#AtoZChallenge: ‘U’ is for “Uh Oh”

Today’s Blast to the Past post is a repeat from when we went on vacation last year. I cut the length of the post down a bit.

Remember when I posted about the odd — but not really bad — sunburn I got a couple weeks ago? Despite sunscreen and an umbrella, I got a weird sunburn on my leg. Odd, but no biggie. This vacation — despite plenty of preventative measures — I got the real deal of sunburns.

Yes, the most aspire to is a few splotchy tanned areas and red cheeks.

I made the mistake of not wearing my cover-up for a while and got a nasty burn on my chest. Other parts of me were dark pink/reddish and this part was more of a Merlot color it was so dark. The worst part (aside what legit feels like nerve pain in that area)? I got a nice reminder of how my body is doing gravity-wise when I take off my bra. You ladies know what I’m talking about. I think. Every damn shift or sway, I not only get a nice jolt of pain, but also get reminded that things ain’t where they once was. (Channeling my inner country girl on that last bit.)

Non-gravity defying breasts aside, let’s talk about what a kid should be excited about when going on vacation. Little Man counts down the days until he gets to get on water slides, body board in the ocean, and dig in the sand. Baby Girl gets excited about something different.

Before we went on vacation, I asked Baby Girl what she wanted to do at the beach.

“See the ice cream man!” she answered. I was rather impressed with her memory of getting ice cream at the beach a year ago, but that wasn’t quite what I was going for. True to her word, though, this is what she looked forward to every single day.

Spend hundreds of dollars on a vacation for the kid to care about a sweet treat that costs two bucks.

“I gonna see the ice cream man today?” she’d ask after waking up in the morning. The same question would be repeated twenty minutes later, after breakfast, in between breakfast and lunch, during lunch, etc. And finally the music from the ice cream truck would play and her dad would take her to pick something out.

And, I kid you not, if you ask her what kind of ice cream she had on vacation, Baby Girl will tell you all five of the different types of cones and popsicles she had. Again, her memory is most impressive.

Now for the last vacation expectation vs. reality. Since Baby Girl is getting older, there are certain things I expect of her — namely not eating poop or crapping in the tub. Anything gross that’s related to poop, really. I’ve been pooped on in the tub a few times, but now she tells us if she has to go. As Little Man would say, “Thank Zeus!” As such, I expect the same from her when swimming. Water’s water, so give us a head’s up so we can head to the bathroom, right?

Wrong.

Just a reminder — the squiggly marks on me are from sunburn, not poop.

She did tell me about the poop — after the fact. Just as I stood her up on the edge of the pool to jump in for a cannonball, she told me that she had pooped.

Uh-oh.

Sure enough, when I glanced down at her crotch area, I saw watery streams of poop coming out. For the record, she was wearing a Little Swimmer diaper, but it was no match for Baby Girl’s bowels. I’ll spare you the details from there, but just know that some beach towels were ruined and that I had to avoid eye contact with people.

All in all, it was a great trip. We spent the majority of our time either by the water or in the water, which is what it’s all about for me. In the past, it has been a challenge to get Baby Girl to even touch the sand or ocean water without tears, so it was awesome to see her work her way up to digging in it a little and splashing around. As Borat would say, “Great success!”

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘T’ is for The Bird

My kids are funny. They’re also infuriating, disobedient, and conniving at times, but mostly they’re funny. This has been one of the most difficult aspects of parenting for my husband and me — keeping a straight face when they say or do something that’s funny, but inappropriate. We can handle just about anything else that gets thrown at us except for acting serious when we need to.

Little Man knows a few bad words. Between living with me for 10 years and watching various superhero movies, this was inevitable. Whatever. As long as he doesn’t repeat them, I don’t care. He knows that those words are inappropriate for him to say at his age, and he usually does good with that. (There was the time he stepped in mud in front of two preachers when he was in kindergarten. He yelled out “dammit!” much to the amusement of us all.)

He once told me about an opportunity he had at school to educate some children on the playground in second grade. Apparently a few other boys were talking about the bad words they know. Little Man told me that “damn” and “hell” were mentioned.

Good boy. I appreciated him not attempting to enhance their vocabularies for a change.

As recently as this past week, LM told me that some of those same boys have been dropping the f-word at recess as long as they’re out of earshot of the teachers, so their knowledge has expanded a bit over the past two years. The kiddo also told me about learning about flipping the bird, except for what the kids at school think it means is very different from what it actually means.

