deep thoughts on the commode
shhhh!!! he’s watching shaun the sheep. go quick!
quick, i said… QUICKER!!!
steps. little steps. little person steps.
dammit.
shhh… don’t breathe. he can hear you breathing.
this tile needs to be cleaned, again.
what IS THAT in the trash can?
never mind, i don’t wanna know.
if i bend myself in half, maybe i won’t have to pee again in 45 minutes.
does my iphone work in here?
check twitter…
i need to call mom later.
“NO BABY, MOMMY’S IN THE POTTY.”
how come HE gets to take 25 minutes of uninterrupted time with his ipad to take a dump?
i want 25 minutes of uninterrupted time… PERIOD.
oh what i could do with 25 minutes…
“yes, you can give mommy the paper.”
“no, mommy doesn’t need THAT MUCH paper.”
“red pees outside in the grass, right mommy?”
“yes baby, animals pee outside in the grass. you are right.”
shit, that’s not right. cats pee indoors.
and hamsters… and turtles…
at least this week i don’t have to worry about him asking about my tampon string.
does medication ever truly expire?
nyquil says it expires.
i bet it doesn’t expire… they just want you to buy more.
money grubbers.
“yes baby, you can wear mommy’s flip flops.”
new tooth brush is needed… asap.
“it’s under the sink. yes, you can build a tower.”
“sure hun, i guess you can flush.”
DON’T DROP THE TRUCK IN.
DON’T DROP YOUR ERNIE IN.
“try again… push the lever ALL THE WAY DOWN.”
my god, what must he think when he looks in the toilet?!?
he’ll need therapy one day.
which reminds me… i need to call my therapist today.
where did i put that number?
::FLUSH::
“let’s wash our hands.”
“more later mom?”
yup. more later.
cream cheese was made for mornings like this
our apartment is once again flooded with a team of construction workers. as luck would have it, tropical storm nicole (seriously y’all, mother nature is mocking me) strolled up the east coast like an over-priced hooker and unleashed her fury as though she were menstruating.
we have a walk-in closet in our master bedroom that currently has no ceiling. water sat for days on top of the roof of our building, collecting all sorts of disgusting i don’t know what, and then made it’s way through our ceiling and into our closet.
this has happened twice before, but has obviously never really been fixed. instead, the contracted ceiling dudes just patched up what parts of the ceiling had been damaged.
they put a bandaid on a gaping wound.
so neither of us were surprised when we went into our closet last week to find the mess that we found. and of course no one could get to us until the weekend because there were other jobs around our apartment complex to be done and we needed to wait in line… which meant that the puddle of soaking wet, stagnant water just sat above us, slowly saturating the ceiling.
and this morning, we have this…
our built-ins have transformed into rotting wood, and because there was no original assessment of the damage created by the two previous ceiling soaked situations, we now have this all up in our piece…
the depths of mold. and holy shit is it disgusting… in fact shit may be less disgusting than what is getting scraped out of our ceiling. the smell is absolutely putrid and has given me new perspective when it comes to changing my son’s shit pants.
our guest bedroom has been turned into a closet, which really just means that our clothes are piled on the bed, the dresser, the clothes-drying rack, and wherever we can find open space on the floor. paul’s uniforms are all hanging from the shower curtain rod in jackson’s bathroom. and our bedroom is a dusty mess of sheet rock on the floor and mold above our heads.
an air purifier and dehumidifier were placed in our bedroom in an attempt to clean up the damp air, give us each hacking coughs and chapped lips, as well as bloody noses because it’s as dry as the sahara where we sleep.
we should’ve thought things through a little more thoroughly and slept in the guest room instead of making it our closet. damn.
it was extra super fun this morning when we realized that it had once again rained all night long, and we opened our closet door to find water that had come through the damaged roof and into our closet because WE HAVE NO CEILING yet.
no worries though, one flick of the switch on the dehumidifier from hell and that water was evaporated before i was done brushing my teeth.
insurance adjusters need to come out and assess the damage. (for some reason that makes me laugh maniacally and long to hook up an IV drip to a bottle of grey goose and insert into my floating veins.) once that happens and the insurance adjusters give the contractors the OK to finish defunking our mold situation and then build us a new ceiling, we get to have another team of people come in to take care of that awesomeness.
i am told that all of this should be completed in 3 days. in the meantime, i am going to see how much weight i can gain in the comfort of sesame seed bagels and cream cheese.
did i mention that i am allergic to mold?
monday RANT
i hate 2 years old… the age. 2.
not my kid who is 2 and some change. i don’t hate him… i hate his current age.
and yes, when i say “hate,” i mean HATE. LOATHE. DISTAIN.
i hear that 3 is worse than 2… 4 is worse than 3… 5 is worse than 4, etc.
so ultimately, you people are telling me i’m screwed.
super.
thanks.
starting to think i made the wrong decision in having my IUD removed.
there are bruises on my body from where my son pummels into me as though he’s a friggin running back for the NFL. there are scratches from where he’s broken my skin while clawing at my face because he doesn’t want to go down for a nap. my iphone is THIS CLOSE to being entirely busted and the screen of my macbook has more footprints on it than i can count. there are pinch marks, slaps and the very rare teeth mark on my arms from when he chooses to bite me because i have not given him fruit snacks for breakfast…
or a popsicle.
FOR BREAKFAST.
today, i want to give up.
there, i said it.
i’ve done the dishes, taken care of jackson, read to jackson, played with jackson, fed him breakfast and lunch, changed however many diapers (i really need to get on the potty-training train b/c we go thru too many damn diapers), swiffered up an amount of dog hair that makes me gag, run errands b/c jackson was driving me crazy and i figured the next best thing would be to literally drive in the hopes of calming down his crazy… and i’ve done 2 loads of laundry.
it’s 1:13 pm.
my nemesis is currently down for a nap but has been sleeping for MAYBE an hour + which is NOT typical for him and i’m selfish ya’ll.
