It's Called a What?

Oh, that's right! It's called a dish - WASHER! Silly me!

Now I am not one to lose my mind and rip off a good vent unless someone has pushed me. Well, guess what? That's a hand print in the middle of my back!

After church yesterday I made a dash out to the grocery store with the girls so that I would be able to combine trips. (By the way, don't come to GA if you are looking for gas. We don't have it! Another day for that one.) I called home to see if Beloved wanted something special for lunch while I was out and got the following lecture.

B: No. I'm fine. And that was the end of the call. But no sooner did I put my phone back in my purse than it was ringing again.

B: Can you do something for me?

Me: Oh, you decided what you want?

B: No. I don't want anything. But will you please wash the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher? I'm cleaning up the kitchen (wait for me to pick myself up off the floor) and there are dishes in here with little bits of food all over them.

Me: Are you kidding me? This rhetorical question asked so incredulously was answered with a three minute lecture about how it's hard on the dishwasher to have to clean food off of dishes and how our dishwasher (which is run a minimum of twice a day) is going to start drawing bugs.

The lecture would have lasted longer but I oh so politely excused myself from the conversation (ok, so I hung up on him!) and went about my shopping. Now this has had time to simmer in me and it's getting a little like a bad pot of chili. I keep getting hotter and hotter.

It is called a dish-washer. I put dish detergent in it. The argument is that it only serves to sanitize the dishes. Then why is NO ONE using actual soap and scrubbing on the dishes before they go in? Why am I not buying a sanitizing rinse to put in there instead?

I rinse the dishes before they go in so they are food free. Sure there are specks of ketchup left behind sometimes but it's a dish WASHER! And maybe I would be able to shake it off, but my darling Beloved has found a way to effectively restrain his cleaning urges. Yes, I have said the phrase "lift your feet" to him when vacuuming. So now he suddenly can tell me that I am going about things the wrong way?

Has he avoided eating off of dishes I have loaded in the dishWASHER my way? Nope!

Has he come down with some flesh eating virus he ingested from my dishes? Not yet!

Has the exterminator moved into the playroom? Absolutely not!

So what is the major malfunction? After lunch today I intentionally put a peanut butter covered bowl in the "dish sanitizer" just to get his goat when he gets home from work tonight. Tomorrow it's going to be a plate slathered in mustard and egg stuff. That'll teach him!

In Honor of National Talk Like a Pirate Day!

AAARRRGGGHHH!!!

Anybody Want to Make a Bet?

That shining day in every woman's year is fast approaching. As I cringed and braced for the impact this morning, I remembered to call my hubby and ask him to mark it on his calendar. I specifically scheduled it for his day off so that I would not be taking the children with me. The doc saw enough of them when he delivered them; he does not need to see them any more. On top of that four, three and one and a half is way to early to be that familiar with where you came from.

There are still three weeks between me and That Day but I knew if I failed to make Beloved's calendar now I would be up a creek with a very odd looking paddle. I will remind him again next week and the week after. I will remind him the Friday before and again the day before.

How much to you want to bet that he schedules a client for eight that morning knowing full well that my appointment is at nine? Will he do it on purpose? Who knows. But I am almost guaranteed that he WILL do it.

I have no earthly idea why he does these things to me. He did it with Mo's dentist appointment. He has been known to do it with almost every well visit for the last year and a half. Is he mad at me? Am I not "loving" him enough? Is he REALLY that determined that he wants another baby? I would be happy to do penance for all of that if he would just once spare me the stress of last minute baby sitters or a touring three ring circus when the sitter falls through.

Just in case I win this bet I had better go start lining up a sitter. Ugly Tuesday will be here before I know it.

Wordless Wednesday (even though I already posted)

Oh, yeah. I really have Mother of the Year sewn up.

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And then I got this 2 seconds later. What a faker!

My Run for Mother of the Year

The campaign is off to a rough start.

Mo had a dental appointment this morning. Now let's start with a review of today's treatment. Three fillings, one root canal and a crown. Oh yeah. I really rock on the brushing of the teeth. I will be the first to admit that I failed her in the dental hygiene department and I have no excuse. But what is done is done so now I have it fixed and I go forward taking better care of every one's teeth. Lesson learned.

Today was the first round. There is more to be done on the other side but the doctor was a dear and split it up. She was excited to go because her best friend has a crown and she wants to be just like her. This is going to be fun! Maybe I should have tried to temper her enthusiasm a little but I wanted to avoid inducing anxiety. It was bad enough that Daddy was in a panic about her treatment. It was all I could do to keep him from freaking out. I was not about to add her to the mix. So I went with it. Bye MOTY points.

