Same Sh*# Different Day

So I've been leaving Mo the idiot dog out of his crate for short periods of time in an effort to show him that we are capable of trusting him and giving him free reign of the house if he can show us that he is responsible enough to not eat the furniture while we are gone.
He's not.
I left this morning to run the girls to the bus stop (generally a 7 minute round trip if I time it right)
We get back home and I can't get the front door open. The handle turns but yet the door remains closed. I'm actually initially confused by this (see previous posts about brain cells leaking out with amniotic fluid) and I think there must be something wrong with the door. Nope. Turns out the idiot dog in his frantic clawing at the door (he wants to go to the bus stop with us) has inadvertently (I *hope*) hit the deadbolt latch with his paw and locked it. Trust me folks--I am not smart enough to make this stuff up.
So Sam and I are standing on the porch (with Sam saying repeatedly--"Open the door Mom. Go ahead, you can open it. Just try." And there I am trying in vain to remember where the extra key is hidden in our yard. . . (check back--I'm certain I have posted about the number of times the children have locked me out of the house) At least when the dog locks me out he doesn't stand at the window making faces and laughing at me. Actually he seemed as troubled by the fact that I wasn't coming in the house as I was.
Long story short--after hunting for the key (unsuccessfully) I realize that the minivan doors are unlocked and I can open the garage from the van and access the house that way. Unfortunately, our garage is one baby item away from being condemned so navigating through there is as dangerous as scaling Mt. Everest in heels and a cocktail dress. And I was doing it while carrying Sam (so that he wouldn't trip). So after stumbling several times and actually falling into a cascade of garbage bags filled with outgrown clothing I made it to the top of the very short stairwell which leads to the door that opens into the laundry room. Sam begins frantically clawing at my face yelling "Don't go down there Mommy, the spiders are gonna get us!!" Now, this would be a good time to mention that I am terrified of spiders. In a really big, phobia sort of way.
So I stand there willing my night vision to kick in so I can actually see where the evil spiders are lurking and the only thing running through me head is "I could be sitting at a desk somewhere happily typing away at my computer or answering my phone, having a cup of tea and discussing upcoming season premieres of must see TV with colleagues but NOOOOOOOOOO --I decided to quit my job and stay home with my children so I could get locked out of my house (by my dog nevertheless) and then break my neck wading through a butt load of baby crap and now I have to leap over rabbit sized hairy spiders that want to eat me. . . .

When Your Love Handles Are a Little Too Lovable

So if you know me you know that I'm packing a few extra pounds; I've got a tiny bit of junk in the trunk; I'm pleasantly plump; a chubba bubba; I'm an all-you-can-eat buffet nightmare; I'm 2 ton tizzy; I've got more cushion for the . . .well, you get my point. In short--I'm fat. Not disgusting, make people stare, need two seats on an airplane fat (at least I don't think so) but in need of some serious weight loss. And why is it, by the way, that when you admit being overweight to skinny people they generally respond with something like "Oh, STOP, you're not fat!" What's THAT all about--do they just want to avoid having competition for the skinny award? In my opinion, fat people would be much more motivated to lose weight if people were simply honest and helpful:

Fat Person: "Gee, I've really put on some weight, I'm looking a bit fat these days."
Non-Fat Person: "Yeah, I've noticed that. You should try to lose weight. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Because what it all boils down to (and this is a fact known all too well by fat people) losing weight is hard. Incredibly hard. Fat people generally like to eat. So think right now of something you like to do every day. Smoking, drinking, reading comic books, watching movies, listening to music, whatever. Now, realize that you can only do your favorite thing 1/10th as much as you usually do. Depressing, right?? But wait, there's more! Now think of something you hate to do. Going to the dentist, having an annual GYN exam, listening to opera, sitting in traffic, whatever. Now understand that you have to do that thing you hate every single day for the rest of your life. I HATE to exercise. I mean, really hate it. But in order to lose weight not only can I NOT eat the things I like but also, I have to exercise every day. Are you starting to realize why FP's are FP's??
Fat people don't actually want to be fat. (Now there are some FP's in great denial who say things like "I enjoy being fat, my life is very full" but they're pretty much full of crap in my opinion. Being fat is not fun. When you're single and fat you only get the geeky or gross guys coming up to you in bars (my apologies to geeky, gross guys out there); you get to shop in "special" departments or stores where the clothes simply are not quite as stylish as "normal" clothes.

