In Sympathy

I just found out via round about way, through an email sent by my mom, that my aunt's husband of twenty years died of cancer two weeks ago. He was fighting the cancer for over a year and a half. He left behind a seventeen year old daughter and a daughter who I think is about twenty years old.

I had no idea. The real kicker is that the email wasn't really about the death itself. The email wasn't even sent exclusively to me. It was the kind of email that one sends to a bunch of people updating them on a bunch of different topics, all of which are totally unrelated to each other.

As I'm reading the aforementioned email, and as anyone who receives such emails knows, it feels really just like I'm reading an email intended for someone else. Who? What? Where?

To Anyone On My Contact List:

For anyone who cares, this is what is going on with my life. Yadda Yadda Yadda. Blah Blah Blah. Oh, by the way, your uncle died.
Keep in touch.

I'm not an old friend, former co-worker, or peer. I'm not even a "contact".

This is is how the news is broken to me. I was totally stunned and shocked. I not only had no idea that my aunt's husband was even sick, but I didn't know that they were new grandparents. That's right, apparently my cousin, all of about twenty years old, is a mom. Or maybe it's the seventeen year old that's a new mom. Not likely, but how in the world would I know the difference? My crazy family never keeps me updated on anything. It's nuts.

And it has always been this way. We all say we should keep in touch, but we never do. My mom's one of eight children and I have five first cousins and six second cousins. But I haven't a clue as to who is dying, giving birth, getting married, getting divorced, moving, or even still related to me.

Do they sell belated sympathy cards that say, "My Dear Aunt, sorry you lost the love of your life. I had no idea that he was even sick. Congrats on the new grandchild. Your thoughtful and sympathetic neice."

I don't think so.

Happy Fourth of July

I am off to Michigan for the week to see my grandma. I can't wait to see her and some of my friends, but I'm not looking forward to J's emo teenaged attitude crap and being stuffed in a car with another child who becomes a bundle of nerves every time we go anywhere. She's 13 and stayed up half the night with the runs because we are going to see grandma, whom we see every year.

Oh. My. Goodnits.

I wonder what she'll be like when we go to Disney World. Woo hoo.

This year we travel with a pooch. This should be fun. Four kids, 16, 13, 12, and 6, plus a puppy. Did I mention that the husband has ADD, the 16 year old has ADHD and teen-itis, and the 13 year old has ADHD/Tourette Syndrome and a touch of OCD. (That means she'll look at the clock every 5 minutes, count every thing anyone eats, and touch everything four times.

It's a good thing I don't drink.

Have a great holiday weekend and thanks to all that have served this country.

I need a new camera badly, my current digital was dropped during a hail storm so half of the time the pictures are terrible. Sorry about the quality. I'll try to get some pictures of my trip and I leave you with two pictures of my two babies.

Mayday. Mayday

Help me! First off, I know I've been a bad bad girl. Not updating for two weeks! Oh. My. Good 'N Plenties, has it really been that long?

My grandma called me. She's planning on arriving at my house TOMORROW NIGHT. Yes, she just sprung that on me. Of course, I can't wait to see her, but it's not the best time for her to come out. Being broke for the week, having a laundry room sink clogged, and a house full of sick people, some that aren't feeling very well either, is posing a challenge for me.

OK, back to my long lack of posting. Shame on me. I know.

My absence really has nothing to do with the fact that I've been asked to be a driver and chaperone for every field trip Jake has had in the last two weeks. There have been 3.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Ms. Moochie turned 12 and I had to make a Mexican fiesta for her birthday dinner, clean the house, and pretend like I have the skill and time to be Martha Stewart.

I don't think it has anything to do with the fact that my computer seems to like disconnecting me from DSL lately, and when I try to rescan it decides to steal my neighbors wireless connection. Not only is it not legal, but his connection blows. Stinks. It's crap. My pc is making me VERY ANGRY, I tell you. MELISSA IS VERY ANGRY!

Maybe it is because I've actually been leaving my house to run errands and take beautiful fall pictures.

