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I would love to take a hit off of the “know it all” bong my mother-in-law obviously smokes from.

stabbyHaven’t you heard?! My mother-in-law is a fucking genius! She knows EVERYTHING!

So, let’s go back a few weeks ago, to the weekend prior to the hummingbird’s 4th birthday on April 15th. I can only tolerate my in-laws for a few hours with each visit. I was done dealing with them by Friday night. They arrived just a few hours earlier so they were right on track.

A quick-ish sidenote… the Navy keeps changing its mind about moving us to Maine because of the hummingbird’s medical issues. I say fuck that. Where we currently live in Northern California, we’re about 2 or so hours away from Stanford, which is where we have to go to try to solve her ongoing medical puzzle.

When it comes to living in Maine, it will pretty much be the same set up as we’d be about the same distance to Boston. So, I don’t see it as a big problem but of course the military has to be a pain in the ass, as usual.

Anyway, after years of bitching about my mother-in-law, I find her not only to be a cold-hearted bitch but also a See You Next Tuesday. Or to be rather frank, a cunt. I’ve never cared for that word and don’t take it lightly but for her, I’ll make an exception.

Another sidenote… last quarter, my husband taught a class on a Tuesday and would never understand why a few of his students would chuckle a little when the hubby would say at the end of his class See You Next Tuesday!

He was telling me about it one night and that’s when I said, ya know sweetie, you’re calling your students cunts which is probably why they find it amusing. He was like Ahhhh, so that’s why!

Back to my MIL. I have been struggling with her for over 18 years and after this visit, I’m done trying to get along with her. She’s made it very clear that it’s never going to happen.

I could tell this woman that water is wet and I swear, she would fight me to the death to show that I’m in some way wrong. That’s how it goes with her for every visit but this visit in particular made her a know it all of every fucking thing in the universe.

My hubby and FIL went into the kitchen and I was stuck in the living room with my MIL while trying to make small talk. I only say as little as possible because of the way she always seems to respond to everything I say.

We talked about Maine for a minute.

Me: I’m a little concerned about how much snow we’ll get there but I know the hummingbird will love it.

MIL: No, you’re wrong. It doesn’t snow much there. Maybe once or twice a year.

Me: *mentally rolls eyes* How often have you been to Maine?

MIL: Never.

MIL: Oh look, is that The Notebook on t.v?

Me: It is.

MIL: You never told me much about your visit with author Nicholas Sparks last summer.

Me: I reluctantly tell her a few things that he said during the interview I had with him, especially when he talked about writing The Notebook. That included saying how old he was when he wrote the book and that it was the very first book he wrote.

MIL: I highly doubt he was that young when he wrote the book. That doesn’t sound right at all.

Me: Ummm… I’m just going by what he said in the interview.

MIL: No, I don’t think that’s true at all. I know he had other books before that too.

Me: Actually, he has written several books after that but The Notebook was the first one.

Mil: No, you’re wrong.

Me: *stab… stab…. stab*

After that, I totally shut down, excused myself, and went upstairs to have one of my party favors… a shot of vodka. There was more to the conversation with my MIL than this but I would like to keep what little bit of sanity I have left without rehashing it out.

I’m actually leaving several things out that she said and did during the visit because I am so done with her and over it. She’s just a bitch who only gets along with her 100 plus turtles that she has at her house. The woman is a turtle hoarder. I really need to write about that sometime. Don’t let me forget.

I think it’s the oddest thing that no mater what I say to her, she has to find some kind of fault with it. I’ve never thought this shit was a competition with her but she seems to think so.

We had the hummingbird’s birthday party on April 13th and I avoided my MIL like the plague. Luckily, with the other kids and their parents there, it was easy to do.

On Sunday, my hubby and I went out to see a movie. With Ryan Gosling, of course. The Place Beyond The Pines was really, really good. Then it was back to the snake pit with the in-laws.

On Monday, the hummingbird’s actual birthday, we went out for lunch with the in-laws. That whole thing was my fault because my husband was going out to lunch with his parents.

