I Am Trying

I wrote this in April 2011 but never published it because I was being less honest about my depression and I was scared of worrying the people in my life. I’ve decided to share it with you now…well, honestly, I’m not quite sure why. I just like the writing, I suppose.

Feeling scared today
Write down “I am ok”
A hundred times the doctors say
I am ok
I am ok
I’m not ok
~ eels

I stand in the shower and look at my blood vessels—a branching, complex network, relaying blood to the tips of my toes, the rough spot on my elbow, the curve of my hip.

My body contains approximately 60,000 miles of blood vessels which circulate a little over five liters of blood. Step back from any squeamishness you have and imagine that color—a rich, gorgeous red. Picture the stark contrast to the pale pastel blue of my veins.

It is beautiful.

Millions of vessels. Capillaries, veins and arteries. A nick here, a scratch there. A satisfyingly fat bead gathers on my fingertip when the doctor performs my monthly blood thinner check; a rivulet streams down my shin when I cut myself shaving, pooling at the bottom of the tub until it flows down the drain, pink ribbons swirling.

One small slip, one wrong cut, too much curiosity, and all five liters will leave my body in minutes.

It is terrifying.

I’m not suicidal…I’m just fascinated.

I’m not okay.

How to Suffocate Your Brother

A tutorial by Big G.

In case you don’t read first grader, allow me to translate:

First you throw a blanket over your brother.
Next you throw a pillow over your brother.
Then you throw two stuffed animals.
Last you throw two blankets.

Should I be concerned?

*Omitted: Then you tell your parents it was your brother’s idea. Then you pretend you’re sorry.

Preschool Picasso

So Little G is going to preschool. I know. Actually, he’s going to two different preschools, which is pretty awesome. (For me!)

Anyway, on Tuesday he brought home something he made in preschool #2. I’m not exaggerating when I say I almost dropped it when I pulled it out of his bag:

Hold me. I’m so very afraid.

Jeepers Creepers

Actual text conversation yesterday:

Me: Little G informs me he’s going to use his new binoculars to “spy on baby Ian’s mom.” Little Creeper!

Me: If it makes you feel any better, it’s so he can find out what you’re getting Ian for his birthday.

Me: That child is getting cut off from Curious George.

Rachel: Hahahahaha! Holy crap, that’s hilarious.

Rachel: Aren’t you proud of your little peeping tom?

Me: Very.

Me: FYI, You’re getting baby Ian a very big big big box. Inside that box? A blue go-cart.

Rachel: Good to know!

Me: You really ought to get him something more age-appropriate. What is WRONG with you?

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

We visited my brother in St. George and just got back yesterday. This morning Little G said, “I miss my uncle.”

Awwww.

“I miss your uncle too, but he’ll be visiting soon.”

“No, my other uncle.”

“Which uncle, buddy?” Car has six brothers, so saying his “other uncle” wasn’t necessarily unreasonable.

“My uncle in the mountains.”

I stopped and thought about every one of Little G’s uncles. “You don’t have an uncle who lives in the mountains.”

He looked at me as if my IQ had suddenly dropped 80 points. “Yes I do. My uncle in the mountains. I go and visit him. He lives in a cave in the mountains.”

Dude.

“Little G, you don’t have an uncle who lives in a cave. If you’ve been visiting someone in a cave in the mountains something is very wrong.”

This, of course, prompted a five-minute dialogue on his visits to his uncle in the cave in the mountains, including all the animals he’d seen. (Fun fact: there are apparently flamingos in the cave in the mountains!)

Oh, Little G. You adorably creepy boy. Never, ever change.

The Best Phone Survey Ever

I know, it sounds impossible. How can a great phone survey exist? And how did I stay on the phone long enough to find out?

