Results matching “poop” from Mom On The Rocks

This is my bird dog. As you can see he's ruthless when he picks up on a bird's scent. And by the way, the bird flew away about a full minute before Farley began his mosey over to this plant. It took him that long to get there.

Ricardo and I pride ourselves on getting our kids to bed at a decent hour. The incentive would be all that chocolate cake the kids don't know about. But it's summer, and I haven't been able to eat my chocolate cake without interruption for weeks.
The kids have been stalling lately with:

• I forgot to give you a hug.


• I forgot to give you a kiss.


• I'm cold.


• My finger stings.


• I poked my own eye.


• I had to poop.


• I had to check on Lucy because she pooped.


• I left my DS at the neighbors house.


• Fireworks are waking me up.


• Lucy's bothering me.


• Max is bothering me.

Atleast 3 of these excuses are used each night. And I'm pretty sure one night, they were all used in a single-file manner. Our responses (with cake harboring in our mouths) usually are:

• You should have thought to hug us earlier. Kidding. But they really do skip hugs and kisses so that they can bring that one back. And it's usually separately. So, if each kid comes down for a hug and then a kiss, that's 4 interruptions to my chocolate cake. I'm just sayin.


• We give hugs.


• Get under your blanket. Or for the house streaker: Uh, put some clothes on.


• Put a bandaid on it.


• Sorry you poked your own eye, you wouldn't have done that had you been asleep. Close your eyes.


• Well, everyone has to poop.


• Now, that's ridiculous go to bed.


• You'll have to get your DS tomorrow.


• It really does sound like war here from July 25th-July8th. So, we just tell the to listen to music.


• Lucy stop bothering Max.


• Max stop bothering Lucy.

As you can see, these are all stellar defensive tactics. And the kids have caught on that their stalling isn't working.

So, Max took it to a whole new level the other night.

The latest go to sleep stall tactic is: in his sweetest most concerned voice "Mom, I'm worried about Farley - I think he's dead."
"He's not dead sweetie why do you think that?'
"Well look at him - he's not moving"
"That's because he's sleeping - he does it like all the time."
"Well, I pulled his eyelid open, and it slammed shut."
Nice. This goes on until I get off my computer and assess the situation with Max and/or Lucy. Because, yes, it's happened more than once.

So, I get up and go sit with Max and/or Lucy and show them how to watch his belly to see the air fill his lungs and prove that he's indeed, breathing. But his belly doesn't rise. Oh no! For what seems like a lifetime (probably 3 seconds) I pet him, try to push a little bit to see if he'll move. Then I move on to tickling his face which usually he flinches at a bit. But nothing. And then finally, his belly rises and he blows it all out with a big sigh. And then I swear to you, that damned dog grinned at me with his eyes still closed.

Nice new trick, Farley. You jerk. Then he got up and barked at us. "FOOLED YA! STUPID HUMANS! Now tell those kids to go to bed!"

"Did you hear that, Max? Farley says to go to bed."

"Okay." And then he bolted upstairs and went to sleep. Just like that. Dang dog.

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Poker Face - Lady Gaga

I still like this dog. But he seems to be tip-toeing around me a bit today.

This week started off with me actually looking forward to a dentist appointment. I'd had a bit of a toothache and was convinced there was a hole in my tooth based on the fact I could almost cut my tongue if I ran it against said tooth. I even bailed on my workout with JulzHOLLA! citing a potential root canal. The dentist called to see if I could come in earlier. I looked back at the table to see the kids playing a wicked game of UNO instead of eating their toast or drinking their smoothies. So I assessed an unrealistic vision of the kids coming to the rescue for me putting down their cards and eating their breakfast bringing the plates to the sink and rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher and then whisking off to get dressed, teeth brushed, hair done, snack packed and out the door so that I could get to the dentist.

"Surrrrre I can be there at 8:30!"

And then I hung up came back to reality and started barking orders. When that didn't work - I accused my kids of being selfish. That they can't help me out and get ready quick for me this one time...because mommy has unrealistic goals. And then I managed to get totally manic and switched back to nice mommy just before dropping them off. Because hey, I don't want them to go to school upset. They were oblivious, but still.

I dropped them off and hustled over to dentist. It turns out it was a false tooth alarm. I have a ridiculous sinus infection. That's alarming that a sinus infection can make your teeth hurt. I'm just sayin. It turns out that my awesome dentist has signed up for the Omaha Triathlon. I explain how much fun it is and she's afraid of me now.

On my way home I schedule Farley a bath at his super salon. I pick up Farley and he sits in the passenger seat with me when he gets this look of humiliation and apology on his face and shits all while sitting in the passenger seat. I pull over to clean it up. Looks easy. Just two gifts of poop. But when I turned to pull over, Farley shifted to keep his balance and stepped in it mushing into the seat and his paw. I get that all cleaned up while gagging and realize when I told him to stay still - he did exactly as ordered and managed to poop out another while sitting and smeared it all over the seat and his butt. I hustle to the dog spa while he sits in each seat - sharing his poop all over the car. I drop off dog. There's good news and bad news. Which would you like first?

"Bad - ok - bad news is he pooped in my car and he's a bit of a mess. Trust me - I got the worst of the messes though. Well then what's the good news? The good news is that he doesn't need to poop anymore so y'all don't need to walk him. Do you guys know of a car detailing place?"

Mind you, Ricardo has just asked me to tone down the shopping for our budget's sake - but I'm pretty sure this counts as an emergency. Should he contest the urgency of the matter - I am happy to switch cars with him. However, he doesn't contest.

On my way to car detailing to beg them to make it all stop - my lady bits start to get uh - uncomfortable. A little bit crampy - sadly I think I might be familiar with this gig. I drop off the car. Guy asks me if I'm good with waiting 45 mins - I ask if he minds getting the poop out. We're both ok with each others request and quite frankly - I'm pretty sure I should just stop and sit for an hour. Don't move. Another pingy cramp - the last time this happened I drove myself to the ER. Which if you've ever had to - driving yourself to the ER just might be the best example of irony ever. I resolve to not let it get that bad.

So now - sit waiting for my car to be rid of dog shit and 4 years of kid gunk - Oh God - just remembered about the seatbelt with gunk in it. We've given up on it and folded it down in the Stow-N-Go because there's so much gunk in it, it won't buckle. Oh, maybe they could fix it! I run out to the detailers - whip out the seat we have down and show them the buckle with goo in it and explain - "This has goo in it and won't buckle - will you clean it?" The kid is in awe. Maybe he was ticked that was another seat he was going to have to detail and he was almost done. Or maybe we has fascinated by my one-handed kick ass super-hero move to make a seat appear out of nowhere. Or maybe he was afraid of the goo. Rap music is blaring in the shop. I want to ask "Who sings this?" but am not really in the mood to make a connection with Jimmy the car detailing guy and his rap music today. So, instead I say I say "What? You're not familiar with Stow-N-Go?" I smile. He giggles. We share a moment, and he agrees to try to get the goo out.

