United States of Motherhood: October 2011

Monday, October 31, 2011

How To Get Even with a Cat: Pet Costumes are Sweet Revenge

Revenge, my friends?

Revenge is sweet.

You poop in my car?

I torture you by dressing you up in a oooohhh so shweetie-kins matchy-matchy Halloween costume. Yes, Lulu the wondercat, revenge is a beast!

Yes, this is one very angry little red riding hood starring Lulu the wonder cat attired in satin scrap leftovers, from my daughters goth red riding costume I sewed all night, made into her own cape and hood.

Lulu does not appreciate this. I cannot tell you how MUCH she does NOT appreciate this. Heh!!

Kitty torture is fair play when balanced with the great shitcidence of '11. Shit again, dear Lulu? Next year, I'll dress you up as a dog.


Friday, October 28, 2011

If only...

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Shitcident #9,375,913: Cats Belong in Carriers, Dear Daughter

If you are a parent, you know, shit happens. Known fact.

However, if you train them well and you let them live to puberty, you might just be tricked into believing that the years of finding them with crap smeared legs and necks when they discover the poop in their diaper during their nap, was over.

You. Would. Be. Wrong.

Case in point, Evidence photo #1:

Shitty cat lurking

But wait, you say. That's a cat, not a kid. True, very true. [Nodding my head sagely]

That actually is a cat adopted for a child after a silly promise, a completely-based-in-fantasy-deal really. I was suckered into making a bet that in the totally impossible case that IF she dropped 20 seconds in the 500 free at Northwest Swim Sectionals, she could have said putty cat for which she had been pining.

Mommy Advice #1: Never make outlandish bets with highly motivated 11 year old girl children. Never. It only ends up with pissed off husbands, when you get a cat after she drops 20 seconds, which he doesn't want, which then you have to bargain that you will attend all Sundays of swim meets for the rest of year--alone--all day--whilst he goes hiking, camping, and generally jacking off, like the animal hater he is. Resentment? You note resentment in my voice? Hmmm...
Of course she dropped 20 seconds. Of course she did.

Back to said cat and child. Cat is litter trained, despite being given up to humane society as 11 year cat because she stopped using her liter box because of UTI. Long story short, we adopted her.

We love her.

Even husband loves her though he doesn't admit it for fear of losing his get-out-of-swim-meets-on-Sunday-pass.

This cat? She has NEVER had an accident. Not once...

...Until we took her on the great shitcidence swim meet of '11. Yep, we took Lulu the cat, along with 90 lbs Seb the wonder dog with dog bed, five suitcases, 3 stuffed homework backpacks (riiight like they actually did their homework), 2 swim bags, and @#$% partridge in a pear tree.

Poor Seb! Sitting in the back with a shitty cat that abhors him--always getting shat on!

We were lucky if nothing avalanched on poor Seb. The cat never well...stopped her caterwauling the entire drive. Daughter convinced me she needed to move around and stretch.

Mommy Advice #2: Let sleeping dogs lie and let caterwauling cats, no matter if they are good, litter-trained cats, stay the fuck in the carrier.

Cat was out and in the less than 60 seconds it took for Li'l Man to ask , "Who farted?" she had taking a massive, blistering pile of smelly dump on daughter for taking so long to get her out of the @#$ carrier.

Daughter freaks out. Shit smears everywhere. Cat tries to escape. Smell makes all of us want to vomit. I swerve on freeway with 2 hours left to drive to Portland. We pull over.

Crap is EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE! Cat is put back in carrier. Kids are stripped to nothing on side of road as semis blow by, buffeting the car. Daughter thinks that is the perfect time to complain about changing into swimsuit--only shitless clothes we can reach-on side of road. Oh really?

To clarify? In the time it took to pull over?

Daughter had poop in her lap (place of origin), on her brother's lap, on her seat belt and buckle, and all over the leather, in the stitching of the leather BEHIND her on the seat, and poop that fell between the seats onto the floor under her seat.

There was shit on Li'l Man pillow--through the pillow case-- and his quilt he took for the road. There was poop on the cat bed. THERE. WAS. POOP. ON. THE. CAT. And there was brown smears all over MY hands.

I said a lot of, "shit, shit, shits," while CG dry-heaved on the side.

Over an hour later, convenience store was found. Cleanser and plentiful paper towels purchased. Car minimally sanitized. Back on the road and only 40 minutes late for swim meet warm ups.

Moral of the Story, my friends? No matter the age of the kids, if there are kids, there is shit. Kids are shitty. Do NOT let your guard down. Never-ever! Do you hear me??

Thx for the Flickr pics by Hu2 Design / Wall Design & Art Considering buying his poster for a reminder!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

On Health, Ablations & Memory Loss: Light at the End of the Tunnel

Hi there. Remember me. Yep, used to write here regularly. Now I am flailing. I neglect what I love. I resign from fabulous freelance gigs. I am silent.

Now, I avoid here.

I hang out at Twitter where 140 characters is a breeze. Or at Instagram where I can hide behind pictures.

makes me realize what is lacking. Here I realize what I once was before I became unhealthy.

Before I literally lost my mind.

It's been happening for years. Doctors used to put me off with off-handed comments on "mommy brain." My husband thought it was cute at first, then annoying, and sometimes it downright angered him how I let my Berkeley-educated brain turn into fluff.

Air-headed IN AN almost forty-year-old is not endearing.

