This? This is my marriage in a nutshell.

Erica: Capt. Janky McLefterson is Very Unhappy about yesterday’s shenanigans. Like, “fuck me, why didn’t I save a pain pill!” unhappy.

Gerald: well of course, you fucked with it till hell wouldn’t have it : b

Erica: I really need a god damn gyro.

Gerald: that was random : b

Erica: yeah

Erica: it sounded better than “fuck you, that wasn’t helpful and my boob still hurts.”

Got cancer? Clean something!

I have two more days until I get The Call from the oncologist telling me whether or not I have cancer. As you can imagine, I’m feeling pretty restless and anxious just waiting. When situations are out of my control, I get on an Organizational Kick™. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be one of those people that tries to control outside forces by not eating, but that’s just not me. I’m gonna stuff something unhealthy in my pie hole and clean something. I’d like to think the calories offset one another, but the extra 30 lbs I’m hauling in my trunk beg to differ.

Today’s attempt to keep the Cancer Thoughts™ away was my pantry. When my son was born, my MIL stayed with us for a few weeks. She said she felt useless (which she was NOT) and wanted to do something. Could she please clean out my pantry? I’ve thought of this repeatedly and since my in-laws will be visiting in a month, I decided to clean the damn pantry so she’ll be proud.

Here are the shocking before photos:

There was a large dog food container and cat food container in the corner, on top of all that detritus.

My organizational system had devolved into "put it in the damn pantry and close the door."

So, I got out some large trash bags, a broom & dustpan, steam mop, and a magic eraser and went to town. I picked up all the detritus off the floor and swept up all the fallen animal crackers, pet food nuggets, and dead june bugs. At this point, my cat threw herself across the trash pile and vehemently objected to my harshness in judging these items “trash” and not “snacks.”

I found two small appliances that we haven’t used in the entirety of our marriage that other family members would love to have, and quite a few out-of-date canned goods. Can you tell I don’t use canned goods very often at all? I believe my supply is considered “ridiculous at best.” I threw away old cracker boxes with a handful of smashed crackers in the bottom, tea I never drink, etc. While I was doing this, Cancer Thoughts™ creeped in and started asking me who would grocery shop if I wasn’t around? Would Gerald know the kid’s favorite kind of Cheez-It? (Scrabble, fyi.) Would I outlast this can of black beans that expires in 2014? So, I kicked it up a notch and got out the magic eraser and scrubbed years of honey residue and god-knows-what-else off the shelves.

I stood back to admire my work and thought, “I may have cancer, but check out my kick-ass pantry! Who gives a shit about Janky Boob™ when you could eat off the floor in there?” Mission: accomplished.

After:

Check that floor, bishes!

So if you’ve got a home organizational need, call me. I’ve got about 30 more hours of waiting and a fresh box of magic erasers.

My lovely lady lumps*

*artist’s rendering

Yesterday, I lamented on twitter that I wanted to be able to show you my boob without showing you my boob. The fabulous @meanliving gave me the suggestion of drawing it in Paint for you. Since I have a Mac, you won’t be getting Paint. You’re getting WriteboardMac.

1. This was by boob before the surgery.

2. This is the incision and two loops of sutures that are outside my boob. (The rest of the sutures are in two layers and underneath the skin.)

3. Then, my entire areola is covered in blue super glue.

4. As of yesterday, I’ve developed lots of bruising and some minor bloody leakage.

5. Also, there’s a significant amount of swelling.

6. Which is obvious because my boob no longer fits into any of my bras. It smooshes out on the side, almost in my armpit, and on top. It’s fairly unattractive.

No, I don’t really own an orange bra. But it looks pretty good on me up there. Perhaps I need to research this further.

Ridiculous

* I hugged and kissed my kids a little more today. I even held Maddie in my lap and told her how much I loved her. (To space and Heaven and back TWO times, in case you’re curious.) I reminded her that I will always love her, no matter what happens and asked her to promise me that she’ll never, ever forget that. (Over-dramatic much? No, not me!) Of course, she promised in one breath and with the next was asking to play Hungry, Hungry, Hippos.