Or maybe it's homeschooling the 9th grader. Trying to get this kid to do his work has been a pain in the ass very interesting. He's a 15 year old version of a Halo 2 addicted Robin Williams intermingled with Jim Carrey with the skateboard urges of Tony Hawk. He said he's calling CPS on me, or the Marines, because he shouldn't have to do a Language Arts lesson that is 3-4 pages long. It took him 6 hours to get the lesson done one day, and I'm quite sure the publishers only had about 40 minutes in mind.

I don't think the fact I've felt a bit like eyeore lately could explain my absense either? I mean really, couldn't I just sign on to regurgitate news, post some silly quiz about which Charlies Angel I'd be, or ponder the meaning of life? Nah. I'm too lazy for that and I like you all too much.

Oh, maybe it's because we've been sick and my big baby of a husband sweet, strong as iron husband was laid out on his back for two days.

I don't think reading The Handmaid's Tale in two days and Rage Against the Veil: The Courageous Life and Death of an Islamic Dissident, in 4 days was a contributing factor either. Nor could my reading Song of Solomon and In the Eye of the Storm simutaniously, be getting in the way of my blogging either. I don't think at least?

Could it be, that since I've decided to really take this domestic engineer business seriously that such duties have encroached upon on my blogging prowess? I mean, I'm actually dusting, cleaning, organizing, cooking, polishing, scrubbing, and mending my days away. Well, most of my days. I think I've now proved to myself that there's a good reason why I despise all of those mundane tasks I'm supposed to be doing with a sense of loving service.

Can't I just get a maid?

I know what you're thinking. You don't agree that any of the above reasons could be a good excuse as to why I haven't updated all of you on my life and quirky thoughts. Shame on me for trying to convince you that they were. Right?

OK, here goes.

The real reason for my quietness was that I abducted my aliens. Yes, it's true. I went for a walk through the park, to take pictures of Wisconsin in Autumn glory. Then I was standing too close to the lake when all of a sudden a glowing light caught my eye. I was in a trance, when instantly I was sucked under water where the perfunctory prodding, poking, and probing took place. Don't worry, I won't be giving birth to a strange marine creature, they were gentlemanly enough.

However, I didn't care for that part as much as they would have liked me to. I think my dissatisfication was very obvious since I was gifted with pink diamonds, pearls, and a lovely mermaid suit, complete with mermaid flipper feet. They allowed me to choose a look with purple, green, blue, and pink scales. I looked rather dashing, I should say.

I had to go meet the leader of these aquatic mermaid like aliens. I had quite a bit of tripidation when mingling with these intelligent fish forms. After some time though, my inquisitiveness got the best of me and I began to befriend some of them. Once you get past the fish breath, it's not that hard to be friendly and make friends with their kind. They were having a monthly bash, complete with food, dancing, and corny pick up lines. After watching them do the mackerelena I felt it was time I asked why I was there and when I would get to go home.

Their message was quite simple really. All they want is for all the men of Wisconsin to stop wearing speedos to the lake. Apparently, the very sight of these men, especially the fat and hairy backed ones, are killing off the females of their kind. They either combust or turn lesbian. Pretty soon the men won't have enough females to carry on the species, or even worse, accompany them to the monthly mackerelena bash.

I thought it was a fair enough request, and since they treated me rather kindly I agreed.

Here's the message: Men of Wisconsin, please refrain from prancing around the lakes of south east Wisconsin in a speedo. When you see a speedo in the store, do NOT mistakenly think it's calling out your name from the shelves. It's a lie, do not be deceived. You will not look like a hot lifeguard. For all of our sakes, please just say no. Instead, board shorts will do nicely. And if you wouldn't mind, could you maybe consider waxing your back? Sometimes I've had to wonder if a little time spent in the sun before arriving wouldn't be nice.

Well folks, there you have it. I went through quite the ordeal, wouldn't you agree? But, I take my job as an ambassador for these aquatic aliens seriously. It's my duty to put an end to pasty, hairy, chubby men trying to pass off tight, ugly panties as swimsuits.

Hey, don't you believe me? It is so true. No, I haven't been watching too much TV lately!

