Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Things were wonderful in the beginning. I felt supported, like someone “had my back.” I slept like a baby, and woke without a care in the world.

And then things gradually deflated.

No more sleeping like a baby. I would toss and turn in bed, whispering “why? what have I done to lose you?” and cry softly, my pain intensifying every night. Our relationship went from friendly and supportive to flat and distant. I was heartbroken and in pain.

But no more. It ends this week.

I need a new pillow.

I can think of exactly two things that force me to live in the moment or lose my everlovin’ mind. One is painting. If I think about how much work is involved and how much trim there is and how on earth am I going to get the ceiling…I’ll go insane. It’s just swish swish swish enjoy the paint and don’t think about it.

The other is a road trip.

Thursday we drove from Colorado to northern Iowa. Roughly 16 hours on the road. I read if I can, but sometimes I get a little flurpy from reading in the car (it is too a word!) so instead I go all zen and try not to think. Don’t think about the miles behind, don’t think about the miles ahead, don’t think about anything but the moment.

And haiku.

Tom discovered his inner poet on this trip, and because he drove I posted his ruminations on my Facebook page. He’s really quite good, and to commemorate for all time Road Trip 2010 Through Haiku, I share them here.

(9:54 am)

Boys in the backseat
Watching Popeye videos
Too far to a beer.

(10:22 am)

Construction season
Interstate now creeping by
Orange signs of doom.

(12:54 pm)

Hard to steer the car
Wind breaking on the prairie
Was that a feed lot?

(2:47 pm)

Are we there yet? No
Repeat ad infinitum
Are we there yet? No

(3:23 pm)

Cruise control waiting
Pass the damn truck already
Left lane idiots!

(5:10 pm)

Best Whole Foods EVER
In Omaha Nebraska
Wondering why here

(6:44 pm)

A convenience store
Releases my inner teen
Kum N Go (giggle)

(8:50 pm)

Iowa twilight
Insects quickly meet windshield
There’s a juicy one!

<Insert a few days in Iowa here, including a wedding, time with the cousins, and not nearly enough strong coffee and red wine for survival>

(11:42 am)

Name the cup contest
For Kum and Go fountain drinks
How about “Big Spooge?”

(1:10 pm)

Iowa rivers
Work really well for haiku
Wapsipinicon

(1:37 pm)

Field Of Dreams for sale
Five million dollar price tag
Do they take Visa?

(4:07 pm)

Got gas at Pilot
Memo to BP: you suck
Support the boycott!

And then we made it to Chicago. Coming up this weekend, Road Trip 2010 Through Haiku, the Return!!!!

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This month’s theme for NaBloPoMo is “Now.”

Having suffered through both childbirth and job searches in the past, you’d think one would be far more painful. And you’d be correct. Giving birth without drugs is far less painful than a job search. At the tail end of THE GREAT RECESSION. After ten years out of the job market. With few marketable skills. Three weeks before the end of the school year. With childbirth, you’re pretty much just along for the ride, and you might get some damned good drugs. At the very least, ice chips.

Please God, let the boys enter extremely stable and well-paying careers, for they will need to care for me in my dotage. They owe me.

I posted something similar on Facebook earlier in the week and after chuckling at the suggestions of prison warden and teach music again*, was truly touched by the suggestions of a writing career. My Walter Mitty fantasy. So it’s something I’m considering a little more seriously as I dive into the job search. My brain needs more sustenance than I’m currently giving it, and if I’m going to pull on the pantyhose, it wants to be paid. Can’t say I blame it, poor thing has been working pro bono for nine years now. However, writing isn’t going to pay a whole lot plus I have no idea where to start.

My BFF-if-we-only-lived-in-the-same-town, Melissa, just recently got what I call The Holy Grail of Mom Jobs. An interesting and exciting job that requires her to work from home. Pantyhose optional. She calls it luck; I disagree. Because she is also a musician, I know she’ll get this.

Luck=preparation+opportunity.

She was totally prepared, having sent out a gazillion plus 2 resumes over the last several months, with nary a nibble. An opportunity presented itself. She was ready. Holy Grail of Mom Jobs attained.

So I search and search and throttle my perfectionist complex and search some more. I know I will find something, it’s out there, and it will be my Holy Grail of Mom Jobs.

I just need to send out a gazillion more resumes. And get some ice chips.

*My Illinois teaching license is up for renewal and while I’ll send in my pittance to keep it current, it’ll be a cold day in hell with a Cubs World Series win before I return to the classroom

As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of running. I don’t run for shoe sales, I don’t run for wedding dresses, I might run if I’m being chased.