* I consider the things I would want to do for my husband and kids, should my time be more limited than I anticipate. Videos, letters, keepsakes. I think about a Radio Lab podcast I once listened to about a girl who’s mother died when she was young. Her mom had written a letter for each of her daughter’s birthdays and milestones. The daughter talked about how those letters eventually came to be something she dreaded. Instead of a tangible reminder of her mother’s love, they became a heavy chain that bound her to the past and made her incapable of moving forward. I remember the pain evident in the daughter’s voice as she recounts the letters’ contents, and I decide not to write letters to my kids.

* I worry about waking up from the anesthesia and the doctor telling me that she’s certain it’s cancer and talk of radiation and chemotherapy.

* I worry about becoming The Poor Young Mother with Cancer.

* In short, I am spending the last 36 hours before my surgery being completely and utterly ridiculous.

But, to be fair, I’m also thinking about these two women and how much I adored my weekend with them.

Controversial Topic #1

I mentioned on twitter that I have two post topics that keep circulating in my head but they’re both pretty controversial and while I still want to write about them, I don’t want to seem as though I’m writing about controversial topics on purpose. You know? Like I’m trying too hard to be controversial and stir things up. Anyhow, I figure looking like I’m trying too hard is better than letting my blog languish away without any new content for weeks at a time.

My first controversial topic is gender roles as they pertain to little kids. I’m lucky enough to have two children and to have a girl and a boy. I get the awesome experience of parenting both genders and all the cool things that go along them. I’ve been seeing quite a lot in the news lately about how some parents and schools are working hard to erase gender differences in children and I completely, wholeheartedly DO NOT AGREE.

Here’s the thing: boys and girls are different. Period. We’re not supposed to be the same. We’re supposed to be complimentary halves. We are not supposed to androgynous and homogeneous. Now, I agree 100% with teaching children that one gender is not better than another because I believe that to be true. But I categorically refuse to raise my daughter and my son as though they are the same gender. In so far as she is interested, I will teach my daughter to cook and to run a household and to be maternal. I will teach my son to be handy with tools, to be a gentleman and to change the oil in a car if those are things he’s interested in. This is not to say that I will not teach Sam how to cook or clean or that I won’t teach Maddie to change a tire or to mow the yard. I will. But girls and boys are different and I will raise them as such.

I’m fine with Sam playing with dolls or wanting his nails painted as a little boy. I’m fine with Maddie loving dinosaurs and pretending to be Hercules every day. But I want them to grow up to be an exemplary man and a woman. I don’t want to try and force them to go against thousands of years of genetic programing by denying who they really are. I don’t understand why we’re so afraid to admit that men and women are different and that it’s OK. Personally, I’m not a very “girly” girl, but I’m very feminine. I’m a stay at home mom, for crissake. It doesn’t get more feminine than that. And as a heterosexual woman, I am attracted to masculine men. (Do not get me started on straight men in skinny jeans and eyeliner who use more hair product than I do.) I love it when my husband fixes something around the house, or changes the oil in our cars. Just like he loves it when I make us a wonderful meal or when he comes home to a clean house and a closet full of clean clothes. We both take care of our family and are equally important to our family’s success, BUT WE DO THIS IN VERY DIFFERENT WAYS.

(This is not intended to be a slight toward gay or transgendered children or adults. I am speaking only as a straight adult and about straight kids. If one or both of my kids turn out to be gay or transgendered then my plan will change, of course.)

Out of curiosity…

* If you have kids, how old are they and when is their bed time? Do you change bed times during the summer if your kid is school-aged?

* In that same vein, does your kid still nap?

* What’s the most common form of punishment in your house?

* How many nights a week do you cook dinner?

* How often do you eat out? Fast food or sit-down.

* Do you regularly have dessert?

* What do you before bed each night? Read? Watch TV, play Angry Birds, have copious amount of alcohol? Or sex? Or both?