I have no good answer to either question, but I believe the following were contributing factors:

1. I have a freakish sense of humor and am far too easily amused.
2. Their phone system lacked the usual long pause that warns me I must immediately hang up.
3. I was trying to get rid of her and told her the youngest male in the home over 18 was unavailable.
4. I was thus unprepared when she asked for the youngest female in the home over 18. (Me: “Crap! If I use the same excuse twice, she’ll know I’m lying!“)
5. I was too tired to come up with another excuse.
6. I am—as a general rule—too polite to simply hang up on someone once I’ve made verbal contact. I make the rare exception when I’ve firmly told someone to go away and he or she just keeps talking.

Anyway.

The woman started by asking a question about Walmart, and then one about Target. Once we established that I’m a Target fangirl and think Walmart can suck it, she moved into the bulk of the survey.

Oh, Walmart. Just give up, already. Phone surveys to find out what people think of you? Just Google it.

Now, I was very honest. From the get-go I told her that I couldn’t possibly be impartial because I used to work for Walmart. She didn’t care, because that wasn’t in her script. Fair enough. Then she asked me all sorts of questions about whether I thought Walmart was a) better than chocolate or b) a minion of Satan.

I was thoroughly bored and about to ask just how much longer she was planning to test my patience, BUT THEN. It went a little something like this:

Survey monkey: “There have been some stories about Walmart’s operations in Mexico in the news lately…blah blah blah…corporate officers bribing Mexican officials….blah blah…have you heard any of these?”

Me: (because I apparently live in a cave) “Nope.”

Survey monkey: “From what I’ve told you about this story, does it make your opinion of Walmart more or less favorable?”

Me: “Wait, what? Does bribing Mexican officials make me like Walmart more or less? That’s, like, the best question ever.“

Survey monkey: “So…more or less favorable?”

Me: *giggling* “Yeah, I’m going to have to go with less favorable.”

Survey monkey: “Would you say it’s a little less favorable ormuch less favorable?”

Me: *snorting with laughter* “Much less favorable.”

Survey monkey: “Now I have some questions simply for demographic purposes…”

That was two hours ago and I’m still giggling. Thank you, dear survey monkey, for doing your thankless job tonight. You made my day.

*I think next week I might blog every day to try to get back in the habit. Remind me about that, won’t you? I’ll probably forget in the next three days.

**I now understand why people don’t sign their kids up for lots of sports. Soccer was entertaining enough, but watching kindergarteners play T-ball? I’m not saying it’s on par with watching paint dry, but it’s no trip to Disneyland.

***Speaking of watching paint dry, still no diagnosis for Big G…

Search Me

Every once in a while I glance at my stats—not to see how many people read my blog (that number just depresses me, as based on my sheer awesomeness I should have thousands–nay, millions—of readers), but to find out from whence y’all came. What site referred you? What magical combination of terms did you type into the search engine to be led so very astray?

I really should know better than to ask these questions.

Dude.

A few things here:

1. Who asks a question like that? 
2. Who googles it? 
3. Why the hell did it lead them to my blog?

I know I talk about poop a fair amount on this blog, but to the best of my recollection (though I’m sure I killed a few brain cells with the drugs), I’ve never named—or even contemplated naming—a bowel movement.

I thought the “megatron baby birth certificate” search was hilariously random until I realized someone was probably looking for proof that people actually named their child Megatron based on the number of likes or fans or something received on Facebook. If I cared more I’d look it up but honestly, I’ve lost interest now that it isn’t a cartoon baby Megatron.

I do find it hilarious that I consistently (seriously, every day) get hits from “Billy Blanks,” since the only time I’ve mentioned him on my blog is when I talked about how phenomenally creepy I find his peek-a-boo nipples.

FYI: I’m perfectly aware most of my readers are my friends and family. Bless you for finding me amusing enough that you’re willing to a) maintain contact with me and b) read my nonsensical ramblings. As for the rest of you—those who found me through blogging, mutual friends, Twitter, or (heaven forbid) freakish search engine requests and have, for some bizarre reason, come back for more—please seek professional help.

*I totally just upped my search ranking for “Billy Blanks.” BOOYAH!

**I think we all know if I had to name a bowel movement, I’d name it Bob. Partly because I name everything Bob, and partly because Mr. Hanky is already taken.

