Archive for October, 2009

my mom’s new phone

Mom: __us__ I ju___ bo__t m__ag___ck

Me: I can’t hear you all I hear is stuttering, the thing keeps cutting in and out.

Mom: h__ ___ow

Me: Yea just fine, what were you saying about John Candy?

Mom: __ch __r ___ck

Me: Was he in that one I don’t remember?

Mom: ___ uk Wa__ ___st

Me: Yea I think I saw that one.

Ok, so I’m not going to absolutely recreate the whole conversation, but that was the gist. I still managed to spend about half an hour on the phone with her, hearing only the occasional consonant, as she told me about my sister, some movie that she and her paramour were watching last week, the girl she works with, and about a hundred other things that I only heard parts of.

Why does her phone suck this bad? Because even after I told her that MagicJack sucks she still went and bought one. How do I know that it sucks, because Husband is a cable guy and he is constantly going to homes who are having trouble with their internet AND have MagicJack.

Unfortunately my mother still believes that I am incapable of tying my own shoes, and I’m pretty sure she’s convinced that Husband being a cable guy means that he drills holes in people’s walls and calls it a day.

She also does things like this…

Mom: Hey I heard about this neat new belief system called Paganism, I’m thinking about looking into it.

Me: You remember back when I was 14 and you threatened to have me Exorcised when I first told you that I was getting into this?

Mom: You should hear this cool new singer I just found named Tori Amos?

Me: You do remember that when the twins were born I told you that I was going to name Girl Twin Tori because of Tori Amos right? And that me listening to her music was one of the reasons you named for having me Exorcised right?

Mom: Hey did you get that link I sent you for the Harry Potter thing at Universal Studios?

Me: Yea mom I told you about that like two years ago, and I also told you about the one in the UK too.

Mom: Have you ever read all of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, you really should you’re missing out.

Me: Mom I sent you those books remember?

However, when I give her any of this information it’s always wrong at the moment I give it to her. Yet a year or so later she comes back and “introduces” it to me like I had no clue.

And she wonders why my sister and I drink so much when we come visit.


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My husband and I both have decided to go back to school. We looked, we checked, we cross referenced our interests, with the job market and decided on what classes to take. Then we looked into schools and we decided on a distance learning (online) school. After about fifteen months I’ll have an Associates Degree in Paralegal studies. Meaning that I’ll finally be able to do something more than say “do you need a bag?” Yay!

My first course went fine. Other than the vague “you need to think deeper” that my instructor kept throwing at me anytime I turned in a paper I got an A in that class. My English Comp class is going very well. I sent my professor an email in the beginning that explained my weaknesses and asked what her grading curve was. She was very impressed with my writing and grammar skills even going so far as to call me entertaining, which is something that is in short supply in technical papers. Double YAY!

My IT class though is already setting me firmly on the road to remembering to cut down and not across. I have always struggled with serious inadequacy issues. Husband has no problem with this. He was raised in security by a two parent household, never had to worry about where food or shelter was going to come from, and has several achievements throughout his life that have bolstered his self esteem. My life on the other hand has been a string of failures with only a few accomplishments scattered within the chaos.

Husband has a perpetual “can do” attitude. Don’t get me wrong, we’re so distinctly different that when we work in tandem we balance each other perfectly, which is a good thing. But sometimes his “i can’t fail” attitude makes me want to pull his nose hairs out one by one. If he wasn’t bigger than me I probably would have by now. Which is another thing that means we work well together, I know he’s bigger than me, and he knows that he has to sleep sometime.

I should have known ahead of time that going to him and saying “I am going to flunk this class” would garner the answer “well with that attitude…” Seriously, sometimes the man is enough to make anyone run screaming for the tequila bottle. And if it wasn’t for that great ass of his I wouldn’t keep putting up with the crap.

So for the last week I’ve struggled through the extremely vague task description until I came up with what I thought was the perfect answer. At least until I went to turn the piece in on the school discussion board and saw that my one paragraph essay paled to the five and six paragraph answers of everyone else. And what’s worse is that now I have to respond to some of those posts. Unfortunately I have no idea what I’m responding on. Do I critique? Do I say good job? What the hell do you want from me you perverse sadist!?

