaking street as we were trying to shuffle across. I heard horns honking and people yelling and I looked down to see her bare foot hanging out in the rain. Oh my God, I hadn't even put socks on her in this freezing, rainy weather b/c I figured it didn't really matter since she'd be wearing boots. I didn't plan for said boot to come off in the street. I wanted to yell "it's in the boot!! It's down in the boot! THE SOCK IS IN THE BOOT! I TOTALLY PUT SOCKS ON MY TODDLER THIS MORNING...I MEAN, I WOULD NEVER *NOT* PUT SOCKS ON A BABY IN THE FREEZING WEATHER, YOU KNOW?" but I just scurried and dove down for the boot, got Julian safely to his destination for the hand-to-hand drop-off, and carried a drenched Charlotte (and self) back to the car. I kept apologizing to her, but she just kept saying "raining hard outside Mommy," and "lost pink boot," so I don't think she was too traumatized, or frostbitten.

When it comes to my mornings, when it rains it pours.