The longer she was back in the office, the more anxious I got. But finally they told me I could come settle the bill. I had just wrapped it up and had picked up the receipt when here she came through the door. Her eyes were a little bleary from the sedation and she had that funny little gauze roll thing hanging out the side of her mouth. She looked up at me with pitiful little eyes and said, "Mom, my cheek feels buzzy." I plastered on my fake smile and looked at the dental assistant who assured me she did a fabulous job and only got "a little wiggly right at the end."

We loaded in the van and she said in her most pitiful voice, "Please can we just go home?" Being the merciful mother I am I responded with, "Can't we go to the park first? Tuck was really good while you were in the doctor so he would like to go to the park." Who does that? Who puts their child through incredible pain and dental manipulation and then asks them to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their siblings? But she is a giving child and she agreed. I pushed the guilt aside with the thought that "maybe a little distraction is what she needs." Sayonara MOTY!

We made it all of ten minutes at the park. By then we were 45 minutes removed from the actual anesthesia and she was really starting to feel the effects. Tuck took one look at her and said, "Maybe we should take Mo home." The three year old. I was campaigning for a MOTY? So we loaded back up and came home.

You are going to tell me I'm lying but I promise on her silver tooth it is true. She got out of the van walked into the house and locked me out. I unloaded the other two and crossed the garage to have the knob stiff in my hand. Thank goodness I still had the keys and the front door. It made for a good joke and it made her smile so I took my punishment like a big girl. Then it was off to the medicine cabinet for some Motrin.

She is all snuggled up with her blankets and pillows and Boomerang so I think we may have made peace for a while. I hate to admit it but I have laughed a little at her expense. She has been looking and acting as pitiful as she possibly can in hopes of guilting me into all manner of treats and special treatment. There are some more MOTY points laughing as they pack their bags.

At least I have next year.

I am a Steel Magnolia.

It's time for Mo's first round of dental reconstruction from my failure as a mother. It was supposed to happen a few weeks ago but she had a stomach bug so it got rescheduled for tomorrow. I spaced and forgot all about it until they called me for my reminder call. I had to break it to Beloved.

He hates this. He hates that we didn't do a better job with taking care of her teeth. He hates that she has to go through this "trauma" at the tender age of almost 5. I have walked him through the treatment three times and I still had to sit with him this afternoon and translate her entire treatment plan into layman terms for him. I worked for a dental office or a year and a half when we were first married so I was not just regurgitating a plan that the dentist explained to me. I was even able to walk him through tooth structures and states of decay and the whole nine yards.

He still hates it. Bless him. He is so worried about his little girl that he would rather do nothing than put her through trauma. Guess who is going to the office tomorrow morning. Not Daddy, that's for sure!

It strikes me as a little funny though. Sally Field's character had it right when she said,"Men are supposed to be made of steel or something.**" But let something happen to their little girls and they go to pieces. It reminds me of when I was 12 and I broke my arm. My dad had to leave the room when Dr. DeThomas was setting it because he was about to pass out. My mom stayed right there.

I guess it just happens when you give birth to a child. You are immediately initiated in to the Steel Magnolias. So here's to you all of my Steel Magnolia friends.

But I Like my Crack - I Mean, Coffee!

My skull is threatening to split right down the middle and free my brain. I mean it. This brain - this rambling, wandering, slightly twisted brain - could be knocking on your front door in the morning looking for a place to sleep.

I messed up. I did not make the coffee last night. Then I topped that off with sleeping in this morning. Daddy-O was so busy trying to figure out why there was a naked - and I mean not a stitch, naked - child in our bed and why I spent the night on the couch with baby feet in my face; that he forgot to make the coffee. By the time everything was sorted out, I had to rush through a shower and whip some kids into clothes in order to make it to church on time.

Oh well, I said to myself as I tried not to die while descending the stairs in 3 inch heels and a caffeine withdrawal fog. I'll just grab some coffee at the welcome center at church. I'll be fine! Munch intervened and decided that a meltdown at the nursery door would make a good beanus interruptus.

I made it through church by praying that the headache at the back of my skull was still controllable. Beloved has made a pot of coffee and it is waiting for me at home. I'll have a cup before I go to the grocery store. Wrong. He went to Dunkin Donuts for his coffee and by the time I got home Tuck was determined that we were going to the grocery store on a date NOW!!

No caffeine today. None. I usually have a pot before 10 am and three more cups of strong tea before 3 pm. At 8 pm I could take no more. I brewed a cup of tea, downed three Motrin and prayed that duct tape can hold a person's head together.

If my brain shows up on your door step tell it that you talked to me and that there is a pot brewing and one on standby. Oh! And Juan Valdez is coming for lunch.