Friday, July 27, 2012

Un-Stupid Yourself People

I've recently noticed a growing trend for using the terms "fucktard" and "dicktard" to describe someone who is being an idiot, or as an insult to someone's general lack of intelligence. It makes me wonder if the offenders are pleased with themselves for not using the offensive, and socially unacceptable term "retard." Would these same people call their mothers a "McCunt" and not expect a visceral reaction? Would anyone bat an eye if I greeted our priest with "Good morning Father Fuckface." (I can picture both my mother and mother-in-law's horror when reading this, but I'm trying to prove a point.) My point is this; this is not a new, or incredibly original slide of hand- when "fag" became universally socially unacceptable as a joking insult, it was replaced with the slightly less cringe-worthy "gay." When "nigger" became uncouth to say out loud it too was replaced with numerous and varied toned down versions of derogatory names.

Those of us within the special needs community are already battling the government for funding, the school systems for programming, our communities for respite, the medical community for research, various agencies for therapies, our friends and family for understanding and empathy, and our insurance companies for everything. Do we really need to scrape together more time and precious energy to fight against Fucktard and Dicktard too? Stop using them- they are equally hurtful...and you look like a BeJackass.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Back to Back

Ever since I gave birth to Noelle over four years ago, my back has been fantastic. No more drugs, no more massages, bye bye magic bag, 'eff you acupuncture, piss off A535. I've kinda taken it for granted that I can move without pain now.

Tonight I bent over to scoop up the baby from the bottom of the playpen (before her older, and much larger, siblings squashed her) and I felt a jolt of electricity bolt up from the small of my back and race up to my neck. I dropped to one knee but managed not to drop Raegan. More or less- the dog broke her fall (don't call PETA...I gave him a treat.) I managed an hour of half-assed parenting in which I begged Dryden to go get me diapers, I encouraged the dog to eat a dropped Kleenex off the floor so I didn't have to bend to pick it up, I let Noelle drink the rest of my vanilla lattee because she was out of reach to stop, and wiped up the baby's milk dribbles with my shirt as I couldn't get off my chair to get a bib. I even managed to put them to bed without having to pick them up; I lured Noelle into her room with my car keys (hell, I let her keep them. Maybe she can drive me to the ER if it gets bad), I bribed Dryden to get his own sippy cup of milk, walk up the stairs, and climb into bed by himself. A baggie filled with marshmallows is, apparently, worth it's weight in gold. I strapped the baby to the dog and he carried her to bed. Kidding. But I did put a size 6 diaper on her so I don't have to pick her up to change her bum halfway through the night. Kidding...I only thought of that just now. Shit.

I raided the medicine cabinet and found some oxy pills Nick was prescribed but never used. Hallefrigginluia. They are definitely starting to kick in. I'm feeerling a whittle but woozi bjigcxfh nvhj snarf

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Trojan Man

After a few weeks of thinking and talking it over, Nick and I decided that we are finished having children. For various reasons, we are happy with our little family of five. We've also decided to make the decision permanent, and final: Nick is going for The Big Snip. A vasectomy just makes sense- neither of us wants a surprise baby in a few years (or worse, when we're 40 and looking forward to the kids that we already have moving out and paying for their own food.) There is a bit of a waiting period for this procedure, so we are being extra careful.

Last night we enjoyed a date night. Nick's parents watched the kids while we went out for supper and hung out on a patio drinking and people watching. It was extremely warm out, but the patio was well shaded and the drinks were cold- the musical notes of ice cubes clinking in their glasses floated out beyond the sidewalk. At the embarrassingly early hour of 9:30 we were both ready to go home and go to bed. We were driving out of the city when Nick asked me to pull into Shoppers Drug Mart to get condoms. I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the van, and waited. Nick looked at me and said sheepishly, "aren't you coming in with me?!" I rolled my eyes and went in. Once inside I found the "planned parenting" aisle and grabbed a couple boxes, handing them to Nick to pay for. We walked up to the cash and was greeted by an extensive line-up filled with elderly grandparents, young attractive teenage girls, parents with their young children, and a whole bus load of Catholic nuns- or so it seemed to my husband who said, "Nope- let's keep shopping." We went up and down aisles killing time and looking for purchases that he could hide the condoms behind (we settled on two state of the art travel coffee mugs and a travel cup for my iced lattes.) We couldn't waste anymore time- they were closing the store- so we headed back to the cash. As soon as we turned the corner to get to the line-up at the registers, we run right into my sister's husband. Nick stashed the condoms behind his back and I burst out laughing, both at his embarrassment and the ridiculousness of our luck. "What are you doing here?!" Nick asked my brother-in-law. "Same thing as you," he replied, pulling out the condoms he was hiding under his arm. There was a tiny moment of *awkward* before we all busted a gut laughing. Between us we have five kids, and buying contraception is still embarrassing; it is a gleaming beacon, a neon sign that screams, "I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX. PLEASE TELL MY PARENTS AND SILENTLY JUDGE ME!" We said good night to Chris and put our purchases on the counter. To Nick's eternal credit, he did not blush when the pretty young girl scanned his condoms that he cleverly hid behind coffee mugs. "That will be $75.43 please," she said. "75 dollars!" Nick exclaimed. "Well, I suppose it's still way cheaper than having another baby," he said, smirking (and blushing fiercely) as he forked over the cash.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

So late last night I was marinating in a bubble bath, sipping on an iced latte, and reading a magazine- when I eyed an article that I had first skimmed over, which just might have altered my life. It was an article on Katie Spotz. Two years ago, at the age of 23, she became the youngest person to row solo across the Atlantic. That would be the Atlantic OCEAN. That 3,038 mile journey took her 70 days ( my first thought: "wow, I could really go for 70 days by myself. But not rowing the whole time. Maybe on a beach somewhere...") Since then, she swam across the Allegheny river (325 miles) and hand-biked across the country, from coast to coast. Seriously? I give myself a pat on the back when I manage to finish all the laundry on the same day. I think taking all three kids to Home Depot and then out to supper is ambitious. This silly 25 year old bitch just shamed me as I sat there in silence listening to my vanilla scented bubbles quietly pop all around me. Why am I not doing monumental stuff like that? (In my defense, I've never rowed before, and I didn't even know that hand-bikes existed. I could swim the river though- with a life jacket. And a sea-doo to catch a ride halfway across on.)

Today I figured out why I'm missing out on creating adventures and/or making a difference on a large scale; I get caught up on the small every day things. I bet our energetic Katie doesn't fret over spots on the floor, or weeds in her garden- she's too busy base jumping from the Eiffel tower and cooking organic meals from scratch for the Pope. Really, are clean baseboards, and an organized linen closet the most memorable and spontaneous things I can do?? I think not.

Today was "Get Shit Done Day." I cleaned the house like a mad fiend, in-between petting the dog and goofing around with the kids (Dryden watched silently as I dusted the furniture at a frenzied pace, then he scooted over to Noelle and whispered, "me finks Momma's mad.") I sent off FB msgs and emails that I had been too lazy to respond to immediately, did the dishes and some laundry, and washed the floors. (And the baseboards...I couldn't resist. I think there is something wrong with me.)

Tomorrow will be "Finally Finish Shit Day" where I plan to complete little projects that I have hanging around: some scrapbooking pages, some 600 pictures to organize and divide, a daily calendar board for Noelle to paint and hang, a pillow to sew, and finally finish weeding my garden and flower beds.

With all that stuff done and out of my head, I will finally be able to set myself up to be productive and effective and adventurous, creating something momentous in my life. Just what, I haven't figured out yet. I guess that will be for Wednesday's "Think Of Shit To Do Day."