I had planned a birthday lunch with just the hummingbird and me and called the hubby to ask if his parents left yet. That’s when he let me know that they’ll be leaving after he has lunch with them.

My dumb ass suggested we all have lunch together since I’m sure they’d like to see the hummingbird one last time before they leave.

I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No matter how much I can’t stand my in-laws, I’d feel horrible if I kept the hummingbird and my husband away from them.

While we were waiting for our food at the restaurant and everyone was wrapped up in conversation, I was looking through my Twitter feed and started reading about something just happening in Boston. Then I was reading about bombs going off at the Boston Marathon and was shocked.

I’m very sensitive with things but I obviously know that a lot of people aren’t as hyper-sensitive with things like I am so I don’t expect them to have the reactions I would have. That’s why I don’t know why in the world I was surprised by my MIL’s lack of a reaction but I can’t imagine not feeling any compassion about something.

When I read about what was unfolding in Boston, I nudged my husband and told him that a few bombs went off at the marathon finish line.

With my MIL overhearing this, and being the delicate flower that she is, she responded with…

MIL: And?? What’s the big deal??

Me: It’s horrible. I can’t imagine how many people must have been hurt or worse. (I was trying to watch my words in front of my daughter.)

MIL: Oh well. They’re runners. They’re healthy.

I’m not trying to say my MIL had to feel a certain way about what happened in Boston but when two bombs go off and there are thousands of people around, I don’t know how she could be so indifferent to it.

There were a few seconds afterward where I wanted to dive across the table and stab her with my fork.

The in-laws finally left later that afternoon and I told my hubby I don’t expect to see them for quite a while after this visit. I told him if he wants to visit them with the hummingbird, that’s fine, but if they come to visit us after we move to Maine, there will be a lot of things I won’t keep quiet about anymore when it comes to his mom acting the way she does.

I’ve said this so many times before but next time, when they visit us, I will let the MIL know that if she can’t keep her ass in line and treat me with some respect in our house, she can go fuck herself. And yes, I would love nothing more than to use those exact words.

*Emotion Sickness – Silverchair

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A cow farting on a piece of paper would make for better writing.

Holy fucking hell!

Really, this week? REALLY??!

It’s been unreal and I’m sure we’re all so drained and done with it. I have been fucking glued to the television. Especially since last night.

I feel like a zombie.

I’ve lost count of how many times this week I’ve said to my husband “What the fuck is going on????… It’s like the end of the fucking world!”

My brain is mush and there’s absolutely no use in me attempting to write a normal post.

So, if you haven’t already, enjoy these news anchors dissing Ryan Lochte (hilarious) , a “cunt punting” sorority girl’s email, or why you should never bring a one night stand to your house.

There’s also my absolutely favorite celeb gossip site, dlisted, that always has me laughing. I can’t go more than a few days without reading it.

The guy who writes it, Michael K, is right up my alley. Vulgar, hilarious, and honest. The comments are just as funny.

One of these things is bound to take your mind off of the crazy shit of the week for at least a few minutes and that’s something we need right now.

And a big fucking hug.

And some xanax, which is the only reason I haven’t completely lost my mind this week.

For reals.

P.S. I fucking love you, Boston!!!

*Pearl Jam – Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town.

*Pearl Jam – Better Man.

*This is not a t.v. studio, JOSH! Turn these lights out. It’s a fucking rock concert!

Updated to add: Dancing queen at bus stop. This woman is awesome!

Updated again: Michael Shannon Reads The Insane Delta Gamma Sorority Letter.

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That bitch…. aka… my mother-in-law.

bitch-mil1When I was younger, I saw how my mother-in-law treated my mom and couldn’t believe my stepdad NEVER stood up for her.

I didn’t feel like it should have been my mom to say anything because that just seemed like it would add more fuel to her MIL’s fire.

My grandmother, Josephine, was very hard on my stepdad, and I didn’t approve of it either, despite the conflicts my stepdad and I had.

The difference?

My mom would defend my father, whether he was there or not.

When I married into my husband’s family, my mother’s words stand out in my head,  ”Watch out for that woman (MIL), I can tell she’s controlling”.

Mother knows best!

