Excuses

Here is a list of excuses for why I haven’t posted in two weeks:

1.  The Beast has been out of preschool since May 15th, and I have discovered that I get nothing accomplished when he is home.  Apparently I was a lot more productive in those 8 free hours per week than I realized. There is no telling how frequently I’ll post this summer.  Hats off to you if you’re a mom who posts daily.  I have no idea how you do it.

2.  I have been obsessively planning The Beast’s 3rd birthday party.  It’s going to be a Toy Story theme and it will be better than anything you could over hope to do for your child.  My party will put your party to shame.  After I post the pictures of my party, you will feel entirely inadequate as a mother.

Point #2 is a complete and total lie.  My party will most likely blow, because while I have been obsessively searching the Internet for party ideas and have bookmarked about 3,000 web sites for various reasons, I have done no actual party work.  This is what I always do.  I get lost in the vortex that is the information available on the Internet and then I become so overwhelmed that I just give up.  Most likely The Beast’s party will entail a store-bought cake and three Mylar balloons that I will purchase the morning of the party.

3.  The Good One had a science project that was due last week, and, as we all know, the student does little to no actual work on science projects.  The Good One had to make a model of a Blue-banded Goby fish and a model of red algae.  Again, I got lost in the quagmire of the Internet and finally gave up and bought Swedish Fish and had The Good One paint blue stripes on them.  Then I bought two stems of fake foliage and had The Good One and Virginia Slims Man spray paint them red.  Then we stuck it all into a styrofoam circle.  Honestly, it was probably the best project we’ve ever done.

We’re not very good at projects.

This brings up another point, who the hell assigns two science projects to be handed in the second to last week of school?  Is it to make sure that the kids don’t just flake out the last month?  Is it to give them all an easy A to pad their grades?  I think their goal is to make me drink.  Mission accomplished.

4.  Lastly, the reason I haven’t posted anything in a while is that I have been utterly and completely unmotivated and uninspired.  And rather than give you a crappy post about nothing, I give you actual nothing.

You’re welcome.

To prove to you how unmotivated I am, I’m not proofreading this post.  Feel free to send me a corrected version.

Peeing, life’s most underappreciated bodily function.

You know what I miss?

Not a trick question.  The answer is in the title of the post.

I miss peeing.  More specifically, I miss peeing at a leisurely pace where I kind of just let the pee flow out of me at its own natural rate, rather than the peeing I do now which involves me using every single muscle in my urinary tract to force the pee out of my body in a gushing wave as quickly as possible.

This is not at all where I imagined this post going.  I apologize.  Honestly, it could be worse.

There was a period in the past where peeing was kind of a nice thing to do.  I’d casually look at a magazine, check my phone, hum a tune or maybe even whistle.

I’m kind of showing my dweeb here, aren’t I?  My two closest friends probably don’t whistle while they pee.  My one friend is ultra-cool.  She has cool clothes and listens to cool music by bands I’ve never heard of.  She’d stop hanging out with me if she saw the stuff on my iPod.  You cannot be cool while listening to Hall & Oates and Air Supply.

Shut up.

My other friend is a whack-job like me, but she hides it behind an air of sophistication.  She’s like Audrey Hepburn on the outside and a psych ward patient on the inside.  It’s kind of an awesome combination.

Unlike Audrey Hepburn, I’m not able to successfully mask my crazy so I’m more like a psych ward patient on the inside and Lewis Black on the outside.

Sexy, I know.

As usual, the above 8 paragraphs have nothing to do with this post.

As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I no longer have the luxury of peeing at my leisure.  I mentioned in the past how my all-too-human need to empty my bladder caused me to have to call Poison Control.  And really, I imagine that this is the same for every mom on the planet.  Casual peeing is really a childless woman’s game.  Now, peeing is only done on an absolutely as-needed basis and it’s usually saved for naptime or bedtime or those instances where you can feel your bladder attempting to leave your body by turning itself inside out so that it can be expelled through your urethra.

(I’m pretty sure my anatomy and physiology is incorrect.  I dropped out of A&P after one week, so I have no idea where your bladder would leave your body if it decided to do so and I do not care enough to Google it.)

This past week I had the joy of peeing in the bathroom at The Beast’s dentist office.

Let me say, you’d be blown away if you saw The Beast in a dental chair.  He’s suddenly the most obedient and well-behaved child on the planet.  He lets the hygienist polish and floss his teeth without complaint.  He lets the dentist poke his mouth with the dental poker.  (I used to work in a dental office.  “Dental poker” is the actual technical term.  Don’t Google it.)

On Wednesday, after paying for The Beast’s cleaning, I had to pee.  Normally I do not pee in public.  Surprisingly, this is not because of a fear of public toilets, although if I did a little research I could probably freak myself out enough never to allow my tush to touch a toilet seat again.

It really just has to do with logistics.  If I’m sitting on the toilet, what will The Beast do?  I can’t very well leave him with a stranger.  If I take him into a bathroom stall with me, he’ll likely crawl on the floor and peek into the stall of the person next to me.

That actually happened to me once.  I was peeing in the bathroom in Target when a little head peeked under the wall between the stalls and greeted me.  And because I’m ridiculously nice, I acted like it was totally okay that this child was watching me pee.  I didn’t scream.  I didn’t say, “Ma’am, your son is freaking me out a little.”  I just pretended like people watch me pee all the time.

Anyway, if I opted to pee in a public bathroom, The Beast would undoubtedly end up on the floor.  I do not think there’s enough disinfectant in the world to get public bathroom germs off of a child.  In fact, there was an episode of CSI where a child died after crawling on a bathroom floor and the medical examiner put “Bathroom Germs” as the cause of death.  (True story.  Don’t Google it.)