I go back in and dial my gyno and talk to the nurse. She's not laughing at my funny cramp and pee jokes. Dammit. Fine. And I'm instructed to come give a urine sample this afternoon. And there is the punchline of my entire day - "We're going to need a urine sample." Nice. The car was finished early - but they couldn't get the buckle gunk out. As long as the poops gone - good with that.

The urine test - which it turns out is very complicated, lots of instructions - comes up negative and nurse instructs me to cover all basis drink some cranberry juice and lots of water. Super, false alarm number two. Guess I should head on back over to medical school to brush up on...oh wait, that's right, I'm a journalism major! A negative test is great - but it reminds me of the time I thought my water broke - but that's not what it was at all... Now THAT was humiliating. Today is chump change.

Farley's spa calls and announces his arrival of decontamination and cleanliness. I look at my watch and it's time to pick up the kids from school. And I don't even have 3 hours to wait in the parking lot. Imagine that. I have 10 minutes to get there. Nice. I tell Farley's spa friend that I'll be there after I pick up the kids and head over to the school. The car smells fantastic and looks brand new. The kids get in the car and I apologize for calling them selfish this morning. Then I ask them if they want to know how my day was. They confer with each other in one glance, that this is a trap, but they'll humor me and take the bait. And I say,
"Farley pooped all over the car today." And they explode in evil laughter. Too bad they don't know I didn't have their seats cleaned. Just the front passenger seat.

So, how was your Monday?

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Hold On Be Strong by 2Pac

Ricardo got to see the Cliffs of Insanity! while in Ireland. Some might call them the Cliffs of Moher, but I think we know who's right here, don't we?

Well, thanks for noticing my absence, y'all. Ricardo went to Ireland for an international business class. He's back now. I didn't think it would be a great idea to blog to the millions of readers that my man was out of town. And that was all that was on my mind, so I had nothing to blog about. He was gone for ten very long days. And yes, if you do the math, he was in Dublin, Ireland during St. Patrick's day. What a fantastic experience!

I had the opportunity to go with him to Ireland, but just couldn't justify it unless we took the kids too. And that wasn't an option, so I passed. That's good to know that there's maternal instinct in there somewhere.

So, the deal is, I kinda like my husband. Those who have known us for a long time get a little bit irritated with how well we get along. I might even venture to say that perhaps I'm a wee bit dependent on the poor soul.If ever you're dependent on someone, it should be your spouse though, right?

Ricardo and I are truly besties and have only been separated for this long one other time. However, that time, we had access to instant messaging, emails and phone calls. This time, we were limited on communicating with each other because, well, he was in IRELAND.

I'm really proud of him for going on that trip. I know it was hard on him to be away for so long. I do some really random and crazy things for me all the time. It was time for him to do something all for him. Ultimately, our family unit still benefits from him taking that trip.

As anticipated, him being so far away for so long was a bit tough on the kids. I had to buck up and be strong for them. I think it was a good distraction for me. But on the inside I was a mess. JulzHOLLA! and her family did such a sweet job of checking on us and keeping us busy. The rest of y'all can suck it. I mean it. Not even a call. You know who you are. You left poor JulzHOLLA! to deal with my sappy poutiness. You guys owe her some flowers and chocolate.

So, while I sat at home all by myself and did nothing else much more than pout and be sad. Really, that's all I did, I wrote a few notes to Ricardo. Enjoy -

Dear Ricardo,

Remember all that poop we cleaned up before you left? A true yard garbage bag - a winters worth of Farley pooh. Remember that? We picked it up because the 2 feet of snow from Christmas finally melted and Farley had no where to poop. In the words of An Officer And a Gentlemen, "He had no where left to go!" And we looked like really shitty neighbors. I mean - literally. It was really embarrassing and we were exposed. We had to do something. So, the day you leave, we have a date in the back yard picking up poop. It is now POURING snow outside. One more day, and we would have had all the poop covered.

Max has had a hard time with you leaving for this trip. We knew he would. So, you can imagine my surprise when I picked up the kids and Lucy was the one who was bawling. Don't get a big head. She was crying because instead of walking to the car, she and Hannah stopped to play. She's in big trouble again for that. She even brought her PetShops to play with. I guess she dropped one and couldn't find it. It's a good thing you left today and my mantra is to fix everything and say yes to anything. Because you know the typical me would let her cry and learn her lesson not to bring her toys to school and not to play instead of walk to the car. But it's special circumstances mommy time. So, we turned the minivan around and went back. Retraced their very off-the-beaten path crime scene. She was hysterically crying and explaining everything while Max and I were looking for Smudge the PetShop bull dog. Max shouted "there he is!" and found him. I think I was just as relieved as they were.

Lucy threw her arms around Max and gave him a big hug and kiss. Max was so proud for taking care of things like you asked him to, he let her plant the kiss on his face without even squirming. We stopped and rented games. So, when we got home, Lucy can't find her DS. I asked Max to help her. But he really just wanted to play his game. I asked again and I hear him turn off his game and proclaim, "Why do I have to help her ALL the time!?" Which is funny, because it's usually Max we all stop everything for to help him find something really important.

Don't you worry, we found her DS.

At church today, Max stayed with me instead of going to the children's time. I think he felt a responsibility to stick with me since you're gone. They had a solo of a song from Pocohontas, and Max knew the words. He sang along, and guess what, he knows the sign language for it too. I guess that's the nothing part they did at school when I ask them what they did at school today. He'd only sing along if I wasn't watching. So, I had to look straight ahead, and then glance from the corner of my eye. Then he snuggled up to me the rest of church. So flippin sweet. I should be nice mommy more often, I guess.

Oh good news, remember those registration tags that I accidentally recycled before we could get them on your car? Well, I went to the county treasurer and pleaded my case. I must look as sad and lonely as I'm feeling right now because the guy gave me new tags for just six bucks. I put them on your car. You're totally legal now. You're welcome.

I find it ironic that I got the census on the same day. Not to worry - I've accounted for everyone in the household. There was no place for Farley though. Bummer.

It's grey out and I miss you desperately. I miss laughing with you till my stomach hurts. My stomach is in knots and I think I'm simply lovesick. I just miss you taking my breath away every day. The kids seem to be doing better, but it's exhausting keeping a positive spin for them. They are the best gift you've ever given me. They keep me going.

Love,
Leslie

So, there's my sappy note. Hope you enjoyed it. He's home now and it's taken us three days to get over jet lag and get through laundry. That must mean everything is back to normal. And I'm back to blogging about my crazy and perfect family life.

That's how I roll.

Today, I had a student give a speech on generalized anxiety disorder. At some point, it was tough to critique her speech and delivery and not get sucked into the content. Because every one of the symptoms she used, I have. And really, we got into a fairly good discussion because I posed the question: Aren't those all the symptoms of a parent?

The student had the audacity to suggest I seek medical attention. She also has the audacity to be childless.

