BEER BAN?!

So 10 months later, we finally end up at the endo. And I am so proud to report that he is what I expect a doc to be. Very impressed. In fact, he valued what I had to say so much that he asked me if I was a nurse. Aw, that's the way to my heart! So of all the questions asked combined with remaining a medical mystery, the devastating news to Doug was the order to stop drinking beer. Completely. (At least until a new diagnosis is delivered.) As Sara said, while laughing, "Poor Doug. Driving around in a beer truck, a constant reminder that he is not allowed to drink beer." So, in an effort to show support for my man, I have vowed to give up my beloved Dr. Pepper as long as he has to be without his beer. I expect that this show of solidarity will result in some funny (to others) blogs as I go through withdrawals.

And now for a serious note, please pray for Doug and for the doc, that his "fishing" endeavor will reveal an easily treatable diagnosis that will tie all Doug's issues together. Thanks, my dear friends.

He Shoots, He Scores!

I had to run to the store last night for pullups and wipes (I hate when I can't make it to the weekend; unscheduled trips to the store annoy me). While I was out I also needed to get a few dollars worth of gas to make it to and from work today. As I'm trying to deal with the gas pump (you should know I'm horribly uncoordinated with gas pumps), Doug calls me with this very important question: Have you seen my Diet Coke?

CUE ANNOYED LOOK. Are you kidding me? You called me to ask me where your drink is? This might be the lamest call he's ever made to me, and that is really saying something. He can't find it anywhere, he says. Ok, hold it right there. Not only is he male so he is predisposed not to be able to find things that are right in front of his face, he is also the most forgetful person I've ever met. I have told him on more than one occassion that I will be putting "I forgot" as his epitaph on his headstone. So after telling him to ask Elliott, who was smart enough to deny any involvement, I rudely hung up on him after expressing my shock that he would call and bother me with something so stupid. And when I get home I too looked the house over. No drink. Now, let the record show that I don't really care if he has the rest of it to consume, I just don't want a Diet Coke stain on the floor. About an hour later, I spotted it. That genious kid of mine had confiscated the drink, most likely stolen a few sips, and then placed it halfway through the hoop of his basketball goal that is hanging from the dining room doorknob. It was a perfect fit, and almost perfectly camouflaged. That kid is a genious.

Carl Wheezer, Maytag Repair Cat Wannabe

Apparently Carl Wheezer dreams of going down to the votech and becoming licensed in appliance repair. He has spent his early youth investigating the appliances in our home, mainly the dishwasher and dryer. He suspects both are faulty, and thus he conducts investigations as often as my failing domestic attempts allow him. So when that dishwasher finally opens once a week, in he hops to have his look around. Clean or dirty, he feels the need to be not only present but inside it. When I open the dryer, he appears from nowhere, hops in, I throw him out, I turn to get the clothes out of the washer, he's back in, I throw him back out, I reach for another handful, he's back in, I throw him back out. We continue this dance until the clothes are all in, he is out, and the dryer gets turned on. I feel it is only a matter of time before his luck runs out in this game and he goes for a tumble.

He has decided against a career as a plumber. His investigations of the toilet reminded him that felines are not cut out for careers involving water.

Best Dressed on Broad Street

I have a confession to make. I hate playing outside. As our social worker so correctly described me three years ago, "While Doug enjoys outdoor activities, Emily enjoys inside activities." Yep, that's me, an inside kind of girl. So entertaining Elliott outside is a bit of a chore for me. I have to really work to be creative and make it more exciting. Because there is a pretty common formula we follow:

• Swing in the blue swing
• Swing in the yellow swing
• Mommy monster attempts to get him on the platform
  
• Slide
• Play with the beach ball

Pretty boring, huh? Oh yeah, and the constant activity, don't step in dog poop. So while he was in the blue swing last night, I decided to bust into the Head and Shoulders song. For those of you who may need a refresher course, it goes like this:

Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.
Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes...
And eyes and ears and mouth and nose...
HEAD AND SHOULDERS, KNEES AND TOES, KNEES AND TOES!