I already learned that when planning my wedding from hell with the MIL.

When I saw my MIL together with her mother-in-law, I thought AHA, now I get it.

The relationship was toxic.

What leaves me scratching my head is that there is absolutely no reason for my MIL to turn around and treat me the same way. She should know. I’ve seen how her MIL hurt her.

I used to think “Maybe that’s all she knows” after years of dealing with her MIL but fuck that.

My mother-in-law is a grown ass woman and should know right from wrong.

I’m not letting this woman fuck up my daughter’s 4th Birthday Party for me.

Sure, she probably will which I fucking hate because it’s my baby girl’s birthday.

Sure, she’ll give ALL the credit to my hubby for the “fabulous” party.

But fuck her.

I want to say my peace when the mother-in-law pulls her shit, trust… she will, and I want to let her know that I wish she wasn’t so critical with me.

I just don’t know how to say it without ruffling feathers. Or do I need to ruffle those mofo feathers to get my point across?

The suggestion box is now open!

*These are some “party favors” that I’m keeping in my purse for mother-in-law emergencies.

vodka311~~~~~~~~~~

**Pearl Jam – Porch

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Getting my yearly pap and waiting for my doctor in the exam room for 25 minutes in a thin paper gown while I’m sweating like mad and sticking to everything.

This woman remembered to wear socks... bitch.

This woman remembered to wear socks and is in a cloth gown… bitch.

I had my yearly woman’s wellness visit last week. Aka, awkwardly laying down while your legs are up in the air and your feet are in metal stirrups. Yay!

The hummingbird crawled into bed with me the night before which meant zero sleep for me. I mean zero, zero. I was beyond exhausted that morning and dragged my ass into the car to take her to preschool for the day.

We left later than usual, around 9 am-ish, but I thought since my appointment wasn’t until the early afternoon, I could get some sleep that I really lacked.

Naps aren’t my thing because once I’m asleep, there’s no way I can take a 30 minute nap. I end up sleeping hard, but for some reason my dumb ass always thinks “this time will be different”. Hahaha!

Besides the whole “doctor sticking her hand in my vagina” part, it was a good day because I wasn’t working and had the day off… from pretty much everything. Except my never-ending laundry. And dishes. And more laundry. And picking up around the house. But you get my meaning.

Before my pap, I was going to get a mani/pedi (my fingers and toes are screaming for one), grab some takeout from Chiptole, and make sure I shaved my legs. A day of bliss.

When I got back home, I set my alarm for 10:30 am. Easy peasy.

I set my actual alarm clock because if I use my iPhone, I’ll just think it’s someone calling and ignore it. What? Just saying the truth!

10:30 am: Beep… beep! I hit the snooze button. What’s 10 minutes? I can still get everything done in the amount of time I have.

10:40 am: Beep… beep! Hitting the snooze button again. My pillow is awesome and I’m not getting out of bed. I can still get everything done if I don’t screw around and I go straight to the nail salon.

10:50 am BEEP! Too cozy to get up. I’ll just sleep for another 20 minutes and skip the manicure.

11:10 am: Beep!!!! Umm… I don’t really need to shave my legs, right? Zzzzzzzz.

11:30 am: Oh shit! What have I done?? Priorities, girl! I don’t need Chipotle for lunch after all. But my toe nails… ewwww! I have to get those done. Getting up now!

11:31 am: Ooooh, I love my pillow!! Zzzzzz.

11:50 am: How in the fuck did I hit the snooze button for this long??!!! I need to get my ass uuu…. ppp….  zzzzzzz.

12:30 pm: Oh, it’s 12:30. WHAT?! It’s 12:30!!! I’ll be lucky if I can put on deodorant and clean my lady parts with some baby wipes. I’m definitely not going to wear my Uggs (Yes, they’re ugly as hell but I love mine! So cozy!! Also, you don’t need to wear socks with them.) I have to wear my socks and tennis shoes.

Sidenote: Because of my need for a pedicure, only both of my big toes still have a little nail polish on them. The others? Zip. I know, ick. I’m too lazy to take off what little paint I have on my big toes.