Is it me, or do all the other mommies out there "suffer" from the following from psychcentral.com:
* Restlessness or feeling keyed up or on edge
* Being easily fatigued
* Difficulty concentrating or mind going blank
* Irritability
* Muscle tension
* Sleep disturbance (difficulty falling or staying asleep, or restless unsatisfying sleep)

Because since having kids, I've never slept that well, and I'm usually on edge about something. What else? Oh, yes, difficulty concentrating or mind going blank.

Sigh.
Irritability. Insert more hysterical and a bit uncontrollable laughter here.

Muscle tension. I was in yoga the other day and she had us do some reverse relaxation gig where you tighten up your muscles and then release. I have to do that to relax always.

And then sleep disturbance. If by that you mean, I wake up in the middle of the night and can't stop my mind from racing about all the potentially worry-things about my family so I have to turn on the Cosby Show because that's the only non-conflicting show? That's sleep disturbance and therefore leading back to being easily fatigued right?

Okay, well, here's the part she missed: The anxiety, worry, or physical symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. *psychcentral.com

Ahh, okay, I'm good. Because my social and everything else functioning is solely based with fellow parents. I roll with other mommies. We laugh in the face of words like anxiety and disorder. We trump those words with words like poopy pants, projectile vomiting, residule laundry, and school parking lot rage. We call it motherhood.

So, the next day, you can imagine my surprise when it was windy out, I couldn't figure out when it was snowing and when it was just blowing old snow, I was walking from building to building tracking down speeches in all kinds of crazy ways. My feet hurt, someone sent in the wrong kind of tape, I finally get to someone who can play the darn tape for me. It better be a good speech. I'm just sayin. And I get a bonafide super well-supported and kick ass speech, simply persuading me to get this: Laugh more.

Ahhh, the yin and yang of teaching, learning and life.

That's how I roll.

This is exactly what my house looks like when I call a service guy to come help me out. And yes, she is on the toilet with a computer in front of her. Don't act like you've never done that before.

We had to call the roto rooter guy to come help with a slight water problem in the basement. By slight, I mean, we thought I was loading the washing machine up too much at times, and then it would overflow just a bit on to the concrete floor. When I do that, there's usually a little puddle I the corner. But this time, the puddle in the corner had grown to really, a large film of water in the entire laundry room.

I don't have to call home service places like this too much, but when I do, I always wonder if they run background checks. It's just, I'm too lame to ask. Just like at the restaurant, you don't want to ask too many questions and then they spit in your food. Similar, in this situation, you tick off the call lady, she just might send the felon on probation. And really, all a background check can do is assure that the guy hasn't committed a crime....YET.

Still, I worry about the position the guy is in as well. Just one snot-nosed uppity law suit and this guy could lose his job. God only knows what this guy is vulnerable to. At my house, "It's okay, he just wants you to pet him. He won't kill you unless I give the command" it's probably the least of his worries. But I can't imagine the potential accusations that these guys have to prepare for in training sessions. I'm only guessing it parallels with other training sessions like, "How to unclog a hot wheels car in a toilet with a bunch of nasty poop." I bet that's atleast a day's session right there.

So, the guy comes over. Seems nice enough. I show him down to the culprit. He runs some water, and says,

"Yep your drain is clogged up."

"Does that mean I need a new front loading washer dryer?"

"Uh no. Sign here and I'll fix it for you."

"Fine."

I think he kinda liked me.

That's how I roll.

We went to church this weekend to give thanks and stuff. It was a Thanksgiving service, so it was a little bit longer than usual and the longer part was BEFORE the kids went to kid's time. Usually, they are whisked off to kid's time at the beginning of the service. This time, they had to sit and I had the audacity of insisting they listen and participate. They were shocked and not conforming as well as I'd hoped or insisted.

So, after lots of nagging, kid's time was coming up and I leaned down to Lucy and said,
"I want you guys to make sure you listen to the lesson at kid's time. Be good, and be appropriate."

Lucy says to me, "I know, Mom, you always tell us that and we always are." They are, but I don't think it's because they are just great kids, it's also because of my stellar reminders.

"Oh, you are always appropriate and listen well, huh?"

"Yep." And then she left to go to kids time.

THen I found her church bulletin art work she'd been doodling and writing on. In big letters at the top that said, "You are poop." It was directed towards her brother.

How appropriate.

That's how I roll.

Man, it's only Monday, and I have had it. Perhaps its because it's that time of the month and I just don't know it, and my mood swings are solely based on purchasing power. I dunno. But today, I left the house, only to look out and see that the yard waste people left a note on my pumpkin leaf bags citing they are plastic and they don't do that. Fine.

So, I put the car in park, and ripped all those bags open and put them in the approved yard waste cans. I got nasty wet grass all over me. Super.

The gym - the pool water is gross, the sink doesn't work, the guy who does the kids swim classes doesn't watch them at all, and mumbles instructions with a lollipop in his mouth. There's no water pressure and the water is scalding. I felt like Goldilocks, walking from shower stall to shower stall. If i have to figure out the best shower stall that ain't right. The swim classes for adults are no longer free, and the triathlon training program I've been so excited about, has doubled in price, but halfed in service. Shit y'all. Woops, sorry, that's my list for my next comment card.

I got a bill in the mail for $540 for psychiatric treatment. It's not even my name, but my address. Nice, you'd think when whoever's sitting in the chair is listening, and taking better notes than that.

Then the recycling guys left the bin perfectly located in the middle of my driveway so that I couldn't pull in to the driveway, had to park the car in the street, move the bin, and then pull in.

Habitat for humanity called and although I appreciate that it was actually a live person soliciting my money that I'm bankrolling in, the monotony of her reading to me, not so much today. I don't usually do this, and I don't know what came over me, usually I give them the courtesy of not letting them ramble on, or I ask them to send it to me by mail. But this time, I just let her go a while, and then I just hung up. On HABITAT FOR HUMANITY! I'm an ass.

I called the billing office for the psychiatric treatment, and explained that it's the right last name, right address, but just a few letters off my first name, and last I checked, I've receieved no psychiatric treatment. But perhaps I should. Ha hah ahah, she's not laughing. She suggests I've committed mail fraud. And wants me to waste a stamp and mail back the bills (because there's plural) that I've had the audacity to open. She's going to have to file a report. I tell her to just fix the address and I won't be wasting whatever the going rate for a stamp is anymore.

I walked Farley the Wonderdog to pick up the kids, and did you know that dog poops while he walks. Doesn't even to bother to pull over or squat. Right there on the sidewalk. God, I hope nobody sees this, because I have nothing to pick it up with. Didn't see it coming, dear God, he's like a frikkin Clydesdale at a parade! Is he going to stop!?

Clearly, it's the wrong time of the month for me.

As soon as I picked up my kids, the clouds parted, the sun came out. It was a little warmer out and the rest of the day was fine. And Max says, "Mom, I had like, the worst recess ever today."

Poor kid.

That's how I roll.

I'm still trying to perfect birthday celebratoriness for the kids as mentioned here, here, and here. We started out having a massive party and merging family and day care/preschool/school friends. But they have the same bday and when they each get to invite pals - and momma invites all of her friends - 20 kids at a bday party is insane and starts scaring off the adults.