However, at the dentist’s office on Wednesday, I really had to go.  I figured that it would be relatively safe.  The bathroom was just like a bathroom that you’d have in your house.  There were no stalls that would invite a crawling expedition, so I felt like I could safely take him in with me.

So we went into the bathroom and I started to pee.  The Beast decided he’d like to climb up onto the sink. We had a brief argument about not climbing onto fixtures.  He decided that if he wasn’t going to be permitted to climb on the sink, then he was quite done with this bathroom, so he walked to the door and started to unlock it.

As it turns out, I was in the “gush” phase of the pee.  Being nearly 40, my ability to stop my urine flow isn’t quite as exact as it used to be.  But if I didn’t remove my body from the toilet and stop The Beast from leaving the room, he was going to open the door and expose me to the entire dental office.

So I made a very quick choice to dive off of the toilet and physically stop him from unlocking the door.  And in the process, I peed all over the dentist’s bathroom floor.

(Virginia Slims Man is going to have a hard time keeping his hands off of me after reading this post.)

I yelled at The Beast that he was not permitted to unlock the door, and then I cleaned up my pee.

Audrey Hepburn would never pee on the floor.

So, I’ve reached the point in my post where I try to come up with a moral to my story.  A nugget of wisdom.  A dingleberry of truth.

There’s the obvious: Don’t take for granted the ability to peacefully enjoy your bodily functions.

But maybe slightly less obvious: If you gush before you flush, don’t be a boar; wipe up the floor.

P.S.  I’m writing a book of poetry.  I’m pretty sure, based on the above sample, that it’s going to rock.

Like Air Supply.

Do you miss me?

I like to believe that when I disappear for a while, you wait anxiously by your computer, checking my blog multiple times per minute for an update.  A morsel.  A tidbit.  A tiny dingleberry of wisdom.

That’s what I feel like I’m offering.  Dingleberries.

Right now my mom is Googling “dingleberry.”

Speaking of my mom, she left Monday after a month-long visit.  You may be saying to yourself, “How the hell did she have her mom in her house for a month and not kill her?”

Let me tell you how.

I drank.  A lot.

(Kidding, Mom.)

I drank moderately to heavily.

(Kidding, Mom.)

I was high the entire time.

(Kidding, Mom.)

I could go on all day.

Really, having my mom in my house for a month was a blessing.  She was incredibly helpful with my house, my laundry and with both boys.  In fact, her visit gave me a whole new respect for her and for how much she was able to accomplish during the day when I was a kid.  She also made me realize how utterly craptastic I am as a housekeeper.  It turns out that my inability to keep a clean house has less to do with a lack of time and more to do with an abundance of laziness.

I have a lady that cleans my house every other week.  I could pretend that it’s because I’m insanely wealthy and don’t have time to do menial labor such as cleaning when my time could be better spent wearing fluffy high-heeled slippers and eating Bon-Bons.

But the truth is that I am middle class with impeccably horrible cleaning skills and if I didn’t scrounge together enough money to pay someone to clean my house, my children would be taken from me due to deplorable living conditions.

You know how you drive by those yards and there will be a moldy birdbath, a car on blocks, a broken refrigerator and random other crap strewn about the yard?  And you wonder to yourself, How on earth do they live there and look at that crap all day?  And then you realize that after a period of time, they don’t even see the crap anymore.  They just get so used to looking at it that it no longer bothers them.

Well, that’s how my house is.  I am the keeper of all of the crap.  I have stacks of photos I’ll never organize and when I’m dead from whatever disease I’m sure is ravaging my body at the moment, my children will find thousands of photos that they will promptly throw away.

And I have stacks of coupons that expired in 2011.

I have no idea why I cut coupons.  I see those women at Target who have 3-ring binders with coupons organized in business card holders, and when they check out with 15 bags of items, they owe Target $2.50.

I show up to Target and purchase 15 bags of things and whip out one coupon for a dollar off of toilet paper, only I won’t have grabbed the right kind of toilet paper so my coupon is worthless.  Or I bring all of my coupons, get all the proper items and then forget to give the coupons to the cashier.

My mom, however, is my polar opposite.  She loves order and cleanliness.  When we were kids, she vacuumed twice a day.  (Still does.)  The house was always spotless when my dad got home from work.  To this day, she cannot stand disorder and chaos.

I do not know how she survived in my house for a month.

She was likely high the entire time.

I’m pretty sure she was horrified by my complete lack of housekeeping effort.

She would make statements like, “This afternoon we’re going to dust and vacuum.”  Then I’d say something like, “Why?  Kathy comes in four days, and the house was dusted and vacuumed ten days ago.”

Then she’d mutter something along the lines of, “Dear God, how on earth did I produce this child?”

Her visit made me realize how, even though I’m nearly 40, I still see her as my boss.  During her visit, if she told me to clean up the house, I’d complain and protest for a while, and then I’d clean it.  When she said that I needed to put away laundry, I put it away.  It was like I was still 13 years old.

And just like when I was 13, my hair and clothes still drive her nuts.  Mostly because I never do my hair and I wear my jeans four sizes too big because I cannot stand anything touching my waist.

Anyway, Mom was here and now I’m in a funk because I hate living so far from my family, so that’s why I haven’t posted and that’s why this post sucks.

Aren’t you so glad that you just wasted four minutes of your life reading this stream of consciousness?  I just stole four minutes from your life.

That’s my deep thought for the day.

I promise to get myself together enough to form a coherent post in the near future.  But for the time being I’m going to wallow in self-pity for another day or so and drown my sadness in cookies and wine.

Mostly wine.