It was probably the summer of '05, and my sister and her tribe had come for a visit. My daughter was probably just about 10 months old - still chunky, babbling, all smiles and chewing on everything in sight. She and I were still currently living in our little bubble of life. Me, paranoid that everything outside the bubble would hurt her. Her, oblivious to everything outside of the bubble. We're hanging at my mom's pool - drinking, laughing and carrying on - passing her around like the trophy she is.
At one point she's sitting in her stroller, chewing on her fist or some such, and "talking" to my sister about the finer points of a Martha Stewart magazine when my sister hands her the magazine...when I simply tell her "please don't give her the magazine...she could get a paper cut...in her eye"
Yes. In Her Eye.
Well, you can only imagine what happened next. For the next four years I've received shit about EYE BALL PAPER CUTS. My entire sisters family has enjoyed tormenting me with steno notebooks and loose leaf paper. "Kerrieeeeee" they'll say from across the room...."Ooooohhh" waving around newspapers and junk mail while sounding like ghosts "Cover Your Eyes!!!"
You know that whole "You could poke your eye out" saying? Well, in our family it's been changed to "you could get a paper cut ON YOUR EYE".
Neurotic? With out a doubt. However, I don't argue that fact, and take the rubbin'. When the jokes roll - I take 'em as they come - because the truth is - for the most part - they are funny and I know I'm over the top. And honestly, how many children have you REALLY heard of losing their eye sight to horrible paper cut accidents? I mean, really, do YOU have an insurance policy covering this horrific freak accident?
How ironic that I'm cruising through Facebook last night and an old friend of mine has an update that he's being "fit for an eye patch because of an PAPER CUT ON HIS EYE BALL"
WELL! Because I am completely incapable of thinking before I act. I clicked...
"Kerrie Likes This"
We're standing outside the dental examination room, shortly my 5 year old has had her first cleaning and has thoroughly impressed the entire staff with her ability to sit still, open her mouth wide and be charming all at the same time. I, of course, can see through her scam. I see the gleam in her eye. I can hear her thoughts...."I do this in public Mama, so everyone can think I'm a princess...and think you're a bitch when you complain about me."
Regardless, she was in fact, a perfect patient. So, while there are no other patients in the office, the entire staff is showering my child with gifts - and by gifts I mean handfuls of floss and about 12 different child size toothbrushes and proper cleaning technique pamplets - it was like she had gone to a Dental Convention. If I hadn't stopped them they would have started giving her office supplies.
While all of this was happening, I was chatting with a few ladies at the front, keeping an eye on her, paying the bill - basic Mom-Multi-Tasking. One of the side conversations turned to my daughters play kitchen in her bedroom and how this last weekend "Mommy and I organized my kitchen".... I laughed out loud and mentioned how pleased I was that I have passed some of my OCD to her. This was when I realized that I really need to know my audience and REALLY needed to actually LOOK UP the phrase OCD...because I don't have it. But this lady clearly does.
It was like I was comparing my hang nail to her brain tumor.
Her eyes sparkled. It was like she had found someone from her mother ship. She literally took a step closer to me. She talked of her pantry and her refrigerator. Apparently at first her pantry was organized by food item, but quickly realized that there are far too many food items IN a pantry - so decided best to do it by shape and size. How is YOUR pantry organized? Her refrigerator, however, has clearly marked index cards to label where each item goes. She found early on that the index cards can deteriorate over time, so she eventually got a laminator. Do you use a laminator or a lable maker?
My response was simply "Oh....I don't think I'm that bad off". She was deeply saddened by that news.
I've since looked up OCD. It seems to me that neither of us have it. What SHE has is OCPD, Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder - which apparently is far different than those people that have to like wash their hands 25 times, or lock a door over and over again.
What I am is just really anal.
I suppose there comes a point in time in one's life, where you should just be happy with what you have. I don't mean like the shit in your house...because I'm never happy with that stuff...but I mean what you HAVE. Maybe your hair is full and luscious, but so is the hair every where else on your body. You have a great rack - but your ass is flat as a board and looks like a 12 year old boys butt. Or, just maybe, you have given birth to the greatest kid in the world and still five years later you are blaming your gut on her.
Yes, the above is me, ya'll. I have strong, healthy hair - but unfortunatly I have it everywhere. I got me some big ol' boobs which my husband is a big fan of - but my back goes directly into my legs - not giving me much to sit on. And the birth of my child (and consumtion of a few beers) has given me that slight "bump", that has stopped me from tucking anything in for about 5 years now.