***Wait, did I talk about Mr. Hanky in a blog once? That might sort of explain the naming of feces. But not really.

****If you don’t know who Mr. Hanky is, you probably shouldn’t look it up. You might be scarred for life. I’m looking at you, mom and dad.

*****Wait, how would I know it was my last bowel movement? Are we talking about the last one I had (say, this morning), or the last one I would ever have? That might make a difference. If I actually know it’s my last crap on this earth maybe it means I’m on death row and I’ll want to name my poop something more bad-ass than Bob. You know, something like Slash. Or Killer. Or Captain Huggy Face.

******I’m trying to not contemplate the implications of having poop named Slash, but I’m failing miserably.

*******I also might be snort laughing.

********From now on, every time I need to use the bathroom, I’m going to say, “I gotta go make a Captain Huggy Face.”

*********I so win at blogging right now.

So then I smoked something and decided to become crafty.

For some reason today I decided I need to start a Christmas tradition and make homemade advent calendars for my sons.

I know.

I’m not talking about some sort of hand-stitched tomfoolery. I’m not that cray-cray.

Still, there’s something inside of me that wants to create. This frightens me, as I’m not a particularly creative person. I’m going to chalk it up to motherhood, that bizarre creature that whispers, “Look at these beings you created! Now don’t you want to make something for them?”

Dear voice inside of my head: I brought them into this world. How is that not enough?

(My friend Meredith’s answer to that question: “Pinterest.” Sadly, she’s not entirely wrong.)

So this week I embark upon a grand experiment: make an advent calendar. I have a plan in my head, but I think you’ve all seen how well my plans tend to turn out. Should be good times! Overall goal: Complete advent calendar by December 1.

*Yes, I know I can buy an advent calendar. THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

**Seriously, if you tell me to buy one, I’ll know you completely missed the whole point of this post.

 

I Already Have My BS in Pooponomics

I’ll be the first to admit that I, like many parents, am far too comfortable discussing my child’s bathroom habits. It’s a sad but true fact that changing diapers removes the taboo that exists in society regarding poop talk. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as children’s bowels do odd things and it’s reassuring to talk to other parents and know that your child doesn’t need to be rushed to the hospital before something horrifying and irreversible (possibly involving a colostomy bag) happens.

Advertising executives are aware of this crucial time in parents’ lives and (being the soul-sucking bottom-feeders they are) they do their best to capitalize on it. I’m not fond of this. As relaxed as I am about describing the consistency of my son’s last bowel movement, I balk when I see an ad that features the word “poo” in large bold letters.

The latest offender:

Give Poop a Chance? Seriously? I’d love to know how many hours went into that slogan.

On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.

*Random thought: Do you think the ad campaign was thought up by an ad exec while he/she was sitting on the toilet?

**This ad was in the Reader’s Digest. My love for that magazine just keeps growing.

***If I see one more commercial for the remake of Footloose, I will stab someone. Is nothing sacred?

Slightly Concerning

The boys and I went to the library this afternoon, and on the way back Big G asked Little G a question. I’m not sure what the question was, but I do know Little G answered it in an unsatisfactory manner.

“But Jenny,” you’re asking, “if you didn’t hear the question, how do you know Little G answered it incorrectly?”

Well, as I drove along, I heard from the back seat, “WRONG, flesh creature!”

Is it wrong I’m mildly disappointed he didn’t modify the phrase with the word “puny”?

This is completely unrelated, but I have to share yet another example of Big G’s awesomeness. A neighbor kid keeps trying to play the emotional blackmail card. “Let me play with that toy or I’ll never come over again.” It drives me insane. Last week they were playing in the front room and I heard Big G’s response: “Then you won’t get to play with me.” As @shnerfle pointed out after I Tweeted the incident, my kid wins.

*FYI: We did not make a collage this morning. I feel oddly liberated.

**I can’t write about collages again. Ever. If I have to deal one more time with the WordPress proofreader asking me if I meant college instead of collage, I will shank someone.

Wordless Wednesday – Every 6-Year-Old’s Got One

See it?