* What blog am I not reading that I really should be reading?

Happy Thoughts

* The job search is still going well.

* I had to call the IRS today and it wasn’t painful AT ALL. The rep was even FUNNY. And I also got that glorious feeling of relief to have An Issue be over and done with forever and ever, amen.

* The Blathering is coming up. Well, not exactly “soon” but “soonish” and I’m going to get to see so many awesome people. And hug them and make them wicked uncomfortable because “who is this stranger and why is she hugging me?!”

* I wrote, and sent, a difficult apology email and the recipient was very gracious in her reply.

* We’re not going to Cleveland this summer. This, in and of itself, is NOT a happy thought. This is a downright terrible thought and makes me very, very sad. BUT, not having to worry and agonize over the logistics is a happy byproduct.

* Since we’re not taking a big summer vacation, we’re going to try and take Maddie to the Gulf Coast for her first trip to the ocean. Sam’s still a little young, so he’ll probably get some alone time with Grandma and Grandpa.

* The combination of my increased antidepressant dosage and my self-help book seems to be doing me some good. I don’t feel bleak or hopeless or “emotionally botoxed” anymore. I feel, well, good, actually. This is the happiest thought of all.

The Poop Story

Just in case you thought I was being ironic or misleading with my title, let me assure you that this is a story about poop. So stop reading now if you’re going to get all grossed out and mad at me because I made you read about poop.

Last week, the kids and I stayed with my in-laws in South Central Texas. (Why yes, I am indeed the awesomest daughter-in-law who ever lived because I voluntarily drive my kids five hours each way to visit my in-laws WITHOUT my husband. This is only because my in-laws are equally as awesome and I adore spending time with them.) My in-laws live on a fairly large plot of land at the cul-de-sac end of a neighborhood. Their yard backs up to woods full of deer and the creek tributary of the Guadalupe River. They have hens and a duck and two dogs. My kids LOVE it there. Every morning, they get their “Nana Walk” to let the chickens out for the day and to explore the property before breakfast. Sam mostly rides instead of walks, but you know what I mean. Maddie gardens, swims, rides her bike and a toddler car thing that’s two times too small for her but she refuses to stop riding it even though her knees drag the ground, and generally makes a mess of herself. She routinely needs two baths a day while we’re there. Sam still only needs one, thank goodness.

That fateful evening, it was Sam’s turn for a bath. I took him into our room, stripped him and stepped into TILED hallway to take him into the bathroom. As soon as my feet left the carpet, I stopped in the hallway and said something to my MIL who was there to admire Sam’s nudie snudie booty, of course. As I was holding him, I thought to myself “Why do Sam’s testicles feel so squishy all of the sudden? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” I pulled my hand out and stared at it, willing the image to be caused by a stroke and not real. And then I heard it. PLOP. PLOP. PLOP.  I closed my eyes and said “He pooped, didn’t he?” My MIL was laughing so hard she couldn’t even answer me. I stood there with my hand full of poop and poop all down my shirt and pants and wished for the Earth to swallow me. My MIL tried to hand me a paper towel for my hand, but again, was laughing so hard that it took her three tries to hand it to me. I dumped Sam in the tub while my MIL cleaned up the poop on the floor as penance for laughing at me.

I got Sam cleaned up, burned my clothing and got him to bed. 15 minutes later, I heard him crying and went to investigate. He had thrown up his dinner all over himself and the pack ‘n play. Necessitating, of course, another bath. My MIL couldn’t even muster up a chuckle over the second incident; however, when she made me tell the story the next day, she laughed just as hard. I think it was almost worth it just for that alone.

Tidbits that don’t require their own post

* I’ve got my semi-annual breast cancer screening on Monday. Not only is it that time of year, but I’m also having a boob issue. Of course, there is a 99.9% chance that it’s absolutely nothing, but if you wouldn’t mind throwing a good vibe or two my way, I’d sure appreciate it.

