A few issues and a lot of poop

We have already established that I have issues with overwhelmedness (still a word). Lately, however, I am also having issues with inspiration. Perhaps it is the fact that Two Fish only has a week left of school and I'm sliding into summer mode. Perhaps it is the graduation committee that I'm on for his preschool. This committee involves kumquat trees and lots of meetings and will be addressed later. It could also be that I'm may or may not have offended One Fish's teacher last week in my attempt to offer suggestions that could jostle her class out of mediocrity in a last end of the year push. It could also be that Red Fish has had ear infections which have led to skin outbreaks (I don't understand it either...) and I don't know a mother who could resist obsessing over THAT. It could also be that It Is Time To Go Back To a little bit Of Work. And you know that sort of obsessing takes extreme mental energy. So, perhaps my overwhelmedness is really getting in the way of blog inspiration. In any event, my sister, who richly deserves a fabulous nickname and will get one when said inspiration problems resolve themselves, provided me with a story that is nothing if not blogworthy. So, having no motivation to write about my own life, I'll write about hers.

During a shopping trip last week, she realized in Gymboree that her oldest (JC) was a bit... stinky. Quickly realizing that she had forgotten her diapers in the car and would have to hike aaaaaaaalllllll the way back to the car to get them, she determined to finish using her Gymbucks before leaving. Who can blame her? I do, however,have a problem being sympathetic with her at this part of this story since she lives near a mall that requires one to walk a loooong way to return to one's car AND since she lives near a Gymboree. I have neither. But I digress.

She relates that the saleswomen in Gymboree begin saying things like "ooh my. Someone is a little stinky." She is much nicer than I am because I would have called their little 18 year old selves on it and remarked that JC certainly was and they should use their nanny skills and change her whenever they wanted. But she's a kind and congenial person and did just want to use her freakin' Gymbucks after all and wasn't in the mood for banter. So, she picked out the pieces she wanted, drove several other nose-pinching families from the store, and realized that perhaps the diaper in question was not going to make it back to the car without an implosion.

She hightailed it to the nearest bathroom and discovered gleefully that she had just enough quarters to get a "diaper changing kit" from the dispenser in the restroom. Perfect. She pops those quarters in and... nothing happens. The "kit" is stuck in the machine, just out of reach. She squats on the floor and reaches her hand up into the machine. Nothing. She beats on the machine. Nothing. She enlists JC's help to beat on the machine. This was a somewhat promising tactic until it had to be abandoned due to fears that it was attracting too much outside attention. Apparently being allowed to beat on a public machine was enough to make JC squeal with glee and shout at the top of her lungs "HIT BOX, MOMMY! HIT BOX!!" At a point of desperation, my dear sister (a truly wonderful mother) does what anyone of us should hope we have the wherewithall to do should we ever find ourselves in this situation. She pulled JC over to the machine and jammed her significantly smaller hand up the thing and said "Get the present, sweetie." That sweet little person tried and tried for her chubby hand to get the "present" as her mother wrenched and pulled her arm, trying to get it further into the box. All to no avail. Nothing.

Just when all hope was lost, the package comes flopping down into the receptacle at the bottom! Oh, happy day! Except, the diaper changing "kit" actually turned out to contain only a...diaper. No wipies as promised. No sanitary changing pad as promised. No disposal bag as promised. Just a diaper. By the time she finished changing the child with wet paper towels from the sink, there was poop everywhere that you may imagine it would be after this scenario.

By the time they got home, the little one (three months old) has a situation of her own. My sister (can I just call her TB for the time being?), discovers as she lifts her out of the car that the situation is actually an all-out blowout of epic proportion. JC of course, is a proper two year old and chooses this moment to refuse to get out of the car and annouces that she will be staying to play in the car while her mother takes her sister inside. Since they live on a quiet street and TB was nearing the end of her proverbial rope, she debates trying to drag her from the car while maintaining her at-arms-reach hold on the messy baby. She actually ends up just leaving her in the car (if she had a blog, I'd include the address so that you could send the hate comments directly to her instead of going through me first, but she doesn't. She's too busy with poop to do any blogging). In her defense, I'll say that I have done the same and also live on a very quiet street. There, now the hate comments can rightfully come here.

Anywho, she goes upstairs and finds that the blowout actually includes poop up the back and (get ready for this) down the sleeves of the child's outfit. I really, really hate disgusting blogs and stop reading at most mentions of bathroom habits, but THIS, dear readers, is quite impressive, no? BEsides, it's baby poop and that, in my opinion, is much less gross.