So for those fourth graders, flipping someone off is basically like calling them a heathen. I did my parental duty and told LM that wasn’t what it meant and educated him. Hey, him knowing is better than thinking the meaning isn’t that bad and getting in trouble for flipping someone off like I did when I was in third grade. I thought it meant “You’re stupid” and got in quite a bit of trouble for flipping off my sister. I passed on teaching him the double bird.

Even though the boy is good about not using adult words, he has asked to use them on occasion. One such time a couple of years ago when he really enjoyed the meatloaf I made for supper.

“Just say whatever it is you wanted to say without cursing, okay?” I told him. (Do as I say, not as I do.)

Point made.

At least he didn’t hit me and tell me that my meatloaf was “slap your mama good” like he did over something else I made.

Around the same time, we had this gem of a conversation:

I can only imagine how many times he heard a strange noise and glanced out the classroom window, hoping to see aliens descending upon the school so that he would have an opportunity to use his word.

And wow! We’re down into the final week of the A to Z Challenge!

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘S’ is for Surgery

A little over a year ago, my husband got a vasectomy. Before you go, “TMI, my friend, TMI,” you should know that the moments leading up to that procedure were hilarious (well, embarrassing at first, but hilarious later), and those moments are the basis of today’s post.

Between pushing 40, having two kids, and having a wife whose birth control packets were often only half used, my husband decided that a vasectomy was necessary. After it was scheduled, he was instructed to take a Valium the morning before surgery, something that he had never taken before. I hadn’t taken it before either, but we both assumed it would just loosen him up and help him relax a little.

It relaxed him, all right. It relaxed him to the point that the half hour leading up to surgery was simultaneously the most hilarious and embarrassing half hour I have ever spent in my life. Eventually I took to writing down his comments on my phone, since I knew they’d make for great blog material later.

Here’s how that half hour went…

Regarding another urologist who walked into the building:

After a bunch of nurses walked in, he loudly remarked:

When his urologist entered:

(Someone clearly didn’t read his vasectomy procedure packet.)

On a female patient who came in:

Thoughts on Valium, while kicked back in a chair in the waiting room:

Regarding a nurse who came in only five minutes early.

I have no idea what this one was about:

After the procedure was over:

(I wasn’t very amused there, since I was kind of on the fence about the procedure. I love all the babies.)

I vote that they should officially rename the vasectomy the “Snip-Snip-Sniparoo.” At the very least, they should add that plus “No more babies for you” to their educational material.

Which was your favorite Valium inspired comment?

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘R’ is for Religion

When I was a kid and teen, my grandmother used to call me a “heathen.” Whenever I was sassy, made crude jokes, or did something silly, I was “acting like a heathen.” I’ve taken to calling my kids heathens, too, although it’s usually more of a term of affection. Usually.

Even though I lovingly call them heathens, they are definitely straight up heathenly at times. Some of the funny questions they’ve asked or comments they’ve made regarding religion has qualified them for that. (And some of the comments that inspired the doodles that follow are completely innocent, but I’m sticking with calling them “heathens” nonetheless.)

Recently Baby Girl asked some questions about God. “Who is he? What does he do? What are his powers?” I answered these questions to the best of my ability and this was how she responded to that:

When she’s not busy comparing the big guy to Superman, Baby Girl has a pretty interesting prayer she sometimes says before supper:

No, God, please don’t.

The boy has always been known for saying funny things, and he is definitely no exception when it comes to religion. When Little Man was about five, his grandma talked to him a bit about Jesus and heaven. Let’s just say that he took things very literally.

The boy also got pretty clever one day when I was trying to drive home the point that he should listen better…

Another time when Little Man was five, he shared his thoughts on God’s personal appearance and responsibilities.

Bow tie…ponytail…is God part of an all male revue that is blessed with the powers of Harry Potter?

Finally, there was this moment that certainly made someone else think that Little Man a legit heathen. We were at Chick-Fil-A one day last year and LM was playing in the play area. He came out after a while and told me that some lady in there had started going on about religion to him. He was visibly annoyed by this.

I asked what happened exactly, and LM said that he had said, “Oh my god” about something, and the lady scolded him about that.

I cracked up at the absurdity of that. Little Man told me that he informed her that in his house we say “Oh my god” all the time, to which the lady replied that God cries every time we do that. I apologize in advance for the Dorky family causing the next great flood.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘Q’ is for Quiz

Once again, we’re not blasting too far to the past for today’s post. A few weeks ago, I asked both of my kids a set of 23 questions. I’m pretty sure these questions originated with Eric from All In A Dad’s Work, but I could be wrong. (And if I am wrong, he has a series where he asks his kids lots of questions that you should check out, as his children are hilarious.)