Ok, now for the full visual. If you remember the movie Troop Beverly Hills, get the Freddy Dance image firmly in place in your mind. And now picture me wearing the pink t-shirt I wore to work, red snowman cotton pajama pants that are too short so I try to pass them off as cropped pj pants, and salmon-pink flip-flops with a big ole' flower on them. And now put those two images together, combined with the song, and that was my entertainment for E for the evening. He laughed hysterically. Wouldn't you?

The neighbors, upon only hearing the song, dropped to their knees and thanked God that we spent every dime of profit we made from the Converse Drive house (plus a generous gift from my dad, plus the gate I haven't paid off) to put up a privacy fence.

Bad Night, Worse Morning

• Dr. Pepper.
• Information delivered too late about a visitor.
• A leaking pullup.
  
• Cats.

These four elements are largely responsible for the bad night we had last night. And I am referring to the timeframe from 9:30 pm until 1 am. A time we are not usually still awake much less battling toddler insomnia due to caffeine, MOMMY staying up late to clean up the house, Doug being awakened b/c he was in tee-tee which woke E up, and culminating with Doug suffering a face attack from Priss (I mean, it wasn't even Carl Wheezer). So I knew when I finally fell asleep that this morning would not hold good things. Psychic Emily was right. The manner in which Elliott woke up can best be described from the pages of Llama Llama Red Pajama: "Weeeeeping, WAAAAAILING for his Mama!" [I highly recommend both that book and Llama Llama Mad at Mama by Anna Dewdney. Good stuff.]

The rest of the morning can best be summed up by imagining me as the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. And then imagine me in student-like attire (ratty jeans, tennis shoes, MSU golf shirt, no makeup) and having two meetings on campus today. And then make your hand into an L, put it to your forehead, and salute me appropriately.

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's that fatty playing ball?

Somehow I've let a coworker talk me into considering playing intramural softball. I didn't make the first roster because I declined, but now they are revamping due to injuries and I may have a second chance. So last night Doug and I (and the ever helpful Elliott) got out in the backyard with balls and bats courtesy of Mom and Dad (which I believe were accidentally stolen from an old church league-HA!) and our gloves which managed to reappear in the move. The good news is, I can still hit and catch! The bad news is, I still can't throw worth a shit! Doug was all like, "How much does your arm still hurt from last week's injury?" Translation: are you really this shitty at throwing? Please save yourself and say that your arm is still hurt.

(TV ANNOUNCER'S VOICE:) Will Emily join the team? Will she make a fool of herself in front of her coworkers? Will she get winded just from jogging onto the field? Will this all be a big mistake?

STAY TUNED. :)

Freeze! Put Your Paws in the Air!

Ah. A nice evening walk in the Fall breeze (finally!). Only to have to hoist the 35-pounder and hustle home as we were being pursued by a German Shepherd who was not adhering to the leash law and who very much wanted to eat every animal out and about on our street. Including at our house. And once he followed us there, he decided it was a nice place and that he should just hang out. I mean, I get it. Seven animals at one casa does indicate a certain welcoming atmosphere. So we have Elliott either in the boat or in the back of the truck, and we're trying to keep Poco in the boat and finally having to lock her inside (not with the other cats, of course). All the while trying unsuccessfully to call the Dog Catcher, whose number we cannot find in the phone book and we acquired from the Police Department. After awhile we just called the police back and asked them to do something about him.

