I’m usually a very level-headed, hardcore, perfectionist, who plugs away at the tasks at hand with no thought of quitting.
Well…I’ve been so stinking distracted as of late, that I can’t seem to get anything done. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve gotten a lot done. I’ve just gotten it done completely wrong.
For example, the other day, I managed to blow up a chicken in the microwave. When I say blow up, I’m talking I thought the house was going to fall off its foundation.
See, what happened was….
I got some frozen chicken breasts out of the freezer and placed them carefully in a microwave safe bowl to defrost. Somehow, my little distracted soul thought “cook” meant “defrost” and 18 minutes later, I was throwing children in the closet and yelling “COVER YOUR HEAD WITH YOUR HANDS AND DON’T COME OUT UNTIL I TELL YOU!”
That’s when I tiptoed in to the kitchen (because, I guess maybe I thought some random intruder planted a bomb in my microwave), to discover that I had successfully Salmonella’d (it’s totally a word) every square inch of the kitchen. And a good portion of the ceiling.
The very next day, I thought I could redeem myself by placing some meat in the good ol’ crock pot, in order to fix Get a Husband Brunswick Stew.
I put the meat in to cook…and forgot about it. When I remembered it, it was something like a cross between jerky and charcoal. I mean, seriously, who burns meat in a crock pot?
The stress, it’s eating me alive.
However, there is one, tiny thing that makes me think I’m not that bad off. A few Easter’s ago, my best friend decided that she thought it would be a great idea to microwave her eggs in boiling water to hard boil them.
If you put an egg in the microwave, when you crack it, it explodes.
It is hard to get egg off a ceiling.
I’m avoiding the kitchen at all costs…lest I cause pigs or fish to fly!
I’m going to start backwards, because that’s how I do things–the hard, arduous, backwards way!
On the 12th day of Christmas The Universe Dumped on Me:
12 loads of laundry,
11 cups of coffee,
10 trips to Kroger (because I can’t remember to get what I needed the first 9 times I went!),
9 degree weather in Georgia,
8 days until Christmas (Oh Gosh, I still have so much to do!),
7 Specialists this week,
6 brand new extension sets,
5 hours of sleep (I wish!),
4 cases of Pediasure,
3 more trips to Kroger,
2 fighting children,
1 life that I wouldn’t change for anything!
Merry Christmas to all, may you sleep through the night!
(written as part of the Special Needs Blog hop)
Happy Leftovers Day!!!
Thanksgiving is so fun. It’s really a great holiday! No worries about gift buying. No expectations that will go unmet. No great hype. Just a time for a lot of food—what could be better!
Speaking of food…did you hear the one about the lady that tried to kill her family with a turkey?
You’re about to…
Around 11 on Wednesday, I decided it was high time for me to drag the turkey breast out of the fridge and put it in its brine. So, I (with the help of my lovely assistant J!) started dissolving the salt in the hot water, chopping herbs, and humming Christmas carols. We tossed that sucker in and continued on about our business.
Only the turkey wasn’t quite covered with water, so we started with the whole dissolving salt in hot water business again. And again. And again.
After that was done, I started to think about my fear of Salmonella.
And that, maybe—I should have used cold water instead of hot.
So, J and I emptied all the ice from the freezer in to the giant pot of turkey brining solution.
As per usual, I started to worry incessantly about if I was about to kill my family for Thanksgiving. I mean, I really love them a lot–and more than that, I like them! So, the thought of hospitalizing them unnecessarily was quite unappealing.
Not knowing what sort of a quandary I was in, I turned to my best Twitter pals.
Tiruba told me to buy more toilet paper just in case…
I freaked Dolores out so bad, that she swears she’s never brining again (I think I ruined her)!
Roxanne (who does not in any way resemble the girl in the song) sent me the Butterball hotline phone number.
Brilliant! I’ll call the Butterball hotline.
“Ring..Ring.. Hello, you’ve reached the Butterball hotline. Press 3 for Turkey Help. Press 4 to talk to a home economist. I’m sorry, our Home Economists are currently busy helping other people not kill their families, please try again later.”
So much for Butterball saving my… breast!
I don’t blame him.
Meanwhile, poor Dolores is breathing in a bag, popping a xanax, the Butterball help line isn’t talking to her either, and she is packing her turkey in ice.
But wait! Casey says she’s going to call me.
She does. She’s like the turkey queen of Indiana. She tells me I’m probably good to go. She asks me how big my turkey breast is.
I don’t actually know that answer, but what is one supposed to say to the QUEEN OF ALL THINGS TURKEY?