I hide it in public with too quick smiles, but my family knows how much I've lost. Years of heavy blood loss, unhealthy weight issues, liver disease, hearing loss leaving me isolated as I fake my way through conversations, and a variety of ridiculous health issues for some yet undiagnosed cause have all taken their toll. To the point, my husband is blase when I mention yet another pain. He ignores it. Changes the subject. What is else is new?

I joke about memory loss, but literally, it's no joke. My doctor ordered up an MRI weeks ago which I have still not gone to get out of fear. There is a family history. One grandparent in a line was what they called senile before 40. What if....

I handed out t-shirts for my kids' swim team the other day. I've know these kids for years. I've spent 7 days a week with these kids.

I honestly could not remember one of their names. Not one. As I went down the line, I told them to state their name. Most did not, in a funny, ha-ha, "You know me, Mrs. Raines."

Oh, honey....of course I know you. I just can't remember your name.

Some looked hurt as if I callously didn't think they were worthy of remembering. Stress makes it worse. The more I stress about remembering, the less I am able to recall simple words....except swear words when the anger is roused.

I am angry. I used to be known for my elephantine memory in high school. I could cram and regurgitate minutes before tests...and come out with A's. Now, I struggle for the words. I struggle to remember passwords. I struggle for names of friends I've know forever. I panic when people ask me to do something for them and I am away from my computer. I beg them to email me and, as always, I joke about my memory...

...which really is no joke.

Talking to my gynecologist yesterday for the pre-op appointment for a surgery I've delayed too long, I kept it light. She said the blood loss and anemia over the years had drained my body of any reserves. I envision an Edward Cullen-esque Twilight scene, but reality is not so romantic. Thirty-four days of HEAVY periods and cup-sized clots are not romantic.

It leaves you empty. Spiraling down to the depths of nothingness. Heavy then dead inside. Lethargic. Everything seems dimly lit and unimportant. Everything.

We chat about how I recently discovering I have a FAMILY history of this life-altering heavy bleeding on both sides....aunts and grandmothers on both sides with hysterectomies that were never discussed.

I mention to her that I never knew 10 day periods in 7th grade weren't normal. I laugh as she grits her teeth as I mention a PE teacher who told me he didn't ,"believe in cramps," and that they were a "myth." I worry as I mention my 12 year old who may have inherited my legacy.

She discussed failures with me. Complications she said have never happened on her watch. I asked her to knock on wood. I joked if ever there was a person it wouldn't work for, it's me. I'm prepared.

Steeled for it not to work.

I'm always smiling as my heart sinks. As the depression engulfs me and muffles everything.

I steel myself for the surgery not to work as I fake-smile my way through life... whilst only wanting to curl up in a ball on the couch. To never leave the house.

Searching for light through the darkness

I am putting a lot of hope in this surgery. It's a baby step. A light streaming through the darkness of the forest. I steel myself for the possibility it won't help. Or worse, I steel myself for the surgery to work, only to find out the blood loss is not the problem.

For those that know me, know I am not a praying type, but lately I've been thinking some prayer, positive thoughts, whatever might be helpful. I'd appreciate anything.

Here's to hoping frying up my lady bits like chitlins brings back my noggin: Countdown T-minus 12 days and counting...

Photos by laerpel and murphyraines via flickr

All rights reserved

Friday, October 7, 2011

On the Humor: Pssst! Hey You! Yeah you. Come On Over Here!


Don't look now, but guess who has a surprise?

Okay, maybe a eensy peek.


Not left. Not right.

Slowly look...down!

For the love of Mike, look down, dagnabbit.




Seriously People!!

Despite my dastardly neglect of this blog, I am nominated for Parents.com best blog for being funny.

Did you her than ker-plumptttth?

I shit you not, I think my uterus just fell out from shock.

Fffffffa-shew, what a relief!

I guess I don't need to worry about that ablation I finally scheduled next month after deciding against curling iron-do-it-yerself-ity, right?

Dontcha think my superrrr gyno-surgeon who had her scheduler call me EVERY two days after the last exam until I committed to a surgery date because the exam before that--which was over two years ago when they said I needed to do something about my 34 day periods-- will buy it?

Well it was worth a try.

Soooo back to me funny?

No, silly billy. Not that kind of loopy-eyed, make you feel bad in the pit of your tummy, stranger-danger funny.

Not that ate-too-many-pumpkin-seeds-and-chocolate-milk-at-the-1st-grade-Halloween-party and I-am-going-to-spray-this-party-back'atcha funny.

Nope, funny ha-ha funny.

Like maybe haha Scouty talks Yoda and male impotence with her teen son funny?

Who hasn't taken pictures with expired condoms and their kids action figures?

Or maybe tehehe Scouty set fire and BBQ-ed her honey bunny's shoes funny?

Yes, who knew one's arch nemesis could be a stenchy, trench-foot-infected skate shoe?

Not giggling yet? I will make you go heh!

Why is the heh necessary before you leave this blog you ask?

Weellll...it is a most important requirement to maybe, if at all possible, if you don't mind, and have a second, perchance making you go clicky-clicky on that squarish link up there because winning is for the cool kids and [ Scouty says in small voice] it might be nice to not be in last place.

So think, think, think.

I know. Everybody loves a good ol' knee slapper like this post comparing my family members to gnats. Ooopsie. Thanksgiving was awwwwwk-ward!

I know, you are most amazed at the amount of thought I put into it, right?

Anyhoo, it's an honor to be nominated and all that shizzle. So thank you!!!

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