So then - last year we did the "let's just have a party at a place". No bbq. It was a great party but I guess I missed the insanity of hosting at home and so this year I insisted we have a smaller bbq- insisting that it's so not a party- and we opted to let the kids choose what they want to do for their bday. Ultimately your kids bday is a bigger celebration for you than them. And I like having a celebration at home. I missed that.

So, for this year, we decided to allow the kids to pick what they wanted to do, and let them have a separate this is my own birthday celebration type of a deal, and then have the bbq. They chose to each invite a friend from school over for a sleepover. Why not "let's do what you want AND what I want"?! Why? Because a slumber party followed by a bbq equals no sleep for the kids. And sleep and food are the end all and be all of a smooth running machine at my house.

The morning of their birthday was like Christmas, they got up early -6a.m. to open presents. That's early for us because I just trained these suckers to sleep in to a respectable 7:30a.m. They went to school and then had their friends come over. Max and his pal went to a game place with go-karts and amazing pizza if you know what I mean. I took Lucy and her friend to a kids salon where they got little manis, pedis, a chocolate face masque and a hair updo with glitter, y'all.

Then the kids stayed up too late at their sleepover, we knew they'd need some downtime the next day to rest up. But they were both so tired, we demanded a nap. Max was crying over everything. INCLUDING crying over whether he was tired or not. Really? So, I sent them upstairs to take a nap. A full on nap. They asked how long did they have to stay in their rooms, and I just told them after they slept. Not laid there, read a book. None of theat. A nap. Go up to your room. Lay down. Close your eyes. Keep them closed until you fall asleep. An hour after they went to sleep, Max came out crying with something like this,
"I can't sleep and I'm not tired, Mom. I'm just not. I'm just not tired. Whaaaahaaaa."

Oh God. This is going to be bad. So, I asked his favorite person in all the land, Ricardo, to take a nap with him. The look on Ricardo's face when I ASKED him to stop cleaning and getting the house ready for the party and go take a nap was priceless.

But we all know how tough it is to catch up on sleep. So, after the bbq, we sent the kids to bed at their school bedtime. They both took their DS games with them. I probably shouldn't have allowed that, because at 10p.m. - wayyyyy after their bedtime - I was going to get ready for bed myself, and Max met me at the top of the stairs. I thought to yell at him, after all, the birthdayness was over, and he needs to know I'm mean business. But He had his DS in his hand, his face was red and tears were welling up in his giant blue eyes. So, in my really sweet and compassionate voice, I said,

"Max, what's wrong?"

"I don't want my ds anymore."

"WTF?" I thought - I didn't say it. Geesh.

"This game is too hard, and I can't do it. I JUST CAN'T DO IT! And I keep trying to go to the next level and they tell me I'm a FAILURE! A FAILURE! And that's not nice! That is just so mean to tell someone they are a FAILURE! That's not a fun game at all!"

Poor guy. I removed his grip from the DS, took it away, laid it on the floor in the hallway and walked him back to his room. I got him in bed and reassured him that indeed, that was not nice at all to call him a failure. And he doesn't have to play that game if he doesn't want to.

So, I think I've almost got this perfected. I will need to either separate weekends for their celebrations and mine. Or, strategically plan the bbq before the sleepover so that if the kids are worn out, it might suggest those suckers pass out and go to sleep at their sleepover. Clearly I'm a slow learner, it's taken me seven years to figure this all out.

These kids are so fantastic and I am so proud of them and the mom they've made me into. Their birthday really is a celebration for me!

That's how I roll.

My kids can probably tell you which planet has the most gas.

Back in the easier days of motherdom, we had the 3-day rule. You can try any new behavior technique and stick to it for 3 days, and it works. Yes it does. Uh-huh. Yes it does. YES IT DOES! Take for instance, letting the baby(ies) cry it out to go to sleep, getting off the bottle, no more pacifiers, or potty training. Okay, kidding. Potty training here took a wee bit more than 3 days, but everything else worked. And then Max and Lucy grew up and went to school, and in just three days at the ol school, my kids were ruined. And it's taking more than 3 days to unruin them. Mostly, the biggest problem is the potty talk.

In all my life, seriously, Poop, Pee, Fart, Butt, and any other fancy reference to said toilet talk items have never been over populated language as they are now. I suppose we're doing alright considering those are the very words they try to work in to any conversation, "Hey Lucy, Mom just said 'Do you want a PEE-nut butter and jelly sandwich. hahahaha. Get it PEEEEE-nut?"

"No I didn't, Max. I said 'Do you want a PB&J.'"

"Mom just said PEE B&J."

Clearly it could be worse. I recognize that. At their age, I was filling out MadLibs with my pals with as many expletives as we could. And we were great at it!

School has taught Max and Lucy a few other things. This second grade stuff has upgraded, and I'm learning all kinds of stuff now!

I guess the kids are learning about the planets. Because by the time I finished dinner - they had an entire solar system made of paper and hanging by strings all over our living room and stairs - each strategically spaced the correct distance from the sun. I had to check their book. They were eerily correct.

They were showing me around the solar system and so excited to tell me about it. Which was comical, because I'm not much of a mom who really paid attention to silly details like the order of the planets and all. I don't even think I could name them all. Nor all seven of the dwarfs, for that matter. Still, my kids were wowing me with articulate details as they paraded me through my very own living room solar system.

Every planet had a fantastic story, and then they started to get into story telling about the future, because planets=spaceships=The Jetsons=very cool and futuristic things. (And yes, I introduced my kids to The Jetson's - it was a childhood favorite of mine, and now theirs.) That's when Lucy said to me -"Mom in the future it will be so cool - they will have Mom On The Rocks Dot Fart. Its gonna be sooooo cool!"

I'm not so sure what's more bothersome, the DotFart reference or that she knows this blog. And if she knows about it, I MUST be famous, right!?

That's how I roll.

When I brought my babies home, I kept track of their poop schedule religiously. I was so afraid since there were two of them that I was going to not realize that one of them had pooped in a few days. I'm not sure exactly how long you're supposed to keep track of a newborn's poop, but I did it way beyond whatever that appropriate standard would be, I'm sure. I did it for probably 3 weeks. I'm guessing the same time I gave up breastfeeding, I gave up poop tracking. My Lord, what would I do with all that extra time to myself!?

In the midst of that insanity, my MIL explained to me that once you have kids, you'll discuss the frequency, color, shape and perhaps size of poop for the rest of your days as parents. I thought that was really funny, and maybe a bit far fetched. I mean, I was keeping a chart, so ofcourse poop dialogue was in order. But really, after diapers, still? And I say to you, a resounding YES. Pooh talk abounds at our house here, here and here.

