I Got You, Babe

Yesterday marked the 8th year of wedded bliss.  We did what every other couple married for more than a year with kids does; a big lot of nothing.  The highlight of the night was playing some scratch off lottery.  And that was plenty ok with me.  I am married 365 days a year and don't think that one day is really any more special than another.  Plus, we celebrated last weekend.  :)

What didn't happen was we didn't argue over dinner.  Or the dishes.  Or the scattering of toys across the living room floor.  It was...perfect.

For just today, I am going to get all mushy and sentimental on you. You may want to invest in a barf bag or perhaps an old Target bag because this could get a little sweet.

These last eight years have been a trip, if nothing else.  And throw a kid into the mix and you've got quite the adventure.  When we first got married, I couldn't understand why everyone couldn't work things out and why people really got divorced.  I can now.  Not that I've ever wanted to divorce my husband but the stresses of a marriage are real and they can get pretty ugly.  Especially when it comes to things like money or raising your children.  I wish people would tell you the honest truth about being married.  Sure, they tell you it's hard and you'll need to compromise and blah blah blah.  But what they don't tell you is what you'll really fight over day to day.  

People naturally assume that the fights will be over something....significant.  And real.  Like money or quality time.  They don't tell you that you will fight over dirty socks.  And the fact that no one ran the dishwasher the night before.  Or that apparently everyone was too busy to notice the dog taking a crap on the floor in the kitchen.  And that you will have times when you just want to throw the towel in.  When you seriously wonder what the hell you were thinking when you stood up in front of your family and friends and vowed to love this heathen the rest of your life.  Sure, couples fight over the big stuff but it's the little stuff that catches you off guard and really makes the difference, in my humble opinion.  I really think people rarely get divorced strictly over one thing.  I think they find that they just aren't compatible because of all the small things.   And you either agree to live with those differences (like squeezing the toothpaste from the center and leaving a wet towel on the bed) or you don't.  You'll either decide it's worth it, or you'll decide it's not.  People don't change.   I'll say it again in case you weren't listening.  People.  Don't.  Change.  You can say "oh yes they do, I did." Or "yes, they do, my husband did."  But you'd be wrong.  People don't change.   They simply modify their behavior.  And that's only if they really try and let's be honest here.  Chances are, they'll slip up.  Why?  Because if it's something that doesn't bother them it's not forefront in their mind.   If it's not important to you to make sure that the dishes are done every day, you won't do the dishes every day.  You can modify your behavior to do the dishes every day because your spouse likes them to be done but you still don't care if they are done.  You didn't change.  Your behavior changed.  Get it now?  Good. 

Now, of course, you'll never hear anyone say they got divorced because their wife couldn't remember to shut the garage door at night.  But I can bet that if it's something that really bothered him, it was a playing factor in the decision to divorce.   We all have our little idiosyncrasies; some people just can't handle them.  And that's ok.  Divorce is certainly better than being miserable your whole life.

That was one thing that was great about the hubs and I.  We both laid it all out on the table.  We both knew, for the most part, what the other was really like.  Which is totally why I advocate living together before marrying.  You don't know someone until you live with them, trust me.  He still does things that make me nuts, and I still do things that make him nuts.  But I'd rather live with those things than live without him.  And I suppose that decision is what makes the difference between climbing into bed ever night with the same man or sleeping on the couch.  I'm willing to accept the negative to gain the positive.  And I can only assume it's the same for him. 

I guess that's why so many people do celebrate anniversaries, and with gusto.  They are milestones.  Little markers to say "Hey, we made it!".  The flowers, the dinner, the sex.  It's all just a reminder that the past year may have been hard but hey, we still got each other.  And really, isn't that all anyone really wants in life?  Someone to share with?  What's the purpose of anything if you can't share it with someone? 
 
So this one's for you honey.  For all the tears and all the laughs.  For the ups and downs.  For the good and the bad.  We made it another year.  And next year, we can sit on the couch again and you can watch me get excited over winning 5 bucks.   And we'll smile because life isn't about anything other than being happy.