Off on a tangent--why is this??? Why do clothing manufacturers always assume that if you're fat, you have no sense of fashion and wish to wear articles of clothing that resemble things my 83 year old grandmother would wear around her house when she was cleaning?? And have you ever noticed that FP's generally have a lot of shoes? Want to know why?? Because even if you are fat, your feet generally are not, so FP's can buy "normal" shoes and not feel fat while shopping.

OK, back on track, so being fat is not a great way to enjoy life--granted, it's better than being ugly, or worse yet--ugly AND fat, but still--it's no fun. I went through a period during high school when a group of really nice students used to walk in the hallways behind me and moo at me while they threw candy at me. (I didn't pick up the candy, at least not until they started throwing mini Mr. Goodbars--just kidding -- I just ignored them like my mother said to--"ignore them and they'll get bored with it and stop" good old Mom, chock full of great advice. . . And she was right! I ignored them and they got bored with it and stopped. THE DAY WE GRADUATED. I say use your assets--if you're fat and being teased, knock the person down and sit on their chest until they're gasping for air.)
So here I am again after many, many failed attempts at losing weight and one successful attempt after child #2 (damn, I looked good) and I find myself in need of a 60+ pound weight loss (damn that pregnancy #3) Tangent--

Pregnancy #3: During pregnancy, you have to visit your OB/GYN many, many times. Every four weeks in the beginning, then every two weeks, then weekly as you near the end. When you get there, they make you pee in a cup--to make sure you haven't developed gestational diabetes (note--if you are pregnant and have an OB check that day--avoid eating anything with maple syrup for breakfast. And any potato product for that matter. Because if you fail the pee test they send you for the glucose test which is just nasty. . .) then they take your blood pressure and finally they make you get on a scale to see how much weight you and baby have gained. So after I hit the 60 pound weight gain with child #3, I decided I wasn't going to weigh anymore because it was just too depressing. So here's how the visit after that went:

Skinny little bitch (a.k.a. nurse in OB/GYN office): "Mrs. Wagner? We're ready for you. How are you feeling today?"e: (waddling my fat ass up to her)"I feel pretty good."
Skinny little bitch: "Go ahead in and leave us a sample if you can."
Me: (If I can?? If?? Has this chick ever been pregnant?? I can urinate all day sister, this kid is using my bladder as a teeter-totter) "OK (smiling) I'll see if I can go."
Skinny little bitch: "All right, let's check your blood pressure."
Skinny little bitch makes idle conversation while she does this
Skinny little bitch: "OK Mrs. Wagner, slip off your shoes and hop up on the scale for me."
(as if I can actually hop anywhere theses days without fear of cracking the floor underneath me)
Me: "No thank you." ( I smile politely)
Skinny little bitch: "Excuse me?"
Me: "I said 'no thank you" I don't want to be weighed today." (another polite smile)
Skinny little bitch: "Mrs. Wagner, I need to weigh you."
Me: "No you don't. We both know I've gained enough weight to support the babies nutritional needs."
Skinny little bitch: "But Mrs. Wagner, it's also important that we make sure you haven't gained too much weight."
Me: "You told me 3 visits ago that I've gained too much weight. Trust me--I haven't lost any."
Skinny little bitch (looking frazzled): "Mrs. Wagner, I will get in trouble if I don't weigh you."
Me: "This is not my problem."
Skinny little bitch: (panicked now) "But what am I supposed to write down?"
Me: (amused)"Oh, I don't know--make something up. I know--write 125 lbs. that will send them scrambling" (I was about 220 at the time)
Skinny little bitch: "I can't do that Mrs. Wagner, I'll get in trouble.
Me: (patiently) "Again--not my problem"
Skinny little bitch: (voice getting shrill) "Mrs. Wagner, PLEASE get on the scale."
Me: "Nope."
Skinny little bitch: (speaking dolphin now and approaching tears) "MRS. WAGNER GET ON THE SCALE!"
Me: (now I'm getting a little annoyed--did I mention I was never one of those "happy" pregnant people??) "MAKE ME."
At this point skinny little bitch reviews her options--she realizes I'm pregnant, hormonal AND I outweigh her by at least 100 pounds. . .
Skinny little bitch (very quietly) "Dr. Elgin will be right in. . ."

