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The type A mom at gymnastics makes me want to hide in the corner, rock back and forth, and cover my ears as I yell La La La.

The little hummingbird started gymnastics a few months ago ago and during her very first class, there was a mom there that I found mildly annoying.

The classes are held in a small gym and there’s a waiting area with a few row of seats for the parents, and a step that goes up into the gymnastics area.

Type A mom sits front and center to watch her girls in the class and has a 2 year-old that she brings with her to the hour-long class that she for some reason expects to sit quietly during the entire time. I can barely sit still and be quiet the whole hour so her 2 year-old does a better job than I do.

For the first several classes, I tried to give Type A mom the benefit of the doubt and figured she was having an off day. But after spending about a dozen hours with her, I’ve found that she’s not so much a Type A mom as she is Kate Gosselin 2.0.

There are 2 young instructors teaching the gymnastics class along with the owner who I’ll call Chanandler Bong.

Despite the kids in the class being given instruction, Katie G just does not shut the fuck up. Ever. During the second class, she was riding her oldest daughter really hard. Her kid was on the parallel bars and Kate was yelling at her to keep her legs straight and DO BETTER!

At the end of the class, I come to find out that’s not even her kid. Oh, really Kate Gosselin 2.0. Really?

The hour-long class with her bullshit is mentally exhausting. She’s always yelling at her kids, including her 2 year-old, by their first and middle name and she even threatens to make them sit in the car.

It goes something like this…

Rachel! RACHEL GREEN! Sit down and watch your sisters! DO NOT get out of this chair again!

Phoebe! Phoebe! PHOEBE BUFFAY!! KEEP THOSE LEGS STRAIGHT! Phoebe?! Listen to me! If you don’t listen, I’m putting you IN THE CAR!

Rachel! RACHEL! Get off the step and SIT DOWN. Rachel, OFF THE STEP. Mr. Chanandler Bong doesn’t want you on the step. I will put you in the car until the class is over!

<Phoebe runs up and asks for some water> NO, you can’t have any. You need to practice your flips — AND KEEP THOSE LEGS STRAIGHT!

MONICA GELLER! Do that round off again! I want to see you DO BETTER! Monica! Monica! DO BETTER! KEEP THOSE LEGS STRAIGHT!

PHOEBE! YOU WILL GO SIT IN THE CAR THIS MINUTE IF YOU DON’T START LISTENING TO MR. CHANANDLER BONG!

This plays out for most of the class.

I roll my eyes so much, I may need to start taking motion sickness pills before each class.

I usually sit there, looking at her like I would Bigfoot –with What The Fuck curiosity and wishing I had a tranquilizer gun.

By the end of the class, she’s hemming and hawing about how difficult her kids are and how tiring this class is for her. Really, Kate, REALLY??!

I know from the rumblings in the class that other parents are also appalled by her behavior but I don’t think anyone really knows what to do about it.

Many times, I’ve been tempted to walk up to her and say “Excuse me, YOU go sit IN THE CAR!” Oh, how I wish I had the balls to do that.

Previously, I couldn’t understand when I would hear in the news about parents that get into shouting matches or even fist fights while at their kids extra-curricular activities but seeing the way Katie G is, now it makes a little more sense. If there were 2 of her in this class, I’m sure fists would fly from the competitiveness of the parents, not the kids.

On the up side, the little hummingbird is so fearless and rocks the class. She has such a natural athletic ability. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I come across a parent like Katie G since the bird is looking forward to participating in other programs, like soccer.

Thankfully, this gymnastics class is almost over and I guarantee when I enroll the hummingbird in the next session, I will triple check to make sure that we don’t get in the same class that Kate “KEEP YOUR LEGS STRAIGHT AND DO BETTER!” Gosselin 2.0 will be in.

Have you ever spoken up to a parent over their behavior?

*Björk

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The promiscuous parakeet and the nympho cat.

When my husband and I first got married, we lived in an apartment that only allowed pets like fish or birds. I don’t know why but we decided to get a parakeet. I’ve never really cared for birds — with their chirping and squawking and their flappy wings flap flap flapping around.

The first parakeet we got was Alfalfa and he was this pretty blue bird. We said we would just have one bird so of course less than a week later, I wanted another one. My husband and I had been in a pet shop and spotted this gorgeous lavendar and white parakeet. That bird’s name was Raptor.

So, Alfalfa and Raptor took over our house pretty quick and the would love to fly into our living room and sit on top of the window curtains while pooping all over.

Yeah, I was not thrilled and found that a bird as a pet was not for me. While we were finding them a new home, we found that Raptor was quite the slut.