The other night, I went and took my meds and go to bed. Typically, I'm off all meds, but there are a few that are uh, necessary. Number one: melatonin. I take it to sleep, any day of the year. But now that I'm not exercising and sitting on my arce all day, I'm doubling up on the melatonin. So, I pop a double dose of melatonin. And number two: colace. If you don't know what colace is for, please know that I purposely made it "number two" for a reason. It's necessary. I popped those pills and headed up to bed. About 10 minutes later, I had to go to the bathroom. I sat on the throne and well, my butt barfed what Lucy refers to as pee poop. For over an hour, about every ten minutes my butt barfed. And all I can think of is "I just took COLACE and not one, but TWO melatonins. I'm going to pass out and shit the bed. Oh my God!" I spent the next hour trying to stay awake.

When Ricardo came upstairs, I explained what was going on. To my surprise, he still got in bed with me. I thought for sure he'd prefer the couch. But he just said, "It's okay. We could probably use a new mattress anyways." Awww, baby, that is so sweet! And then I gave in and went to sleep. I'm happy to say, we'll be keeping our old mattress for a few more years. And I've upgraded to what Lucy calls snake poop. Whew. Close call. I'm happy to report that I've readjusted my meds schedule to sleep with a poop-free conscience.

That's how I roll.

Maybe it's due to the weather warming up. Maybe now, kids are coming off of a winter, locked in their homes with older potty-mouthed siblings. Or maybe the kids' parents don't have kid-dar like I do and cuss like sailors in front of their kids fluently while being locked up in the house during a good Omaha Winter.

Now, it seems, when it rains, it pours with daily with issues like what we now refer to as naughty poop, that 6-year olds don't use the word "sexy", and now this.

Max and Lucy's dialogue is fun to just sit and listen to. Ricardo and I have been waking up to the hillarity of 6-year-old conversation lately. I was trying to get my fix, and listen in one afternoon, when I noticed, it was pretty muffled. Then a pause in the conversation, and then Max comes flying around the corner,

"MOM! SOPHIA RAISED HER MIDDLE FINGER IN SCHOOL TODAY, AND THAT MEANS SHE HATES GOD. BECAUSE AUBREY SAID SO!"

Whoa, whoa, whoa...Mommy raises her middle finger all the time, and she loves God very much.

Or what I really did was I explained what flipping someone off means: It's a really mean and silly way to say you hate someone. Thankfully, they both gasped at the thought of using the word "Hate" so they haven't been desensitized completely to all their new found knowledge of cuss words and now, a new level - sign language.

And then I explained (being the awesome Master of Arts in Communication that I am) that it's better to talk it out, and use good words than to flip someone off. Then I explained that hating God and disrespecting God's wishes is not a good choice. And that when someone is mean to another human being it makes God sad, but it's not because they hate God per se. What I'm getting at is, I kept talking until their eyes begged me to stop.

As soon as I could pause to take a breath - and I can go a very long time - Lucy asked if she could have a popsicle and Max asked if I would come outside to play baseball. Yes and yes.

I'm getting pretty good at this.

That's how I roll.

I have a very overdue hair appointment on Friday. The last time I got my awesome hair stylist to cut my hair, I wanted it pretty short. But I think she's afraid to cut it too short, seeing as how I'm double her size, and I'm loud. I might yell. I think that's what she thinks anyways.

My hair stylist had the nerve to go off and have a BABY, leaving me and my roots to grow out and my hair to grow into unshapeliness. So, I'm a little excited to get to her, get my hair done, oh yeah, and meet the baby!

But I've had this hair cut a long time. If there's one thing I have a problem with commitment over, it's hair. I like to mix it up. And although the A-Line Bob seems to be holding it's own on my head, still, I like to mix it up. I don't want to go back to blonde, and finally got a little tint of red in there. It's Ricardo's least favorite hue of the three I stick to: Natural Poo Brown with Grey highlights, Blonde, or Auburn.

I've been threatening to get it cut short. It's just hair, right? It'll grow back. The problem with me, a 6'3" flat-chested, deep-voiced, blue-jeans wearing, former athlete gettin her hair cut short is I get concerned I'll look like a man. And not even a feminine man. Just a man, baby! It doesn't help that I get my makeup on my face about 50% of the week, and when I don't wear makeup, I just might resemble a crack head with dark circles under my eyes, and blemishes all while sporting an Elmer's glue white hue under the freckles, blemishes and dark circles. It's really impressive. Thank God I have fantastic teeth, and all of them to throw people off the "Is she really a Crack Head" wagon of concern.

So, maybe the short haircut idea isn't the best idea. The A-Line Bob is sleek and super. But I WANNA MIX IT UP! So, I keep coming up with stuff like this:

Still, Ricardo says no. Then he stops himself and says, "Why do you even ask me? You're just going to cut it anyways."

He's pretty right on.

So, the other day, JulzHOLLA! and I went to visit our fantastic pal, Nikki, the cake-making DIVA. Nikki just had a beautiful baby boy! And we had to stalk, woops, I mean visit her and the baby. So, while we're there with the, "He's so sweet!" and all that, I figured I'd do a quick poll. I pulled my hair back and try to assimilate my idea for my short haircut.

"I'm thinking of getting my hair cut short. Something like this. What do you think?"

To which Nikki replied, "I had a baby pulled from my body like 6 hours ago, who gives a naughty poop about your hair?"

Just kidding. She didn't say that, but if she had, it would have been more than appropriate. What the hell am I doing talking about hair while visiting to see her baby? It's her third, I guess it's semi-appropriate conversation.

Anyways, I pulled my hair back and showed them and Nikki's mom looked at me funny and said, "I kind of like it like it is now."

That's no good, because it's out of shape because it's all grown out.

And then JulzHOLLA! said, "It's kinda cute. You know, you look just like your Mom like that."

Okay, I'm out. I'll keep it long. I love my mom, but I'm not ready to look like her yet. That's all I needed to hear. Maybe I should get more bangs...

That's how I roll.

The first leg of our Griswold Roadtrip was our longest. We planned it that way because we are brilliant like that. 13 hours in the car. THIRTEEN. Somewhere between Ogalalla, Nebraska and Raton, New Mexico, we're cruising down the road, and I hear 16" from behind me, what I think Max says, "Shit." Almost in a whisper.

I turn to Ricardo, explain what I think I just heard. Perhaps he said "Ship" just one word like that. Maybe it was in a movie, because my baby would not say "shit". No he wouldn't. No he wouldn't. No he wouldn't! Ricardo suggests we'll just play it out and see if that's what he said or not. Just no worries. Seriously, Leslie. Calm the eff down. I have ruined my son's life with my shit-for-brains-trash-talk. I should wash my mouth out. I'm not fit to be a mother. I don't care if I use the F-word so cleverly. This is awful. AWFUL, I SAY! I've ruined him. But I've been so careful. I've had kid-dar. What the HELL HAPPENED!? About 2 minutes pass by. I'm still chanting to myself, "It was ship. It had to be ship. Calm down Leslie. Calm down Les..."

And then, very quitely Max, "Mom, Dad, what does S-H-I-T mean?"

He did say it! OMG! DAMMIT! UGGH!

