Still Alive. Barely.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in a “meh, I’ll blog some other time” phase right now. Twitter updates are more my speed these days.

1. Operation: No More Babies. I had the Essure procedure done on 12/22. The procedure itself was a cake walk. Two hours before, I had to take a Zofran and a Valium. At the appointment, I had to take off my pants and lay down. The end. Seriously, there was nothing to it. I had IV sedation and the procedure was done in a room at my doctor’s office. I woke up 45 minutes later and went home 10 minutes after that. No side effects, no problems whatsoever. In three months I’ll go back for an HSG test to confirm whether or not the ol’ tubes are blocked and then that’s it. Done and done. If you’re thinking about permanent measures of birth control, I can recommend Essure at this point. I’ll report again in three months, of course.

(An aside: I shared this on twitter, but here it is for you, in case you don’t follow me. You really should, you know. Anyhow, the co-director of Maddie’s preschool is the one who told me about Essure when she had it done seven months ago. When the kids went back to school after Christmas break, several teachers asked me if I’d talked to Stephanie yet. I hadn’t, and got Nervous Tummy about it. What in the world could she have to talk to me about that warranted this? Was I in trouble? OMG, I was getting sent to the preschool principal’s office! What she had to tell me was that she was pregnant. Apparently, her insurance company didn’t cover the HSG test after the Essure procedure, so she didn’t have it done. Her doctor said it was no problem, because she’d never heard of it not working. HA HA. She is now pregnant with their SIXTH child. Apparently, one of her fallopian tubes didn’t close all the way and her determined little egg made it’s way through to the Promised Land. After confirming that it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy, all was declared well and she’s nine weeks along. So, her stupid insurance company that wouldn’t cover the HSG test is now going to have to pay for another pregnancy, birth and subsequent hysterectomy. She has a family history of ovarian cancer, so they’ve decided to just clean out her lady parts altogether. BUT!!! Don’t let this put you off the Essure business. It really is like one in a million that this happened.)

2. I had to go on birth control pills for these three months while the Essure does its magic and I had quite the adverse reaction to them. So, I took them for a week, freaked out, stopped them and got my period a week later. That’s a lot of hormones over the course of two weeks. I have not been the most pleasant person to be around.

3. It’s almost Madie’s fifth birthday and I have made no plans whatsoever.

4. Sam got bronchitis over Christmas and ended up on nebulizer treatments again. This time, he was on Albuterol and Pulmicort and holy moly, was it awful. The combination made him act demon-possessed. He had wild mood swings, manic behavior and threw honest-to-god temper tantrums that lasted FOREVER. He was completely inconsolable and I was completely out of patience. I talked to the doctor yesterday and he’s off the treatments, so hopefully his behavior will even back out over the next couple of days.

5. I’ve been spending some time out of The Boot. My ribs are fine. The hole in the garage ceiling is fixed. The shame from falling through the ceiling lingers.

Complaining without being a jackass about it.

I’ve been in the financial services area of customer service for my entire adult career. As a customer service manager/trainer, I do not suffer poor customer service gladly, to say the least. It’s also true that I try not to be a jackass when I’ve got a complaint to make to a customer service rep. The thing to remember is that the person who answers your call or reads your email got you by luck of the draw. Whatever happened is (most likely) not their fault and it’s their job to listen to you and make amends, if possible. So being a jackass really won’t get you anywhere. It will most likely get you worse customer service, actually.

All that is say that I’m going to share an email I sent to Munchkin in regard to the refill bags for their diaper pail. I think it’s awesome, but then again, I would, wouldn’t I? I hope it made the CSR smile this morning when she checked the inbox.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I’m a long-time user of your Arm & Hammer Diaper Pail System. And by long-time, I mean 15 months. Just so we’re clear. 