These questions were asked with no prompting, which will probably be painfully obvious with the amount of one-question answers or off-topic answers they give me.

(Little Man is 10 and Baby Girl is 3.)

1. What is something mom always says to you?

LM: Cuss words. (Laughs) “Clean up your room!”

BG: “I love you.”

2. What makes mom happy?

LM: Saying cuss words. (Laughs) Cuddling with us, being around me and Baby Girl.

BG: Hugging.

3. What makes mom sad?

LM: Not saying cuss words. (Laughs) Being around smelly dogs.

BG: Yelling. Ooooh!

4. How does your mom make you laugh?

LM: With your blog and Yo Mama jokes.

BG: Her scares me.

5. What was your mom like as a child?

LM: I have no idea.

BG: Like Bilbo (our dog).

6. How old is your mom?

LM: 34

BG: 12

7. How tall is your mom?

LM: I have no idea.

BG: This big.

8. What is her favorite thing to do?

LM: Watch TV.

BG: Work.

9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?

LM: Not anything good.

BG: Hop your butt around.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

LM: Being the best mom ever.

BG: Prize.

11. What is your mom really good at?

LM: Being the best mom ever.

BG: Working.

12. What is your mom not very good at?

LM: Being the worst mom ever.

BG: Eating.

13. What does your mom do for a job?

LM: Sit back, relax, and watch TV. (Laughs) You predict the weather and write and get paid.

BG: Work. You do the “ah-ti-cles”

I do write, but I do not predict the weather.

14. What is your mom’s favorite food?

LM: Coke, easily.

BG: French fries.

15. What makes you proud of your mom?

LM: Everything.

BG: Working.

16. If your mom were a character, who would she be?

LM: Godzilla. Because you’re evil and big. Not big in a fat way, but big like big and tall.

BG: Spiderman.

17. What do you and your mom do together?

LM: Play chess, watch TV, talk.

BG: Play and puzzles

18. How are you and your mom the same?

LM: In every way except for gender.

BG: Hugging.

19. How are you and your mom different?

LM: In gender and that’s it.

BG: (Makes a goofy face)

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

LM: You’re my mother, duh.

BG: You kiss me.

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?

LM: Everything.

BG: You do something funny

22. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?

LM: Home.

BG: Chuck E. Cheese’s with me.

23. How old was your mom when you were born?

LM: No clue.

BG: 3

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘P’ is for Pregnancy

Today we’re going back over 10 years, to when I was pregnant with Little Man. I was a bundle of nerves during that pregnancy, and let me tell you, between the pregnancy hormones, my tendency to have mood swings whether I’m pregnant or not, and being tightly wound from the anxiety, I wasn’t always the funnest person to be around.

My husband is probably going to think that is the understatement of the year when he reads this, and you guys might think the same by the time you reach the end of this post. I’m not one to cry much — unless I’m watching Disney Pixar films, and then I can’t stop the waterworks — but I would cry over just about anything while I was pregnant..

The Vegetables

My husband and I had only been married for a year when we got pregnant with Little Man. We decided that I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom, so one of the things I did during my pregnancy was try to improve my cooking skills. This didn’t go very well for me, which you already know if you’ve read the Mommy Started The Fire post.

One day I decided to make stir fry, which included cooking a bag of frozen vegetables. The instructions said that I only needed a little bit of water to make the veggies, and I thought that was a mistake, since I’d never seen anyone cook veggies that weren’t covered in water (unless they were fried) before. (Dear 23-year-old me — steaming exists.)

My husband assured me that the veggies would turn out fine if I followed the recipe. Three minutes into cooking, I was convinced that he was wrong and got super upset about my plan of making a good supper being ruined.

This happened:

Let’s just say that my husband was pretty bewildered with this. After he calmed me down and I got myself together, I cleaned up the mess and got a new packet of veggies. I cooked them according to the instructions, and guess what? The instructions were correct. I just needed to have a little more trust in both the people in charge of putting recipes on the back of frozen food packs and my husband.

Navigating

In addition to being a sucky cook, I’m also terrible at driving places. I have a hard time remembering where things are, my brain doesn’t do directions, and I tend to panic when I’m trying to go somewhere new. If Driving Under the Influence of Stupidity charges were a thing, I wouldn’t have a license at this point.

