Games People Play

Sister #1, have a barf bag ready, because this will make you laugh. And I can’t believe I’m actually sharing this.

You would think that I would really know by now that children always engage in little games of “Monkey See, Monkey Do.” My little munchkin is no exception, but I have a story to share that should act as a warning to all of you…

It all started when the hubby and I were dating. I am married to a…ummm….shall we say…gassy man. That was pretty evident from day one. I’m not complaining. Everyone gets gas. It’s just that some people are gassier than others. I mean really, REALLY gassier than others. Anyway, there’s always been this running joke that if someone is gassy (in the basement, not the attic), there are certain levels of fake passing out. At level one, you simply slump over with your eyes closed, and the gassy offender must then say, “Oh no. My honey is knocked out from the stench of my stinky butt” and then give a kiss to revive the one who is knocked out. There are varying levels of being knocked out, and the appropriate quote must accompany it—level two is due to raunchy butt, level three is due to funky butt, level four is due to sewage butt. Once you hit sewage butt, the one who is knocked out may “play dead” and only come to life after a special offer has been made in addition to a kiss—something like a back rub or doing the dishes, etc. On very silly days, you may knock out from the stench of your own stinky butt, and the non-stinky person still has to revive you.

So where does my daughter fit into all of this? Rewind to last night. She was the gassy offender last night, and sometimes, having picked up on the fake-passing-out game, she will pretend to knock out and wait for a kiss and a hug. Well, while I was getting her dinner ready, she decided she wanted Cheerios. I told her no, I would have her food ready in a minute. A tantrum ensued (normal for an 18 month-old, right?) and I let her kick and scream for a little while. Then, she stood up, came over to me and totally let it rip. How does something that small produce that much gas? Anyway, she made sure the floor was clear, then flopped backward and puckered up, waiting for me to give her a kiss. So, I did the requisite, “Oh no. My sweetie is knocked out from the stench of her own stinky butt.” I gave her a big kiss, but you know what? She didn’t budge. She kept her mouth puckered up, so I kissed her again. Still nothing. Hmmmm.

Then, she opened her eyes, looked right at me and said. “Pee yew. Tiss [her version of ‘kiss’]” and closed her eyes again. So, I gave her yet another kiss, but she still wouldn’t get up. She opened her eyes again and said, “Mommy. Pee yew. Tiss. Teeweeos [her version of Cheerios].”

Holy buckets. She learned the fake-knocking-out game too well. The kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted those Cheerios.

I didn’t laugh (too hard). And I did give in. So, she had turkey, cauliflower…and Cheerios…for dinner last night.

I was just thinking about when you said:

"Sometimes my stomach doesn't like it when I laugh."

  And I just couldn't help myself -

Valuable Lesson

I learned something important today. If I follow the daily nutrient recommendations set forth for me, there's no room for junk food. I've been following a Food Pyramid Plan (check it out at www.mypyramid.gov) and today, I've kept my food intake within the limits I'm supposed to--except for the fact that I really wanted a handful of honey-barbecue sourdough pretzel bites. Yummy. I ate them and I now have a belly ache. I don't know why I ate them--I wasn't hungry, but I wanted them. However, I can't do that anymore, because all the fiber I'm getting from the fruits and veggies I'm eating doesn't leave room for honey-barbecue anything. *Sigh* Oh well.

Here's an idea!

Humbug

This has nothing to do with anything.

I've got a seriously bad case of the Mondays. I don't want to work, don't want to do anything. And I've been feeling kind of testy lately--yes, I know I'm always testy, but I've been testier than usual.

I'm burned out on work, which I suppose is to be expected after seven years of serving chronically mentally ill people. I'm just tired. Maybe I need a vacation. A real vacation--not one of those vacations where I spend a week at home and catch up on housework and whatnot.

Housework. That's another problem. I don't mind cleaning. I take a lot of pride in displaying a clean home (although #4 always seems to come over on days when I'm re-arranging furniture or haven't mopped in three days), but the work that goes into maintaining a clean home is a pain in the you-know-what. And is it too much to ask to hear a little "Thanks" every now and then from the hubby? I don't mean a round of applause when I wet-swiffer the floor and throw a cheese pizza in the oven for dinner. But when I do five loads of laundry...and mop ALL the hard surface flooring...and clean all the bathrooms...and dust...and clean all the windows...and still turn out a yummy dinner...is it too much to want to hear "Thanks"? I don't think so.

Maybe I'm just in a rotten mood and I'll feel better tomorrow. Or maybe I really am annoyed. I don't even know.

Hey...did you know that in a recent survey (maybe by Good Housekeeping? I forget...) there was a quote from a doctor who said that if women are given the choice between a solid night's sleep or earth-shaking sex, they'll choose sleep--because we're all too darn tired to have sex. Interesting. And correct.