So, I say: “34C”…
(yeah, that went well…)
I then, in my vast wisdom, decide this is ridiculous and totally counter productive…not to mention my anxiety is through the roof.
I decide to chuck the turkey and go to Kroger, the day before Thanksgiving, for a new turkey.
I drive through the parking lot for 684 hours to find a parking spot. I park. I get in the Kroger.
I left my wallet at home.
Drive home, get the wallet, parking nightmare, lather, rinse, repeat.
Grab a new turkey breast (32D) and head to the register where I am 87th in line for the Express Lane.
The angels sing, and I finally reach the check out lady…who promptly tells me my turkey has no tag on it. So, she takes my turkey and huffs off to the meat section in the back of the store. You know, while the 98 people behind me in line are forming a lynch mob…
In the end, Thanksgiving was a success. We smoked the turkey (mom, sorry, but I inhaled), made a ton of sides, and reveled in a tryptophan haze for several hours.
But most of all, we were just thankful to be together.
There’s been a ton of stuff going on in our world, and I have neglected writing.
However, I thought that graduating was a higher priority…and yesterday, I turned in my final project. (BIG..HUGE sigh of relief).
Other than that, life is its typical crazy self.
I’m teaching two different classes this term and it’s…interesting. Adult learners are….interesting.
More later. Just wanted you to know we were still kicking.
Fuffant had an exciting weekend. He danced in the car, went to dinner, and was used for a tissue in times of need.
A few months ago, after I accepted my new job, I had to take a course to become a CPR instructor. I spent 8 grueling hours being lectured to, and ultimately had to “perform” under the watchful eyes of our local association leader.
Being the person that I am, I could not possibly imagine providing my students with anything but a memorable experience. I purchased some candy, printed off fun materials…but something was missing. CPR MUSIC!
The Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive” was used in our training. That was fun and all, but I needed to go bigger…better! I needed a playlist! Ideally, music should be near 100 beats per minute, although some of mine are a bit more. I used those with higher beats per minute with no difficulty in keeping my students on the correct pace. CPR MUSIC! (the playlist)
Someday, someone will find this fascinating and usable (I just know it!)
1. My Life Would Suck Without You (Glee) (think of the irony while doing CPR…)2. I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) (The Proclaimers) (“When I wake up/well I know I’m gonna be/I’m gonna be the man that wakes up next to you”—so funny!)3. How to Save a Life (The Fray) (The song dedicated to CPR)4. Holding Out for a Hero (Bonnie Tyler) (Need I say more?)5. Another One Bites the Dust (Queen) (Gallows Humor…)
6. One Night in Bangkok (Murray Head—seriously love this version) (“I can feel an angel sliding up to me”…)
7. Dancing Queen (Abba) (I can’t live myself without a dose of Abba daily)8. Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? (Culture Club) (“Do you really want to make me cry”–again, irony?)9. Send Me on My Way (Rusted Root) (More Gallows humor)10. You Keep Me Hangin’ On (Glee) (“Why do you keep a comin’ around, playin’ with my heart?”)11. You Give Love a Bad Name (Bon Jovi) (“Shot (shock?) through the heart, and you’re to blame…”)12. Total Eclipse of the Heart (Glee) (“Once upon a time I was falling in love/now I’m only falling apart)
Can you think of any I missed? Do you now have a song stuck in your head? Are you laughing like me?
The day we announced to the world our plans, our hopes, and our dreams.
Look at how far we’ve come!
There has been worry, tears, and broken hearts. But there has also been a whole lot of laughter and even more love!
Thank you (and you, and you, and you…) for sticking by us and supporting us. We are so very blessed by you on a daily basis.
And here’s to 40 more!
I need YOUR help.
Being a parent, we all must endure certain things for the benefit of our children. Things such as school fundraisers (dear Lord, please no more wrapping paper), the candy aisle at Kroger, and organized sports.
J is my swimmer. She’s quite good, and we have had her on the team at our local YMCA for 2 years. So for the past 9 weeks I have been ferrying her back and forth to the Y on a daily basis (with a smile on my face and love in my heart, right? Yes, RIGHT!).
Well, being the person that I am, I decided this year was going to be a good season. Last year, we almost roasted ourselves to death sitting in the hot sun every Saturday for swim meets. I began to covet the shade some parents had—they had their own canopy tent things. So, for the well being of all of us, namely Jack who is very heat intolerant, I found us a tent! Sebi dubbed it the best purchase ever, and we began toting it to each and every meet.