She gets that situation taken care of and debates what to do with the outfit. She determines that since it has now been through two children and The Blowout Of All Time, that she may treat herself by just throwing it away. I think she deserved at least that, don't you? At least she had the foresight to pick up a few things at Gymboree that day.

That's all I've got for today.

Clemsongirl tagged me a really, really long time ago and I have yet to fulfill my duties. I am prone to overwhelmedness (shut up- you know that's a word...)

Five Random Things About Me

1) I survived the grueling experience of applying to the Peace Corp after college. After 14 months of waiting for an assignment or whatever they call it, I decided that I really DID need to find myself, but that I was pretty sure I wasn't in Africa. So, I took a job as a waitress and went back to graduate school. Not sure if I found myself there either, but I did find a husband. The Scientist was one of my teachers. Or is that more than you wanted to know?

2) The Scientist and I dated 5 months before getting engaged. I was pregnant five months after we got married.

3) In my pre-household-executive-life I was a middle school science teacher. And actually liked it. I apparently thrive in a room engulfed in a cloud of hormones, but would die a slow agonizing death in a room full of preschoolers every day (other than the fishies of course).

4) My sister and I talk at least once a day. Usually more. Much more. I'm usually the one calling. She is a lawyer turned chef and she is the sounding and review board for most things coming from my kitchen.

5) Sweets will rot in my house before they get eaten. The fishies love baked goods and all things sweet. The Scientist and I are indifferent. But, we will fight over the last anything salty/greasy. There is a smothered okra we get at a local store and it is worth fighting over. I don't know what they do to it, but I know it involves butter- and lots of it.

Consider yourself tagged.

Will Work For Shoes

WTF. The Scientist does not work for a car dealership and is not in the high-end restaurant business. Nor do we own a gift shop or a country club. The Scientist is not a cosmetic surgeon. So why, why, why are WE feeling the pinch of the economy?! I know, I know. It now takes as much to fill up the Mommymobile as I'm pretty sure my parents paid for my room and board for a semester at Clemson. The organic milk I used to buy (yes, I do buy into all that crap because we can't have One Fish "starting" when she's 8, now can we?) is now almost $4/half gallon. Do not even talk to me about cheese. Who are these cows that produce a product that warrants such a price and shouldn't the organic be cheaper since the farmers are saving all that money not having to buy pesticides and hormones and what not?!

That economic stimulus package that is coming out (please, God) next month? Contrary to what ol' W hopes (and I'm not by any means one to pile on ol' W or slam our executive office- I'm just telling it like it is here) we will not be taking a lavish vacation with our money. We will not buy appliances or electronics. We will not put a down payment on a car. We.Will.Pay.Off.The.Credit.Card. Because these last few months we've had to break our rule and use it and I'm not completely sure the minimum payment will be in our budget much longer. We may go ahead and prepay preschool. Or throw some money at our student loans so that we pay them off sometime before the fishies go to college themselves. But, we will not be becoming proud owners of a new swimming pool or game room or investing in stocks. Just so everyone knows.

Unfortunately, the first thing to go at times like these is...me. No more cute spring shoe shopping trips. No more visits to even the discount store for a few pairs of cute capris or some cutie spring polos. Even though my favorite clothing item in the world is flip flops (just about any pair), I will not be restocking the supply for this season. I will need all the extra money (and then some) to keep my toes in shape for LAST season's flip flops. Because the only thing that looks worse than old flip flops is old flip flops with k-mart feet in them, right?

If someone's gonna get sick, it sure as hell better not be Mommy

Ain't it the truth. But, readers, I am down for the count.

To recap and to offer a complete Death And Dying Report, I spent my Friday night in the ER with The Scientist. He had a raging fever that I tried to cure with a lukewarm bath. This, according to the ER doc, did more for killing him that the actual fever. Apparently this is an addendum in medical textbooks now. And I bet you didn't know either, huh? But anyway, when you put a feverish person in lukewarm water, they shiver which just generates more body heat. My friend Jennifer suggested putting an ice pack on his groin in order to bring the fever down. I opted for the bath instead, so I told him to count his lucky stars and be grateful for the bath. Regardless of its ill effects. Gotta be better than an ice pack to the groin, right? He had a virus and he seemed better two days later.