One day I had to drive somewhere in the town I lived in and got lost. I tried using the GPS I got for Christmas, but it didn’t help because it told me to turn on a road that didn’t exist. I had never felt so betrayed before in my life — we waited in line at 5AM on Black Friday to get that GPS for a bargain, and it did this?! In a state of panic, I called up my husband, who was at work.

He was more amused than bewildered this time, especially when he asked why I didn’t use my GPS, and I told him that there was an attempt. He later told me that after he told a couple of guys at work that I was lost again, they also asked why I didn’t use my GPS (they were aware of my tendency to call and ask how to go places) and had a good laugh over it.

Grocery Shopping

There was more than one teary shopping incident during that pregnancy (there is no worse feeling than knowing you have to walk to the back of Walmart during the ninth month), but for this post, I’ll focus on the one that left a cashier kinda freaked out.

This was during the last trimester of my pregnancy. I went grocery shopping at Aldi and had the cart loaded up. During checkout, I got out my debit card to pay, and when I swiped my card, it asked for my PIN. I started to enter it, but then my mind completely blanked — I didn’t have a clue what the number was. Thanks, pregnancy brain.

The store was mostly empty and there was no one else in my line, so the cashier didn’t have a problem with me calling my husband to get the number. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer, which caused me to freak out a bit. I then called my grandmother to see if she had any idea what my PIN was, but she didn’t since she had no reason to know.

Cue the tears.

You guys would have been crying, too, if you had Aldi’s danish pastries in your cart and had to leave them behind. I’m only focusing on LM’s pregnancy for this post, but if I had opened it up to tear-fests during Baby Girl’s pregnancy, I’d write about the time I angry cried over the ice cream store being out of cookies and cream. Pregnant women don’t play when it comes to sweets.

I didn’t figure out the PIN while I was there. I had to leave the cart and wait for my husband to get back to me before I could pay for those groceries. Y’all better believe that I avoided eye contact when I eventually went back in. Good times, those pregnancy days.

Bonus: Poop

When Candy at Geek Mamas suggested that I should’ve saved the poop story from yesterday for today, the P day, I told her that I already had planned to write about pregnancy. That reminded me of something that combines the pregnancy and pooping worlds: The Fear.

There comes a moment during pregnancy when a woman makes a realization. Much like the, “Wow, I don’t even know this little leech yet, but I really love him!” moment, women also experience a, “Holy shit, I could poop during delivery!” moment. The Fear. That moment isn’t nearly as joyous as the former.

I was into the second trimester when I realized that it was possible that I could poop while trying to deliver my child.

I could see it happening plain as day — I’d be in the final stages of my drug-free delivery (lol) and instead of pushing out a baby, I’d accidentally push out a turd.

You’ll be happy to know that — after months of worrying about this and trying to figure out ways to prevent such a thing from happening — I didn’t poop. I asked my husband after delivering Little Man, and he assured me that no extras were delivered. Whew.

What’s something silly that you’ve cried over? 

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘O’ is for “Oh, My God”

Today’s post is going to be short and sweet (and hopefully funny). This one happened a few weeks ago, so we’re not blasting too far into the past for this one.

We were at Walmart recently when Baby Girl had to use the bathroom. I love that she’s potty trained and that we don’t need pullups except for at night, but I hate public restrooms. There are exactly three restrooms in my town that don’t make me feel like I’m going to die when I go into them, and if I absolutely have to go, I’ll do whatever I can to get to one of those.

Yes, it’s possible that Little Man gets his fear of public restrooms from me (even though I totally play dumb when the doc asked). Remember this?

Unfortunately, when you have a little kid, avoiding public restrooms isn’t always possible.

After Baby Girl loudly announced her need to void her bladder, which no less than three other people heard, we headed towards the family restroom. It’s big enough to avoid touching the sides of the grimy stalls and is usually cleaner.

Usually.

You’ve probably gathered that wasn’t the case on that day, and it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Here’s what we saw:

Despite being a toddler who was known for licking poop once, Baby Girl is also squeamish when it comes to public restrooms, so when she saw the poop on the toilet, she started yelling.

Out we went. And just after we exited the family restroom, Little Man, who was waiting outside started yelling.

Good lord. One of the workers took notice of Baby Girl’s partially clothed body and cracked up. I yanked up her pants and headed to the ladies’ restroom. Thankfully we were able to find a stall that was poop free that time.

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#AtoZChallenge: ‘N’ is for Notes

I love getting notes and pictures from my kids. I have a special drawer that I save them in. Those notes and pictures are few and far between from Little Man now, but Baby Girl makes up for it with the scribbles she gives me. Little Man did recently gave me the following note, though, which made my heart melt:

That’s enough of the sappy stuff. Now I’m going to move on to some of the drawings and notes I’ve found that gave me a good chuckle.