So, not one, not two, but THREE cop cars are dispatched to our house. And one stops in the road, blocking traffic on our busy street. I only wish that you, my three faithful readers, could have seen this spectacle. One cop actively trying to woo the dog into the car. The other two just doing nothing but watching. It was finally determined that the dog was nice to people, so the cop borrows a collar and leash from me, and the dog trots with him to the car. But then he realized the intent was to put him into the backseat, and I'm here to tell you that dog did the best cat impersonation I've ever seen a dog do. All four legs extended to keep himself out of that car. I could hear him screaming (because I understand dog), "I'm not a criminal! So I chased a few cats, give me a break!" By this point in time, I was sad and questioning my motives and their intentions. But hey, he threatened my Poco, and that will just not do. But later in the night I felt better about it when the cop returned the leash. Doug asked what would happen to the dog. Copper said that if no one claimed him, he was his. Aw, a happy ending!

Paging Florence Henderson

Where to begin? Last night was an interesting night. Elliott and I got home late because we picked up Mom and Dad when they returned from NYC and took them all the way to their house. So I haven't been home long and Erica calls. And while I'm trying to talk to her and hang up E's new Army sweatshirt, he approaches me clutching Carl Wheezer, who looks less than enthused. Here is a transcript of what followed:

Here you go. Put the cat down. Here you go. Put the cat down. Here you go. I can't take him right this minute, put him down. Here you go. PUT him down, he's doesn't want to be held, he's about to scratch you. Here you go. PUT HIM DOWN. PUT THE CAT DOWN. PUT THE CAT DOWN. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, PUT THE CAT DOWN!!!!!

As soon as I finished loosing my shit, I realized I was still on the phone with Erica, who was laughing so hard she had trouble telling me why she called. I am so cool.

So later in the night I went to take the garbage out. Elliott told me, "We enjoyed it!" Then he closed the door. I thought it was adorable. I played it up, knocking on the window. Then I grew bored, went to the door....and it was locked. That's right, he locked me out of the house. Then he stood there and giggled evilly. And he wouldn't let me back in. I had to go to the front door and ring the doorbell over and over until Doug finally came to the door.

I appreciate the kid's humor, but I have got to make him understand we only use it on Daddy.

Pleading Guilty and Paying Dues

Yesterday was supposed to be the day that I took down all the really old wallpaper in our bedroom. Doug and Elliott were going to go to Louisville and leave me to my projecting Sunday. But on Saturday night I hurt my shoulder playing with Elliott. So after they left and I attempted a mere 15 minutes of stripping trying only to use my left arm, I gave up. The downside: our bed is in the middle of our bedroom, and our walls are in various stages of wallpaper removal. The upside: I had a whole rainy Sunday afternoon to myself to lie around and watch HGTV and eat brownies. Would you freaking believe that I couldn't enjoy it? And would you like to know why? GUILT. I kept looking around thinking, "I should do some dishes/laundry/clean the litterbox/pick up the house/etc. etc. etc...I should not waste this whole afternoon after I've sent away my child (MOMMY GUILT) lying around doing nothing." And then I got mad. Would someone please tell me when I was unknowingly inducted into the Responsible Adults Club? I don't remember signing up. I mean, sure, I've been married for 8 years and my child is nearly 3, but that means nothing in my world. Ask anyone who knows me. See every reference in this 2-month old blog about my domestic skills or lack thereof. And then, to top it all off, I cooked supper last night. Cooking supper on Sunday nights is a direct violation of the rules my mother taught me.

Isn't it enough that I have the world's worst case of Mommy Guilt? Why do I now have to pay dues to the Responsible Adults Club to avoid feeling guilty about a Sunday on the couch? I mean, I am Catholic, but my guilt gene is out of control. Dr. Holly, wanna try an experimental surgery?

A Determined Train Engineer and a Cranky Conductor

Last night the three of us gathered in Elliott's room for some family play time (awww). Elliott's really nice wooden Thomas train track is supposed to make an hourglass shape. Doug and other assorted males have been the only ones in the past to figure it out, and usually that was with the help of the diagram -- the diagram that is temporarily misplaced following the move. But Doug was determined to make it work. But simultaneously, Elliott was determined not to have Thomas, the Boxcar, the Caboose, and Baby Thomas interrupted from their work. And when the track would be disrupted, Thomas and friends would simply go offroad until they fell over, causing a hissy fit from their conductor. I tried to reach in and play with Thomas a time or two, but my efforts were met with "MINE! I bought it at WAL-MART!" My hysterical laughter ensued.