You might remember that a while back I mentioned I was looking into laser hair removal. If you do, you've been here for a while, because that was well over a year ago. Which in case you didn't know....it shouldn't take that long.
I'm done with all my appointments - and that would be six that I paid for and three that they gave me for free because I have mutant unkillable hair and they feel bad for me. But I'm still not done....But since I couldn't afford this shit in the first place....I have to stop now. Which is, quite honestly, extremly annoying. It basically feels like I've let a total stranger shoot lasers at my pits and cooter for no more than practice for the last year. And let's not even talk about the numbing cream...and the last appointment went a bit weird and it looks like they used light bulbs to burn my armpits......Sigh.
I could have saved all that money from laser work and taken my hairy self to BlogHer....
Only upside to all of this is that I am WAY more comfortable going to the OB now...At least she has a purpose being down there.
Update: I just read this again...and realize that I've made myself sound like a woolly mammoth. I'm not. I don't want to scare anyone from actually meeting me. But if thinking I'm a furry creature makes this strange post funnier than it really is...go with it.
I got a call tonight from a concerned family member. It was brought to my attention that I was going to "lose my following". I, of course, had to explain that I really don't have a following, but never the less understood the point. I've taken a bit of a break and really have no explanation as to why. It's a mixture of many things really.
Mostly it's my doctor's fault. He told me that I'm no longer allowed to do anything in bed anymore except sleep and have sex. No reading. No tv. No lounging. And no laptop. For some this may not sound like a big deal. But taking my laptop out of my bed...well, let's just say he may as well have told me that I'm only allowed to have sex with my husband on every other Tuesday in the garage. It's proving to be that difficult.
That's where I did all my laptop stuff.
We think that we are narrowing down some of the migraine stuff, and I've started a course of Physical Therapy, which all sounds very physical and therapeutic. But really it's all very S&M and painful and all I want to do in pummel him with the waiting room chair - if I had any strength left in my arms.
In other news, I've spent the last 30 minutes telling everyone in this house that they have no respect for the house that they live in. It escapes me how many times you can walk by something and NOT PICK IT UP and put it away. But apparently the way I yell, is quite amusing, because my husband and daughter have spent the last 30 minutes laughing at me. Clearly I need to work on my communication skills.
I know that the majority of you are preparing to pack up and head out to the BlogHer conference....To you...Travel Safe. Drink Much. And know that you are taking my deep jealousy with you. One of these years I will make it. Have a drink for me.
Three weeks ago was our "take a week off and get shit done around the house" week. Day 1 of that week was removing sod from our front yard and moving it into the backyard. Yea. Removing the front yard, and putting it in the back. It's NOT as easy as it sounds. If you ever get the chance. Don't. Buy the sod and have it delivered.
Long story short is that I have no flower bed to speak of in the front yard...the previous owners either hated flowers or really liked clovers, weeds and some groupings of grass here and there. In addition, there is a huge area in the back yard that has nothing. Just nothing. Dirt. With weeds. So, kill two birds with one stone. Cut the big ass flower bed that I want, but cut the grass so we can keep it, roll it up and sod the back dirt pit.
Day 2 found us asking our 5 year old daughter to wipe our butts for us because we couldn't lift our own arms.
We were no where close to being finished after Day 1, but given that there was no way I was bending down and picking up a shovel, we decided that Day 2 would be errand day. There were some odds and ends that needed to get picked up and one of those things were some inexpensive drapes from Ikea...which is unfortunately about 45 minutes away....and the website wouldn't let me order them online. Clever bastards.
Off we go to Ikea - when about halfway there my husband tells me a story of how, in his youth, he and his friends used to make a day out of going to Ikea. They would all carpool, and drive the hour and spend the day...hanging out at Ikea. I, of course, spent the next 20 minutes making fun of him and explaining how fortunate it was that he married me and that I saved him from such a life. I finished off by explainging that I have never BEEN to Ikea. Ever.
His response was simply: oh crap.
"What? No. It's not a problem. We're just going to run in and get the drapes. I really don't like their stuff anyway. I look at the catelogs, and all their stuff seems kind of plastic and modern....Not really my style. Just the drapes. Then we'll head home and take a nap."
Did you know that Angels sing when you walk into Ikea?
4 hours later.....I got my new drapes...
an entertainment center and new bedroom furniture.
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