I Want a Dolores

Many years ago during a heated argument when The Husband and I didn't feel much like having maturity in our marriage, he shouted at me some nonsense like--I WANT A DOLORES.

Being quite annoyed and agitated as it was, I just looked at him confused and shouted back "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Stop acting like a donkey! See, what I have to put up with..... "

He tried to explain that was his "semi-cute" and non-threatening way of saying he wanted a divorce. That was a long time ago. He was a bit green behind the ears and must not have realized that "I want" and "Divorce" are not words typically received well. Ever.

He was never serious of course. Yes, it is rather immature, however, what really drove me buggy was wondering WHY he replaced divorce with Delores. How does that man's mind word sometimes, I just don't know. He still can't give me an explanation. As is often the case.

Being the brat that I am these days, I think I've decided how to end this little game. I don't even remember what "semi-cute" annoying thing Richard said to make me mad the other day.

I had had enough though and I blurted out, I want a DELORES!! AND SHE'D BETTER BE GOOD IN BED!!!!

Oops.

Heh. I think that settles it though.

Well, all except for his theory that my online friends are really my lesbians lovers.

If you currently disappointed at my twisted sense of humor. Don't worrry, God isn't finished with me yet.

Silent but deadly

I just read a post about potty training, on a blog called The Grass isn't Greener**. Of course true to Lissa style I closed the window before saving the link. Figures. No worries, it's a small blog world, it will come around again. (**update, included link, thanks Barbara)

Unfortunately I had little hope to offer. At 15, 12, 11, and 5 mine are technically all potty trained. Technically. But I'm still cleaning up after their poop. Just this morning I had to wipe the toilet seat down as it looked like somebody actually used a spray bottle on it.

J had encopresis between the ages of 3-9 years. I'd find these little clumps of crap all over the carpet. Kids with encopresis usually have chronic constipation, and eventually after avoiding the bathroom for so long, just poop their pants. Yep. That was fun. I remember once when he was about 4 and eating raisin bran at the breakfast nook, he proceeded to grasp the tile topped table, bear down, then with grunting sounds and all just loaded his pants. In front of his grandfather. While he was eating. It must have been the cereal. Darn that fiber.

Then there were these little surprises left all over the house. How it got from the kids bottom, to the under pants, to my floor I still haven't figured out. But we'd find these little clumps all the time. Maybe he sharted. Or maybe as my husband puts it, ' prairie dogged' it too long. Did I just say that outloud? Yeah, I did. He still remembers the time he was having too much fun playing play- doh at the neighbors house. It's always fun and games til someone poops a hole in their pants.

I had nightmares when Lil' J was a baby. Just when he'd master the pincher grasp his first feeding off the carpet would be his brothers poop! Then I began getting crazed and paranoid.

Me: Oh my good-nits, is that a poop clump!? Run, somebody get the toilet paper!

Kids: Mmm-ooo-mmm- it's just a raisin. Sheesh.

After too many sniff tests gone wrong, everything was a poop clump until proven otherwise.

Until the day Snoo tried to eat a chocolate chip off the floor. Yes, my daughter was about 9 before she outgrew eating off the ground. (She ate her brothers tooth once, cause it looked like candy? How she could have eaten a TOOTH, I'll never know) But that's a whole other post.

A chocolate chip can be very tempting to a child that doesn't mind eating off the ground. Especially if that child is allergic to dairy so therefore it's a forbidden fruit food. She was warned though.

Mooch: Ew, Snoo, don't eat off the ground. Disgusting!! Don't eat that! It's probably J's poop!

Snoo: Not uh. No. Shut up, your just saying that.

Mooch: MmmOoomm, Snoo's trying to eat off the floor again.

Snoo: Not uh. She's lying. She's just trying to get me into trouble.

Me: (from the other room) Snoo, how many times have I told you to stop that. It's disgusting! You're like what, 20 years old now, and still trying to eat off the ground. It's not like I don't feed you...

Snoo: EWWWWWWWWWW!!! Gross!! Disgusting. (Crying) It smells like poop. This chocolate chip smells like poop (throws it across the room) ...I almost ate..

