An Extraordinary Chain Of Events

So, I'm chatting on the phone with my Dad, after I'd just sent my kids outside to "PLAY!!!" I'd basically had to scream at them to go outside and "PLAY!!!" and then my phone rang and I had to act all normal on the phone.

Not seven seconds later I hear screaming and crying and I'm all "Gotta go" and Dad's all "Gotcha" and I run to the back door. Boy is collapsed by the door holding his finger screaming the high-pitched scream one makes when one slams a door on one's finger. It's got a certain pitch to the scream. We all know it. And if you haven't heard it, you'll instinctively recognize it the first time you do. It's like a primitive recognition thingy programmed into our minds from our monkey ancestors who'd slam their fingers in rocks trying to crack open nuts, or something...I think.

When I get there, Girl is standing there, and I say "Honey? Run and get me a baggie of ice!!" and she's off!! She comes back a moment later with a large, and I mean LARGE bag of full size ice cubes, and she' standing at the top of these 3 stairs that we have leading into our family room. And Boy and I are WAY across the room. Before she comes to bring me the ice, I also ask her to bring me a damp paper towel, because Boy's finger is bleeding, and that's REALLY freaking him out. Girl says "OK!" and I turn my attention back to boy.

Now. I know she was trying to be helpful. I know she was trying to speed up the process of first aid. I get it. She's a helper. She was panicked. There was screaming and blood. But I didn't see it coming. I didn't see her throw the GIANT ZIPLOCK BAGGIE FILLED WITH FULL SIZED ICE CUBES ACROSS THE ROOM to us. I didn't see it coming. Her aim, I'm sure, was to land neatly at my side. Bag intact. She put her back into it. A lot of effort.

What actually happened, is, it came full speed at the side of my head, hitting me like a sack of rocks across the lower part of my eyesocket. The bag of ice exploded on impact. I saw the stars. I saw the birds. And when I opened my eyes, I saw my cheekbone swelling out. I saw the look of "HOLY SHIT" on Girl's face. Boy was still in the process of screaming. I was dazed. I was. I didn't know what to do first. Boy? Girl? Me?

He was still freaking, she was emotionally scarred, and my face was swelling and I could feel a little wetness of blood on it as well. We were all just collapsed by the backdoor in one giant mess. It was just like, What the HELL? How weird is this shit??

Ok. So, I picked up the ice. Boy didn't want the ice. Didn't want the paper towel for that matter.

I pulled him on my lap. I held the ice to my face, and told Girl it worked out anyways!! She looked like she wanted to barf. I FELT like I wanted to barf. She said "I did more harm". Which was quite dramatic in a sad kind of way..I said "This is going to be a very funny story at some point..." She didn't look too sure..

She meandered outside. But she was going to be OK.

Boy and I sat. Husband walked in 2 minutes later, I'm sure thinking "What the Hell goes on when I'm gone?"

After explaining things to him...his first comment to me was, "yeah, wow, I bet that hurts." His second comment was "I don't want to go out in public with you so people don't think I'm beating you up."

Thanks..

All Conversations Eventually Lead To This :

....this morning.....

Husband: I hate using the Port-a-Potty at work, because when I take a dump, the blue nasty water always splashes back up and hits me in the ass.

Me : Why don't you poop in a bowl and pour it into the Port-a-Potty?

Boy: Laughing HARD

Girl: Laughing HARDER

Me : (retrieving old blue bowl from cabinet for demonstration)

Husband: I am JUST NOT going to poop in a bowl and POUR it into the Port-a-Potty!!!

Me: Suit yourself...you'd probably just get the blue stuff splashed on your hand anyways...

Poop.

At least, in my world, many, many times, most conversations, have eventually lead to talking about poop. Pooping. Smelling it. Seeing it. Wiping it. Someone else's poop. Baby poop. Toddler poop. Dog poop. Bird poop. Emergency poop. Cramping poop. Bed pooping. Drunk Pooping. Pooping behind a tree. I could go on.

And I will.

For some reason, I've surrounded myself, personally, and professionally, with people who have no qualms discussing poop. Except my father-in-law. Farts, even, are meant to be taken to another room. But aside from him, everyone I know is a "go" on the conversation of Poop.

And NO MATTER WHAT, I swear to you, it always goes there.