And yet I signed up for a 10k training class.

Tonight was the very first class, I’ve just returned, and shock of the year I survived. But I learned a few things. Learn from me, my children…

• Do not, under any circumstances, sign up for a 10k running class if the last time you ran was four years ago.
• Even if you think that dinner a full hour before class should be ok, you will be wrong. Terribly wrong.
• 2 1/2 miles on a day that you had to get up out of bed at 3:OMFG:45 am to take your son to the hospital for a minor surgical procedure (and he’s fine, BTW), is not exactly the smartest thing to do. See also the very first bullet point.
• Running on a track at a park that just put down fresh sod is…ahem…an odiferous experience.
• The promise of a shower, buttered popcorn, and red wine once this hell is over will get me through damned near anything.
• New running shoes might be a good idea.
• Ibuprofin before running or training is an even better idea.
• That I kinda sorta maybe might have agreed to run a half marathon with a friend this summer was effing stupid and I am reconsidering that decision.
• An investment in new sports bras is in my future. I may not have much, but I’d like to keep them from giving me a black eye.

Shower. Popcorn. Wine. Bed.

Things behind the scenes here at the House of Chaos are off the fucking charts a little more chaotic than usual. Nothing I can talk about (GAH! I hate it when people do that, hinting at a problem but refusing to elaborate…but I really can’t say anything), but everything will turn out the way it was meant to be. Unfortunately, this is where I vent to prevent spontaneous combustion of the self, and by not releasing it all I’m truly playing with fire here.

So, instead of writing about how I’m going to wring a couple of boy necks for ringing the doorbell to make the dog bark and how freaking annoying the basement doorbell is overandoverandover, I have an essay I wrote a few weeks ago. In January I started a Healthy Living Challenge class at our local rec center. It focused on lifestyle changes, both in diet and exercise, and how to live a healthy life at any size. Part of the class was a challenge to win a year membership to the rec center and writing an essay was strongly suggested. While I did get a lot out of the class, to the point that I’m lifting weights several times a week and tomorrow start a 10K training class, I didn’t win. And while I didn’t win, I did write an essay that people enjoyed and was entertaining. Not bragging, when I was introduced the lead trainer called me funny. Made my night.

Enjoy.

**********************************

I have never considered myself athletically inclined. Maybe when I was a kid. I played youth softball, basketball in middle school, and I do recall one time begging my parents to let me run in our town’s fun run. They turned me down, saying it would stunt my growth. Hm. Given that I’m nearly six feet tall, a wee bit of growth-stunting may not have been all bad.

Until recently, that height hid a multitude of physical fitness sins. With great height comes a great ability to pack on the pounds without scaring small children and animals. Unfortunately, that does eventually catch up to you. Sometime in the last couple of years my metabolism took a look around, surveyed the landscape, and left on an extended vacation without me. I miss my metabolism. I hope it’s having a good time, wherever it is.

Late last fall I got tired of being a slug and started going to a few classes here at the rec center. Nothing like taking a step class and realizing A) you’re as graceful as a cross-eyed elk and B) that’s an insult to the elk. I heard about the Healthy Living Challenge, and was intrigued. I’d learn a few things, get to try some of the classes I hadn’t been able to attend, get out of the house for a few hours. Win win.

Best decision I made.

Next best decision was taking the group weights class that was offered. Much to my surprise I discovered that I really like lifting weights. Over the last several weeks I have noticed that I’m getting stronger. This is awesome, because now when my almost 9 year old refuses to go to his room, I have no problem grabbing him and dumping him upstairs. Hardly even break a sweat. I know, I know, this won’t work in a few years, but for now I’ll take it.

Somehow, through this Healthy Living class, I have (gasp) learned to enjoy fitness. No one is more surprised than I. I’ve also signed up for the 10k training class, and am considering a half marathon later this summer. This is proof-positive that my long suffering Chicago Cubs will take it all this year, as hell has evidently frozen over.

I am nowhere near any of the goals I set in January. I know my weight has barely changed and I’m pretty sure my metabolism is still on its world tour. But I am comfortable coming here now, whereas before I truly felt like a fish out of water. I enjoy fitness and now see it as an ongoing part of my life, and not just a means to an end. I can shovel cement…erm…spring snow for two hours and not want to die, and show my sons that even mom can learn something new.

When my metabolism does return, I’ll have a little celebration and then drag its lazy butt here to see what I’ve been doing in its absence. It has some catching up to do.