"It's a very very inappropriate word for poop, hunny."

Pause. Pause. Pause.

"Uh, where did you hear that word sweetie?"

Please God, don't let it be me. Please don't let it be from that 1980's weed smoking campaign. Please don't let it be, "I LEARNED IT FROM YOU, MOM! I LEARNED IT FROM YOU!" Please God, seriously, don't let it be....

"Chase says it at school sometimes.

Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus. I've never been more relieved that a kid was cussing in school in all my life. This is the greatest news ever. God Bless Chase!

"Okay sweetie, well, it's not okay for Chase to say that. And you shouldn't use that word either okay? It's a very naughty word. If you said that at school and a teacher heard you, you'd probably go to the principal. It's that bad."

Lucy intervenes, "No, Mom. First you go to the Safe Seat, then if that doesn't work out, you go to another teacher's Safe Seat. Then if that doesn't work out, you miss recess and when recess is over, you have to sit back in the Safe Seat, and then after all that, then you go to the principal."

"Okay, that's good to know, Lucy. Max, my point is, just don't say it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Lucy, you don't say it either. Okay?"

Pause.

"LUCY!"

"Okay, okay!"

Ricardo and I give each other a mental high-five and then share the silent and somewhat invisible giggle. You know, the one you try to hide from your kids. Ours were back to being enthralled in their movie. So, we were pretty in the clear.

"Mom, what does a-bomb-able mean?"

"Do you mean, abominable? Wow, I never thought of that. Uh, well...."

Then Ricardo explained it. He knew I was still recovering from some other shit.

That's how I roll.

First of all. I need to make a disclaimer. If you are offended by pictures of poop, then do NOT scroll down. If the look of poop may make you gag, skip this post entry and the idea of having kids. Just go ahead and move on. We'll all wait. Go on. Go ahead. It's okay, we won't judge you.

They gone?

Whew. I've done my job. First of all, let me say that I am in no way making a mockery of the true meaning of Easter. I'm simply acknowledging the mockery that the Easter Bunny brings. So, here we go.

This past week, we went on a whirlwind Griswold family roadtrip. But we couldn't take Farley the Wonderdog. Ricardo and I debated about whether we should ask Julz(HOLLA!) to watch Farley. A kennel for 5 days is a lot for a dog the size of Farley. No matter what, the kennel is too small. So, we opted to ask Julz(HOLLA!) and allow plenty of opportunity to back out. Farley loves Julz(HOLLA!) and her family and would love ruling the house and greeting her everyday. However, Julz(HOLLA!) just had a sweet sweet baby, has two dogs of her own, a pre-schooler and a kindergartener. So, we were hesitant, but hopeful. And lo, she was happy to stand up to the task.

Typically he's easy to watch. Just let him out a couple of times a day, he gets a pill in the morning, fed twice a day. If you wanna turn on some Animal Planet for him, that's fine. Fairly simple stuff. A couple of days before we left, Farley started waking up earlier than usual, needing to go out. I felt bad, but called Julz(HOLLA!) and asked if Sven could stop by and let him out earlier on his way to work. Still, all good.

So, we head out on our trip, and I'll spare you the details, but Farley opted in his old age to uh, express himself with pooh...all over the tv room. For two days. They cleaned up poop for three days straight. AND, I'd also left my giant Easter Eggs out and had the girls' job be to count the eggs and make sure they were all there. Apparently, the hurricane gusts sent the entire family on a literal Easter Egg Hunt. I would have resolved to hire a carpet cleaner and give up on the eggs. However, my sweet sweet friends cleaned the carpet and pooh each time he expressed himself. And they searched high and low for those eggs - finding some in a ditch on a major road.

So, I'm having a kick ass road trip while my pal is at home shlepping three kids around, nursing one of them, running her own household, and Sven's throwing up while cleaning up poop before he goes to work. I'm just hoping she doesn't change her numbers and email address at this point. On day three, she took him to the vet for us. And upon my begging her, just put the remaining eggs in the garage. She was even so thoughtful as to collect Farley poop for the vet to analyze.

Thank goodness, because the vet analyzed the poop, kenneled Farley, and diagnosed Farley with, and get this, "Shit Chaos". Two prescriptions and 2 days later, Farley came home. I cannot thank Sven and Julz(HOLLA!) enough and they can't stop apologizing for the Shit Chaos, and our carpet. Granted, our carpet has never been cleaner, but whatever!

So, yesterday was our first day home. Ricardo escaped to work early. That's odd. And the kids and I ran some errands and then they went outside to play. That's when Lucy comes running inside with, "Max, come out to the backyard! There's a Farley pooh out here that looks just like an Easter Bunny head just in time for Easter!"

I giggled a bit, but never made it outside to see for myself. I figured it was a vague depiction of Easter Bunnyness. When Ricardo got home, I remembered the funny quote that Lucy said, and told him about it. We're always trading back and forth the funny stuff the kids say. If it was a competition, I so won that day. So, the kids get all excited and take him out to see it.

Ricardo comes inside and asks for the camera. Really hunny? Gross. Fine, here it is. He comes back in with the camera and shows me. And I cannot believe it, it's a damn Easter Bunny pooh. Next thing I know, we're emailing it to friends and family, and it took me a while and some convincing, but I relented and posted it on Facebook. All the road trip pictures of my cute kids and the Grand Canyon, and the Farley pooh has broken some record of comments on the photo on Facebook. Everyone is disgusted and yet intrigued.

Tonight just to prove that I did not photo shop this picture, I will take a video - of poop. So, here it is, expressing himself one poop at a time Happy Easter from Farley the Wonderdog.

That's how he rolls.

It's only fair to count and note the good days with the bad. Even though, the bad days as a mom, are a much better read.

Last week, I went grocery shopping. Big grocery shopping. I drop the kids off at school, head to the regular grocery store with my regular list, and then go to Sam's Club with my Sam's Club list. They are evenly distributed. It used to be that I just bought dog food, laundry detergent and diapers at Sam's. Now, I find I'm buying more and more regular grocery staples like coffee, fruit, meats. These kids eat a lot. Maybe if I stopped feeding them in bulk, they'd stop growing in bulk, hmmmm.

And sometimes, when I'm done at Sam's Club, sometimes, I go to another grocery store for particular specialty items that weren't at the grocery store nor Sam's. After all of that, I go home, usually just in time to get the groceries put up so that Farley the Wonderdog can't reach them and go pick up the kids back up from school. It takes all day and I'm thankful and almost embarassed at the volume of sheer luxuries of all the groceries in the full pantry and full refrigerator.

The other day, though, I opted to take my Ipod and up the ante from grocery shopping to with the ever-present sounds of a constant child screaming a the grocery store to drowning it out with my groove. Bring it on groceries. On top of all that, I'm saving the earth with my reusable backs. I'm rocking out grocery day like nobody's business!

I'm at Sam's Club doing power squats with the gigantore bag of dog food while rockin to Lil Wayne. Life is good. I'm fairly certain I got my shopping done faster, didn't forget one item on either list, and was happier for it all because of my tunes blaring in my ears.