First off, poop, as we all know, is the great equalizer. Your Principal pooped. Your doctor. The news anchor takes a special dump at Eleven. Oprah, unloads her Favorite Things. Obama, sits on the Oval Chair. Everyone has had the moments of being in a public restroom, JUST getting ready to drop, when someone comes in, and it's panic time. Do you let go? Or do you Turtle it back in? What do you do? Everyone...has had those moments. Everyone has been driving on the road when the cramping starts, and has probably had to pull what I call, a SLEPM, which is a Straight Leg Emergency Poop Maneuver. Basically, your left leg is sticking out straight in an attempt to keep the poop IN. Everyone has pooped their pants. Past the age of 3, if you get my meaning. You know who you are..

We've had debates as to whether you sit down to wipe, or stand up to wipe. I know someone who likes to stand up and "face the poop" as if it had been a challenge, or a duel, so to speak.

At work, if someone poops during surgery, we call it a Code Brown. I usually keep myself real busy with my instruments at that point, as I don't deal with Code Browns too well.

Some people share that they often find themselves in the middle of nowhere, away from a toilet, and they have to dump outdoors behind a tree. And this happens to these individuals more often than not. I always seem to have the urge when I walk into a bookstore. Don't know why...

I've been at work with a room full of professional people. Surgeons, nurses, etc. And we are ALL sharing poop stories. And not just little cute baby poop stories. Adult poop stories. Personal Poop. We talk about it during surgery. Medicine is an emotional, heart-wrenching field. Humorous Poop Talk gets us through the tough times.. Tough times...

But there is the kid poop. I remember being in bed, recovering after the c-section. And Husband is changing Daughter's diaper. I hear hacking sounds..I hear "OH GOD EGGKK AHHK!"" and then more hacking sounds. As I struggle to roll out of bed I then hear : "SHE'S POOPING!! SHE'S POOPING!! OHMYGOD!!!" I race in there, and he's got her by the ankles, but he's bent over looking away, and there's little newborn baby poop on the changing table. He just keeps saying over and over "It looked like the Playdough Factory!!! OHGOD I've never seen anyone POOP before!!!" It was fairly traumatizing for him, to say the least.

Of course, there were the incidents of bathtub pooping. The Boy had pooped in the tub. And I was not at home. Daughter apparently was screaming, and Husband scooped both kids out of the tub, and then drained the tub. He left the poop in the tub, and then used toilet paper to waffle it down the drain. I DON'T KNOW WHY HE DID THAT. Why not just pick the poop UP and flush it in the handy toilet right next to the tub?? He panicked, he said...he panicked.

Poop.

Some find it crude and tasteless.

Ha!!!! I think it tastes like SHIT!

No..Ok..some find it crude and tasteless to TALK about. But we all do it. At least everyone I know. And that's why I like my pooping friends. So next time you find yourself in my company, be prepared for the eventual conversational path that will lead straight to the toilet.

B

Thankyou, and Goodnight

I've had a week to chew on this...to contemplate. I've had a week to think "Where, on Earth, do I even begin?" and I still don't think I've narrowed it down...but I have to get it out..and get it out I shall :

The Weather Reports:

Ok. Where do I begin? Last week, we had some snow. Ok? Now, we live in a snow-potential place. There is the potential for snow. It. Could. Happen.

It. Did. Happen.

And thank THE LORD for the Storm Team out there, with their snow shovels as props, standing on the side of roads to report, that it is, snowing.

These lifesavers, are standing on the side of the roads, creating a visual distraction to drivers, who are already experiencing a numbing sensation in their crotch from the amount of grip their hands have applied to the steering wheel of their vehicles in an attempt to just stay in the direction of forward. Forward. That's it. It does not help to have some big bright light on the side of the road with a toolbox standing there, wearing a giant parka with huge reflective stripes adorning it, shoveling snow, in a live broadcast to people at home who can look outside and see that IT IS SNOWING.

First off, GET off the side of the road. Please. Ok? You shoveling the snow just looks stupid. If you want to shovel snow, go shovel some old ladies' sidewalk.

Ok. Now I live in Indiana. We are called Hoosiers. There are random stories as to why we are called Hoosiers, and me telling you why will only set me further off the edge. Just know that we are. It's stupid. And the StormTeam people just LOVE LOVE LOVE using that word as much as possible. "Hoosiers are making the slow crawl home tonight!" "Hoosiers have some shoveling to do!" "See why the snow may be good news for some Hoosier schoolchildren!!" (as they knowingly smirk that "snow day" smirk) "Hoosier Headaches!!" "HOOSIER HOOSIER HOOSIER"

OH my God...I swear...I want to go to the exit ramp of I-69 and 96th street where StormTeam Sally is reporting and grab that shovel and shov.....