J’s primary lovie, Buddy, had a minor surgical procedure this weekend. Poor little guy had no idea Tom and I were going to have so much fun with it.

Here’s the patient before the procedure. Sorry Buddy, no anesthesia for you. He looks so happy, so unconcerned, no?

Here’s what Dr. Me had to repair. Someone had ripped Buddy a New One. Poor guy, I bet that hurt. Well, let’s see what I can do, hm?

Oh no, Buddy! Looks like you’re about to become Ms. Buddie! I don’t think you were in the market for a sex change operation, just a little nip and tuck, right? My bad, lemme fix it.

Wow. Looking a little well hung there, huh Buddy? I’m sure girl stuffed animals would love this, but I’m not so sure J is old enough to explain why his lovie is hung like a racehorse. Something a little more gender-neutral perhaps?

A lavender codpiece? Gives you that “devil may care” look. No? Sigh…you’re so picky.

Fine then, we’ll just have a bris.

Everyone gets a bandaid.

At least it was March Madness!

***********************************

This tasteless little montage brought to you by stress, hysterical laughter, and the convenience of Jen’s iPhone.

• Go to Costco on a Sunday. I know better, I really do, but…what was I thinking? Insane with a huge helping of OMGREALLY?
• Play two church services the morning of the Spring Forward! side of Daylight Savings. At the tail end of a cold. The day after a St. Patrick’s Day party, where we toasted the party with ohmyGodfreakinghuge shots of Irish Cream. And I happily partook of the fermented grape juice because we walked there. When it’s gloomy and cloudy. Hell’s bells, I want a nap.
• Blind myself with the early morning sun (truly, it was BRIGHT this morning, then quickly went south) as I’m turning out of my subdivision. And realize I had to getthehelloverQUICKLY, for there was a runner on the shoulder, much too close for my comfort and blinking the sun blindness out of my eyes as I drove wasn’t an option. Yeah, no ordinary runner, that. Just the current Olympic gold-medalist in women’s marathon. Woke me right up.
• Agree to both boys attending a birthday part together, where they’ll jump like maniacs in a warehouse of trampolines, then get fed pizza and cake and ice cream and then come home and crash from exhaustion and Spring Forward! and sugar crash. No…wait…scratch that. As God as my witness, they can do that every weekend!

I participated in the very first Twitter #gtchat yesterday. Both of them, actually. And…learned that they’re a lot more fun when you have your Twitter settings on public because then people hear you when you talk. My dark technology karma continues. Live and learn, Jen, live and learn. So if you are here from #gtchat, welcome! Glad you came by. I do have to warn you, however, that I do not write exclusively on giftedness and twice-exceptionalities. I mean, I suppose I could, but I’m fairly certain I’d go insane rather quickly. Long walk off a short pier sort of thing. I can’t write completely about 2e for the same reason that I have a huge library of books on giftedness/intensities/2e/ADHD, and have read very few of them. By the time I get the peace I need to read and concentrate, the last thing I want to do is read about the craziness that has me craving that very peace and concentration. So I crawl into bed with the latest Funny Times, laugh, and have more pleasant dreams.

So no 2e today, just random laughs. While the search terms bringing people here aren’t nearly as funny as some, still I sometimes look at the phrase and wonder just what the hell is going on in the world, and why people thought the answers would be found here.

• why am i ageing so fast
  Well, going out on a limb here, but if you have kids, there’s your answer. Want to age faster? I’ll send you mine. My hair can’t handle much more covering the gray coloring enhancement.
• adult projectile poop
  Please, whoever you are, stay away from my house. My sons are finally to the “wiping their own butts” age, and I can throw the dog outside if she poops on the floor. I have enough shit in my life, I need no help from you. Oh, and good luck with that. Might want to add some fiber to your diet.
• blogging sites for kids/kids blogging sites/kids blogging websites
  I get an amazing amount of hits on this. If I knew what I was doing, I’d start a blogging platform for kids, but I can barely run my own blog, so that’s out for a future career. But I totally know what I’d love to see on a kids’ blogging platform, so if anyone out there wants to partner up, I’m your gal. In the meantime, I recommend a Blogger site and protect the absolute hell out of it.
• Intuniv
  Oh, the hits just keep on comin’! Every day there is at least one new search on Intuniv and my heart just breaks. I know the person searching is likely a parent trying to get some answers or figure out if the new ADHD would work for his/her kid. Chewing it? Yes, your kid will likely be fine if he chews it. He’ll enjoy the gag-inducing flavor of a drug not meant to be chewed, but it can be done without your child growing a third arm. Why must you wean slowly off Intuniv? Because it’s essentially a blood pressure lowering drug, and if you simply stop, the kid’s blood pressure will shoot through the roof as a rebound. At least that’s how I understood it when A’s doctor explained it. No longer working? Sorry to hear that. Apparently the perfect ADHD drug is still a myth.

