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.
Friday, July 27, 2012
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
Zzzzzz.....
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
Zzzzzz.....
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
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."
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."
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Once upon a time, I used to be a great cook. I made elaborate meals, tried new recipes, labored over ingredients, and enjoyed the art of presentation. Then Nick and I would sit down, sometimes to candle light, sometimes with friends, and enjoyed our meal. We only got up to get more wine (in hind sight it was probably cheap wine) or to remove dessert from the freezer or oven. I took sitting down to eat, and complete, a meal for granted. No one ever tried to eat off of my plate; no one ever spit something they didn't like onto my plate; no one spilled their milk on my lap, or yelled bloody murder in my ear. These were the "good 'ol days" and I didn't even realize it.
Fast forward four years and three kids later. I hate supper time. It is the most stressful part of my day. It's worse now that Nick booked evening shift this booking so he's gone for meal time for the next six months. My kids are most unruly after nap time, which also coincides with meal prep time. And I'm screwed beyond enjoyment if I've forgotten to take something out of the freezer to defrost. Noelle and I follow a gluten free diet and Dryden follows an "I-won't-eat-anything-that-looks-icky" diet and Nick just keeps his fingers crossed that his left overs for the next day are edible. My meals are no fuss, nothing fancy, not really brag worthy in the Mom Group circles. It has literally been years since I've sat to eat supper (except when we eat at Nick's parents'. His dad insists on feeding Noelle and his mom distracts Dryden with pickles- allowing Nick and I to eat.) I get up constantly to pick up Noelle's spoon, to get her next course, to beg/bribe Dryden to eat something off his plate, to feed the baby, to change the baby, to get someone some milk, to clean up the milk once they've knocked it over, and finally to pop some Tylenol for the massive headache I inevitably get. A lot of nights I actually don't get to eat until they go to bed and my meal is a congealed pile of vomit looking crap on my plate.
It gets better right? There is a light at the end of this "wolfing down my food as fast as I can while standing in front of the stove" tunnel? I just want to eat all of my god damn spaghetti while sitting down- is that too much to ask?!
At least some things stayed the same from our pre-children years: I still love me some cheap wine...which is calling my name right now. Cheers!
Fast forward four years and three kids later. I hate supper time. It is the most stressful part of my day. It's worse now that Nick booked evening shift this booking so he's gone for meal time for the next six months. My kids are most unruly after nap time, which also coincides with meal prep time. And I'm screwed beyond enjoyment if I've forgotten to take something out of the freezer to defrost. Noelle and I follow a gluten free diet and Dryden follows an "I-won't-eat-anything-that-looks-icky" diet and Nick just keeps his fingers crossed that his left overs for the next day are edible. My meals are no fuss, nothing fancy, not really brag worthy in the Mom Group circles. It has literally been years since I've sat to eat supper (except when we eat at Nick's parents'. His dad insists on feeding Noelle and his mom distracts Dryden with pickles- allowing Nick and I to eat.) I get up constantly to pick up Noelle's spoon, to get her next course, to beg/bribe Dryden to eat something off his plate, to feed the baby, to change the baby, to get someone some milk, to clean up the milk once they've knocked it over, and finally to pop some Tylenol for the massive headache I inevitably get. A lot of nights I actually don't get to eat until they go to bed and my meal is a congealed pile of vomit looking crap on my plate.
It gets better right? There is a light at the end of this "wolfing down my food as fast as I can while standing in front of the stove" tunnel? I just want to eat all of my god damn spaghetti while sitting down- is that too much to ask?!
At least some things stayed the same from our pre-children years: I still love me some cheap wine...which is calling my name right now. Cheers!
Monday, June 25, 2012
Rules to Live by
I broke an alarming amount of Mom Rules today. What are "Mom Rules" you may ask...they are rules I have put into place to ensure that my day goes smoothly. And by "smoothly" I mean so I don't snap and loose my shit.
Rachel's Mom Rules
1. Never, ever, EVER remove a dirty diaper unless you have a new one unfolded and ready to slip under the bare bum. Trust me, the moment you forget this rule will result in your child pissing on your best friend's goose-down filled duvet, or having a disgusting green baby crap on the in-laws' micro suede sofa.
2. Never let your container of wipes go lower that 1/3 full. Some of these baby craps are fantastic feats of nature and the last thing you want is to be half way through a change and run out. Then you either have to pick up a still poop covered child to go hunting for more wipes, or you risk strapping the babe in and returning to a shit smeared change table.