Bark Really is Worse Than Bite

One of my friends runs a hilariously funny site called "My Crappy Neighbor" (http://mycrappyneighbor.com/  check it out, you won't be sorry!).  One time, at some point I read something like "if you don't have a crappy neighbor, then you're probably the crappy neighbor".   Hm.  Food for thought.  So lately, I've been wildly trying to find a neighbor who does crappy things to me just to prove that I am not the crappy neighbor of the neighborhood.  Ok, not really.  Because without even missing a beat, I can tell you that my crappiness as a neighbor compares naught to the crappiness of the people living beside me.  Why, you ask?  Because my crappiness includes leaving the garbage cans out a few days after the trash has gone, having semi long grass some times and occasionally having my dogs scare the living crap out of someone because they look like they are coming over the fence at you (stay out of my yard, hoodlems).  My crappy neighbor has an audio problem that disrupts the entire block.    It knows no time limit and even desecrates the most sacred of Sunday mornings.  Specifically her yappy, loud, obnoxious and otherwise pain in the ass dogs.  Pain in the ass 1) because the dogs bark at everything.  Even me, picking up poop in the back yard.  And 2) because they make my dogs run the fence with them and my dogs have completely obliterated the yard there so it's totally mud.  Which means muddy dogs when it's wet. Which means cussing mom with bucket of water to wash said dogs feet.  The mud, I can handle, on occasion because it happens.  Mud happens.  But with the running comes the incessant barking.  And after a while, it makes my dog start to bark so it really gets bad.  Here's where the neighbors go from just annoying to crappy.

At first, we tried to compromise.  They'd had neighbors complain and I really didn't want them to get in trouble with the cops if they were truly trying to remedy the situation.  I'll look out before I let my dogs out if you look out before you let yours out.  If the light is on, my dogs are out.  Blah blah blah.  This was when they were still talking to us last spring.  Then winter came and apparently when the snow went out, so did their courtesy.  It really started to feel like they were letting their dogs out on purpose when mine were out.  We've had a particularly wet last month or so.  It's been a real treat with dogs.  I mention this to my other, sane neighbor and she confirms that she too thinks that they let the dogs out purposely when mine are out.   She said she even witnessed it the other day and said something loud enough for the chick to hear.  I am vindicated!  And really pissed off.  I can see making that mistake a few times.  Maybe one of the kids let the dogs out.  Maybe you didn't see my dogs.  I don't know.  But every, blessed time my dogs are out, within minutes, their dogs are out.  And then the barking begins.  I can teach my 4 year old not to let the dogs out when other dogs are out.  Why can't they teach their 10 year old?  And to make matters worse, it's not like it happens in the afternoon when really, it's kind of annoying but not seriously a problem.   It happens at  S E V E N I N T H E M O R N I N G on a Sunday.  People get really pissed off when they are woken up by barking dogs. 

I feel sort of bad for the dogs because they can't help it.  They are dogs.  They can't help it if their humans are idiots.  And I cant imagine why they are being such dicks!  Maybe someone called the cops on them and they think it was us and now they want to seek revenge on me by making my dogs as filthy as possible?  Who knows.  What I do know is that those dogs make me want to rip my ears off my head and eat them. (the ears, not the dogs...although....)

Yeah, it's that bad.

Floaters, Food Allergies and Verp

"In 5 minutes, can we go downstairs?"  (eye cracked slightly) "No, honey, it's 5:30 in the morning."

This is the conversation I'm having with my four year old this morning.  This week hasn't exactly  been kind to me so I am a bit, shall we say, testy?  This morning really just capped off what has been a pisser of a week.

It all really started on Tuesday when I brought home new dog food.  The fish stuff we had the dogs on didn't make Zoe itchy but it did several other things.  1- It stunk up the house.  2- It made the dogs poop 3, sometimes 4 times a day  3- It was undesirable to my dogs.  And, for a dog to not want to eat food, that's saying something.   So I went to the store hoping to just change proteins.  Yes, I know you are suppose to wean the dogs off of old food onto new but because of Zoe's allergy, we've just switched it the past without a problem.  So this time, I didn't think any differently.

Our dogs are on a limited ingredient diet.  Zoe has mad allergies so we try to keep the ingredients to a minimum so we aren't inadvertently triggering some response.  Anyway, I wanted either Lamb, Bison or Duck as a protein.  I get to the store and the lady there some how manages to sell me Duck.  Even though Zoe is allergic to Chicken and I have this sinking feeling in me that says this is a really bad idea.  She assures me that Duck "should be just fine".  And the guy at the counter again assures me that Duck "should be just fine".