Daddy never did triumph as track engineer, refusing to accept his defeat by claiming that there were pieces missing. What a whiner.

Fantasy Daycare

(Kudos to THS for today's title.)

Our office is currently full of talk about fantasy football teams. This concept boggles my mind, but lowly non-participators like me are not allowed to ask these diehards really stupid questions like "what is the point of this?" because then they shun you. The world of fantasy sports is so prevalent right now that it seems to have trickled over into our life in the form of Fantasy Daycare.

One day Elliott came home and told me very matter of factly that he had to go to Mrs. Dana's office (the director) and sit in time out for hitting his friends. Turns out not only did he not get sent to her office, she wasn't even there that day. (SHEW! What a relief.) One night this week he told me in quite a long story about how Dalton had bit him and how Ms. Tina put Dalton in the Thinking Chair. Ms. Tina was not in their classroom that day. I tell you this to put into perspective that Elliott proudly reported last night that he tee-tee'd in the potty at daycare. Yet, there was no bag of wet clothes, he was wearing the same clothes he left the house in and a pullup. I asked him why he wasn't wearing underwear, but he evaded the question. I think he likes the praise and attention he gets from me when he tells me he went. Obviously not enough to go at home, but one battle at a time.

But make no mistake, no one else is allowed to ask him about potty training or to make a big deal about his progress. Oh no, that is in direct violation with his contract.

Technological Wonder

I have recently heard a friend and her daughter coveting iPods, researching them, pricing them, planning for them. I have friends and coworkers who excitedly snatch up the newest phones with their all powerful features. I don't have an iPod. I don't even have a cheapo MP3 player. I don't have a cool phone. In fact, my phone is a piece of shit. I have a digital camera, but I don't like it so I don't use it. I use a 35-mm, possibly the only person still on the planet using one. I am a late adopter of technology, as Dr. W taught me so many years ago. But it's not that I'm distrustful of technology. It just doesn't appeal to me like it does to other people. I just can't justify spending that amount of money on something that will change in the blink of an eye. I'd rather spend it on home improvement projects. But, I have found a piece of technology that I am now coveting, wishing for, hoping for, trying to figure out which bank I'm going to rob for it: AN AUTOMATIC LITTER BOX. Yep, that's what's on my technological wish list.

Did I mention I have a master's degree in technology?

I have a secret

I am really trying to turn over a new leaf. I have set my sights on Domestic Goddess-ship, and by gosh I hope to at least reach the bottom rung of that ladder. I made progress last night. I cooked, did dishes, and did reunion stuffing (vomit). I was walking around with my chest puffed out feeling accomplished. And then I got up this morning and after getting out of the shower I couldn't immediately find any clean underwear. I searched and I searched. Turns out I should have done a load or two of laundry, but I'm low on detergent. I believe I have enough for one load before I have to go to the store for more, and it needs to be a load containing underwear. In my panic I started trying to come up with alternatives. What to do? It's not winter so I can't simply put on some pantyhose and go partial commando. So, in my desperation, I finally decided on...Wait for it....my turquoise swimsuit bottoms. That's right, underneath my brown dress pants is my swimsuit. And I have to say, it's not bad. They have a nice suck-em-up quality. And it makes me amused to know I have this ridiculous "secret" today. I have to go to a meeting shortly, and I'm going to laugh all the way over there.

Hi, my name is Emily. I have $14.77 in my checkbook, $8 in cash in my wallet, a lunch date and a pharmacy pickup to charge to my infamous credit card, no laundry detergent, no more stamps for reunion letters, and I'm wearing turquoise swimsuit bottoms. But by gosh, I have a cute house.

