Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Hey you...

You're not supposed to be in our bed...

Yes, YOU...

Don't look at me with those eyes...

Look how cute your nose is...

Fine, I won't tell Dad if you don't...

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

A conversation in the waiting room...

With only one exam left (that I could get a 0 on and still have a B in the class), I've been able to wear my mom hat a little more often lately.  Surprising enough...it still fits.

Today, the little one had to go to the doctor (kid's mad allergic to bee stings, and fell on a stinging insect yesterday...today?  cellulitis!).  It was kinda nice having one on one time with the boy.  We jammed to his favorite songs and chit chatted.

I was standing at the counter, paying the copay, when Jack came up behind me, and said, louder than I would've liked I might add, "Hey.  Mom.  I know what a queeth is."

Thinking that surely my ears had deceived me, I asked for clarification from my youngest boy, "I'm sorry.  I couldn't hear what you said.  You know what a what is?"

I had asked for it, and even louder than before, my boy said it much more clearly this time, "A QUEE-FTH."

I quickly questioned, "OOOO-KAY...yeah.  Where did you hear that word?"  As I tried to don my best poker face, and not make a huge deal out of it.

"From Josh.  I know what it is."  Then, he just stood there smiling at me with this 'cat that ate the canary' kinda look.  It was like he was enjoying watching me squirm.  Like he was fucking with me.  Hazing me on my first day back on the job.

And squirming I was, and he continued, "Dad says that we can use words that we know what they mean.  So, can I use it?  Cuz I know what a queefth is."  

Luckily, the copay was paid, and I dragged Jack back to our seats where we could have a more discreet conversation.  I asked, "Really?  What is it, then?"  More than half hoping the boy was bluffing, and had just heard an interesting word, and repeated it without knowing it's true connotation.

Much to my surprise, my boy told me exactly what he knew a "queefth" to be.  And he was right.  He ended his graphic description with an eager, "So?  Can I say it?"

"No, son.  No.  I don't care what your Dad says.  You can't use that word.  Not at the age of 7.  You're too young to talk about things like that.  Maybe when you're older.  Now, it's not appropriate.  I don't want to hear that word from you, deal?" 

He nodded, played some Angry Birds on my phone, and after just a few minutes, asked, "Hey, Mom?"  

Bracing myself, I said, "Yeah, Buddy?"

It was a good thing I did, because my youngest one even leaned in for this one, and said, "What's a N-I-G-G..."

I cut him off this time with, "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?!"

"On Dad's iPod this morning.  When I was in the shower.  It was on a song," he explained.

I was short with him this time, and said, "It's a hateful word. One that I don't want you to use, ever.  Got it?"  

He pressed, "But, can I sing it?"

"NO!  You can't sing it, or say it.  Fuhgetaboudit.  Now can we please be quiet?"

After only a few, far too brief seconds, he said, "One more question..."

Terrified, I readied myself for the next colorful little quip that my boy had questions about, as he continued, "Who's Bill Murray?"  

I could only come up with another question to answer his, and simply said, "Dude...just who in the heck have you been hanging out with?"  

He laughed, and the nurse called his name.  To completely extinguish any future curiosity of his, as we stood up, I said, "Ope...that's you, Buddy.  I hope they don't give you a shot."  

That'll teach him to fuck with me, if that's what he was doing.  Even still...it was good to be back!

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

A prayer...

It's been a while since I've prayed.  I'd say now's as good a time as any...

Dear, Baby Jesus.  Cute little bundle of joy.  Apple of your God-Daddy's eye.  But, I bet you weren't the apple of your Earth-Daddy's eye at first.  I bet he was a little sore that your momma'd come home knocked up when he hadn't even tapped it yet.  But then, when you turned out to be the Messiah and all...I bet he was cool with it.


Dear, Jesus, hear my prayer of thanks.  Thank you, for, it is from you that all blessings flow, and lately, I've been blessed.  In no particular order...

1.  Thank you for the pharmaceuticals that have helped me through this semester.  Yes, baby Jesus, in case you didn't know, I started popping happy pills again.  Just for a little while.  Until school's done.  Maybe until the kid's are through the teen years.  And then, maybe just until the kids are out of the house.  Then, if I've been on 'em that long, I might as well stay on them till they kill me, you know.  Anyway, thanks for those.  They're a big help.

2.    Thanks for Jake.  He's incredible.  If I didn't know better, I'd think he was a son of yours.  Heaven sent that one is.  He's been amazing at picking up the slack I've been leaving behind for the past nine months.  On top of it all, I have been neglecting my wifely duties, if you know what I mean, and that boy has still stuck around.  Fool is spruuuuuung!  Thanks for that.  A lot.

3.  Thanks for Goldfish crackers, popcorn, peanut butter, cereal and milk.  Without that manna you sent for your people, my poor neglected children would've perished, as my ass has not been in the kitchen in months.  Literally months.  I actually forgot how to use the microwave oven the other day.  Had to have the kids show me how to use it.