Crap. That was a 2e-related note. I’ll try harder…

• tripitis sex
  Is this supposed to be “triplets” or “trapeze?” A new gender? Is it contagious? And seriously, how’d you end up here? Bet you were disappointed as hell!
• tiruba tuba
  Knowing tuba players, you might want to hook up with the tripitis sex searcher. You likely have a lot in common.
• full moon and adhd
  Yes, yes, and yes. And also the answer to why you’re aging so fast.

Oh, and did you know the evil rob0ts are after us again? Yeah, so say the boys. And gummy bears are chasing them too. Sounds like a bad LSD trip, but is just a Saturday of imaginative play. Uh-oh! The ship is about to blast off, J went through the airlock, and A is now controlling the robots’ minds. Good times, good times.

Or…Dear Penthouse, I never thought this could happen to me…

It’s no secret that the last few weeks have been off the charts stressful here in the House of Chaos. I’ve moved past laugh to keep from screaming to drink to drown the hysterics that will frighten dogs and small children and land me in a quiet padded room. Our health insurance went up eleventy billion dollars for less coverage, we’re looking at a significant salary drop this year, I’m trying to find some sort of gainful employment, one son is struggling in school, the other has become a juicy grape and is w(h)ining non-stop, together they are attempting to break all records for MAKING THEIR PARENTS LOSE THEIR SHIT IN FIVE SECONDS OR LESS, I overdid it at cardio fit yesterday and am so sore that I’m typing this with my tongue, and the dog has toxic farts from hell that the Department of Defense is studying as a possible new weapon of mass destruction. Oh, and it’s a three-day weekend.

The only thing keeping the adults in this house from sitting in the corner, rocking and sucking thumbs is the dog would come over for a belly rub and land a silent-but-deadly, burning off all skin and hair and rendering us unconscious, as well as deaf, blind, and mute.

We decided to have a quiet day at home today. No church, hang out, do some planning for the week. Just a nice.quiet.day.

Oops.

With the particular set of children we have, there’s not a lot of opportunity for gettin’ busy “private adult time.” Even though they’re in bed on the early side, they stay up reading until they pass out from exhaustion, then are up at the crack of dawn. If we wait for some boom chicka wah wah “private adult time” until after they’re certainly asleep, we’re too tired to knock boots for anything and we pass out instantly. So the occasional Sunday morning pickle tickle “private adult time” rocks. We set the boys up with something and disappear. Unfortunately, A is grounded from anything with a screen this weekend for his little “play with Daddy’s phone and accidentally call his boss in the middle of the night” stunt (gets better: said boss was sick with the flu when he called. Sigh), so we left the boys eating breakfast.

Oops.

A muffled crash. Me: Let’s pretend we didn’t hear that.

Oops.

I need to invent some sort of portable, concrete doorway barrier for parents wanting to get it on some “private adult time.” Preferably something with klaxon horn alarms, spikes, fire hoses, and rabid dogs. The locked door and laundry basket wedged under the doorknob only served to slow A from barreling into the room to tell us that he dropped his juice glass and it shattered. The dog snuck in at that point. And stayed. After shooing the child, relocking the door and jumping back on the express bus to Funkytown returning to some “private adult time,” the dog informed us that she wanted in on the action by attempting to jump on the bed. Repeatedly. The phone rang and was answered by a child, who came back up to inform us that some friends were on their way over. The juice in question was grape. It hit the carpet. And the boys were cleaning up the broken glass…in bare feet.

It was a less-than-satisfying dance between the sheets “private adult time,” all before 11 am. All we could do was laugh. And look at one another and laugh some more, to the point of much needed hysterical tears. In retrospect, we should have just stayed in the shower. Two and a half hours later, no questions yet from A. Those will come either in front of some guests or the Pastor next week, if he asks where we were today. Proof positive that we have not an angry or vengeful God, just one who needs a good laugh like the rest of us now and again (to wit: gonna skip out on a Sunday morning? Ok, let’s try this on for size!).

Are you having a nice, quiet day? What’s that like?