Thursday, January 24, 2008

Lordy, lordy

Question: What can give you a headache, an eye twitch and uterine contractions all at the same time?
Answer: Twins reaching puberty.

I'm not ready to buy bras. I think I just got mine right.

I don't know what to do with most feminine products. I see those commercials and I have no idea what they're talking about.

Discussions about bodies and changing hormones tend to leave me drooling and listless kinda like a small stroke (or uterine contractions). I'm prone to freak out and say the wrong things like "what are you talking about?!" and "have you lost your mind?" or "go ask your father, he knows more about sex than I do."

Then there are the questions I try so hard to evade. For instance: "Mom is Jamie Lynn Spears really pregnant?" I went with the forthright approach and said "yes" and followed it up with a "It's late, we'll talk about it in the morning." I didn't say which morning. Like maybe a morning when you're sixteen, or a morning when your married and your third child is on the way...."about Jamie Lynn Spears.. we never cleared that up..."

Tim's taught the kids to be open with their discussions about their bodies. (Eye twitch.) You know, use correct anatomical names, etc. So on the way to church one day Eva announces (rather loudly) "my nipples hurt." Nice. Can I hide in the glove compartment? Are we there yet? I can think of I few prayers I need to offer up. Somehow Isaac managed to not hear this or there would have been a aching nipple discussion all through church until he was completely satisfied that he knew everything about the topic.

Maya has always been good at mastering the art of tear production. Things don't go her way and she doesn't get what she thinks she deserves then "pop", like little sprinkler spigots - tears. Now, the tears are just running out of her eyeballs at the drop of a hat. It's a sprinkler on an almost daily timer. Example: She and Eva had a discussion over hair color that lasted their entire shower which lasted about 20 minutes and used all my hot water (it's an issue). Maya said her hair was darker than Eva's when it's wet. Eva didn't appreciate that for obvious reasons. (Actually no, I don't understand it either.) I tried to disentangle the argument (bad idea since I didn't understand it in the first place) but this lead to tears from Maya which I have yet to understand. This is not good. I feel like a man. Being a man is bad. At least when you're trying to understand "feelings". Not just feelings but "feelings". Maybe even ""feelings"". I even asked Tim if he had any insights. The man who openly uses the word "nipple" had none. Huh, what good is he?

Lordy, lordy,

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I woke up yesterday morning to a bedroom floor spotted with blood. As I tried to focus my eyes I noticed that the blood was EVERYWHERE. At first I thought it was our dog, Phoebe, then I saw larger pools of blood and thought Phoebe couldn't have bled that much and suspected someone's nose. I followed the bloody trail out into the hall and saw that it circled around the hall and then led into the family room where it made a lovely figure 8. It had to be the dog because anybody in my house with a bloody nose wouldn't have wandered around in the middle of the night creating psychotic patterns of red on every reachable floor (except for the kitchen of course, that would have cleaned up easily.) without waking me. And near the kitchen floor, laying calmy and no longer bleeding, was the culprit looking guilty as hell. She could have at least rolled over and whined or something instead of looking at me like "why didn't YOU do something?" Evidently she had lost a toenail during the night as evidenced by the large disgusting toenail found on the family room floor. So I spent most of my morning scrubbing rather dispassionately many square feet of light colored carpet. I moved from room to room, I guess to get the worst of it and to give myself variety. Isaac helped by bopping me on the head with his magic wand telling me to scrub faster. (He wanted me to play with him.) At one point in the family room I considered leaving half the red spots - you know, as conversation pieces. I could visualize guests coming over and asking "Well, did you have a bloody murder in your living room? A physical dispute with your husband? Do we need to call child protective services?" Blood spots as ice breakers - it would make for a great party. But I wasn't planning any great parties soon so I kept with the scrubbing and Isaac kept up with his bopping. (He tried the "stop scrubbing now" magic bop as well, always thinking.) It was but a mere 1 and half hours later that I scrubbed the last spot, rubbed my aching arms and sang a small hallelujah. When you wake up to a house full of dog blood it just makes you stop and think "what is God trying to tell me here?" The blood of life is all over my floor and I'm on my hands and knees trying to remove it. Perhaps He is saying "Your life is a mess, you need to clean it up, preferably with an oxygen formula cleaner" or "you should be grateful you're not cleaning up blood on a daily basis" or " you should appreciate people who have cleaned up your blood" or the more obvious " You should clip your dog's toenails once-in-a-while". I'm going with all the above. Phoebe pretty much kept her tail between her legs most of the day and walked with a bit of a "gimp". I was trying to work up some compassion for her and was hoping I would bolster myself about the time the smell of blood cleared the air or my arms stopped aching. Well, it's almost 11pm. So far, no go. Poor dog. There I think that's about all I have for today. Maybe tomorrow she'll get some love. Oh bloody hell, Michelle

Thursday, January 10, 2008

This is my first official blog entry - ever. I've been sending out emails to friends and family for several years and I finally decided to blog rather than email. We'll see how it goes. These emails are therapy for myself and hopefully a good laugh for the people who receive them. Below is the most recent from my archives.

Re: Red Dog, Pink Carpet
I'm the first to admit that I'm usually $1.00 short of $1.80 but sometimes I even surprise myself. Earlier this afternoon Isaac and I were indulging our artistic spirit by painting some original art. Isaac did a lovely painting in red, (nothing but red) on a nice size canvas. So of course I cleaned up our paint and left the canvas on the kitchen floor to dry. As I'm working in the den I can hear Phoebe (our dog) playing with her new ball, trying to get that last treat out of it. Never did it occur to me that Phoebe might NOT avoid the red painting on the floor. So to my surprise I found a kitchen floor with lots of little splotches of red all over it which led into the living room onto the carpet. Lovely. So as I'm cleaning the floor I notice the nice little pattern going across Isaac's painting from the ball. So I tell Isaac and he goes over to check out Phoebe and says "yep, she's red." So now the carpet is slightly pink as are Phoebe's toenails, nose and the sofa slipcover. And we have a lovely painting to remember the moment.