On to me. I actually went to the doctor yesterday. This indicates that I did indeed feel as though I was dying. I hadn't been to any doc other than an OB in 6 years. SIX. Not even the year I had the flu on Thanksgiving day and had a fever of 102 but cooked dinner anyway, popped a few Tylenol and then went off to our traditional post-T'giving-dinner-movie. Suck it up, is my usual policy about illness. But, I did believe I was dying. So, off I went.

An hour later I had a playdate for my son as the doc lives very close to us and has a son Two Fish's age (told you I lived in a small town). I also had prescription for Penicillin and a positive rapid strep test. Somehow, if The Scientist gets sick, things might slow down and get a little complicated for a bit. If I get sick...the ship sinks.

But, this is a good example of how we handle illness differently. He felt he was getting sick, so, he went to bed and rested and took the appropriate drugs until he healed. I felt I was getting sick, so I spent the day washing and putting away every available dirty piece of clothing in the house, mopping all the floors, straightening the house, and planning meals for the next week. Things have to be managable if I'm going to be out of commission for awhile, right?

The Scientist has Two Fish and Red Fish right now and is off to tackle the carpool line. He gets BIG points for staying home since I've been sick. Of course, each of these days, he's somehow had some sort of lingering ailment that has threatened to overshadow the fact that I am begging for a throatectomy and have glands the size of golf balls bulging from the sides of my neck, but I try not to dwell on details. He gets the credit where it is due. And it is due, regardless. I'm supposed to be sleeping while he's gone. No tattle tales, please.

Don't act like you're not jealous...

Don't hate me because I got invited to MomProm 2. Doesn't the invite just speak for itself? I am sooooooo there...

For the Record

Do not spend the $$ on the pricey ingredients for the Shrimp and Crab gumbo recipe contained in a previously mentioned cookbook. I guess I'm not used to a gumbo that seems to have tomato soup as it's base. Ewwww. It is edible, but it's safe to say that I will not have to put pen to recipe card to save that one. Perhaps I'll just tell the scientist that we're having shrimp and crab tomato soup. As disgusting as that sounds, it will save him from being excited to hear that we're having gumbo.

Lesson learned on the gumbo. My delicious recipe that takes foooooreeeeeeveeer to make is completely worth it. Many things can be hurried in life but not gumbo.

Dumpster Diving

I've been reminding The Scientist daily that I have been kicking ass at cooking and cleaning. I'm sure he's not commenting on his own because he just hasn't noticed how awesome I've been lately at taming the house and feeding the masses, right? Right? So, tonight I'm trying three new recipes. Seems a little extreme and risky even to me, so I'll walk you through my thought process here.

My personal theme for this year is REDUCE. I tackled the older fishies' room yesterday (aka- threw all the crap away that they are too non-OCD to toss on their own- isn't a little touch of obsessive compulsion good for the soul?). I'm not even done yet. It all has to be done while they are at school so they don't see that I am throwing away their collection of tiny, cheap, plastic reptiles that they forgot even existed, never played with anyway and have been in the outer pocket of one of the backpacks since 2004. Or the several decks of cards that put together may not equal 52. Or even 25 for that matter. That they don't know how to play any games with anyway. Or the small army men who have lost legs and heads and aren't played with (but heaven forbid they go to the great dumpster in the sky). I made them watch the Oprah last week with the woman who's house was packed with stuff and there was mold, etc. under all of it. Anyone see it? I told them to consider it a cautionary tale. The Scientist says I'm heartless. I say I'm practical.

I was getting to me here... I have waaaaay too many cookbooks. I have gotten rid of dozens and am down to my "favorite" say, 15. So, a few months ago I decided to pick a cookbook and work my way through it, trying any recipe that seemed remotely appealling and something my family would enjoy. If I find a winning recipe, I write it down, put it in the recipe box and keep going. When I'm done, I get rid of the cookbook. What a great idea is that, huh?! I'm currently working on Southern Living 1998. Tonight we're having: Shrimp-Crab Gumbo (I'm skeptical since I consider myself to make a mean gumbo, but this one seemed much faster to make so I'm willing to keep an open mind), carrot-raisin salad with orange-nutmeg dressing (hate, hate, hate carrot raisin salad, but again, keeping an open mind since the dressing sounded good) and some sort of pea salad.

Not the most cohesive combination of dishes tonight, but it's three knocked off the list. I just know that my family is going to be sooooo grateful for the work I'm doing today. The new recipes, the laundry, the shopping, the mopping, the straightening, the picking up and dropping off. They are going to be singing my praises all evening long. They'll be filling out the Mother/Wife of the Year applications first thing in the morning. Unless, of course, they look in the trashcans...