I used to have a Diaper Genie, and when it went to the Great Landfill in the Sky, I decided to try your product. Until now, I’ve been very happy with it; however, the last batch of Diaper Pail bags I purchased are seriously DEFECTIVE. The bags are splitting down the seam whilst in the diaper pail, unbeknownst to me until I remove the bag. And then, the most horrifying thing happens. All of the old, dirty diapers spill out onto the floor of my son’s room and I lose the will to live.

Now listen, I know you’re going to think that I’m overfilling the bags and causing them to split. But come on. I’m a reasonably intelligent person who knows how to use a diaper pail. Also, this box of bags is has been the only one with which this has happened. And to be doubly sure, I only filled the last bag about half-full and it still happened.

HORRIFYING. 

I’m attaching a picture of the carnage, (Don’t worry. It won’t make you lose the will to live, too.) and a picture of the batch number on the box for your reference/amusement. What I’d like to know is this: have you changed the manufacturing process and this sort of thing is more likely to happen nowadays? Or did I perhaps get a bad batch and my next box will be mercifully horror-free? 

I appreciate your time and attention,
Erica Anderson

I sent the email last night before going to bed and  a reply was waiting for me first thing this morning. In case you’re curious, they’re very sorry for the defect and are sending me a replacement box of bags ASAP. No mention of my supreme awesomeness but it was totally implied.

Woe is Sam

You guys, I’m feeling so, so sorry for my little Sam. Listen to this state of affairs:

1. He’s teething hardcore. He’s got three teeth coming in, and those are only the ones I can confirm visually before he screams at me for daring to look into his gaping maw.

2. He hasn’t had a decent nap or decent night’s sleep in WEEKS. The reasons? The aforementioned teething and his desire to be standing! And bouncing! And chewing the rails! There is too much excitement to possibly sleep. This, of course, leads to over-tiredness and the Crab Factor increases exponentially.

3. His separation anxiety has racheted up to 11. He’s such a Nervous Nelly that even if he’s home, surrounded by the familiar and someone, like say MY DAD, comes over for dinner, Sam throws him the stank eye all throughout the evening and won’t let the Person Who Is Not Mama or Daddy anywhere in his bubble of personal space. Which encompasses the entire living room.

4. He’s suddenly become frightened of EVERYTHING. Toys that he’s had, and played with, since birth. His sister. Any sound louder than a whisper that he doesn’t make himself. (I took him and Maddie to Chick-fil-a today for lunch and for some playing and the sound of me removing the backing on the sticky table topper mat made him completely lose his shit. And the piece de resistance? Maddie had to go to the bathroom. The sounds of flushing toilets nearly killed him. He was sobbing so uncontrollably that a Chick-fil-a worker came into the bathroom to check on us. She didn’t come right out and ask if I was dismembering my son in the handicapped stall, but she sure was thinking it loudly.)

The first week we dealt with all of these things, I was pretty much “Woe is Me” all the time. Now that we’re almost through with week number two, I’m beside myself with feelings of helplessness. Things are so hard for Sam right now and there’s not much I can do about it. I’m trying to control his environment a little, but I don’t want to create an artificial environment that makes him comfortable so that he never has to deal with loud noises or surprises. He has to learn that these things are part of the world around him and how to deal with them. But good lord, it is so hard watching him suffer.

Things I just don’t get.

1. Straight celebrities who say they’re engaged but won’t get married until everyone has the right to get married. First of all, why get engaged at all then? That makes no sense. Secondly, gay people do not care whether or not you get married. What they care about is whether or not they can get married. Straight marriages don’t figure into the equation at all. What are you thinking will happen? Some right-wing, homophobic senator who’s been in the seat for 60 years is going to say “Wait a minute. You mean to say that straight men and women are living in sin because we won’t allow these homosexuals to get married? Well, that ain’t right. We need to fix this and now.” No. No one cares that straight people aren’t getting married. Except maybe their mothers.

