Out of the mouth of an old lady

Earlier this week, I went to visit my almost 94 year old Grandma.  You may (or may not) remember that she is now in a nursing home.  She lived alone, fell a lot and refused to use her Life Alert (Help me, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up).   Push came to shove and after breaking her neck (she fell and broke it – no one did it for her.  Don’t the wrong idea.) she had no choice in the matter.

She always was a crabby old lady – except towards her grandchildren – but now she is down right BITTER.  You make shake your heads at this but I only visit about once a month and I keep the visits to about 45 minutes – max.

With Avery out of town with Hubby, I thought it would be a nice opportunity for Grandma to see Carson (not for the first time, folks).  So I got dressed up – hair and makeup included – and loaded up the boy and hit the road.  (I make it sound like it was cross country – but really it’s only 30 minutes away – although in Avery’s eyes that’s long enough to pack a snack and a drink, maybe even lunch)

I told my Grandma I’d be there about 11 – knowing full well that she has to go to the dining room at 11:45.  I am evil, yes I know.  Well wouldn’t you know, Carson pooped right before we left and needed a little TLC…so I pulled into the parking lot at 11:05.  I walk into Grandma’s hallway and she is standing outside her door…waiting.  Lurking.  Seething.

“Well, there you are.  I wondered if you were ever going to get here.”

And so the visit begins.

We settle in on the sofa and I get Carson out for her to hold him.  She is thrilled at gooing and cooing over the boy.  He is damn cute and his smile is killer.  Pretend to nibble his toes and he’ll adore you forever.  And here it is – 10 minutes into the visit and not one.single.solitary complaint.  WOW!!!!!  This is wonderful.

Then she turns to me, as I sit there in my cute wrap dress, and pokes my stomach and says…wait for it…

“What’s going on with you?  You look like you’re about to have another one.”

With all the restraint I could summon from the gods, I managed to not utter one.fucking.word.  I simply smiled and said “No, Grandma, I’m not having another one.”  And I changed the damn subject.

Visit continues without incident.

For about 42 seconds.

“I just don’t know what they expect me to do around here.”  (In my head, I am thinking about all of the activities on the board RIGHT.OUTSIDE.HER.ROOM)

“I just can’t talk to these other inmates. Half are deaf and the other half can’t speak.”

“And the food is lousy here.”  Really, Grandma?  Because everytime I see you it appears that you are gaining a little extra.  Maybe I should ask you if you are going to have a baby???

But the piece de resistance…the really truly I can’t believe you just said that moment – came right before I left.  Oh.my.god – I can’t believe that my GRANDMA said this.

She is telling me about how she cruises the hallways with her walker and one of the guys calls her Speedy Gonzeales.  And she said…

“Well, I have to do something with my legs since I can’t wrap them around my husband anymore.”

Ewwww…now there’s an image.

Maybe it will be two months before I go back.

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Put the jello shot down and step away from the pinata

That should have been the catchy phrase on the evite for my birthday party.  Yes, the party that happened 2 weeks ago.  Yes, the party I am just now blogging about. 

The idea of a party came about 4 weeks after Carson was born.  I was at the bar the library with Hubby and his co-worker.  And let’s just say I was in a really happy mood.  Party on Wayne.  Party on Garth.   Suddenly I am struck with the idea of having a big blow out party.   My birthday was just an excuse.   The evite was sent, the guest list created, and really it was a lot of Hubby’s co-workers.  Sounded like a great time.  Our friend PJ was bringing the kegs, Hubby was grilling the food.  (He is the grill master…)

chicken

ribs

food

bar

(Notice Avery’s picnic table is the makeshift bar?  A very well stocked bar I might add)

We had games – horseshoes, bocce, and cornhole.  Which the name of that game just dumbfounds me…but I digress.

Then came the pinata…

WTF?  Right?  But then it was “hell yeah”.  Why not. 

There were items to discuss. 

1)  What shape pinata does one have for an adult party?  Penis?  Blow Up Doll?  Unicorn with a condom on the horn?  Left to Hubby – it was the shape of a softball.

2) What, dare I ask, does one put in an adult pinata?  Condoms?  Little minibar bottles?  Hell no.

Why, Jello Shots, of course!

Rules of the game:  blindfolded and spun around once.  Then have it with the authentic pinata stick. 

me

That’s me.  Since I was the birthday girl I got the first whack.    I have a complex with making a fool of myself and people laughing at me so I only took one swing.  I hit the tree.

Michelle was a ROCK STAR at the pinata stick.  Even with Hubby pulling it up high as soon as she swung. michelle

As was Martha.  Elbow up!