I get all checked out, everyone is happy. And I get out to my car and see it's leaning. I have a flat. And I'm talking a flat flat, no air. Nada in my left front tire.

I call Ricardo while I load the groceries in the car to assess my plan of action. I was just going to drive it 20 feet to the Sam's Auto area. But Ricardo reminds me that we actually bought our tires at Sam's. Just go back in, tell them I have a flat, and we have some roadside assistance warranty. Say what? It's as if the grocery shopping fairies have planned my day in perfect alignment.

I go back into Sam's tell the guy. I'm so excited that I got a flat at the exact spot we purchased the tires. This is fantastic! What a great day! The guy really doesn't care. Not only that, but Sam's has the cheapest lunch ever, and it's lunch time. I can just go eat lunch while I wait on the car. What? Wait. I never have cash, and I don't want to write a check for the $1.50 combo. Let me check my change because my purse does seem to be heavier today. Fantastic! I have $1.87! Woohoo!

I go eat. And just to help share the gift of a good day, I sit at a table next to this construction guy on his lunch break. I put my lipstick on and eat my hot dog real sultry like. Because eating a hot dog is very, very sexy. He blushes, or laughs or whatever. I get up, goget my car.

"Do you have the Chrysler Town & Country?"

"Yes. Yes I do! You jealous?"

"Uh, no ma'am. It's ready for you. Everything was covered, just need you to sign here."

He could have gone along with it. But I'm guessing not everyone is so happy to have a flat like I am. I sign it and hop into my car and go home.

A lot can go wrong on grocery day. Hell, I've thrown my back out a couple of times. You gotta get up early, stretch, apparently check the oil and tires. So, to me, it was such a treat that when poop hit the fan, I remember, my shit smells like roses. Yay!

That's how I roll.

JulzHOLLA is having her third girl. They are so happy to have a healthy baby. I think they kind of want to know what it might be like to have a boy. So, JulzHOLLA, this one's for you.

My girl, Nikki the cakemaking diva, she's pregnant with her third as well. She has two girls, and although she wouldn't let me attend the sonogram, she did let me know she's having a boy! So, Nikki, this one's to uh, warn you...

Up to this point, having a boy has been so fun. All the kid needs is sports and cars. But now that they are six, they are both very perceptive, and Max particularly idolizes Ricardo. I guess in doing so, he watches his every move. Kids see all, hear all, and regurgitate all.

We were at the dinner table last night. Max lifted up his left-butt cheek, made a little grimmace, and farted. The pride and joy in his face that a) he just farted on cue and b) that he just mimicked his precious idol. Dear Lord. Even more alarming was that Ricardo was actually shocked that Max did it. A second later, Ricardo was beaming with pride. Then he caught my glance of "do not encourage this". And then was quick to tell Max, "Uh, nice one, but let's not do that at the table." I could swear that he muttered under his breath when I wasn't looking, "Atleast not while you're mom is around".

I taught Max how to cite the 80's campaign against drugs: "I learned it from YOU dad, I learned it from YOU!"

Have fun with that Nikki.

That's how I roll.

It's a beautiful Fall day here in Nebraska. It's Saturday. I've got one kid playing at the neighbor's. One kid on the couch barfing about every two hours. Ricardo's working on the lump-o-chevelle outside. It's 55 degrees outside. Just a good start to Fall, sans the barfing kid. Perhaps it was too much cake. Totally my fault.

So, I decided to go out and mow the lawns. Next to vacuuming, it's one of my favorite past-times. Fresh fall air, getting a major weekly chore done, and all while rocking out to some gangsta rap. I've waited a little too long mow the lawn, so, in an effort to appease my neighbors, I figure I'll mow the lawn now, before it starts raining, or I get busy with very important things like laundry, or researching tropical vacations. So, I go to mow. I'm about halfway done with the back yard, when I say to Ricardo,
"It's noon, right?"

"Yeah, close to it, why?"

"Well, I was worried maybe it was too early to mow or something. It's eerily quiet out here. No one's in sight."

It's not like it was 30 degrees out. I mean, I was out there. And honestly, a few of my neighbors lawns were longer than mine, which is rare. But no one was out. Nada. Not even the 3 neighbor houses down the street who love to hang out in their driveway. They were all gone. Where the hell was everyone? After the next grass catcher emptying session, it was really starting to bother me. That's when Ricardo motioned for me to take off my earphones. I oblige and he says,

"We've lived here for 4 years, we should know better by now: The Huskers game is on. No one outside, no cars, no one mowing."

I giggled and fired up the lawn mower waiting for some Husker fan to come kick my ass for not being glued to a tv or radio. But they didn't. I'm guessing it's becasue they were winning.

GOSKURZ.

Later I ran up to the grocery store. The game was on their overhead system. Ahhh, yes, the sound of the season: Fall in Nebraska.

Since we aren't avid fans, and perhaps therefore not even legal citizens of Nebraska, obviously, we don't have football parties or tailgate in the stadium parking lot, never to leave the tailgate, but listen from the parking lot. We're not invited to many Husker game parties either. Maybe it's because I go to any party to talk about my feelings and for the food. Heck, even a good recipe is incentive for my Weight Watchers meeting. AND I get to talk about my feelings. So, maybe the static from my crunching and yapping is somewhat of a set back. But I do like to find out who won. I'm always relieved for the safety and health of our community when the Huskers win. It's a direct correlation.

After the game, my neighbor mowed his lawn, in a light rain.

Welcome Fall.

That's how I roll.

This is me "helping" Beck out at the beach. Don't I look so helpful?

Two weeks ago, I took the kids to Virginia Beach to "help" my oldest and dearest friend Beck. And my oldest and dearest, I mean, she's OLDER than me. heh heh. I've known her since pre-school, we were three years old. I use the word "help" in the quotes because really, I have two 5-year-olds.Beck just had her third baby. A little girl. She has a 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and now a 5 week old. They're all beautiful and great kids.

When I booked the trip, I thought we'd be helpful. But Summer (me) has ruined my children. School had them all on a schedule with structure...blah, blah, blah. Now, they're with me, and well, if we remember to bathe and brush our teeth on a daily basis, we're really on top of things.

But as the time got closer, I was nervous about having them by myself flying across country. With the news reporting each day about how sucky it is to fly and the airlines are charging for your luggage, or for snacks, or to poop. Fine, they aren't charging to poop - yet. But I was getting worried that flying with the kids by myself was not going to be so great.

As time got even closer, I was concerned that my kids would teach her kids bad habits. I know Beck, and know her kids are sweet angels. My kids could ruin all of her hard work in a matter of minutes. Max would help her 2 year-old son build a ramp for his tricycle. Lucy has been getting these sudden sneezes, once while kissing gramma goodby. Ew. And once while shoveling a giant mouthful of corndog in her mouth.Gross.