2. The hypocrisy of London’s Fashion Week has reached epic proportions. First, we have designers paying lip service to the anti-anorexia propaganda and using models who look like cancer patients. Then there’s the 15 year old model who was below the age allowed. Finally, we have designers using men as models for their women’s collections. So we’re basically being told that we have three ways to achieve that ideal figure: 1. Be anorexic. 2. Be a child barely through puberty. 3. Be a man. Well, easy peasy. I’ll get right on that.

3. Jennifer Lopez and her incessant boo hooing on American Idol. Like she gives a rat’s ass about these people.

4. Charlie Sheen.

5. Why my kitten cranks it up to 11 right at bed time every night. She’s a menace.

Crossroads (A.K.A. self-centered navel-gazing.)

I feel like I’m at a crossroads. Like there’s some sort of Big Decision that needs to be made. Or that I’m preparing for Big Changes. The problem is, I have no idea what it is.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of something. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, and it’s scaring the hell out of me.

Does this mean that I’ve identified that I need to make a change? Is it time to stop talking about getting healthier and actually, you know, do something about it? Am I ready to stop being a stay-at-home-mom and jump back into my career? Am I ready to try something new, instead? WHAT IS IT?

It’s sort of like I’ve been half drowning, dog paddling for all I’m worth just to keep my head above water, and suddenly I realize that I’m swimming. Hey! Look at me! I’m SWIMMING! But where the hell am I going?

Let’s start with the things I know it’s not:
1. My family. We’re complete. Doors and windows closed and locked up tight. No more babies for us. I am 100% sure of this fact.
2.

Well, turns out that was a much shorter list than I had expected. Shit. That didn’t help at all, did it?

All right. Things it can be:
1. My weight/eating habits. The guilt is driving me batshit crazy.
2. My job/lack of job.
3. My current location.
4. My burgeoning cooking hobby.
5. My lack of brick and mortar friends.

It could be any one of these things. Or some of them. Or even all of them. Shit Shit Shit. This didn’t help either. What the hell good is all this navel-gazing if it doesn’t clarify anything. I’m going to go back to stuffing down my feelings and trying to ignore them until they go away. At least that method doesn’t subject us to awful blog posts, right? RIGHT.

Bah, Humbug!

Now that we’re crawling out of the wreckage of the Great Sickness of ’10, I’m realizing exactly how much I still need to get done before Christmas.

1. Make Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls. I intend to give some to my dad and his wife since they’ll be hosting guests for Christmas, I want to take some to my in-laws since they’ll be hosting us right after Christmas and I want some for us for Christmas morning.

2. Paint the salt dough ornaments Maddie and I made.

3. Make and decorate cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve.

4. Make either chocolate truffles or chocolate covered pretzels for little gifts.

I’m getting fatter just writing this stuff, much less eating baking it.

Seriously the most obvious complaint you’ve ever heard

You know what I’m pissed about? Being an adult is so damn hard. This is not how it was supposed to be. When I was a kid being an adult was all about being the boss, staying up late, eating whatever you wanted, having money and and choosing what to watch on TV. I call shenanigans on this not being as advertised.

Ungrateful Saturdays

A lot of people are doing the Thankful Thursday thing this month and that’s all well and good, but you know what’s better? Being ungrateful. That doesn’t get nearly enough press this time of year.

Without further ado, I present Things for Which I am Ungrateful, Part One:

* Sure, I got asked to stay on at work, but I only got SIX hours assigned to me next week. SIX. Do they not appreciate that Christmas is coming and I got shit to buy?

* People who expect shit for Christmas.

* Having to buy new outfits, cram my kids into them, keep them from covering themselves in jelly and then force everyone to act happy for five goddamn minutes for crying out loud just to take a picture to mail to people who couldn’t care less. And who probably won’t be sending me a card. OR reimbursing me for postage.

* Not being allowed to be drunk for all of Thanksgiving.

* And Christmas.

* Having to travel to see family. Why can’t everyone come here? Because then I’d bitch about how everyone was coming here and I have to clean and cook for them. Jesus. I’m never happy.