12:35 pm: Brush my teeth, put on my watch, run downstairs, and put on my Uggs. D’oh!

1:00 pm: Get taken back to the exam room, strip down, put on the tissue thin gown, and sit on the edge of the exam table.

1:15 pm: Start to quietly sing my own made up song… ” Where the hell is my doctor? Why isn’t she here? My cootchie is sweating, and I need a beer.”

1:20 pm Still waiting and sweating big time. Start thinking that my thin tissue paper gown will actually be the size of a tissue by the time my doctor walks in.

1:22 pm: Seriously???!!

1:24 pm: Look down at my toes and find that they look even worse in a floresent lit room. Wish I wore socks. I’m really hoping my doctor doesn’t notice my toe nails.

1:25: She FINALLY walks in. We have polite chit-chat, she asks about my daughter, then more polite but kind of awkward “soon this woman will have her hand in my vagina” chit-chat.

She tells me to scootch to the end of the table and put my feet in the stirrups. My dignity plummets. While I’ve never had a problem opening my legs before, especially in high school… sorry mom, my legs are locked together.

She opens my legs… my dignity extinguished, adjusts my left foot into the stirrup, looks at me, and says “I love the nail polish on your toes!”

D’oh!

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My first thought was “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw!”

Making sure she has the essentials for her hospital stay, including her drill.

Making sure she has the essentials for her hospital stay, including her drill.

So, as you may know, the little hummingbird was hospitalized at Stanford for an 18 hour controlled fast a few weeks ago (thank you all so much for the support!). I’ve had the hardest time writing about if because it triggers my postpartum PTSD but I’m forcing myself anyway.

We had to get up at the butt crack of dawn the day of to get to Palo Alto and I was in a panic the whole time. While waiting to be taken back to her short stay room, my husband was turning in paperwork and my xanax that I took earlier was kicking in.

Then, out of nowhere, this major hottie comes out into the waiting room and he was asking for the hummingbird. Apparently they put her down as a male so he went up to a little boy who was playing by the bird.

I was trying to get the words out that the hummingbird was my daughter but oh my lawdy, this male nurse was so unbelievably hot. He was tall, dark, and handsome and looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine.

Seriously people, this guy was fucking gorgeous.

The hot male nurse. Oh, yeah!

The hot male nurse. Oh, yeah!

Then he introduced himself and said that the hummingbird is his only patient for the day and I was thinking halle-fucking-llujah and heard angels singing.

The hot male nurse was the perfect remedy for this panicky, stressed out mama.

Long story short, the poor hummingbird had her poor fingers pricked to death for most of the day. Finally at the 17th hour of the fast, her blood sugar started dropping and they were able to get the vital blood work that was needed.

Then, to get her blood sugar up, the hot male nurse gave her a shot of glucagon. It’s the stuff we’ve had on hand for years in case her blood sugar drops really low. We’ve never had to use it before though.

Sticker fun!

Sticker fun!

Guess what? This shit didn’t work and her blood sugar dropped even further. That’s when the room started to fill with more doctors and nurses and I was about to flip the fuck out because that was my biggest fear. That her blood sugar would drop really low and they wouldn’t be able to bring it back up.

I had to step out of the room for a few to try to pull my shit together but I was in tears.

They tried another shot of glucagon after 15 minutes and nothing happened. That’s when they got out the sugar-water and finally her blood sugar started going up to normal levels.

Whew!

Finally the hummingbird was stable but we had an appointment with her doctor at Stanford the next day so we stayed in a hotel that night.

First we hit a Mexican restaurant so this mama could down some margaritas and then we had to listen to an older couple in the booth behind us have this huge argument. It was intense and the guy was dropping f-bombs like crazy.

Sure, my favorite word is fuck but damn, he was doing it in a public place with families all around. It took all I had not to say something to this guy.

Come to mama!

Come to mama!

Back at the hotel, the hummingbird wasn’t quite sure of her new surroundings for the night. The hubby and I were about to drop dead from the stress and exhaustion from the day and the hummingbird just wanted to zoom around the room.