This could get ugly. But the visit was great. For me at least. I haven't heard from Beck, now that I think of it. We were supposed to come "help" because her husband was off for a few weeks. So, I was supposed to bring the kids to entertain hers, and I would help with the baby and chores around the house. Problem is, I don't do diapers and i don't breastfeed. And now that I think of it, she cooked dinner every night.

I think I might have herded the children around for her to get a shower one time. And then, maybe she got in a nap or two. But really, my crew of carnies, we're not so much help as we are sheer entertainment. Watching our kids play together was just a delight for me. I don't think I could ever handle having more than what I've got for kids. But, that little crew was hillarious.

So, Beck, hope you had as much fun as we did. I wonder why you haven't called me lately. Is it because I did my laundry, but left yours for you to do later? Let me know next time you need me to come "help".

I think it's like if someone were trying to set me up on a date and the guy said, "Is she hot?" My pal would say, "Well, uh, she's got a GREAT personality!" Same thing with being helpful, "Is she helpful?" Beck would probably say, "Well, she's got a GREAT personality!"

That's how I roll.

It's confirmed. This is the enemy.

My original goal purpose for the crap hole doctor's visit was to see an allergist who would tell me how to eat a burger without raging heartburn lockdown on my esophagus.

I've never been to an allergist, so, when she came in and said they wanted to run a few tests, I thought I could handle it.

I think at Guantanamo Bay, instead of waterboarding, they should just test for allergies.

"Take your nice warm cozy sweater off that you wear just for doctor's visits because you have prepared for the cold sterile 30 minute wait in silence while doctor is negotiating your time with actual patients versus getting wooed by pharmaceutical reps. Take off your bra too. You know, the one you just bought yourself in the last attempt for a push up of your itty bitty A's. Take all that off and wait, for that 30 minutes."

So, I do it, and hang out in the lovely paper top I'm now sporting. Nurse comes in and explains, "First, I've got to write on your back and make the markers."

That tickles, and I flinch a couple of times, messing up her pretty handwriting on my back, I'm sure.

Then, "Ok, now I've got to run these tests. I'm going to have to prick you." She said it apologetically, and now I know why. A needle would have been way more pleasant than this. It was like a plastic toothpick. Unfun. Three columns down my back 15 times. 45 pricks - a jab and then a twist, because she has to get it under my skin. And the lower on the back, the more it starts to feel less like a stabbing and more like electrical shock.

"Okay, now we wait. I'm going to leave now and let all that stuff I just inserted in your skin ferment. So, just sit there with your gaping robe. Do you itch anywhere?"

"Not yet, am I supposed to?"

"You might."

"Well, if I do itch, can I scratch it?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT. Whatever you do, don't scratch!"

And cue the torture part of this scene. "You want me to sit here with this open paper robe for 20 minutes and not scratch an itch of something you injected in to me that I might be allergic to?"

"Um, yes." And then she bolted out of the room with a faint after thought: "And if you feel wheezy or have shortness of breath - just stick your head out and tell someone."

"Really? That's your system? What should I yell: Fire?"

"Sure that'll work."

"Maybe not - if I yell Fire, won't everyone run?"

Dead stare and silence.

"Well, just push this button that says 'PUSH FOR HELP IN EMERGENCY'". Super.

We wait and I'm pretty sure the dog marker is itching profusely for 18 of the 20 minutes. Great. I'm going to have to put the dog down.

The doctor and her henchman - the stabbing nurse - come back in and start rattling off skin rash measurements. I'm definitely allergic to Mold and Dustmites. Dang. I can't hang out with those two anymore. Darnit.

The skin test provoked what I now know to be $90 blood tests. EACH. Each allergy you're tested for ...$90. I need to be a petri dish lab girl is all I'm sayin. Here's what I might be allergic to: Celery, almond, sesame seed, corn, rice, green beans, green peas, and grapefruit.

Thankfully, red meat and chocolate didn't come up. I will live then.

WAIT! Did you just say corn? If I'm allergic to corn, I will be marked with a Scarlett C. I will be run out of the state of Nebraska. Please don't report me to Tom Osborne. Please! I realize there are other departments of the state, and other coaches, but Osborne is still in charge here. Don't let anyone tell you any different. When the poop hit the fan at UNL, and they did the shakedown and fired the coach - they called Osborne's red phone. He came out of retirement, with his cape, and drove down in his batmobile, and was interrim coach/atheletic director until they found a replacement. I think he'll stick around just to make sure they know who's boss. So, being allergic to corn, in Nebraska, that's kind of funny.

I'm cracking my jokes while I sit in my paper robe. "Isn't that funny, corn, in Nebraska!?"

Doctor: "It's really not."

"It's kind of funny. I KNOW funny."

"Um, Leslie, corn is in EVERYTHING. You won't think it's so funny. Trust me."

Fine you little fun-hater. Fine.

The other thing I'm allergic to is CATS. Even better! I hate cats. Hate them. Yes, I do. There is hate in my heart, and it's devoted to cats. When my dad died, we cleaned out his house, and in his garage, we found cat traps. I have never been more proud of my father than in that moment. I used to have cats, and they were fine, I guess. I have friends with cats, and I'm not going to visit, wait for you to go to sleep, and then back over your cat with the car. Unless provoked. There's a handful of people that I'm okay with your cats. I just don't really like them. So, being allergic to them is great. Because I try very hard to not lie to my kids. But I've been telling them I'm allergic to cats for a few years now. And yay, it's not a lie! So, that's a relief.

That's it, that's all I'm allergic to, Cats, Dustmites and Mold. They think the whole esophagus clinching up is a breathing allergy. So, I'm going to have to stop huffing the dustmite& mold. I went home and took a good look at my house, and the way I live. And I think I've figured out a few things.

I vaccuumed our mattress, and then got an allergen free cover thing for it and our pillows. I do love to vacuum in general, so, I'll just do it more often. And I've been instructed to wash my sheets once a week, in hot water. I'm sure I've done the washing part, maybe let it go a few more days than needed, but the hot water will be a good change too.

And then ofcourse, I will blowdart any cat that walks in my path. Just kidding. Sort of.

That's how I roll.

I hope these parents are enjoying this glory. Who cares if she can READ. Can she pee and poop on the potty? That's the BIG question, kid. When your parents can teach you THAT, then I'll be impressed.

These parents have been all over the news circuits raving about their kid who can read at 17 months old. But it's not like they are dropping big words on her like: Republican, or Pneumonia. Big woop - she can spell Happy. C'mon That's so easy: H-A-P-P-Y. If she can read, that means her parents can't spell stuff out. They'll NEVER make it. And another thing, if she can read at 17 months, what the hell will she be able to wow us with at 27 months? Now, if she could do the laundry AND the dishes. THAT would be earning her keep and noteworthy.

MY kids can pee and poop on the potty...ON QUEUE. ANNNNNDDD, I taught Lucy how to vacuum yesterday. AND Max can totally dunk on this kid. So there.

All I'm sayin, is at 17, she'll be a drug addict. But atleast she'll be able to read the labels she's stealing out of her mommy's medicine cabinet.

That's how I roll.