So I'm back on the weigh loss train (hoping it doesn't crash and derail. . .) and it occurs to me that since nothing else works, why not use the fear of public humiliation to my benefit? So I tell every person I meet that I'm attempting to lose weight. I told the mailman the other day--"I'm trying to lose 60 pounds by June 24th. He looked a little confused, but said, "Good for you! Good luck with that."
Told the nice elderly gentleman at the grocery store--"I'm going to lose weight so my husband will think I look hot." Turns out he was a dirty nice elderly gentleman as he replied with a wink, patted my behind and said, "I already think you look hot."
Told the chubby black lady at the post office--"I'm trying really hard to lose weight and get into a size 12 by the summer." She says, "Well honey, if you figure out how, bring your skinny white hiney back in here and share your secret with me!"
And now I'm telling you fine folks--It is my intention to lose 60 pounds by June 24th and be able to wear a size 12. Any and all support is greatly appreciated (send no cash now, I'll bill you later--just kidding, I mean verbal and emotional support) So here is a list of wonderful supportive, helpful things you can say to me when you see me:

"Shannon, you look great!"
"How much have you lost?"
"Do you want to go for a brisk walk with me?"
"Set the doughnut down and slowly back away from it."
"Don't order soda--drink water you stupid cow."
"Let's meet for lunch and get a salad."
"Shannon, you're still looking plump, step up the workouts."
"Here's my number, you look so hot, call me if Chris ever leaves you." (This one pretty much only pertains to Brett Favre. Or Matthew McConaughey. Or David Boreanaz. And Spike from Buffy. Oh--and the guy from The Wedding Date (I can't think of his name) Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. . . )
"Hey, did you exercise today? You did! Great job!"

And here is a list of things not to say to me:

"Want to order a pizza?"
"Do you want fries with that?"
"Are you hungry?" (FP's are ALWAYS hungry)
"I'm not going to finish this--do you want it?"
"There's NO way you can lose 60 pounds by the end of June" (shoot for the moon--even if you miss you're still among the stars)
"Who wants ice cream??"

So now it's out there, and I have no choice but to either be successful, or look like a complete idiot. Well, there's always the option of staying in the house for the rest of my life, but we've already booked our Disney trip and I really want to go so, I guess I'll just have to suffer through the next 33 weeks feeling miserably hungry and irritable.
Thanks for reading and thank you in advance for your support and if there's any other FP's out there who are in need of support--emotional, mental, verbal or otherwise--let me know. I'm your girl.

I Should Have Just Had a Baby

Not too long ago I was feeling that "baby urge" and since I need a fourth child like I need a large hole in my head, I decided to get a puppy instead.

I should have just had the baby.

The following is a list of all the things I have had the pleasure of cleaning up (either chewed up, vomited or pooped out) since we got this delightful ball of fluff.