Ok..

They actually talked about how.. "How would Hoosiers handle a snow event like this, if one were to happen, in 2012 when the SuperBowl was about to take place?"

They did. They really did. If the kids weren't watching, I'd have thrown the remote through the TV.

They always go to the Salt Barn. Always. Everytime. They show the snow plows loading up. I don't know why this is interesting after the 5th time. But I've seen it, like 9,472 times. I'm intimately familiar with the Hoosier Salt Barn at MLK and 21st street.

I mean. They spend all morning talking about it. It's snow. It's snow. It's snow. It's been around. It happens. Every year. Couple of times a year.

If you are talking a storm of Locusts? Maybe you have my attention. Asteroids pelting rooftops? I'm on it. Let me know when and where. And I'm glad to know that there will be snow. It's helpful. It is. But, I noticed that it was snowing. I also noticed it had NOT stopped.

I noticed it got taller. And taller. So weird.

That's all you need to do. Come on. Say. It's going to snow. A lot. It will stop _________. And be done.

Please? Seriously? It's so....gross, the way you are doing it.

One year, there was this day they predicted snow? It didn't snow. They had the bright light shining on the toolbox wearing her parka on the side of the road. She actually said this :

"I'm standing here on US 31 in Westfield..and right now, it's not snowing."

She did. She did. Why? Why did she have to do that?

Is it just me? Is this what the "others" want? The other people watching the news??

Usually, I only hear other people just go "what the??" when they are watching the news...

So it's either, I'm surrounding myself with like-minded people, and the masses out there are just hungry to be spoon-fed crap (I haven't counted that theory out yet) or the News People just have their heads very very far up their asses they don't notice that the rest of us..."notice".

ThankYou, and GoodNight

B

This Isn't What You Think

We had a party yesterday. Oh! The look on a newly 3 year old girl's face, all dressed in a princess dress, as her Uncle hands her a giant pink present...

She actually squeaked. There was a squeak. I believe that meant "thanks". She was overwhelmed.

Her brother and cousins took turns randomly wrapping toys she already had in foil, letting her open them over and over again before the party, I think, to give her practice, for what was to come.

As the cake barely came around the corner, and the first words of "Happy Birt.." were being sung, she may have lost a few eyelashes as she ran to the cake to blow out her 3 candles.

No one, told her what she had to do, she knew.

The presents...dolls, dolls, a baby bed, magic wands, a pretty dress, hair accessories.

She was surrounded by the people who love her, her family.

Yesterday, I was able to focus the majority of my emotions on just what we "have" and not on what we "don't have". Not on what she doesn't have. Or what we've all lost.

Whenever those creeping feelings of anger and "this isn't fair" started to knock on my door, I just looked around and saw people smiling anyways. She was smiling, right? For now? Was she missing out? Really? It didn't appear so...

I knew who was missing out....I know. I wonder if they know. I wonder if they will ever know how much they are missing.

I thought holding onto my anger would help. It would bring justice. If I stayed angry on behalf of my parents, and my niece and nephew, and my children and my husband, and myself, it would..I don't know, it would stand as a symbol saying "WHAT YOU'VE DONE IS SO FUCKING WRONG" like, this...shield, like this billboard. I mean, who am I fooling?

They aren't reading my signs...

Anger.

You can be angry. But holding onto anger makes you a victim twice.

You get wronged. But when you live with the drudgery of anger, it's like "they" or "it" are screwing you all over again, by making your life so icky and crappy. Anger, it doesn't serve me anymore. What makes me angry? And why? Well. Anger is a justified emotion. I have rights. I do. I have every right to be angry. And things will happen again that will make me angry. It's the holding onto part that I've been having some trouble with..

It's a cancer, a drug...it's turned me away from all things "light". I hold my anger like a security blanket. But it's smelly. Time to give it up.

Because the thing is, these 2 people, have no notion or concern for my anger. If my anger had any influence over them, things would be different, right?

But...here it comes. Forgiveness.

My stomach just turned. It did. As I typed that. Hah!! Funny. Ok. So, Forgive. Forget..

Not the same, those 2.