Introspection and a Dirty Reflection

This weekend, like most, was pretty busy. I took off early on Friday to hustle up and clean for the previously mentioned shower. After the shower and a nap with E, we went to have a playdate night with the Turnips. Sunday, with Doug not feeling so sporty and not having slept well, we skipped church (cue mounting guilt) then had an informal brunch with my family at our house with leftover shower food. E and I had the luxury of staying home the rest of the day, playing and vegging. That's the "glass is half full" quick rundown of the weekend. But as many of you know, I am the queen of the glass is half empty. Have you heard my theory on this pessimism? Ask me sometime. It will rock your world.

So here is the pessimistic, and much funnier, rundown of the weekend:

• I didn't so much clean my house as I did a "fool Mama job" (patent pending Ginger, the originator, and Holly & Michelle for sharing).
  
  
• As I was scrubbing the toilet, I had to think really hard when was the last time I scrubbed a toilet (I'm gonna miss my cleaning lady), thus once again reaffirming my less than stellar domestic qualities.
  
  
• I was attacked by a miniature, black, psychotic pug named Homer when I attempted to take away the 3-day old toast wrapped in a papertowel he stole out of my van while I was restrapping E's seat. I screamed out loud when he attacked my foot. Homer, I hope you had a hard time pooping out those papertowels. And One Step Ahead, thank you for making a kick-ass seat protector because what I saw underneath that carseat was disgusting.
  
  
• It apparently wasn't my weekend to take on small, black, disgusting things. A ROACH (NASTY!) was on my wall in the living room (CRINGE! GIRLY SQUIRM!), and when I attempted to kill it with my flip-flop it FLEW AT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!....Memories of Holly in the Maple House.....And there I was, jumping up and down, windmilling my arms, waving a flip-flop, and spitting (???) at the roach. By the time I finally killed him (VICTORY!), I had scared another life out of Carl Wheezer, and shaved a few years off mine. And I may have strained my neck.

And as if that all wasn't enough, I found time for some introspection. And I need to better myself in so many ways, not the least of which are domestic. But I'm not a total failure. I have passed on my weirdness to my child, who upon seeing my curly hair today told me, "Mommy, your hair is CRAZY!" You gotta love that kid.

Oh, and Priss went to the Vet this morning. The massive hair shedding and scabbies are not from fleas, but from STRESS. Yes, that's right, at our house, even the cat seeks treatment for stress.

Lovin' My Liz

Some time ago I was crazy enough to think throwing a shower at my house would be a good idea. You know, the house I just moved into less than two months ago. Now, doing something nice for my dear Liz, that was a great idea. Doing it at my house and being the organizer, BAD IDEA. But as usual the family pulled together, as those amazing women always do, and kept it from being a disaster. (Insert HUGE THANK YOU's HERE for these women I am lucky enough to have in my life.) If you were just a random person who walked in on Saturday, you would have seen a decent looking house, filled with wonderful guests, wonderful food, and a great time. But let me tell you what no one else got to see. Liz, the honoree, showing up early, in her fabulous (and I'm sure expensive) dress, and washing dishes and cooking muffins. For her own shower. Why? First, because she is a super helper. Second, because she is so used to bailing me out right before birthday parties that she couldn't help herself. She had to come help. This is a reflection of both how bad my abilities are and how amazing Liz is. So this is a shoutout to her. And I cringe when I think of all the hours I now owe her as she begins her journey into domestic hell - I mean bliss.

Home Improvement Pros

All this week we've alternated between modes at home. (1) Lazy/tired mode and (2) "WE HAVE GO TO GET THIS HOUSE PRESENTABLE FOR SATURDAY'S SHOWER!!!!!" mode. Yin and yang. So for the 2nd night this week we attempted what most normal people would consider small in the home improvement project world: hanging pictures. But at our house, not only does it require the help of my mother, it also requires a mediator with a divorce attorney on emergency standby. Every time we finish a "project" it feels like we've dodged a bullet in the marital failure department. And each time I think, "I am never doing anything with that incompetent fool again." I need the schedule for the She-Ra lessons at Lowe's. And I need a tool belt, and I need tools that aren't pink. They need to be made by manly companies like Craftsman or Dewault or whatever. Someone should start playing the theme song from a strong woman movie right now. Right now.