Picture 009

The guys were funny too.  They had to spin twice.  And there were some samuri moves, some fancy footwork.  They were not to be outdone by the ladies in the house.

But it was Lesley.  Sweet, quiet Lesley who whacked the SHIT out of it.  And broke it.  See the piece flying…

lesley

Then came the rush.  The frenzy of 20 adults picking up the fallen jello shots.  They had lids on them when they were put in.  But some fell off when they made their rapid descent.   A little dirt never hurt anyone.

picking up shots

It wasn’t long after this that we got a noise complaint.  From the neighbors behind us.  Probably because we didn’t invite them.  I mean, COME ON, close  your damn windows.  It was 10:30 at night.  (I think – it’s still kind of a blur.) Not 2 am when we were playing horseshoes.  Not 4 am when the firepit was out of control.  Not 5 am when the last of the party goers left.

And here they are – the last of them.  I took the picture…that’s why it’s fuzzy.  It looked in focus at the time.  It was just me and the guys.  Still drinking.  Still smoking.  Still chillin’.

last of the party goers

A great time WAS in fact had by all.  But it took me about 3 days to recover.  But I am proud that I drank for about 10 hours straight.  And didn’t puke.  However I think I’ll wait til the big 4-0 before trying to having another bash like this.

I’ve been “In-Lawed”

Yes, you read that right.  I have officially been “in-lawed” …by Sam and Avery.

Yesterday afternoon, as we were driving home from the grocery store. I heard them exchange vows, while sitting side-by-side in their booster seats. 

And it’s a good thing I like his parents.  I mean, these are jello-shotting, beer-drinking relatives we have now. 

I love it. 

And Avery loves Sam.  And vice versa.

I wonder what will happen when they go to different schools for kindergarten.

Night Terrors? Or a really big Chicken Nugget?

I have to set up this story twice. 

First the chicken nuggets.  Avery likes chicken nuggets.  She usually only eats them with her friends – at McDonald’s with Sam.  Where she dips them in the Apple Dippers Caramel sauce. (Gag)  And when we go to Sydney and Ryan’s for lunch – where she dips them in Ranch Dressing and Ketchup.  Just like Syndey does.  When she does indulge in the occasional nugget at home, it’s plain.  No sauce.  No ranch.  No ketchup.  I ask her, just in case she plans to change her mind, but she never waivers.  Keep that in the back of your mind, ok?  Just tuck that morsel away until you get to the next part of the story.

Secondly – for the past several weeks nights, have been awoken at all hours  by the yelling in my ear gentle whispers of my sweet girl standing next to my bed.  In my zombie-like, my-infant-son-still-isn’t-sleeping-more-than-3-hours -at- a-time state, I whip back the covers and let her crawl in.

I shouldn’t, I know that.  Not because of the reasons you might be thinking…disrupting the martial bed or any of that mumbo jumbo.  It’s because she is a BED HOG!  I am constantly finding a foot in the small of my back.  Or feet on my head.  Or her head on my stomach.  And she steals shares my pillow.  Well, you get the picture, right?

Last night was no different.  As soon as she heard me come  upstairs and climb into bed, she was right there.   We got through most of the night without incident.  She must have been very tired.

Suddenly I am awoken by screaming.  And she’s yelling, at the top of her lungs, “I don’t WANT any RANCH dressing!  NO! NO! NO!”  Um, WTF?

Me:  Avery, are you awake?

Silence

Me: Avery, you are dreaming, honey!

Avery:  NO! Mommy, I am having a NIGHTMARE! (Throws arms around me sobbing)

 Was she being chased by a ginormous chicken nugget covered in ranch dressing?  Is she going to spend years in therapy reconciling her loathing of ranch dressing.  I’m not sure where that was coming from, because she fell back asleep before she could tell me about it.  But you can bet that I wouldn’t be offering her ranch dressing with her nuggets at dinner any time in the near future.  Or maybe ever.  Thankfully I didn’t give her a hot dog for dinner.  That would have been a whole different set of nightmares.

ETA:  I have to give a shout out to JILL – who just learned about my blog.  Obviously she doesn’t REALLY read my FB page b/c the link is right there.  Just sayin’ – and I did write about my favorite subject.  YOU!  Word.  XOXO

Rollin’ with the homeys

Anyone remember what movie that song is from?  Anyone?  Anyone?  (Answer will be at the end of this post…)

I really want to share with y’all the details of my birthday party…but since a picture is worth a thousand words I have to wait until I get pictures from my friend.  I mean, the post is no good without the photo backup of a man picking up jello shots from the ground.  Jello shots that came from a pinata.  A pinata that was at an all adult party.  Well…you catch my drift.

