I discovered the other day that if all else fails, I can steal Braden’s chalk and set up a tip jar on some city sidewalk somewhere.
Far away from the chalk artists with actual talent, that is.
And I only take requests from people who have passed their entire bodies through my vaginal canal. I’m picky like that.
Being sick in Spring is not fun, wonderful, or delightful.
Being sick in Spring while your toddler is also ragingly sick? Well, that’s about as fun as being a balloon animal at a drunk porcupine convention.
And let me add, you have really not LIVED until you have been force-fed a handful of Honey Nut Scooters (generic brand of Cheerios, for you rich assholes) coated in toddler snot. Until you experience this, your soul just has.not.awakened.
I could be wrong though, since my brain is stuck in this mucky haze which is part “I WANT TO KILL YOU ALL RIGHT NOW WITH MY BARE HANDS” (menstrual hag) and part “OMG I AM DYING, I KNOW IT” (pathetic, whiny, sick douche).
I just… well… he has been SO miserable and sad lately. And his nose has been steadily and continuously leaking sick toddler snot in copious amounts. I try to keep up with it, but most of the time he beats me to it. That little hand just darts up and swipes it away.
And while, yes, this is gross, it’s not nearly as disgusting as that tendency some kids have to try mimicking a cow by sticking their tongues on up into the Snot Fest. So, I’m thanking my stars, here, that my kid hasn’t thought of that yet. (We’ll talk about how he licked snot off his fingers another day, okay?)
Anyway, today, he ran into the living room from the kitchen with a handful of his cereal. He made a bee-line for me on the couch, and since I was kind of slumped over towards the floor (yeah, I’m that pathetic) he had full access to my face. Which delighted him, and he just started shoving the cereal into my face.
He had this sparkle in his eyes as he crammed every last piece in my mouth. Delight was painted across every inch of his face. There was absolutely no way in the world I could bring myself to stop him.
His little fingers kept going in with the cereal. I could detect the flavor of sweet, delicious cereal.
As well as the lovely sensation of cold, sticky, wet sick toddler snot.
And I just kept repeating in my head, “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, just don’t think about it, don’t think about it, it’s going to be okay….”
I ate snot for my kid today. WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR KID?
My muse wanted me to tell you that she’s been rockin’ and rollin’ pretty heartily recently. She has knocked back some stiff drinks, tickled my brain with the naughty feather, and laughed in my ear. I have grinned, typed, and clickity clacked away at my keyboard, happily.
She also wants you to know that tonight, she’d love to help me out and provide some great content for you, however, she’s been struggling to keep her head above the muck inside the swirling vat of menstrual hormones that is MY ENTIRE BEING right now. Earlier, she was doing the drowning sign and gasping for air. I gave her the finger and told her to “fend, bitch” because I have my own shit to deal with, okay?
She is currently fleeing from my angry, rampaging uterus, which is running at her full force, prepared to bludgeon her to death with an engorged tampon. It has already threatened to create a hostage situation with a list of demands if it can capture her. That ho bettah run, because here at Casa SarcMom we do NOT negotiate with Effing Terrorists. Or Asshole Uteri.
In defense of the out-of-control uterus, it feels like a damn badger is gnawing on it, and just in case you’re wondering? NO. THAT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD. It feels… how do they say it? AbsofackinlutelyCraptastic.
So that great content? Uh… yeah.
Also? Who the hell authorized there being NO WINE IN MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW?
I might have to burn it down just to make a point.
I’m going to go punch myself in the uterus really hard (knock that damn badger loose) and then look for the matches.
Someone send booze.
March 29th – April 4th
Canon Powershot G9
To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream
my favorite stripes in a warm time
run up behind me in a line
I lay back and close my eyes
the time of solace and rest flies
quite soon I hear the little feet
marking out a quick-paced beat
a giggling is drawing near
the favorite sound my ears could hear
my eyes open and see his face
filling up my eye-view space
he’s grinning, asking to join me
I reach out, pull him up quickly
now a different kind of peace unfolds
of tickling, laughter, hugs and holds
and just as rest can make me whole
this connection refuels my soul.
There’s nothing quite as
crappy as your little one
being really sick.
headache, fever, pathetic…
a sad little boy.
Sleeping on the hard
floor in his room is no day
at the park either.
We do what me must
to give them comfort, though, right?
Yeah. *hobbles away*
You could call me asleep since the 90s a completely clueless old fart slightly out of the loop, and you’d be right. I don’t stay current with all the hottest new music, the best new technology, or the latest fashion trends. I notice some things, much I do not.
I feel like being online, especially on Twitter, does keep me up to date with things, but it still seems like I miss a lot. I’m constantly having this conversation in email with my more observant, hip friends:
Me: Huh? Dur.
Hip Friend: What, Bitch? You didn’t know?
Me: Huh? *fart*
Hip Friend: Yeah, it’s been around for ages now. Where have you been?
Me: Huh? Dur.
Hip Friend: I have no idea why I even talk to you, loser.
So, yeah. I am kind of a ditz in that “doesn’t know what the hell is going on” kind of way. Lingo, for example, hits me from weird places. I was on the phone with my husband last night, telling him about how Braden was sick and having a hard time sleeping.
John was between shows downtown. He was driving to the second show, and after we’d chatted briefly, he told me, “I’ve gotta jump.” Uh, okay? It took me a minute, but I got it. Still, I had a hard time not quipping, “There better be something just out of your reach, over your head, because if you’re on a bridge, I hope you rot in hell. You could at least wait until we have something in savings before you kill yourself. I’d have to get a job and everything, you selfish, insensitive bastard.”
Yeah. It’s a loving, gentle relationship.
But, “Jump?” WTF? Is this what the kids and trendy young adults are saying now when they want to get off the phone? Yeah, I’m feeling a bit like I have cobwebs. Not in my house, but ON ME. And for the record, that jerk is older than I am but HE GETS TO LEAVE THE HOUSE REGULARLY. AND DO STUFF. WITH PEOPLE.
Anyway, totally wandered away from the actual thing I wanted to talk about.
I’ve seen a commercial put together by a local news station several times now. I am drawn into the commercial every time because the way it is shot is really cool (black and white, different speeds) and the song always pulls my attention. I had no idea what it was, and kept wondering if this was a popular song I have just missed (would not surprise me).
I saw the commercial again tonight, hit YouTube and found it, and listened to the whole song while watching the video.
Really, actually listened to the words, felt them.
Got the deeper meaning, was moved. A couple of tears slipped down my cheeks.
I kind of like it when something has the power to move me like that, with no warning.
What song(s) have the power to move you?
Also, I should probably check PMS Buddy… I totally haven’t kept track of my cycles anymore and this could be a sign that I need to be protecting my underwear soon. Because The Red Crotch is, I’m pretty sure, not the latest fashion trend.
Did you know that every single one of us parents is definitely spending too much money (I don’t care how little you spend, it’s too much) on toys? Cause, yeah.
Really. Why the hell do we buy toys again? All we really need is boxes, sunglasses, keys, hair clips, flashlights, spatulas, and the doorbell. (not an all inclusive list, but a working one)
And duct tape for the bad days. Don’t judge me.
Fisher Price? Pfffft.