1 pincushion with pins (no, Chris, I am NOT Rainman, I DO NOT know exactly how many pins were in it to know if he swallowed any)
17 hair combs
5 hair brushes
2 toothbrushes (I found him chewing on Chris's once, but it wasn't very damaged so I just put it back in the holder)
1 piece of pegboard
3 handmade dog beds
4 beach towels
2 kitchen rugs
1 Ravens jacket (Chris was kinda pissed about that one)
2 little girls dresses
1 hot curl roller
3 hair clips
58* diapers/pull-ups (used only, he won't chew clean ones) * number approximated
3 pairs of girls panties
2 pairs of boys underwear
6 bags of trash
1 newly planted shrub
1 sand bucket
1 Frisbee
2 playground balls
1 whiffle ball bat (which he amusingly got his teeth briefly stuck in)
1 dog collar
5 children's paintings (actually, he just pulled these down off the wall and licked all the paint off, he didn't shred the paper)
1 teva flip flop
9 dog toys (6 of which were labeled "chew proof")
12 lincoln logs
3 Polly Pocket dolls and/or accessories
4 Barbies (I have to admit, finding the turd in the backyard with the Barbie hand poking up out of it *did* give me a good laugh for the day)
1 TMNT (that's teenage mutant ninja turtle for the non-parent out there)
1 DVD case (actually Chris didn't know about that one until now--he tends to value electronics items more than the average bear)
1 yard of polyester batting (purchased to make bed #4 for the idiot dog)
1 Simplicity pattern #4790
5 Little People (no worries non-parents --this is a brand of toy)
1 rip cord for a toy car
6 pencils
1 ink pen (thankfully this took place on the washable kitchen floor)
1 bulk package of Bounty paper towels (this one was also amusing as all the green ink on the packaging activates when drooled on so the dog was actually green for a few days)
1 Thomas the Train (and several segments of track)
1 pair of sunglasses
1 Reebok tennis shoe (only the plastic tips to the laces actually, but he pulled the laces out in the process and by fraying the plastic tips rendered it impossible to re-lace them)
1 pirate ship birthday cake (actually only one corner, my Grandfather caught him in the act. My apologies to anyone who attended the party and ate the cake, but I didn't have time to re-make it. And I did cut off the chewed parts and filled in with icing.)
1 metal dog crate (note: in order to keep this dog IN the crate when we leave it has to be placed on non-skid rug mats, tethered to an oak dresser with not one but two bungee cords, turned around so that the door faces the dresser and have a 26 inch cinder block placed in front of it. Oh, and all the joints of the crate have been reinforced with multiple cable ties. The entire process of getting the dog into the crate takes fifteen minutes and a forklift)
1 roll of toilet paper
6 rolls of paper towels (which should have been included previously, I apologize for the omission)
1 board game
2 books
27 legos
3 pieces of play food
5 crab mallets
1 box of crayola crayons (8 count box) minus the red one (no wait, sorry--that was the only thing our other *good* dog has ever chewed up in her angelic life)

Just a side note, as I'm sitting here writing this (and tuning out the sounds of yelling and banging coming from the laundry room) it occurs to me that child #3 has not bothered me recently and now I'm realizing that he's the one banging and yelling "let me out" so I find this when I investigate:







When I called Liz down to explain why she locked her little brother in the crate she responded not with "I'm sorry for locking him in the crate" or "I won't do it again" Nope, she said "Oh, sorry Mom, I forgot about him." As if locking a three year old in a dog crate is perfectly acceptable so long as you remember to let him out at some point.

So back to my list: (just a few more)

3 blue plastic grocery bags
1/2 box of Candy Kitchen peanut butter kisses (in wax paper wrappers)
1 partial package of somewhat frozen raw chicken breasts (which he retrieved from the kitchen sink while they were defrosting)
1 turquoise tutu
1 pink feather boa
2 pacifiers
1 balloon animal alligator
12 feminine hygiene products (used of course)
1 used condom (took me a while during poop cleanup to figure out what THAT was)
1 tube of chapstick

That being said--the following ad is being placed:

"Free to any home (other than ours)-- one ten month old mixed breed puppy . . . . . "

FYI

My sister-in-law had a baby just a few months after our child #2 and wished to return to work, so (as I recall it) one day simply dropped the child off on her way to work in the morning with a lunch and a stash of diapers.

And then I had three.