OK, I’m not beat yet, I’ll just write my instructor and find out the answer. That was two days ago and I still don’t have a response. Of course, because of those pesky inadequacy issues I know that it’s because I’ve done something wrong that makes him want to avoid me like the typhoid Mary. What’s wrong with me? Why does he torment me so? The bastard better be tied up in a bunker somewhere to keep ignoring me! (Down not across, down not across, down not across) It couldn’t possibly be because all the things I asked are probably going to be covered in the live chat session tonight. No it’s because I’m fat and ugly and I once threw up in class in the fifth grade and the entire world knows about it so they don’t like me because of it….

Oh, yes, I’m that crazy.

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For the last few days everyone here has been sick. It started with my son and a very large strange lump on his hip in exactly the place he doesn’t want mommy looking anymore. Yes I noticed he was walking funny lately, but being a sensitive type mom, OK so I just really didn’t want to know, I didn’t ask him about it. After three days of him walking funny and me looking the other way he finally gives.

Boy Twin: (Turning beet red) Um, mom, could you, uh, come in here and look at this?

Me: I’m sure it’s growing in just fine, and yes they are supposed to be different sizes.

BT: No, it’s not that. I …wait, how did you know that…never mind…there’s this swollen lump. (pulls down his shorts) Mom you have to open your eyes.

Me: (Because of course now it’s his fault) When were you going to tell someone about that?! How long has that lump been there? (in my head I’m running through only the most horrible and deadly things it could be.)

He then decides that he’s going to let it be for now because he doesn’t want to lose his perfect attendance. However, when he comes home Friday he can barely walk for the pain. I call Dad/Husband and he gets off work early to take us to the ER.

We’re in the back and he’s writhing in pain when a nurse comes in.

Nurse: What brings you here today?

BT: My parents. (yes, he really did say that)

Just a swollen lymph gland, nothing to worry about. Here’s some Keflex and some Tylenol 3’s.

Two days later we’re back in the ER because BT’s eyes have swollen almost completely shut, he’s having trouble breathing, and he’s freaking me right the hell out. At least now we know he’s allergic to Keflex.

BT is on his way to better now. But now it’s Girl Twin’s turn.

Girl Twin: Mom I have a fever. I need something for it.

Me: More cowbell! (yes, I really did say that)

Three more days of sick and GT is on the mend. Now it’s Bug’s turn.

You know, toddlers are funny about sick. If they’d just sit still, lay still, be still, they wouldn’t have the crud half as long. But nooo, dose a toddler with fever reducer and they’re right back to tearing the wall paper off the walls. Until the Tylenol wears off that is, then they’re curled up in a ball crying.

Of course this one had the added adventure of the whole spewing from both ends fun-fest. Gotta love that! I mean really? How does a three foot tall little girl get so much bodily fluid out of so many places? Is it really possible for something that small to release that much all at once? Fifty bucks in laundry soap and new undies later, Bug is on the mend.

But of course now that means Husband has it now. And wow! Grown men are babies when it comes to colds. He told me he had a fever and threatened grievous bodily harm to all of us when our reply had to do with cowbell. (I will note here that it was he who started the cowbell response, he’s so unfair)

Husband: (weak and sickly) Baby? Can you get me some water?

Me: Yea but hang on here’s the kids’ progress reports…

Husband: (even more sickly) Water?

Me: Here look at these while I get it. (I lay them on the nightstand…where they stay)

Husband: Can you get me the Motrin?

Me: They’re right next to you all you have to do is extend your arm a little.

Husband: Well if you’re going to be a bitch about it…

Me: (resisting the urge to make them suppositories) Here love, do you need me to open them for you? (Maybe shove them down your whiny little throat?)

Now just in the time that I’ve been writing this he’s asked for:

The remote…it was at his feet on the bed.

More water…the water I just got him was too warm now….after all it’s been five minutes.

His cigarettes…all he had to do was lean up, but I had to walk across the room.

A cold cloth… and could I lay it on his head…and then make it cold again… and lay it on his head again…

Yes, everyone else in the house was/is sick, but they can’t possibly be as sick as he is. He’s so much worse off than everyone else. Have I made it clear yet that my husband is a six and a half foot tall German? Well his is. And now he’s whining. Every few minutes he gives me an update on exactly how much of what kinds of fluids are exiting..or staying. He punctuates each of these statements with a whine, moan, sigh, or some other noise to emphasize exactly how much discomfort he’s in.

He’s on the down side of it now, but I’m just starting. My eyes are burning from fever, by tomorrow I’ll be near death…or at least that’s how I’ll put it to him. He’ll then be the water fetcher, Tylenol opener, cold cloth getter, and I will have my vengeance!!!

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