* Not being able to listen to the music I want to hear in the car. Why can’t my kids be cool enough to not repeat Cee Lo Green or Jay-Z or Little Lion Man?

Now it’s your turn. ‘Fess up. What are you ungrateful for these days?

Fatty, Fatty, Two by Four

Presumably, you’ve all read the Fatties on TV piece on Marie Claire by Maura Kelly. (I’m not linking it because I don’t want to give them any more publicity.) As a former “fatty,” you’d better believe I have OPINIONS upon OPINIONS about the article, but I’ve pretty much vented them all via twitter. However, I can’t seem to get over the fact that the editor of Marie Claire felt that this article was in any way, shape, form or fashion appropriate to print. It seems that making fun of fat people is the last socially acceptable form of cruelty.

Can you even imagine the editor talking to Ms. Kelly and saying something like, “What do you think about that new show that has those wetbacks making out?” Or how about “those niggers?” Or “fags?” Or “dykes?” Or “anorexics?” We would never, ever, accept an article written with pejoratives directed at anything other than obesity. Why is it still all right to make fun of someone for being fat?

Oh, and the fact that the author gives “advice” on how to stop being fat! How helpful! Yet, would we tolerate advice on how to no longer be anorexic? “Just eat something already. Jesus.” Or how about advice on how to stop being gay? “Have you tried dating women? Maybe you just haven’t found the right one, yet.” No, being morbidly obese isn’t healthy. However, we’re much less concerned about the health and well-being of fat people than we are with the aesthetics of fat people.

We can villify Marie Claire or Maura Kelly all we want to, but really, the fault lies with us as a society. As long as we tolerate the bulling of fat people then this sort of thing will continue. We need to make it clear that it’s not all right to to call someone “gross” or “disgusting” simply for being.

Blog Fodder

I just read this article on CNN and got all kinds of stabby. Oh, and don’t even go near the comments unless you want your face to melt off.

Should moms stop blogging about their kids?

Hell, no.

As a mother and a blogger, my children provide vast amounts of blog fodder. I enjoy telling you stories, getting empathy on the sucky stuff and making you laugh with me. I don’t think I’m taking advantage of my kids or exploiting them at all. As a motherless child, I would be THRILLED if my mom had left me such a detailed account of my childhood, our lives together and who she was as a person separate from being my mother. Will my kids feel the same way? Maybe, maybe not. But it’s here if they want to read it. There are some posts that are going to be tough for them to read, some that will embarrass them and some that will convince them I’m completely off my rocker. I take responsibility for that and I’m not going to be surprised when they react accordingly. When they’re old enough to have a say in the matter, I may start asking permission to post certain things. However, I won’t stop posting about them entirely. That’s not up to them. Does this make me a bad mother? No. Beating, starving or otherwise abusing children makes a bad mother. Writing about your kids? Not so much.

I honestly don’t understand those people out there that are so very annoyed at those of us who talk about our kids. When someone blogs about a topic I’m completely uninterested in, I skip it. If an entire blog is about a topic I’m not interested in, I don’t read it. Why should moms have to stop blogging about kids because childless people don’t want to read about it? That makes no damn sense. They’re not reading my blog anyway, so why should I change the content to make them happy? That’s one of the most messed up things I’ve ever heard. Don’t listen to music you don’t like. Don’t watch TV shows or movies you don’t like. Don’t read blogs you don’t like. I’m not shoving my content down your throat or reading it aloud in your ear. This seems self-explanatory to me.

I’m not personally a fan of Heather Armstrong, but I’ll defend her right to blog about her kids, her PPD, poop, or whatever the hell else she blathers on about. So what if she’s turned her blog into a highly lucrative revenue stream? So what if she’s got a fancy new house and all kinds of sponsors and TV deals and book deals? Who cares if she got there because she wrote about her kids or her dogs or her family? Does it matter?

Apparently, to some folks, it matters a whole lot. I’m just not one of them.