Mooch: (hysterical laughter) I told you it was poop. Snoo almost ate poop.

Me: Would you two be quiet. Stop saying mean things to each other!

Show me, where is it? (screaming J's name) Oh dear Lord, it is poop. ANOTHER poop clump! Why me!? And you were going to eat it? What's wrong with you, can't you tell the difference between a chocolate chip and poop? J, that's it, I love you, but you're going on mineral oil. I've picked up my last piece of sh** off the floor!

J: It's not meeeeee...

Mooch: (still laughing hysterically) I told you it wasn't a chocolate chip..

Then Snoo technically isn't potty trained fully since she's got this "night time problem". The doctors call it enuresis. I call it wet, stinky sheets, and lots more laundry. I know it's no fun for her so we never make he feel bad about it. I just do the laundry and dream of the day I don't have to do it anymore. Wait, then there will be grandkids. After they get potty trained and just when I think I'm finally done with others pee and poop, suddenly I'll be pissing my own pants when I sneeze and sending R for depends. Oh joy.

And can this girl ever out pee a good-nite. It's like Niagara falls or something. I don't care what anyone says about pee being sterile. It stinks and it's nasty, and nobody wants a room smelling like a barn yard.

We've tried everything. Medication. Alarms. Minimizing fluids. Waking her every 2 1/2 hours. So even though our baby slept through the night, we're still getting up every 2 hours to get the 10 year old girl to the bathroom. Only to find sometime during the last 2 hr bathroom trip, she managed to pee all over herself and never woke up. Once this kid actually gets to sleep, she's out. One time it was my shift to wake her up. When I led her into the bathroom, I went into my room for a second, only to return finding her squatting near her closet door.

Me: Noooooooooooooo!! What are you doing!!! Get up, your peeing on the floor!

Snoo: Huh? What? I like the red one better...

Me: Yeah, that's nice. Me too. I'll take mine in the convertible, now over the toilet please.

I think the funniest time though was when she was about 8 or 9 and actually made it to the bathroom by herself, only to sit down with her undies still on.

Then there's Lil' J, he's a lot like big J. He doesn't like to go. He doesn't like to stop what he's doing. So he waits, and waits, and holds it until he's running to the bathroom for dear life. Just last week Mooch asked me if I knew that there's was poop all over the bathroom wall.

Then I hear screams from Snoo.

It was mayhem. You would have thought somebody had found a dead body. All these voices squealing, yelling, and laughing all at once. All I can catch are words like poop, seat, wall, floor, toilet clog, stinks.

I'm a veteran arse wiper. I've cleaned my fair share of accidents up. But never, ever, have I ever seen a mess like that. (and I was even called to come pick him up from K4 once cause he had an accident so bad, he couldn't even walk out of the stall without needing help)

That was pure talent.

I suppose in his desperation to make haste he thought nobody would notice it was his soiled under pants and shorts stuffed into the upside down trash can. Nevermind that he's the only one wearing Batman underwear.

Poor little man. He could hear the screams, the fear, and the laughter from his hiding spot upstairs.

Me: Honey, where are you? I can see you had a ginormous-I-need-an-industrial-mop-to-clean-it-up little accident. Come out, let me help you get cleaned up.

We told him it was no big deal, and tossed him into the shower like we've done with all the others.

Then the kids came to apologize for laughing..

J: It's OK, bud. I used to poop my pants all the time.

Mooch: (snicker) you still do

Laughter

Snoo: Yeah and I had diarrhea all over the school bus seats in preschool

Everyone turns to look at Snoo

Oh, and literally as I write this Snoo perfumed the air with what R calls "O dae butt".

R: OK, who crapped their pants in my living room?

You know the kind, silent but deadly. It took years for me to get through to her, that silent didn't mean odorless.

Snoo : (in church) What, you couldn't hear me....

Lucky for me, the fan is pointed right at me.

Me: Snoo! How could you....

Snoo: It's not me, it smells like the cat....OK, it is me, but I did it over there.

This too shall pass. (I hope)