I get it home and the dogs go wild.  They want the Duck and they want it now.  (I just realized I am capitalizing all my flavors...not sure why, but going to keep going with it).  I pour the bowls and it's gone in minutes.  I expect a small amount of barfing from Bailey on occasion, since he eats so fast and drinks so much he often "verps" - that's a vomit burp if you don't know.  It's usually a small amount.  Well, some time later, I see that there is some verp on the floor.  I clean it up.  I put the kid to bed.  I go upstairs and Bailey is no where to be found.  This is unusual for several reasons.  The biggest being that Bailey has separation anxiety and for the most part, won't be in another part of the house without me.  I call him.  Call him.  Call him.  Nothing.  I find him in the corner of our spare bedroom.  He is just laying there, looking rather pathetic.  I see verp in the corner of the room across from him.  Great.  I nudge him up and he is obviously not wanting to move.  Why it's obvious is seen a few moments later when I get him walking and 10 feet later he stops and vomits violently on the floor.  He lays back down.  This is bad.  I don't want him laying in the hallway.  I don't want him alone.  I don't want the hubs to trip on him when he gets home.   I don't want verp all over the upstairs.  I have to get him in the bedroom with me.  I nudge him again.  He won't get up.  I nudge ever so slightly more and he gets up, walks another 10 feet and barfs right in front of the office door.  I quickly usher him into the bedroom and he plops down in the corner on his bed.  Whew.  We made it without another....nope.  He just barfed.  Again.  I think all in all, he puked 6 times that night.  It was just fantastic.  I lay there wondering what I am going to do with the 30 pound bag of dog food downstairs because I surely can't give it to Bailey again.  I fall asleep.

Then, at some point in the night I am awakened by a loud thumping.  Thump! Thump!  Thump!  It's Zoe and she is scratching like her skin is on fire.  It probably was on fire, come to think of it, poor thing.  All night, she scratches.  And scratches.  And scratches.  She woke me several times.  She's probably tearing her hair out.  Her ears are probably bloody.  (and in fact, were scabbed yesterday) And I've already given her her medicine so she has to wait til morning for more.  This Duck thing has been a real pisser.  Of course, then one of the dogs has to go out.  Bailey is no longer barfing so this is good.  It is pouring out.  I am not spending 15 minutes wiping their feet and bellies off if I let them out back and so I leash them up and we go out front.  I'm tired.  I'm wet.  And all I really want to do is hit that stupid Duck selling lady in the face.  I decide that even though I had thrown the bag out and it was in the outside garbage can getting soaked, I am taking that damn food back.  I get the bag and shake it off and lay it out to dry in the house.

Yesterday was just about as miserable as I had anticipated it would be.  Petco took back my food without trouble, although I think they ripped me off for about $7 because of the coupons I had used with the first purchase.  I ended up getting the Lamb formula which I was going to get in the first place. I tried mowing the lawn and got rained on.  And it was so sloppy out, I had grass and god knows what else splattered all over the back of me.  The kid was cranked at home.   Didn't want to go to bed.  She had a belly ache.  Her butt hurt. (don't ask)  She was thirsty.  You know the routine.  I hoped for a good night, expected a bad one.  And I was right.

She got into bed with us in the middle of the night.  I moved her.

And then around 5-5:15 she comes flying in crying and terrified of something.  It took a few minutes to get her to tell me what.

Balls.
Tiny balls.

Say what?  Yes, you read that correctly.  My daughter was traumatized in the middle of the night by tiny balls floating in the air.  She does have night terrors so I thought this was a case of her being asleep even if she was acting awake.  But about 15 minutes into the whole thing, I kind of wondered if she really was awake.  Maybe eye floaters?  Maybe her having a bad dream that her imagination carried over into reality?  I have no idea.  The balls kept landing on her, and on daddy (who was desperately trying to sleep 2 feet away).  I tried to be Super Mom and I grabbed at the non existent balls in the air and gobbled them up.  (Ironic how I'll jump at the chance to stuff balls in my mouth when it's my daughter asking...) Apparently, I got them all.  But by then she was wide awake and ready to go.  This is when the downstairs question popped up.  I look at the clock and it's 5:30.  Oh hell no.  Lay down, I tell her.  She does.  And wiggles.  And makes me crazy for the next 30 minutes so finally I take her to the loft area where she has a tv set up and she settles in to watch Wow Wow Wubzy.  I have to make sure she's ok.  I have to pee so I pee.  I go back to my room to lay down.  I can't sleep.  I roll around for 10 minutes.  Then just as I am drifting off....I wake up.  Why?  Because the dogs now need to go out.  I get up and take them down stairs.  They go out.  By the time I actually get back to my bed, it's 6:20 and I have to get up soon.  But I'll be damned if I get robbed that last 20 minutes.  So, I lay back down...and fall asleep.  I wake up and it's 7!  Which made me late. Late for work on a day when I know I won't be able to get my shit done if I'm on time.