Additionally last night I took quite a bit of time putting the yard sale pile o' stuff (culled items as we unpacked and placed in a very conspicuous location) into the world's best hall closet. I mean a lot of time. Leaving only enough room to place the vacuum cleaner right inside the door. Piling stuff onto the box of linens in there in a way that would have made Harry and Marv proud (Home Alone 2 shoutout). And then this morning, as I was getting out of the shower, I realized I needed to put up the new shower curtain liner and the outer shower curtain from the old house. And then in horror I realized the shower curtain was in the box of linens, in the hall closet, now covered in yard sale treasures. But alas, I am a determined girl. I waded in, moved a few things, selected a right foot perch on top of a box containing a marble rolling pin, leaned in dangerously, and began shifting items. Then, when I FINALLY located the shower curtain at the bottom of the damn huge box (of course, why would it be on top?), I had to place my left foot on top of the microwave, lean over precariously, lose the towel turban I am wearing, pull the shower curtain out victoriously, and carefully remove myself from the rubble.

This is what it is like to be me.

Mojo on the Milk Carton

I seem to have lost my blogging mojo. I started this blog using my irreverent humor to turn the chaos of our daily life into funny little entries as well as to provide a constant stream of E stories for those who are always asking. But for the past week, no funny. Where has my funny gone? I fear it has been sucked up in the panic of September combined with the overall clutter in my life. If you've seen my car and my house, imagine that in my mind. Not always. Usually my mind is the clutter free zone. My exterior cluttered, my interior not so cluttered. But now my mind is cluttered. Maybe if I start meditating I'll find my funny.

Elliott has found his funny. Apparently daycare potty training is going better than home potty training. So when I picked him up yesterday and he was wearing big boy underwear (Praise GOD!), he told me, "I tee-tee'd on the carpet." And he laughed.

Thankful Tuesday

Last night was one of those really wonderful nights where you actually run the risk of sighing gloriously out loud, spinning around in a circle and twirling your skirt while Cinderella's talking animals join you in the Hallelujah chorus. And then there was this morning.

I fancy myself an amateur children's room designer. I'm now on the 3rd room I've decorated for Elliott, and I'm just getting better each time. I searched and searched for the perfect fabric for the rocking chair back in 2005-2006, spotting it one night on the way home from the Tupelo airport in a shop that was backlit for night. I screamed out, "That's it! That's the fabric!" Mom and I returned when they were opened, I bought the not so cheap fabric, and Mom paid to have the chair recovered. I dreamed of all the time I would spend rocking my baby when he came home. Well, for some reason, he and I didn't rock that much in that chair. But now, it is the best reading chair on the planet. We get in that chair and we read book after book. And then I pull out the new potty book, and he shows his dislike for its ideas. But I digress.

Then we turned on the music and danced in his room, burning some calories (woo hoo!) and having a blast. And I thanked God for this special gift, this complex being who can make my heart sing on Tuesday night and my nerves crumble on Wednesday morning. Who knows what today will hold.

September is Panic Month

So we rolled into September yesterday watching the TV and seeing how our coast neighbors would fair from Hurricane Gustav. This is real panic, what these people are going through. I realize that. But I can't convince the crazy in my head to calm down over the things making me panic this month:

• First new house payment
• First month of the new budget
• REUNION PLANNING! AHHH!
• Conference at the end of the month
• Two Doug doc visits, one with the endo
• Two family birthdays, followed by two more next month
• Bridal shower at my house this Saturday, a house that is not yet "showable" to its potential

So, I'm sitting here today, trying to focus on work, with panic raging in my head. But then I remember overhearing this come out of E's mouth last night, "Carl Wheezer, I have to go to work. Give me a BIG KISS." And then the panic calms.