Holly Robinson Peete, you should know better

I'm home watching daytime television, which is something I don't normally get to do. I'm watching this new talk show called "The Talk" which from what I can tell is a knock off of the View. I'm interested because it has Holly Robinson Peete on it, who is the mom of a son with Autism, and she is doing this segment about a mom with three boys with Autism. It shows her three sons and they talk about her day to day life and how difficult it is for her sons. Then they show that she is there in the studio, with one of the boys on the spectrum, and this other teenage boy. Turns out this is the older brother, whom was not mentioned at all during the segment. That's not all, but they go on to say that there is another older brother who is also not on the spectrum. Instead of being a mom of three boys with Autism, she is actually a single mom of 5 boys. Okay, I'm with you Holly. Holly then asks the typical teenager how life is for him in this environment, which I thought was nice because the typical kids are generally invisible in a household with special needs siblings. That's when the whole thing comes off the rails. It starts out with the show giving this mom some stuff to help her out, which is what you are expecting to happen. It was all harmless enough, a hospital was going to pay for her kids to get reevaluated, which is an expensive undertaking, so that was cool. A company was going to help her with some financial planning and help her set up a special needs trust...that was cool too. Then Holly starts passing out the iPads. Yes, the iPads are proving to be great for non-verbal kids, and they have really cool specialized Apps for kids with Autism. They might actually help give her non-verbal kids a voice, which is priceless. My problem is that you are throwing those around and everyone is cheering and that poor typical brother gets squat. Then they threw in a shopping spree from Toys R Us differently-abled toy catalog so she can buy whatever she wants for her sons with Autism. Fantastic, I'm sure the other two don't mind getting passed over, AGAIN. Then to top it all off, she then hands the youngest son with Autism a gift basket of toys because 'he likes Nascar'. I just thought it was really thoughtless to shower that mom with gifts for only a few of her children. I'm done complaining now.

The moral of this story is that G shouldn't tell me stuff while I'm already blogging.

SSG G: (calling from the living room) Oh, hey, for that TNA wrestling event we're working I get a backstage pass.

Me: I don't think I'm happy about that.

SSG G: Why?

Me: Just stay away from those TNA girls

SSG G: What? It's not like they are trampy like in WWE

Me: (wheeling the computer chair to the edge of the kitchen and staring at him around the corner)

SSG G: (looking sheepish) heh heh heh.

Me: Seriously, I don't want to see some barely dressed woman rubbing up on you for the camera or have some little girl talking about how she (using my air quotes) "appreciates your service"

SSG G: No rubbing. No appreciation. Got it.

I guess I don't really like the idea of any of the TNA guys "appreciating" him either.

The best laid plans.

G comes home tonight and I am excited. Finally going to get back to our version of "normal". When I am begging someone else to get up with the kids in the morning so I can "sleep in" until 0700...I won't be talking to myself!! Yeah! In fact, I am so excited that I wanted to do something to celebrate. I settled on taking the kids to the Lego Discovery Center in Chicago. We took to the LegoLand a couple times when we lived in Germany and the only one in the states is in California, so this is the next best thing as far as lego excitment goes. I talked to G and he was up for it, even though it meant more time in the car after driving home from Missouri tonight. I worked out how to feed the kids in a place that doesn't allow outside food brought in (they will if you ask nicely), crunched numbers on ticket prices (day pass vs. yearly pass) and even looked at hotels in case we wanted Lego fun two days in a row (Lego Weekend Extravaganza!!! What on earth did we do before we had kids....I'm trying to remember). The only crimp in the plan was that I needed to feed the neighbors rabbits this weekend, which would be fine, I would just have to do it Saturday morning and when we got home Sunday night.

Then I remembered.

We. have. dogs.

And the people who watch them when we go out of town are:

You guessed it. The neighbors.

How do you forget that you own dogs?

It's not like we got them last week.

What are you lookin' at?

Yes, lady at the grocery store, I know that I stood in the card section and laughed out loud at the card I was reading. Okay, so I probably cackled, it was THAT funny. I know that I am in public and should use my inside voice, but a little courtesy would be nice. You don't have to look at me like I'm nuts. After all, when I walked past you 5 minutes ago in the pet food aisle and you were singing "you....are the sunshine of my liiiife" along with the overhead system and you pointed at me and gave a little wink, I just smiled back. It's polite not to pass judgement. Just smile and ignore the crazy.