* I realized yesterday that some of Sam’s woe could be caused by the introduction of cow’s milk into his diet. So, we took milk away and went back to 100% forumla. On the advice of SamCam, I also have him some probiotics to help his belly get back to normal. Sadly, he threw up all of his dinner last night, but since then has been so much better. Today he was only mildly fussy and has his appetite back. And there’s been a definite decrease in the action taking place downstairs, if you catch my drift. Gerald reminded me of all the trouble we had finding a formula for him, too, and that he spent time on lactose-free stuff because of these same issues. I’ll talk to his pediatrician about it at his one year visit next week and see what she advises. (Please don’t let it be expensive formula for another year. Amen.)

* I bought my pass for BlogHer’11 in San Diego. Will you be there? Would you like to hang out with me because my social awkwardness will make you look sauve and sophisticated? By all means, email me!

* The kids and I met Gerald for lunch today and I was once again blown away by how awesome our kids are. Maddie is so polite and has such wonderful manners and is generally a really awesome kid. Sam is at such a fun age and is such a handsome lovebug that I steal kisses every couple of minutes. For all that they’re a giant pain in my ass, my family is wicked awesome and I’m so lucky to have them.

* Sunday is my seventh anniversary. Holla! My dad and step-mom are keeping the kids for a couple of hours so we can have a real, live date. We’ve had ONE since Sam was born a year ago. ONE. He’s thick in the throes of separation anxiety, but we’re hoping that just a few hours will be ok. We’re staying close to home, so if he loses his shit, we’ll be able to pick them up and spare everyone involved some unnecessary trauma.

A Comedy of Tragedies

Gerald is out of town at some Nerdy Computer Shit Conference*. In case obvious deductions are eluding you today, this means I’m all alone with both children for three days. Normally, this would not be a Big Deal at all. I mean, I’m a competent mother and can probably manage to keep us all alive for 72 hrs or so, right?

AHAHAHAHAHA. No.

I took Sam to the pediatrician yesterday morning before Gerald left. He has double ear infections and a “raw, red throat.” This earned his a prescription for a steroid nasal spray and antibiotics. STRONG antibiotics. He had one dose last night after dinner and seemed ok. This morning, when I went to get him up from his nap, the horror that awaited me was… well, horrific. Apparently, the antibiotic doesn’t agree with my poor boy. In a very forceful way. It was so bad that I considered closing the door and walking away. I was willing to write off both him AND the room.

I called the pediatrician’s office and asked if this was normal. I mean, this was the FIRST DOSE and I’m supposed to give it to him for 10 days. Uh, that’s a negatory, good buddy. Anyhow, the nurse said it could be the meds or that he picked up a stomach bug. She advised the BRAT diet for 24 hours and call them if he’s not improving by tomorrow. They’ll send in a new prescription if need be.

He was Very Fussy all day and was at his worst while I was making dinner. And of course, Maddie needed my attention every 30 seconds while I was making the dinner she requested. I managed to spill an entire plate full of cooked chicken all over my kitchen floor. I got dinner on the table and tried to feed Sam a mixture of applesauce and rice while eating my own dinner before it was cold. *snort* Two bites left of his dinner and Sam’s little body rejected it. Forcefully. VERY forcefully. And all over his highchair and himself. I was almost in tears and then Maddie thought vomit flying across the room was HYSTERICAL. I almost totally lost my shit. I had to abandon her to eat dinner alone while I dealt with bathing Sam and everything else with bodily fluids on it. I got that done and ate my cold dinner alone and then cleaned the kitchen. I still had to bathe Maddie and clean my disgusting bathroom after that. Not to mention deal with the vile laundry.

All I want to do is drink A Very Lot of Alcohol and go to bed. Wanna bet that I’ll be cleaning vomit or poop or both off of my child in the middle of the night, instead?

I’m sure this will all be funny in a few days. But right now? I’m wallowing in self-pity. Boo fucking hoo.

*Obviously not it’s real name. There’s no such thing as truth in conference titles.