4.  Speaking of the little shits...thanks for them, too.  They're great.  Even though I call them little shits.  You know I'm just yanking your chain.  Precious little gifts, they are.  That little one is a little high maintenance, and he whines a lot...but, he's freaking cute and funny as hell.  That girl one is a life saver.  She's been the little mom for the last nine months.  I need that one around.  If I didn't love them all equally, she'd be my favorite.  And that big one...well, damn if he isn't turning out to be pretty fucking cool.  Oops...sorry.  Freakin...I meant freaking cool.  He doesn't drive me nearly as crazy as he used to.  I guess what they say is true...absence makes the heart grow fonder.  Isn't that what they say?  Are you, "they?"  Sounds like something you might say.

5.  Thanks for my family and friends who have given me so much support these last nine months.  I don't deserve 'em...but, I'm so glad I got 'em.  They've been a huge encouragement to me, and I've needed that.  Oh, man...LORD KNOWS, YOU KNOW I've needed it.  Every single one of them are the bomb.com, Jesus.

And you are, too.  Still wish you'd show me a miracle to clear some things up...water into wine...walking on water...me finishing nursing school with a shred of my sanity left.  Something.  Holla back when you can.  I love you.  A-men.


I use-tuh think I was smart...then, I started nursing school.

I have one test to score an 83 on today and one I have to show up for on Thursday...then this bitch is done!

Until August.

God help us all come August!

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

A conversation in the car...

While I'm not spending enough time with my children these days to have entertaining conversations with them, I am spending enough time with my friend, E-Money, on our way to and from school.  We have an hour commute.  Each way.

Yeah...ya heard!  And the only thing that makes sitting through six hours of lecture more enjoyable...is driving for a full hour to get to that lecture, and another full hour between that lecture and the comforts of home.

Luckily, E-Money and I live close to one another, so we're able to car pool some of the time.  Even luckier for me...E-Money happens to be my kinda chick.

Today, we had one of those conversations, that, when we played it back in our heads and aloud, I was like, WTF?!?  It went a little something like this:

Me:  I'm ashamed of that work I turned in last week.  My last paperwork for the semester, and it was illegible.  Is that a word?

E-Money, in her infinite wisdom:  Yes, it is.  Like dirigible.

Me, in my very finite wisdom:  What the fuck is dirigible?

E-Money:  A Zepellin.  The Hindenburg.

We were at a stop light, and I was able to look at her in the face to see that she was not fucking with me, and I said...

Me:  I don't know these words.  Could you please define dirigible with a word that I may know the definition to?

Ya see...right now, this pea-sized brain of mine is chock full of crazy nursing knowledge, and it seems, as evidenced by this very conversation, that some of the more common knowledge things that I used to know, have started to spill out.  You know...to make room for my mad nursing skills.

Because, what I was thinking, was...

Me:  Hindenburg...what does the Charles Hindenburg case have to do with dirigible?  Oh yeah...that Hindenburg baby died.  Didn't a dingo eat the baby?

At this point, I mistakingly let this dipshit thought slip out...

Me, aloud:  Didn't the dingo eat the baby?

E-Money, as sweet as she is, humored me, or pitied me, as it turned out, and laughed as she said:  WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Me, feeling smart and shit:  You know.  The Hindenburg kidnapping case.  It was the dingo.  The dingo ate the baby.  Don'tcha remember?

And for the record...yes, I was doing the accent, and all...

Me, continuing to display my ignorance:  You remember?  They made a movie about the Hindenburg case, and the dingo ate the baby.  What does the case have to do with a dirigible?

E-Money, trying to keep up with my verbal diarrhea and atrocious accent:  A dirigible is a blimp.  A blimp.  You mean Lindbergh?  The Lindbergh kidnapping case?  A dingo didn't eat the baby.  The body was found close to their house.  Where did you hear about a dingo?

Me, wondering if I should call Fox News with a break in the Lindbergh case, but quickly realizing my error, stupidity, and having confused myself more than ever:  Oooooooooooh....yeah, Lindbergh.  I thought dingos ate his baby.

E-Money, laughing hysterically at this point, no doubt at my ridiculosity:  You mean, dingos?  Like, wild dogs?  No.  There are no dingos in New England.

By this time, we were out of the car, and walking back into our classroom, all the while I was concurrently Googling, "Did dingos eat Charles Lindbergh's baby?"  I said:  But, weren't the Lindberghs camping in Australia when the baby went missing?  And...you know...dingos.  

Yes...I swear to God on high that the Google history on my phone, when you start with, "Did di...," will auto-fill, "Did dingos eat Charles Lindbuegh's baby?"

And as I found out Iwhile finishing my search in the bathroom stall, that I had confused the fictional movie, A Cry in the Dark, with the real life kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby.  Admitting my mistake, I conceded with the following text to E-Money, and perhaps, the oddest text message I have ever sent...

"Nope...dingos didn't eat Lindbergh's baby."   

It's official...I'm losing my ever lovin' mind!!!  Thank God my psych rotation was in the beginning of the semester...they definitely would've committed me if I showed up at the State Hospital, mumbling about dingos, Aborigines, blimps, and Lindbergh's baby!!!!

Fuck me runnin...this semester needs to end...STAT!!!