In the meantime, I have been taking some more pics of my homeys (read: kids) and I thought I would share. 

Avery went back to school yesterday.  And during lunch, I got a preview of years to come.  The teenage years.

Me:  Avery, what did you do at school today?

Avery:  Nothing.

Me: REPEAT

Avery: I don’t remember.

She is TOO YOUNG for that shit.  (Just like she is too young to play doctor with Sam).  It’s preschool for crying out loud.  She should be excited.  And tell me about her fingerpaintings (I see the paint on her clothes, I know what she’s doing…).  Tell me about recess and the new playground.  TELL ME ANYTHING BUT “I DON’T KNOW”!!!!

Recent photo ops for y’all to enjoy:

DSCF0781

 

Picture 002

Picture 023

She starts dance tomorrow.  Tap and Jazz.  It does my heart good to see her excited about tap shoes.  I did it for 15 years.  I loved it.  I’d still like to do it. 

On a side note:  how weird is it that EMF’s Unbelieveable is in a Barbie movie??  What has life come to???

I’m just clueless.

An Editorial…

Good afternoon, readers (those of you that are left).  I’d like to take a moment of your time today (my birthday) to provide you with an editorial about giving advice to mothers of young children.  Please note that the opinions expressed here are not necessarily those of the station, its employees or viewers. 

Uh hmmmm…..

As you all may (or not) know, I am the mother of a very energetic 4 year old and a 2 month old.  My days can be stressful…running a household, chauffer, social director, cook, chief bottle washer and laundry maiden.  Believe it or not, I don’t sit around eating bonbons watching soaps all day.  (If anyone has an update on the Young and The Restless…fill me in.)  It is difficult to get things done sometimes.  Shit happens.  So is life.

This editorial goes out to all of the old ladies I keep running into at:

The Mall

The Grocery Store

Seems these are hangouts for lonely blue-haired babes with nothing but time on their hands who are willing to dole out advice at the worst possible second in MY day. 

Example #1:

Standing at the checkout of the grocery store a few weeks ago…picture it.  Avery is not with me.  It’s a solo mission for Carson and I.  I tempted fate. I admit it.  There was a decision to be made…can I make it through the grocery store before he throws a fit and needs to eat?  YES!  I am up for the challenge. 

I failed. 

In the self checkout, he starts wailing.  At.the.top.of.his.lungs.  Now granted, he is cute beyond all belief but a screaming baby and a stressed out mom are not a pretty picture.  So imagine the young old lady who comes up to me and asks what city I live in?  Are you in Royal Oak?  Um, no, why?  Because it’s obvious you need help and I can watch your baby while shop.  NO FUCKING THANK YOU!  And take your hands off my baby, please.

Today, while Avery was at the first day of school. I ran to JC Penney to return some stuff.  (Don’t worry honey, I didn’t return the stuff to Victoria’s Secret)  It’s 80 degrees outside and he is in a romper and covered in a blanket.  He’s in the carrier…sound asleep.  Sleeping babies are GOOD!  Especially when Mommy is trying to get too much done in a 3 hour window.  As I returning my outfit I hear from behind me (this is NO JOKE)…

“Oh honey, you need socks and shoes.  Can’t your mommy afford to buy you some????”

Picture my head whipping around and the stink eye that was poised and ready to go.  Here stands a little old lady, looking at Carson’s little toes peeking out from under the blanket.  Her hand on the handle of the stroller.  First thought – BACK OFF BITCH!  Second thought and what comes out of my mouth – “Of course Mommy can afford socks for you buddy.  BUT the fact that you kick them off as soon as I put them on, has taught me to just leave your feet bare.  And I covered them with a blanket – but b/c  you are such a happy and well-loved and cared for baby, you kick your legs a lot – knocking your blanket off.”

I am a capable mother.  And I swear when my hair is gray (blue) I will NOT give advice that is unsolicited.  You have it here in writing.  Here’s the biggest news flash – I DON’T NEED YOUR FUCKING ADVICE.  

To date I haven’t broken the first one (well…except for her thumb) and have yet to damage the second.  BACK OFF!

Did I mention it’s my birthday?

The Voices in my head told me NO

Sometimes I listen to the voices in my head.   Sometimes I don’t.

Today, there was a resounding  chorus of “No” and “Don’t do it” and “That’s not a good idea”.

But I am tired.  And need to have entertainment for a 4 year old.  On a rainy day. 

So I let her play with the glitter paint that she found in the basement.

Bad idea.  Very bad idea.

The Sharpies probably weren’t a good idea either.