He looked so insulted, but it felt good.

G called to inform me that he got orders today. Scared me half to death, thought he was getting stationed someplace else. No, he finally got his orders for his promotion to from Sergeant to Staff Sergeant (hooah for pay raises). G comes home and says the following:

G: Man, my chest hurts.

Me: What?! You had your promotion ceremony today? (*if the thread of this conversation makes no sense to you I have provided an "Army for Dummies" footnote*) Without me? That's nice.

G: I've been wearing the rank for a while now, just didn't have the orders. It wasn't really a ceremony, we sort of skipped all of that.

Me: and went straight to punching you in the chest? Fantastic. I would like to actually go to one of your promotion ceremonies someday.

G: I'm sorry babe, would you like to punch me in the chest?

Me: *sulking* no..............yes.



*Here's a brief explanation of a little piece of Army lore for those of you who don't readily know what a promotion ceremony consists of. There is a stuffy little ceremony, some higher up says a few words and reads whatever is written on the certificate they give you. Your spouse is invited and they take some pictures. THEN everyone takes a turn pounding your rank onto your chest. This was a little more barbaric when the Army had pin-on rank. G came home after making Specialist with multiple puncture wounds spaced a half inch apart set inside the ugliest bruise I've ever seen. Now the rank Velcro's to your shirt and it isn't as fun for all those who are the 'pounders'. So to compensate they just hit the 'poundee' harder.

That'll give you something to tell your teacher on the first day of school.

Motormouth is eating breakfast and G is getting ready for work.

Motormouth: Daddy, you need to get a new tattoo, you haven't gotten one in a while.

(Is G paying this kid?)

G: I'm thinking about it, bud. It has been a while, but haven't decided what to get yet.

Motormouth: a skull. That is what I'm going to get, a skull and crossbones.

Me: I don't think so.

Motormouth: Mom! you don't even have any tattoos, so you don't know.

Me: sure I do, they are just natural ones.

Motormouth: huh?

Me: (lifting my shirt to show him the stretch marks on my belly) These are my tattoos. I got them when I was pregnant with you.

Motormouth: Wow...............that's a lot of tattoos.

Keep digging, you're going to need a ladder and a flashlight.

Sgt. G: Oh, guess who's wife at work is having a baby?

Me: Just tell me....your kidding! First Chris and Sarah (our pseudo-siblings) and now them. *sigh* Everyone is having a baby but me.

Sgt. G: Which is as it should be.

Me: (herding naked Monkey into the bathtub where he belongs) I want a baby.

Sgt. G: What?

Me: (poking my head around the corner) I said I want a baby.

Sgt. G: Do you have any idea how much that would hurt ME?

Me:.......you didn't just seriously say that to me.

Sgt. G: (realizing his mistake, and trying hard to backpedal) Well, it would hurt me, for about a week if they did the reversal, and then another week to have the whole thing redone. You are talking about cutting my junk here.

Me: Seriously, a whole week? and a tiny little incision? do you realize who you are talking to?

Sgt. G: (watching me try to dry off a slippery Monkey as he dances naked around the living room) Aren't you outnumbered enough?

Me: Don't change the subject. *sigh* I could just go out to Chris and Sarah's and kidnap their baby for a while.

Sgt. G: I'll buy you a plane ticket.

It's been one of those weeks in this house.