I keep hoping that tonight will be better.  If I can make it through the night without floaters, food allergies and verp, I'm so totally smiling tomorrow.

Time....She Ain't On My Side....And Neither is Mother Nature

It's been nearly a month since my last post and I apologize to the 3 readers I have for not making time to come and post witty and interesting things here on my blog.  But frankly, there haven't been a while lot of witty and/or interesting things going on.  I know, crazy, right?  I've been just trying to keep my head above water, really.  And with the Spring finally arriving (or trying to at least) the kid and the dogs have developed a massive case of cabin fever.  They are making. Me. Nuts.

The kid wants to play outside on her jungle gym.  Which would be ok except that 1- up until yesterday, the grass has been too wet to play out there.  2- It's dirty and covered in all sorts of god knows what from the winter and from laying down for three months.  3- I don't want to go outside when it's 60 degrees and freeze my ass off so she can slide down her slide 5 times and them come complain that it's too cold so we go in and then she complains that she wants to go out and we get her out and then she goes down her slide 5 times and complains...you get my drift. 

And the dogs...well, I'd kick them out in a heartbeat but there are issues with that as well.  First, we have these neighbor dogs....they've all gotten better, probably because maybe by now they've come to terms with the fact that they are all there but they still run the fence line.  Up and down, up and down, up and down.  The one side has dogs I don't want to shoot.   They run with Bailey and Zoe and occasionally bark but usually they just run with each other.  The other side has dogs that bark bark bark bark bark.  Oh.  My. God.  Shut up already!  And to make matters worse, it's that high pitched yippy bark that makes you want to tear your ears off and burn them.  I honestly think that the neighbor watches and when my dogs are out, she lets hers out.  I swear it.  But back to why I don't want them out.  Since they run the fence line, the grass is non existent there.  Which, as you can guess, in the spring becomes mud.  I despise having to spend 15 minutes a dog cleaning off their feet and bellies so that they can come in.

I can't wait until this weather turns.  If it ever turns.  It's freakin' May for god's sake and it's freezing.  Where are my May flowers?

I've decided that I need a nanny.  And a maid.  And a chef.  And a gardener.  And a house boy.  Ok, no house boy but maybe a handy man.  That way, I can just come home and play with my dogs and kid and not worry about picking up dog poop, making dinner, doing laundry, paying bills and cleaning the house up.  I could actually spend time by myself and still have time for kid, dogs and hubby.  I could sit down before 9pm.  Get to bed before midnight.  It would be heavenly. 

But enough daydreaming.  Here in the real world, we cook our own frozen pizzas, wash our own clothes when we have no clean underwear, pay our own stupid bills late, kick toys out of the way to make a path to the bedrooms and leave the dog poop pick up until its too bad to ignore.

Yes, here in the real world.....

The Luck O'....Me

I think I am seriously predisposed to having weird and sometimes unpleasant things happen to me.  Take yesterday for instance.  My day was literally, quite shitty.

Adriana and I took a trip after work to WalMart.  Now, generally speaking, I don't go shopping after work because the dogs have been home all day and need to go out.  However, I needed to pick up a few things so we took off for the Mart.  First thing, I see a construction sign that says "Businesses still open during construction".  To me, that means the road is open even if under construction.  However, that was not the case.  A mile later, the road suddenly is closed.  Completely.  So, we turn around and have to go down to the next road and around to get to WalMart.  Should have been a sign.  We get there and do our shopping, which took longer than normal because it was so busy.  We finally get in line and I smell something.  Did Ade fart?  Did the lady behind me?  No, it's not that its....poop.  I look down and I have stepped in poop.  In line.  In Walmart.  Seriously, who poops in Walmart??  So now that my shoes need to be destroyed, we head home.  Later than I had wanted.  I open the door and my nose is assaulted once again....poop.  This time its dog poop.  Great.  I walk in and there are TWO piles.  TWO.  By the time I got cleaned up, it was 7:30 and we still hadn't eaten dinner. 

The good news is that...wait, there wasn't any good news.  That was pretty much it.  