So, for NINE weeks, we have found ourselves a little corner away from the crowds, where Jack can be comfy, we can watch all the children swim, and J can rest between events.
Yesterday was the culminating event of the season—the Championship meet! They provided programs with the kids’ names and fastest times of the season, they had specific times for each team to warm up, and they even had t-shirts made!
J’s team was to be there at 8 for warm ups. So, we get there, unload, and begin our trek in to the pool.
J carries her towel, goggles, the cooler. Sebi drags the tent (which is 12′x12′). I push Jack and carry the 3 folding seats.
We look kind of like a circus act, but it works!
So there we are, tromping across the pool area. We found a nice corner out of the way, and put our things down.
(cue Godzilla music)
She spies us. And marches…literally marches…up to us. She says, “there are no tents allowed. You can put it up outside.” She then spins on one leg and marches back off to tell other unsuspecting parents that they aren’t welcome either.
Like a good girl, we pack up, and go outside the pool area to set up our tent.
It was then that I got really mad. I mean, I got so mad I almost went Jersey City on this lady. Snooki has nothing over me when I get my Jersey City attitude on!
It’s pretty obvious that we have a special needs child. We have spent 8 weeks setting up every Saturday with not a single person telling us not to.
So, I’m fuming. Sebi is trying to calm me down. Well, I’m having none of it. I got her name. I wrote it down. I was going to write a nasty letter.
BUT THEN, there was a whole other issue.
They announce events. For example, they would say “anyone swimming events 1-5 please report to the on deck area.” The on deck area is always a covered area with metal chairs for the kids to sit and relax and wait for their event.
No. Not this week. They had children sitting on metal chairs with no covering. Because there are no tents. It was 99 degrees with 1000% humidity and a heat index of 115. METAL CHAIRS are dangerous for a kid to sit on! I was not going to allow the children to be barbecued!
She did nothing. Nothing.
And I am mad. But I don’t know what to do.
What would you do?
(sorry for the long rant, but I am really upset…)
My best pal, Alissa, called me a couple weeks ago.
“Hey,” she says, “will you watch Nineveh the Fish while we go on vacation?”
Of course, I said yes. I mean, she’s not only one of the best friends I have ever had in my entire life…BUT, she lives like less than a mile away AND I’m happy to help!
So, the day they were leaving, I drove over there to pick up Nineveh. He was happily living on her counter in a mixing bowl.
We put some plastic wrap on him, so we could make it home. J refused to let me drive faster than 5 MPH because she was getting wet. It wasn’t a very big mixing bowl. We had to pull over on the main subdivision thoroughfare so cars could pass us.
Everything went well for the first 15 minutes Nineveh was resting on my counter.
Then, he jumped out. I totally wish I was kidding. The fish JUMPED OUT OF HIS BOWL!
He was so distraught over them leaving him, he did himself in.
We picked him up and tossed placed him gently back in the mixing bowl of doom.
He swam upside down. I knew he was not long for the world.
Nineveh passed in the night…
(moment of silence)
I don’t get it! How can I keep my sister in law’s dog alive for FOUR years, but kill a fish in 15 minutes?
Anyone else need a pet sitter?
*Note: I researched and took them a Betta fish in return for killing their pet. I hear they’re hardy and rarely jump out of bowls. Also, I bought them a proper bowl with a lid.*
A few years ago, while we were living in Orlando, we experienced 3 (yes, THREE!) hurricanes within 6 weeks. The power was out for days…weeks in some cases. Streets were lined 10 feet high with tree limbs, branches, and debris. We joked that they would rename our street “Blue Tarp Lane” because every house lost its roof.
Hurricanes are interesting. Everyone knows they are coming. The meteorologists get excited from the time they are little waves off the coast of Africa. As the storm strengthens, reconnaissance missions are sent to get the latest internal pressures—so they can give the storm a name! As it approaches the land, the meteorologist removes his suit jacket, rolls up the sleeves on his white button down shirt, and releases his tie a bit from his neck. The news no longer involves murders, car accidents, and robberies—it is shot from the front of the Winn Dixie where there are reports of women fighting over the last loaf of bread.
The special needs world is kind of like that hurricane. You kind of know it’s coming. Even if you didn’t know at first, you had that hunch. Then you get whammed with the diagnosis. During the clean up, you find laughter again, can feel your heart swell with the knowledge that you did it! You made it through the storm–in one piece (well, mostly one piece)!
And then, you can fight for the life of your child…as if he was the last loaf of bread on the planet.
This is the story of my life. Nobody better touch my bread.