It's been one of those weeks in this house.
It carried over from last week. My van was way overdue for an oil change and the check engine light came on; I was hoping it was because of the oil, and it would magically turn off when I got it changed. I even tried to make it up to the van by having them flush and de-gunk stuff (I know, it is stupid to try to make a peace offering to a machine). It didn't turn off, so G called around and got it in somewhere on Monday. Turns out I had a bad emmissions sensor (dammit, could have kept driving it!), a broken spring, and something is wrong with the manifold- again. The garage is saying about 1200 for everything. Can we drive it with the manifold thing leaking? The guy says yes. Great. G calls his cousin in St. Johns to see if we can have him do that part, (for half the price), his cousin can. Later in the week, some incredibley honest person with amazing driving skills hits G's truck in the parking lot not once, but twice. Guess they didn't do a good enough job the first time and tried it again. 2 dinner size plate dents, one in each door on the passenger side and some scratches. G loves that truck a little more than me most days, so he was a little ticked. Insurance says they will send us a check for the appraised amount less $500 for our deductible. Great, because the few hundred I shelled out last week on the van, plus the few hundred this week, plus the more than a few hundrend still to shell out wasn't enough car expenses this month. Friday starts out great, Monkey wakes up with a 102.2 fever for no particular reason, so everything I had put off all week will have to wait until next week. G calls from work to tell me that he didn't leave his personal cell phone at work like he was hoping, it is lost. So he buys a new phone and now has a new number that I have to memorize and call all pertinant people and update them. G comes home that night. He says he finally called the insurance company back and they said they are sending us a check for the entire amount, so we don't have to pay the deductible. He couldn't tell me why (I guess it didn't occur to him to ask?). I am trying to squeeze in a shower now that I am not the only adult in the house so I almost didn't notice him grabbing the toilet plunger and heading out of the bathroom.
Me: ummm, do I want to know what you are doing with that?
Sgt. G: no.
Me: no swordfighting with the kids (can you tell I am the mom of boys?)
Sgt. G: I'll try to control myself.
I get out of the shower and G comes back in with the plunger.
Sgt. G: (all puffed up like a peacock) Well, what do you know!!
Me: I don't know, what do I know?
Sgt. G: no more dents.
Me: You toilet plungered the truck? And it worked?
Sgt. G: yup.
Me: so we just get to keep that insurance money?
Sgt. G: Oh, I could spend it.
Me: of that I have no doubt....you are turning into a handy guy
Sgt. G: don't tell anyone.
Me: if anyone asks, I'll tell them you are handsy, not handy.

Mommy has a new "friend"

Me: hey, today mommy is going to a friends house by herself, and she is going to stay the night there, sort of like the sleep over you and Jay just had.

Motormouth: You are? I am going to miss you (awwww). Who is your friend?

Me: My friend Kathleen. She and I went to school together waaay back when we were your age, all the way through high school and we have been friends ever since.

Motormouth: You're going to Kevin's?

Me: No. Kathleen. Kath-a-leens.

Motormouth: okay (shrugs)

Me: No, I want you to understand that I am going to a girl's house, and her name is Kathleen.

Give me some Windex, and it all goes to Hell.

I like to clean. I admit it. I know that makes me a bit of a nut, and for those that have been to my house, you know how odd that is, since my house is rarely ever actually clean. I do like to do it. It feels great to get in all the little corners and crevices and get them all shiney...but I get a little obsessive and then I end up spending 20 minutes cleaning the exhaust fan with a Q-tip or something. So, I don't allow myself to go there very often. Its a dark place and I have a hard time coming back out into the light. There are way more important things to do in life, and I know it. Today started out innocent enough. I wanted to do laundry, wipe down the bathroom before the inlaws come tomorrow, and sweep the kitchen floor so I can mop it after the kids go to bed. Then I noticed that the sliding doors to the deck were covered with dog slobber and kid prints, so I dug out my window cleaner. This is where it all went downhill. When I got done with the windows, I decided to keep the cleaner out so I could clean all of my appliances with them. I started in the kitchen and had just gotten a nice streak free shine on the oven door when I realized that the cupboards looked a little dirty....so I did those. If the cupboards are dirty, the doorknobs must be too.... 30 minutes later I find myself ridding all the doorframes and lightswitches of fingerprints. Monkey wants to eat lunch. Since he should have eaten an hour ago, this is not an outrageous request, but Mommy can't right now, because she is Windexing all the doorknobs. Next I am going to pull all the light fixtures down and wash them. I know I shouldn't, but I can't get it out of my head now. After that I think I will get the pledge back out and clean the edges of the baseboards with some Q-tips. This would be a little funny if it weren't true. I am in too deep, and if I don't I know I will lay awake tonight worrying about the dirt caught between the keys on the computer keyboard. I better get the Lysol out too, it is germ season and I can't remember the last time I sanitized the phones....So, if you ever come to my house and look around and think "would it kill her to dust?" then answer is- it might. I know I am an addict and I would like some support while I try to quit. Also, cut Sgt. G some slack, he lives with this kind of crazy every day.