One night, Raptor was perched on my husband’s finger and stared rubbing up against his thumb.

We thought “Awwww, how cute. The bird’s being so affectionate”.

Raptor kept on rubbing against his thumb and started making this weird chirping.

We looked at each other and started cracking up. This freaky deaky bird was masturbating. On my husband’s hand.

Ewww.

After that, Raptor would find whatever it was to rub up against whenever her was out of his cage and would go to town. Against our file cabinet, books on the desk, our pencil holder, anything.

We finally found a new home for the birds and said goodbye to the little horn dog.

Not long after, we moved into another apartment that allowed cats and got our kitty, Zira, who we had for over 14 years. We didn’t get her fixed until about a year after we got her so she was in heat a few times.

I don’t know what the hell it was but when she was in heat, the sound of my voice drove her crazy. For some fucked up reason, it got her excited.

Ewww.

Each time it lasted for several days and no matter what came out of my mouth, Zira would be cat moaning MEOWR RRR MEOOWWW.

It was funny but annoying as hell.

Example:

Hubby: Hey, I’m home!

Me: Hey!

Cat: MEW MEW RAWRRR

Hubby: Any plans for dinner?

Me: I was thinking…

Cat: MEOW MEOW MEOWWWWRRRRR

Me: we could have…

Cat: MEOW RAWR MEOWWW

Me: Zira, stop it!

Cat: MEOOOOOWWWWWRRRRRRRRRR RRR RRRR

Me: pizza.

Cat: MEOWWWWWWWWWWW OWWWWW OWWWWW RRRRRR

Even after she got fixed, she was like that for a few more years. As crazy as it made me at the time, looking back, it was fucking hilarious.

*Silverspun Pickups

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Total Recall: If I Wanted To Be Verbally Attacked, I Wouldn’t Go To The Grocery Store. I Would Visit My MIL.

Published November, 9, 2010

It started off innocent enough. My husband, daughter, and I went to a commissary for groceries at a nearby base on Saturday. Before we went inside the store, my hubby was getting a pack of water and asked me what brand I wanted. We use reusable water bottles but still get bottled water at times.

He joked about getting a brand I don’t like (I know it’s just water but I can be picky) and I told him to get the other water. While this was going on, I noticed a woman standing behind us. There wasn’t room for her to pass since the entrance to the commissary was narrow. Then I realized she was waiting on my hubby so she could get some water.

When he got it in the cart, the woman walked up and told her teenage son to get a certain brand of water because the other one (the one we got) sucked since “they use less plastic and it’s crinkly sounding”. I felt like she was only saying that to be a bitch and was trying to start something with us. Then I shrugged it off and thought I was just jumping to conclusions. You would think I would have learned to trust my instincts by now.

Somehow she ended up getting in front of us. The commissary we go to checks for military ID and there was a woman on the left side and a man on the right checking as you’re walking into the store. My husband was pushing the cart and I was holding the little hummingbird.

There was an older man in front of us and the woman and he was slowly making his way onto a motorized scooter. So while we were standing there waiting, I told my hubby to wipe the cart down before we put our daughter in it. Out of nowhere this woman starts yelling at my hubby. “Stop pushing your cart into me!!! Can’t you watch where you’re going?!!! You keep running into me!!!” She kept going on and on. She said plenty of crazy gems but I’ve forgotten them since I waited to write this. Mommy brain.

The thing was, my hubby wasn’t even close to this crazy woman. If he had bumped into her, he would have said he was sorry but he was like 2 feet away from her. All we were doing was standing behind this mental case. My hubby and I don’t go walking around looking for fights and neither of us likes confrontation. I can be quite the talker once I get to know someone but I’m really shy and the hubs is super quiet.

The whole thing was so surreal and at first I thought I would just keep quiet and let my hubby take care of it. He kept on apologizing and said he never hit her and then she started bitching about how we seemed to “act like we owned the damn stack of water” when we were getting our pack. Holy fucking crap lady! That’s when I could no longer be quiet and I simply told her that my husband never hit her with the cart.

This must have been exactly what she wanted because then she really started freaking out on us. We were only a few feet into the grocery store and the ID checkers were just standing there. I was still holding my daughter so she was yelling at the both of us right in front of our 19 month old and in front of her teenage son. Fortunately the little girl wasn’t crying and was just staring at this crazy woman probably thinking “what the hell is your problem?”

People were looking and I just couldn’t even believe how psycho this woman was. I hear about these weird things that happen when it comes to dumb situations where the police are called and it had me worried that would be the case with this. This woman had long, over-bleached hair and while she was yelling and flipping out, it would sway back and forth. I would never do this but there were a few times when I had the urge to grab her hair and drop kick her.