I was crashed on the bed and woke up to the bird running around the room and turning on and off the lamps. Then she would run to the cheapo microwave, turn it on (it was on defrost) with the knob, let it run for a few seconds until it beeped, and she would continue this routine several times.

Finally when we got her to bed, she slept with me and I spend the night with her kicking the shit out of me. That girl is a violent little sleeper.

The next day, we went to see her doctor at Stanford and we found out after all of this time of thinking she’s hypoglycemic, she’s actually not but could have something that’s similar but rare.

My first thought after hearing this was “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw!” and it took all I had to not blurt it out in front of the doctor.

Her doctor really has no idea what could be wrong and now we are back to square one. She’s contacted a metabolic specialist at the children’s hospital in Philadelphia and that’s where we are at now.

The one new thing they want us to do though is give her uncooked cornstarch every night before bed. It’s a carb that slowly releases into the blood stream that can help prevent the occasional dips in the hummingbird’s blood sugar.

The real kicker is that they want us to build up and give her four fucking tablespoons at night and mix it in yogurt or pudding.

Yes, four fucking tablespoons. Ummm, we haven’t succeeded yet and I’m not at all surprised. That shit is nasty, yo.

So, while we thought this fasting and hospitalization was going to give us more answers, we are now left with more questions than ever. Fortunately the little bird has been back to herself and we haven’t had any issues with her blood sugar dropping yet.

She has a 4th birthday coming up next month and is so excited. I very much welcome the distraction from all of these medical issues.

Plus, damn, that hot male nurse really helped. Also, everyone at Stanford was excellent!!

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Pretending to be an adult.

Pretending-to-be-a-functioning-adultI’m in my mid thirties and I feel like I’m still waiting to become a grown up.

The main reason is that most of the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

With each year that passes, I’m starting to realize that I can’t be the only adult who feels this way.

I remember my mom being my age and I used to think she had it all figured out.

I don’t have most things figured out, especially motherhood.

When I brought my daughter home from the hospital, I thought all the answers would fly into my brain and I would transform into mom of the year overnight.

That didn’t happen.

When it comes to my nearly 4 year-old, most of the time I feel like I’m just “playing house” because I never expected to be so clueless this many years in.

I just don’t feel my age.

I like to stay up late and I still sometimes use “totally” and “awesome” in the same sentence. Me? A grown up? Nah.

I look at my daughter and think she knows much more than I do already. Then I start thinking she’d be better off being raised by wolves.

Okay, maybe not but you get what I mean.

I have a house, a wonderful family, a job, bills to pay, and two cats. I’m just waiting to catch up to my age.

Do you feel like a grown up or do you feel like you’re sometimes pretending too?

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Surviving a 3 year-old, you’re screwed.

I’ll just get right to the point. The little hummingbird has become this little ball of fire with her willfull ways and we’re making each other mental kind of driving each other crazy.

She’s normally a sweet, mild-mannered little girl that goes with the flow but lately she’s been, well, a pain in the butt. I’m a stubborn pain in the ass so I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to believe that she could be like this but it’s become a battle of wills with us.

I’m usually more of the disciplinarian but I’ve noticed that even my hubby seems thrown off. It’s especially difficult when she does something that’s hilarious and then we have to keep a straight face.

A few nights ago, we were having dinner and she got into my not so hidden chocolate stash and grabbed a rolo that was still wrapped up.

My husband told her no and when she wouldn’t listen, he got up from the table to take it away from her. Instead of giving him the rolo, she shoved the whole thing, wrapper and all, into her mouth to hide the evidence.

It’s like she was a little goat and I couldn’t stop laughing no matter how I tried. It’s hard to discipline her when I’m practically rolling on the floor, laughing so hard I can’t breathe.

She also likes to announce to the world that “mommy peed herself” when I laugh a little too much.

Kids: 1,755, Mom’s Dignity: 0.

Being 3 is much harder than when she was 2. I think I need to start drinking more. I just know this is a glimpse of what it will be like when she’s a teen and I’m so screwed.

If you have older kids, how did/do you survive? It’s going to get worse, isn’t it? Just how screwed am I? Get your mind out of the gutter, perv.

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