Cuteness Counts

At least in the toddler/preschooler world.  I'd decided that God made kids so cute so we would be less inclined to kill our offspring.

Why is it that on Monday through Friday, I have to wake her up and drag her, eyes still half closed and whining that she wants a nalilla bar (that's granola bar to the rest of us) to the car?  But on Saturday or Sunday (or any day off for that matter)  she's up at the ass crack of dawn and ready to party?

Some mornings, she sits in her little chair and watches her little tv for an hour and let's me sleep.  She's not allowed downstairs and is right down the hall from me but even then, I am not sleeping soundly.  This morning, it was not even 7am and she was awake.  *groan*

On top of it all, she's been in the habit of climbing into my bed at 3am.  We've never co slept so generally speaking, it's not difficult to pick her up and put her in her bed.  But some nights, I just don't have it in me.  And besides, having to wake up and then get up and then of course pee....it really interrupts your sleep.  So I wake up 15 different times to a foot in the belly, a poke in the eye and then since the baby is on the bed, the dogs suddenly think it's family time and I wake up with two 100lb dogs on me.  I really haven't had a good night sleep in over three years.  Even when she's staying at Grandmas.  Because then the dear hubby and I decide to go out and are out half the night acting like non-parents so even if I sleep in, it's not like I get much more in the way of hours. 

And I can't go to bed early because the only time I have to myself is after darling goes to bed.  So if she's in bed by 9-9:30p, that doesn't leave me much time.  I don't know if I'd be better off with zero personal time and sleep or no sleep and some personal time. 

Either way, the kid better be glad she's cute.

To Breast Feed or Not to Breast Feed....That Is the Question...

...apparently for many new moms as well as their 7 year old daughters.  What you say?  Brace yourself, my friend, for the newest doll...The Breast Milk Baby.  This baby doll comes with a special bib you put on and when the baby's mouth is close to it, the baby begins to suckle, as though she were breast feeding.  Weird.  And a little creepy.

Ok, so I  have no issues what so ever with breast feeding and for all I care, any mom can breast feed at any time anywhere.  It's natural and normal and a beautiful thing.  I don't expect them to hide in the bathroom or wait til they get home.  But frankly, (and I'm being a little hypocritical or prudish here) I feel a little odd allowing my little girl to pretend breast feeding with a plastic doll and breasts that don't exist.  Does she need to know how to breast feed a baby at 4?  Is there really a need for a doll that teaches her such an adult activity? And even if she is doing it, does she really understand what she's doing?  And how does this really differ from a child bottle feeding her baby?

The big argument is that it is an "adult" activity.  A grown woman who has had a baby (thereby having sex) is now engaging in an activity that is meant to be done by adults (or rather, mature women).  The act itself is not sexual but it does go hand in hand with a sexual activity (duh, sex).  None of us want to see a twelve year old pregnant and breast feeding.

But if we restrict this "adult" activity, why aren't we restricting other "adult" activities, such as tools, kitchens, cleaning toys and....gasp! baby dolls?   Good question. 

In theory, if I allow my four year old to play with a baby doll at all, I should have no problems with her playing as though she's breast feeding.  Maybe it's the idea that she's using her pretend (grown up) breasts or maybe there is still some skewed sexual connotation of breasts in me.   Probably the latter.  We can't shake all of the things society tells us is right and wrong.  And lets face it; breasts are pretty sexy.  And functional too.  It's like the ultimate best of both worlds, no?

I guess the bottom line is that I don't like this doll but I am still a little unsure of why I dislike this doll.  I hate that I can't fully rationalize my dislike and I feel a little shady for disliking it based on a "feeling" of uneasiness.  I know that I don't want my daughter growing up thinking that her body is only used for sexual purposes and I don't want her to think that breast feeding is somehow wrong. ( I know a lot of people still get very uncomfortable around breast feeding mothers, so the idea is out there)  But can't this wait, just a little longer?  Does she really need to use her body as a grown woman would?  Maybe that's the kicker for me.  I don't want her to be using her body as a grown woman would.  Right or wrong, I guess that's that. If sex can wait, so can breast feeding.

What do you think?  Would you feel comfortable allowing your little girl to play with this doll?  Weigh in folks.  I'm interested in hearing your opinions.(no, really, I am)

** EDIT- Had some info given to me from a friend who used to pretend to breast feed when she was little.  And she turned out just fine.  Maybe it's just a stupid hang up...probably just a stupid hang up of mine.  *sigh*