I think I have forgiveness backwards. I've always thought it's all about the other guy. But forgiveness can be just as much about "ME" as it is for them..when I forgive, I'm letting go. But if I let go, I'm LETTING THEM OFF!! NO! Stop it, Becky. I'm not letting them off....

Wait. There's that knock again. Let's regroup...

Here's why when I forgive, It works.

I am letting go of the cancer that keeps me away from Light.

I am handing it over to God.

I am not letting them off...because of this...

They were not the ones watching their daughter turn 3 yesterday. I was.

And anger had nothing to do with that. It's not about my control, or anger, or lack of control, or lack of anger. Their lives and actions put them in that spot. My life and action put me in that spot.

Anger had nothing to do with it...

They are the ones who have to live their lives...my anger isn't going to "make it worse" for them. I am not their judge...

It sounds spiteful, kind of like "nah nah boo boo I was there and you weren't" I don't mean it like that...(well, kind of) but I mean it like, me carrying around my anger as an attempt to help keep justice on behalf of all my wronged family members, including myself, is pointless!!

WE are already in an OK place! Could it be better? Of course!! Wouldn't it be nice if the party was thrown for the 3 year old BY the parents AT the parents house BECAUSE they were healthy and functioning? And NOT because niece and nephew have lived with Grandparents for over a year? But...well, Shit!! That's the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose!!

I guarantee you I would have had a miserable time yesterday, if I was still holding on to my anger blanket so tightly.

If I was busy thinking about what should have been happening or what could have been happening, I would have been too busy to have heard her squeals, or have seen her smiles, or to have felt the love in the room that was there for HER. And it was ENOUGH. There was enough love.

I still have some scraps of my anger blanket in my pocket. I'm not completely weened.

I still grieve. I still mourn opportunities missed. I miss. You know? I miss him. And it provokes sadness..and that provokes anger..and then I get mad and angry..and then I get sad...and then I get tired. But, the good news, I'm getting pretty tired of "it' consuming me. I'm realizing that hanging on to those feelings doesn't create that sense of justification. Letting them go frees me up, so that I don't become a victim twice.

It's a work in progress...I'm just figuring it out. There will be more ammunition for my arsenal..but I do know, that I enjoyed yesterday in many more ways than one...and I'm breathing a lot easier today for it.

B

Things Are Looking Up

I've mentioned that I've smelled things. Nasty things. I have.

This is about one of those moments..

It was May. It was warm outside. Husband and I were outside walking around our Estate.

We have critters on our Estate. I've seen horses. I've seen deer, coyote, yeti, raccoons, hawks, squirrels, moles, butterflies, mice, chipmunks, and fox.

A bad bad bad bad bad smell is in the air. It is the dead smell. I've learned to differentiate between the dead smell that comes from Husband's ass, and true, dead smell. He had not dealt it. It was strong. It was close. We look around, we start the search. behind rocks, near rocks, by trees...I mean...we are walking in circles.

I don't. I don't recall what led me to look......up.

But when I did, and what I saw, caused me to launch the loudest AND most profane tirade heard in a 3 mile radius.

High up in a tree...in a hole in a tree. eeeeeeuuuughhh.. it's so gross.

Ok. There was a squirrel. Stuck. Halfway in...halfway out...in a hole. Winnie the Pooh Style.

Except, it's head was facing out..it's arms stiffened out in a pose like Superman.

dead.

OHMY#$#$(#*()*@&#&*(&)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HIT!!!!!! WHAT THE F#($&#(*&(*&(@&(*@&#()(*&THATSDOING#(*****&&&CKINGTREE?

Husband has to clamp his hand over my mouth, I think he's screaming, "LOOK AWAY!!! LOOK AWAY!!!

I was all like "how the HELL did that thing die, and we not notice?" Oh yeah, Ok...we had just come home from vacation. Ohshit! Poor thing just was all alone, squeaking and squirmi....ohmyGOD...the poor thing....that JUST SUCKS.

I was overcome with a mix of emotions...horror..sympathy...despair.

Oh yeah...here comes the sympathy...the POOR thing......like...I could cry. Now. Instantly.

Moving on. What do we do? The thing is like, 20 feet in the air, stuck in a tree??? I can't just let the thing slowly start to decompo...you know what I'm saying...it's so sick. SICK. I can't have little bits just dripping and dropping off hither and nither..I have kids. I mean, that would be messed up. Like, a little dead bloated squirrel ala Winnie the Pooh, missing half it's face? Like therapy isn't already on their horizon?? I gotta add this to the queue? No. Thank. You.