This wasn't SO bad--the girls liked to play together and I finally figured out how to safely get 3 children under age 2 from the minivan into Target and back again (FYI--children NEVER stay by your side in a parking lot unless tethered)
But one day a year or so later I was cleaning the bathrooms and left a large (BJ's sized) canister of Comet cleanser on the hip wall in our living room--I was headed down to clean the downstairs bathroom when the phone rang. Simply put, after answering the phone, I emptied the dishwasher, started cooking dinner, broke up a toddler fight, vacuumed the hall. . .and basically forgot that I had left the can in child reach. So I was making up beds when I heard giggling (FYI--giggling and silence are equally dangerous while in the presence of unattended children) I went to investigate and as I entered the kitchen I noticed a kind of haze in the air and it smelled clean. Really clean. And NOT in a good way. Kind of like how some men who like to crop dust in their cologne smell "really good".
So the girls have heard me coming and scattered--(FYI--if you want to catch them in the act it's better NOT to yell "What's going on down there?" before going to investigate). I'm looking around trying to figure out what they've done this time, and I notice the Comet canister on the floor in the living room. I pick it up and realize it's empty. Now, a person of normal intelligence would have realized immediately that the children have dumped the entire canister out thus creating the lovely bleachy smell and the green haze in the air--but clearly I'm not of normal intelligence (FYI--brain cells leak out with amniotic fluid) so I actually had the conscious thought-"Wow, I didn't realize I had used all the Comet I JUST bought this one--note to self--put Comet on the shopping list" It took me a few moments to realize exactly what had happened. And did I mention our living room is carpeted? And the carpet is dark red? And that Comet Cleanser contains bleach?
It took me 5 years to work up the nerve to steam clean that carpet.

FYI-5 years of regular vacuuming is NOT enough time to get an entire canister of Comet cleanser out of dark red (now slightly rose colored) carpeting.

Plastic Frogs That Swim

Saturday was soccer day and although it's post Labor Day--it's still really freakin' hot outside and the kids wanted to know if we could go swimming after the game. Now, trying to explain to young children exactly why the pool is closed when in fact it IS still REALLY hot outside is like trying to explain to the Husband why it is necessary to clean the house even when we aren't expecting company. So after much complaining and exasperated sighs from the children the question was posed by the oldest of whether Miss Lynn's pool was closed also. Miss Lynn's pool (being in her backyard) was in fact NOT closed and after a phone call from Grammy (who is friends with Miss Lynn) we headed there to cool off.
The swimming went along uneventfully for a while (unless of course you count Sam's numerous attempts to drown himself--he cannot in fact actually swim but has completely convinced HIMSELF that he can and will insist (quite emphatically) that "I CAN swim!!" So after a while I get tired of arguing with him, let go of him and allow him to sink under the water for a bit thrashing wildly in a vain attempt to maneuver himself somewhere, then pull him up moments later only to have him triumphantly announce "SEE!! I CAN swim! I swim like Aquaman!!" Whatever. The child is delusional.)
Anyhoo--back to topic-after a while the girls (and another little boy that was there as well) start shrieking about there being a frog in the pool so I look and sure enough, there is a pretty decent sized frog swimming around in the pool. Now for some reason beyond my comprehension, a frog in a pool has some magical, magnetic attraction to my children so of course, they all begin to attempt to catch the frog. Emma succeeds and proudly holds the frog up by its' hind legs. The frog looks completely panicked and just hangs there motionless in an effort to play dead in the hopes that whatever has it will lose interest and let it go. So Emma decides she's going to throw the frog out of the pool and at this point I'm starting to question if she is suffering from heat stroke as it's not really her nature to actually pick up creepy, crawly, slimy things. So she starts to throw the frog, but apparently around this time the frog decides to change defensive tactics and begins thrashing wildly in her hand. At which point Emma realizes that the frog is alive, and not a fake plastic frog like she originally thought (you know she's blond, right?). So she's screaming, the frog is thrashing wildly, Liz is yelling "DROP IT!!! DROP IT!!!, Grammy's laughing, the dogs are barking. . . .

And I'm thinking why is there never a bottle of tequila around when you need it???

Pictures As Behavior Modification

Every time I brought a new friend home, for some reason, my mother felt some strange need to pull out baby pictures to them. They weren't the most flattering pictures either. We're talking full-blown poodle perm pictures of the early 80's.
Now that I have my own children, I have just realized that I am just not that mean. But that doesn't mean I won't be holding on to certain pictures. Pictures that may come in handy in a few years. . . "miss curfew again and this shows up on your MySpace page". . .