Salty, sugary, bittersweet?

Emphasis on the bittersweet

  Two of my girlfriends are going through tough heartbreaks at the moment, and I feel helpless to help them. Everyone goes through heartbreak differently, and every situation is different, so you can never truly relate. Unfortunately, this also the first heartbreak for each of them, which makes it all the worse. And even the fact that I know how terrible heartache feels –how it’s amazing that your heart really hurts –I can’t seem to find the words to help them.

  It is especially difficult with one of them because I happen to really like her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?). He’s a genuinely decent guy, which even she can admit despite this tough phase of their relationship, and he and I have become more than decent friends over the course of the past year. While she is my friend first and foremost, I am worried about having to take sides, or place loyalties. I know that neither of them would ever make me do either of those things, but I still worry, and it makes it all that much more difficult to find the right things to say. As of last night (or early this morning as it were), they have at least called a truce and agreed to try to be civil to one another. That’s a relief because they’ve spent the past two weeks doing and saying anything they could think of to hurt the other more, to cut deeper than the other, to draw more blood.

  Love is a grisly war.

  And there's no telling how long the truce will hold.

  With the other, it is somewhat easier in that I never had much affection for her boyfriend, and steadily lost respect for him as he continued to string her along and play indecent games with her emotions. But still, I have no words to comfort her in the kind of brutal awakening she is experiencing.

  I also can’t bring myself to lie. So when she says that she feels “good” about the message she left on his voicemail, and that she really is “okay” with the situation, that she’s “done” with it all, I can’t help but frown a little. And when she asks why I’m frowning, I can’t lie. –It feels that way now. We all have those glorious moments early on when we believe that we have conquered the heartbreak! But, inevitably, we will hit a stumbling block a few days later. We’ll become sad or lonely or reminiscent, and the hurt will feel as fresh as it did the first time. There’s no stopping that.

  Should I smile instead of frowning? Should I say, “That’s great! I’m glad you’ve really kicked this situation!” even though I know it's not true? I just can’t… Because when they stumble in a few days, I want them to know, not that I predicted it, but that I understand. And I’ll be there that day, too, to listen to what the second fall was like. And to tell them it will get better again. That much is true: it will get better again. I'm just not sure when.

  I am relatively free of heartache these days –I am lucky. But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember heartaches past. I still find myself hanging on to little pieces of them, though it’s been years and I’ve mostly let go. –Do we ever completely let go? I don’t even have that answer for them. The truth is, I don’t know yet.

  Words of wisdom, older Sisters? I think our younger Sister might benefit from it, too.

More Salt

I'm sure this is Martha's fault.

There is a warning label on the candy I'm eating this morning:

CAREFUL: SMALL OBJECTS, LIKE HARD CANDIES, MAY INADVERTENTLY BECOME LODGED IN THE THROAT

Thanks, hon!

Salt

So, as if being sick isn't enough, there is now some salt being added to the wound of not being able to go to Florida this weekend.

My name is included in the book "What Not To Name Your Baby."

Charming.

More Than I Asked For

I need to quit asking for things when I know deep down that I don't really want them. I was feeling moody about the upcoming trip to Florida--it's like I wanted to go, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to go, because it would be fun to hang out with the hubby's extended family, it would be great to experience some warm weather, and most of all, what a wonderful surprise for his grandma, who is turning 75. That was the point of the whole trip--a surprise 75th birthday party. But I still wasn't sure. I mean, cramming in a trip to Florida, leaving Friday night and coming back Sunday afternoon? With an 18-month-old? Who would have to sit on our laps for the plane ride? Who is getting her 18-month shots the morning we're supposed to leave? Staying with the relatives who are hosting the party? Eeeek. And the relatives are awesome and so generous. They have a room all set up for us and they used their frequent flier miles to get us discounts on airfare. That's so sweet. But the thought of the chaos was just making me queasy. And in a moment of desperation, I thought to myself, "How can I get out of the chaos?" I should have silenced that thought before it was even fully formed. Just our luck, the munchkin got sick. I mean really sick. Wheezing, sneezing, fever. We had to do breathing treatments every two hours last weekend, then every four hours for a few days, then every six hours up until yesterday. I felt so guilty! So I thought, "Well hell. I didn't mean for her to end up sick. Now she needs to get better so we can leave on Friday. Sheesh. Why didn't I get sick instead?" Uh huh. I got it. I just got home from the doctor's office not too long ago. Major sinus infection, double ear-infection, crud in my chest. Lovely. I'm really p.o.'d because I was getting excited about the Florida sunshine. Stupid cold-turned-infection. I really need to quit asking questions.

Countdown.

50 More Days Until Christmas.

And I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some snow to match this nippy weather.