I NEED THOSE 2 HOURS.
i need them so that i can endure the remainder of the day… the whining, the pouting, the unsatisfactory groans he spews my way when i think he’s asking for one toy when he really wants something entirely different… the fighting to get him to eat SOMETHING that perhaps contains a bit of protein.
when i began today, my mantra was “just make it to wednesday…”
because wednesday i road trip it to NYC with some blog friends to meet up with another blog friend to go to a taping of the daily show with jon stewart.
and yeah, i’m stoked about the trip, which is why my mantra this morning was, “just make it to wednesday…”
but i gotta be honest, right now, my mantra is “just make it til daddy comes home from work.”
and as sick and twisted as it sounds, i have caught myself at times today, with a sly, devilish grin on my face when i think of what paul’s day will be like on wednesday.
jackson… JACKSON for the day… the WHOLE day… morning til whenever i get back… just him and the maniac magoo and laundry and tantrums and dog hair and dishes and dinner on the table when i return…
IF i return.
**********
bring on the RANTS. give me your best bitching & let’s bond over this bullshit.
i’m too lazy to google blossom’s real name
ok, so i’m on the porch of my friend’s new home, facing the water, sipping coffee… and sweating like a pig because they are still getting air conditioners installed. it’s a GREAT home and totally reminded me of our home in jacksonville that i miss so desperately. i think i love this home and i’m so excited for my friend because i know she will truly make it THEIR HOME.
our first house was a train wreck when we moved in it. seriously, it looked as though a train had wrecked inside of the house. paul thought i was nuts (duh!!!) and i was all “oh look at the potential… we could paint this… and knock out this wall… and landscape here…” and paul was all ::WONKY EYE:: “are you fucking kidding me?!?” but over time, we made it our own and redid every single room.
so, i’m on my friend’s porch, dripping with under-the-boob-sweat, and our little men are playing together and scaring the family cat and my friend and i start discussing potty training. her little boy is 2 and some change and jackson just turned 2 at the end of april and apparently once you hit the 2 year mark, you start talking potty shit.
we’re not “training” like reading books and going sans diaper and sticker charting and big boy underpants, yet… jackson has a potty that he likes and he sits on it when either paul or i are on our toilet. jackson LOVES to give you toilet paper and LOVES to flush. cuz ya know, that’s a very satisfying feeling, to flush the toilet and watch the contents go down the drain.
my friend’s potty “training” is similar as of now, and this summer, she plans to tackle it a little more strategically. so yay for that.
at this point in our convo, she tells me that she has a friend who potty trained her 18 month old. cool. groovy. major props. i couldn’t do it… but i applaud you, my friend’s friend.
she then asks me the question that caused me to nearly drop my coffee cup…
“have you heard of those moms who potty train their infants? like their baby-babies?”
my silence and eyes popping out of my sockets cued her to continue… and she told me of someone she knew who had informed her of how she had her baby (BABY) potty trained at 4 months of age.
WHUT THE WHUT WHUT?!?!??!
my friend, not at all surprised by my surprise, goes into explicit yet informative detail about how her friend had picked up on cues and facial expressions her baby would make that were indicative of an oncoming bowel movement.
ok, i’m with ya… nodding head… recalling jackson’s scrunched up face and grunts…
my friend then tells me that after witnessing those cues from her baby, the mother then held her 4 month old over the toilet and that was how the child was potty trained.
WHUT THE WHUT WHUT?!!?!
so THEN my friend tells me that after her friend relayed this info to her, she started looking info up and found out that blossom… you remember blossom… the tv show… teenage chick who wore the denim hat with the big ass flower on it all the time… had a best friend named six… ok, i’m getting off track. ok, well, blossom apparently did this with her baby(ies) i don’t know how many children blossom has… AND since no underwear is made to fit infants (BECAUSE THEY’RE USUALLY IN DIAPERS) she made loin cloths for her baby(ies) in lieu of underwear.
alright, so if blossom can do this, i’m totally trying it out with our next kid, because then i figure by the time that kid is crawling, having been totally potty trained by 4 months of age via loin cloth underwear, i can train him/her to uncork a bottle of wine… or at the very least, start the coffee brewing in the early morning hours.
**********
ALSO… head over to BlogherAtHome for a chance to win a SIGNED COPY of Aidan Donnelley Rowley‘s brand spankin new novel, Life After Yes. In other words, click YES… YES… or HELL YES to enter.
on constipation, goosebumps, coconuts and dominican pooping statues
i have this inability to poop while on vacation.
i mean, if i ABSOLUTELY CANNOT contain the contents within my bowels, cramp up and begin to perspire, then fine, i’ll do what needs to be done.
but in the words of Bartelby, the Scrivener, “i would prefer not to.”
paul called me a “home-base shitter” the other night as we were regaling tales about this awesomely raw, newly married couple we met while in the dominican.
earlier that afternoon, as we lounged in the pool, buzzed with happiness that comes only with true relaxation and some kind of rum drink served in a hallowed-out coconut, our new friends made it known to us that they had to abort our sanctuary and continue conversation later…
“honey,” our friend said to his bride of only 8 days, “we better go, cuz i’m starting to get the goosebumps.”
dude had the rheas… and i don’t mean gonor.
suffice to say, our vacation was spectacular, and as soon as i take a shit and begin sifting through laundry and uploading pictures, i’ll update more.
for now, i’ll leave you with the “pooping statues” that reside in the courtyard of the resort and MOCKED ME DAILY.
Have a Sip