Squirrel is coming down.

And it smells BAD. I mean, bad. So, we know this guy is working at our neighbor's house, and he's got a tall ladder. We offer him $20 and a case of beer if he will get the squirrel down.

I felt like such an asshole, I did. I mean, really. Who...does that? We did.

So, we supply him with a trash bag...and I'm out there with an aerosol can of Febreeze. I am.

I'm trying to be supportive. I'm emptying the contents of Febreeze into the open breeze, just trying to get Ramone some relief as he climbs the ladder, because it smells so much like dead ass.

Ok..So, he sticks his hand inside the trash bag, and grabs ahold of SuperSquirrel. Gives a little tug.

I'm TOTALLY imagining the thing crumbling and disintergrating...I mean, I've got all these gnarly images already happening in my head, I am looking away, kind of.

But, he gives a tug...and stops. Gives another tug...and another.

He looks down at us and says :

"ees stuck"

Ok.."NO!!!! It's NOT STUCK RAMONE!!!"

I mean...it HAS to come out. I'm begging...I'm spraying...I give him some thumbs up...sign for "give it another go"

Ramone tries again....

and it came out...it. came. out.

Ramone got his $20 and a case of Bud.

The squirrel got a ride to a landfill.

I had to buy some more Febreeze.

And my other neighbor now knows that it's totally cool to swear around me.

Please

To Whom It May Concern, Dear Sir or Madam,
I will keep this brief. No one finds it cute. No one finds it unique. No one finds it exhilarating. No one finds it at all "freaking awesome!!!!!!!" that you are in a McDonald's drive-thru, riding in a limo, with your windows halfway down.
Just please, if you find yourself in a limo, refrain. If you have the need for McFlurry, just have the driver park the damn thing, and walk in and get the thing yourself.

Please?
You just look stupid. I don't know why, but you do.
Thankyou,
B

I Never Imagined

I never imagined myself in the Cots Tub and Further store, standing in front of the clerk, getting ready to say...

Well, let me preface this by saying I was on a birthday present quest. For the perfect present. For the person who has everything. I knew what I was going for. The exact model. The make, the brand. No substitution would do. No cheap imitation, no scaled down version.

Daughter was with me, wondering, "why, Mommy?" As in, why are we getting this? How do I explain the power of this present? The sheer genius? The hours of entertainment? Not only capable of individual use, it is capable of bringing families together. It can be used in the workplace. "It's multi-awesome, daughter"
It brings joy. It brings smiles.

What we find first, is indeed, a cheap scaled down version. A key chain model. Without the many features of it's advanced cousin. In truth, it sucked.

Which leads us back to the beginning of the story. I found myself asking a store clerk something I was pretty sure no one has ever had to ask a store clerk before.
What was I asking the clerk? This:

Me : Excuse me? But do you have a better Fart Machine brand than this one?? (holding lame inferior machine dangling by it's chain)

Daughter : oh Mom! SHEESH!!

Clerk : uh.

Me : I'm looking for one with a remote control, please.

Clerk. Um.

Clerk : Let me ask.

Now, I nearly squealed with excitement at the thought of this clerk going on the PA asking some unseen entity for the deluxe Fart Machine model "in the back".
But, instead, she turned around, and asked some other lady..

Clerk 1 : Do we have different Fart Machines? With remote control?

I'm nearly peeing my pants at this...

Clerk 2 : I know exactly what she's looking for...I'm going to the back.

My heart did a leap...

So, daughter and I are waiting and waiting...and daughter says something I never imagined an 8 year old girl has ever said anywhere in the world..

Daughter : Mommy, let's just get THIS fart machine and go already...

Me : Honey, we are waiting...

So Clerk 2 comes back with not one, but TWO Deluxe Fart Machines. In fact, they are called, The Electronic Whoopie Cushions. They come with a remote control button, that you can set off from anywhere. Ohmygod, I was dying. They were perfect. She came with TWO!! Of course, we had to have one for our family!!! What else do we do on cold winter nights????

Daughter had to take them away from me before we even left the store. I could barely get through the store without setting them off near every person we passed.

Well, obviously, the gift was a hit. It was worth it. I put my neck on the line. I will say stupid things to get what I want. And I promise to tell you all about it.