First, here’s the family portrait that Little Man drew when he was 6 or 7.

A stick thin waist and boobs almost as big as my head? Yes, please. (Or maybe not, since that would definitely cause some back problems.) It always really cracks me up to see kids around kindergarten to first grade age draw out their families. They almost always go with huge boobs for the adult women.

And speaking of boobs, there was that time in first grade (I think) that he  took issue with my not handing over my bathing suit when he asked.

I can only imagine what his teacher thought when she saw his free write that day. I love how he also included boobs in this photo, too, even if they are rather lopsided. Some free write notes from the same time that I didn’t include were about Little Man’s dog’s privates being cut off (ouch) and being very “thrustrated” as me for not letting him sit in the floor to write.

Heads up to parents of young children — if they want to give someone literal garbage for a Christmas or birthday (or anytime) gift, let them do it, because they absolutely will call that shit out.

See what a party pooper I am? If memory serves, the “something special” was leftover McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces from the previous summer.

Little Man fully understands the power of the written word. He will often air out his grievances in writing, and started doing so when he was five. He wasn’t always as verbose as he is now, but the point was still taken:

Last but not least is this one from when LM was in kindergarten, I found this scribbled on the back of one of his worksheets:

You got told, Joe.


Thanks to everyone who gave me some feedback on the poll asking about how much new content I should have if I put together a Dorky Mom Doodles book! Here are the results:

I’ll shoot for around 25 to 30 percent new material, more if the creative writing/doodling juices start flowing.

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Help! Take this poll and give me some feedback.

So, I’m trying to put together a book for Dorky Mom Doodles. As with any project I undertake, the odds of finishing are low, but I’m trying. The intro and some other section openings have been written, so that’s something. I’ve been making a list of the stories that are already on this blog that I want to include, plus I’m working on themes for each section to put the stories in.

Here’s where I need your help.

If you were to consider buying this book, how much new material would you expect? Let’s say that I go with 50 stories — and it may be less, depending on how many images there are per story, since I don’t think I’d want to go over 250 pages for this type of book — how many would you expect to be brand new?

A little more info — I won’t be just copying and pasting blog posts in the book. Sure, the stories will be there, but I will make changes to make things fit better. That’s why I’m doing sections in the book (like “Out and About”), where I’ll kind of write about that theme and then tie in the stories to it.

Any sections in particular that you’d like to see? Any feedback would be appreciated!

#AtoZChallenge: ‘M’ is for Money

Today’s Blast to the Past post takes us back about a year.

I’m hard of hearing. Some of y’all already knew this, but now the rest of you do, too. I’ve struggled with hearing since I was a baby. While this has certainly made things difficult at times, it has also made for quite a few humorous situations.

There have been times where I thought someone was making lewd comments, but wasn’t. There was a time when I accidentally volunteered to teach a Sunday School class because I misheard something. (This probably amused my husband more than it did me, especially since it lasted about a year.) And there was the time when I looked like the biggest asshole in the world.

One day my husband and I went to Walmart with the kids. As we were parking, I noticed that a local karate studio had a table set up out front. I assumed that they were trying to get people to sign up for a free lesson, which which I planned to shut down immediately. Little Man had tried the karate thing when he was younger, and it wasn’t for him. Plus, being a person with a bit of social anxiety, it makes me really uncomfortable when people approach me like this, so I really wanted to scurry past.

As we walked up, one of the people in a karate outfit said something to me. I didn’t hear what he said, but I assumed he was trying to sign up people…

After we walked inside, my husband burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed to the point that he had tears running down his cheeks. I asked what was so funny, and he eventually sputtered out the following:

Holy crap.

Y’all, I felt awful. What kind of monster says they tried donating to a society that helps people with Down Syndrome one time and didn’t like it and won’t do it again?!

I was too embarrassed at the moment to walk back out and explain things, but by the time we reached the checkout counter, I had worked up the nerve. I got out a few bucks and planned to tell the guy that I hadn’t heard him earlier and apologize.

Well, as luck would have it, the group had left already. So now there is someone in my town who believes that an asshole whose experience donating to a Down Syndrome society left such a bad taste in her mouth that she’ll never do it again exists.

Thanks for joining me for the April A to Z Challenge! If you’re participating, please leave a link in the comments section so I can check out your post.

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