Then a slew of four letter words were entering my mind and as much as I would have loved to lay some on her, I had the self-control she obviously lacked. That’s when 3 more words popped into my head. Words I have never used before despite my husband being in the military for 14 years. I thought it was fitting since here we were on a base at the commissary so as she started to walk away, still yelling at us, I told her God Bless America!

You can only imagine how much she loved me saying that. She turned back around to continue her yelling that had been going on for several minutes. Then she started walking off again and as she was going into the produce section, she called me a bitch. And I thought going to visit my MIL was going to be the most terrifying thing this month.

Surprisingly, I was able to get a picture of this crazy woman.

 

What’s one of the craziest situations you’ve experienced with a stranger?

*Rootless Tree

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Freaky ass pregnant dreams.

I’m dreaming about Doogie Howser. And driving cars. And explosions and bombs. And almost drowning. And driving more cars. And almost sinking on the Titanic with Doogie. And fires.

I feel like that chick, Nancy, in the original Nightmare On Elm Street except unfortunately my boyfriend isn’t Johnny Depp. Booo! “Whatever you do, don’t go to sleep!”

The other night, I was dreaming I was driving around on a scooter and picked up Neil Patrick Harris to go cruising around. We took a wrong turn and ended up on the set of Titanic when it was flooding and we’re able to drive off the ship at the last minute.

Last night I dreamed that I was in maybe the CIA or FBI and everybody ended up being double agents, including me. There was this big shootout and for some of us to save ourselves, we had to jump into the ocean.

That’s when stingrays started to come to the surface of the water and proceeded to chomp on our feet.

WTF?

Other dreams I’ve had are way to grotesque to even describe. When I looked up the meaning of some of these dreams, it seemed to say that I’m having anxiety of giving birth… water breaking and all of the blood from labor, perhaps?

Another dream I had was I was driving downtown and was in this monster SUV. There was a parade going on and as I was rounding a corner to park, a pomeranian jumps out at me and I have to slam on my brakes. Then, I go in a loop and it starts all over. I’ve had that dream more than once.

I’ve been dreading going to sleep and sometimes wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning, scared out of my mind from some of these really gruesome and really vivid dreams.

I think I may have to start watching Ryan Gosling and Mark Ruffalo movies before bed. Yeah, even if they don’t help my dreams become less scary, they’re great eye candy.

What are some freaky ass dreams you’ve had?

*Just Give Me A Reason

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My 4 year-old teenager.

Angelic little me acting like a teenager? Nah.

Angelic little me acting like a teenager? Nah.

My daughter is rocking  what I’ve dubbed the “fuck you” 4′s.

When the hummingbird turned 4, I wasn’t expecting her to be 4 going on 14.

Damn, it’s like I’m getting a preview of her teen years.

I think this age is bittersweet. While the upside is she understands more and can communicate her feelings better, the downside is that she understands more, knows how to manipulate,  and can communicate her feelings better.

When she gets into one of her moody moods, she usually responds with HMPH!! to everything I tell her to do. Her HMPH basically equals a big “fuck you, mom”.

That’s how I translate it anyway.

She has an opposing opinion about every single thing (thanks to my genes) we tell her to do and has become so hard-headed. Yes, it’s made me more mental than normal.

She’s like a mini-teenager including slamming of doors when she’s annoyed, followed by yelling… You’re Not My Friend ANYMORE!!

GAH!

I find her being 4 harder than when she was 3 or even 2. It’s especially frustrating because I know this A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E she’s been having lately isn’t really her true personality. She’s just doing what kids do best. Testing the limits and pushing buttons to see just how much she can get away with. Finding the boundaries.

I’m still more of a disciplinarian than my husband so I get to be the bad guy. Boooo!

The hummingbird will go from a sweet, well-behaved little girl to a 4 year-old teenager in a matter of 1.2 seconds and I’m left thinking what the fuck just happened?

It’s like my girl is getting notes from possessed Linda Blair on how to behave.

There is an upside though. Now that she’s getting older, I feel closer to her than ever before, even when I consider sending her to live with a pack of wolves.

I love having actual conversations with her, something that I’ve been looking forward to for years. I’m seeing her interest in music develop, among other things… boys included… oh shit, I’m screwed there.

So, the 4′s will no doubt keep you on your toes and at times, may make you want to pull your hair out.

Expect to add to your liquor cabinet because you’ll need it.

Does your young child act like a teen already? Have you sent them away to live with a pack of wolves yet?

*A Perfect Circle ~ Judith

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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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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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