3. Pack your diaper bag as though you might get lost in the wilderness for a week. Things I've learned to include in our bag: plastic bags, Kleenex, Swiss army knife, bum cream, tempra, thermometer, compass, back-up pacifier, bear spray, chap stix, flare gun, spork, blanket, sippy cup, kneedle/thread/safety pins, lighter, water, formula, flint, snacks for kids, snack and emergency mini Pepsi for mommy.
How big is my diaper bag? Enormous.
4. Pack a change of clothes for everyone and leave it in your vehicle. This has saved us. I've had to resort to my back up outfit of yoga pants and bright red T-shirt to finish my errand once. Oddly enough, I was still a contender for best dressed shopper in Walmart that day.
5. Keep an incredibly well stocked pantry. Snacks will shut up almost any grumpy, tired, hungry, bored child.
6. Never underestimate the power of the Backyardigans. They just might save your life.
7. Yoga pants are for yoga. The day you wear them past 9am is the day unexpected company will drop in.
8. Don't tempt fate- or toddlers- keep breakables out of reach. Sure, my house will look kinda stupid for the next few years, but nothing will shatter and no trips to the ER for stitched will (hopefully) be made.
9. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee!
10. Choose your battles wisely: kid wants to play with the dog's toys- let her. Kid wants to wear two different shoes outside to play- let him. Kid wants to chew on the handle of my designer purse- let her.
11. Do not schedule anything between the hours of 1 and 3; this is prime nap time and it is non-negotiable. Death to anyone who interrupts this sacred period. I would rather snuff them out and serve a prison term than spend and afternoon with numerous kids who have not napped.
12. Yes, those platform wedges look amazing on the shelf, but remember that while you are wearing them you will be lugging around a 30 pound baby carrier, and more than likely, a 30 pound toddler as well. Flats are pretty too.
13. Have some wine chilling in the fridge at all times. Not a big drinker? You will be.
Rachel's Mom Rules
1. Never, ever, EVER remove a dirty diaper unless you have a new one unfolded and ready to slip under the bare bum. Trust me, the moment you forget this rule will result in your child pissing on your best friend's goose-down filled duvet, or having a disgusting green baby crap on the in-laws' micro suede sofa.
2. Never let your container of wipes go lower that 1/3 full. Some of these baby craps are fantastic feats of nature and the last thing you want is to be half way through a change and run out. Then you either have to pick up a still poop covered child to go hunting for more wipes, or you risk strapping the babe in and returning to a shit smeared change table.
3. Pack your diaper bag as though you might get lost in the wilderness for a week. Things I've learned to include in our bag: plastic bags, Kleenex, Swiss army knife, bum cream, tempra, thermometer, compass, back-up pacifier, bear spray, chap stix, flare gun, spork, blanket, sippy cup, kneedle/thread/safety pins, lighter, water, formula, flint, snacks for kids, snack and emergency mini Pepsi for mommy.
How big is my diaper bag? Enormous.
4. Pack a change of clothes for everyone and leave it in your vehicle. This has saved us. I've had to resort to my back up outfit of yoga pants and bright red T-shirt to finish my errand once. Oddly enough, I was still a contender for best dressed shopper in Walmart that day.
5. Keep an incredibly well stocked pantry. Snacks will shut up almost any grumpy, tired, hungry, bored child.
6. Never underestimate the power of the Backyardigans. They just might save your life.
7. Yoga pants are for yoga. The day you wear them past 9am is the day unexpected company will drop in.
8. Don't tempt fate- or toddlers- keep breakables out of reach. Sure, my house will look kinda stupid for the next few years, but nothing will shatter and no trips to the ER for stitched will (hopefully) be made.
9. Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee!
10. Choose your battles wisely: kid wants to play with the dog's toys- let her. Kid wants to wear two different shoes outside to play- let him. Kid wants to chew on the handle of my designer purse- let her.
11. Do not schedule anything between the hours of 1 and 3; this is prime nap time and it is non-negotiable. Death to anyone who interrupts this sacred period. I would rather snuff them out and serve a prison term than spend and afternoon with numerous kids who have not napped.
12. Yes, those platform wedges look amazing on the shelf, but remember that while you are wearing them you will be lugging around a 30 pound baby carrier, and more than likely, a 30 pound toddler as well. Flats are pretty too.
13. Have some wine chilling in the fridge at all times. Not a big drinker? You will be.
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