Nose Picker

I’m getting pregnanter and pregnanter, so forgive me for thinking this is hilarious.


Excerpt from The Laid-Back Mom’s Parenting Guidebook (available for purchase down the left side of the blog)
CLOTHING
I don’t mess with pajamas at bedtime for my kids or for myself. We just wear comfy clothes that we can fall asleep in = the ultimate in lazy!
Tip: If your kids don’t want to wear underwear, that’s less laundry for you.
If you could get away with wearing a onesie in the summer and footie jammies in the winter all day every day with no shoes or hair bows or other useless junk, wouldn’t you? Maybe it’s just me.

Swedish vs. Irish

Thank God for my mother, who tapes me random crap (in addition to Rescue Me and Flipping Out and the Housewives series) off of cable.

So I’m watching Top Chef Masters, which I’ve never seen before because I’m not fond of cooking. I do like to eat, though. Good thing I married a cook.

There’s a chef on there who is Swedish. He talks about how Swedes are always on time (I used to be on time before I married Aron), and others talk about how Swedes are guarded, even-keeled, not super-emotional. My dad’s side of the family is hugely Swedish. I’m not anything like these people are describing.

Then it hits me! BAM! I finally understand why I’m the quasi Black Sheep on my dad’s side. It’s because my mom’s side is Irish! Hello! Don’t I act WAY more like an Irish person? I’m WAY more Tommy Gavin in Rescue Me than a let’s-not-talk-about-it, let’s-sweep-it-under-the-rug Swede. I’m always annoyed about SOMETHING, and I want to talk about it, dammit. I want to hash it out until it’s a totally dead issue.

Then there’s the stereotype of the Irish who can’t figure out birth control (heard of Irish twins … born less than a year apart?). CLEARLY I can’t figure out birth control … (big joke since I use Natural Family Planning and know WAY more about my cycles than I care to).

The thing that confounds me is the drinking thing … I don’t care for alcohol, darnit. Is that a Swedish thing?

The Pregnancy Card

This will teach me to brag about my high pregnancy energy level and how great B12 vitamins are.

One weekend recently I was sooo sluggish. Aron was trying to make spaghetti sauce from our garden’s tomatoes, and he also picked buttloads of green beans to can. I was like, NO HELP AT ALL. I’m all big now, and the baby is sucking all my energy and forcing me to rest. And jack around on Facebook. And clean out my e-mail. And try to promote the e-book, which has sold all of one copy. But don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll be alright (sniffle).

So Aron tells some practical stranger at work how I pulled the Pregnancy Card over the weekend. He said he doesn’t mind since I NEED to rest and all that, but that he’s used to me being 8 ½ months pregnant with a kid on my hip while mowing the lawn. That’s sweet.

It’s nice to know he thinks I’m usually Wonder Woman (or the mighty Isis), but the dude has to realize I’m 38 years old carrying his FIFTH love child. I told him I’m gonna play the Pregnancy Card until the baby is born. Then I’m gonna pull the “I Just Gave Birth” card … and fight for the baby boy name I really want (Henry). If he won’t let me name the potential-boy Henry, I’ll pretend like I’m hemorrhaging and am being called to the light.

Yeah, yeah, I know. The previous name was Max. But I’m a Gemini and change my mind a lot. I’m also not getting a 12-passenger van when the baby comes because I think we can somehow all cram into the minivan. Aron needs to realize it’s a miracle I haven’t changed my mind about HIM in the last 14 years.

Switching Dentists

You know when someone is treating you not quite how you would like to be treated and you aren’t sure why? Believe me, I don’t expect any royal treatment when I’m out and about, but I do expect to be treated nicely by receptionists and so on, especially when they meet me for the first time and I’m bringing them a potential FIVE little patients.

I could never quite put my finger on the treatment I got at the kids’ dentist office over the last couple of years, but it was akin to the scene in Pretty Woman where the workers at the clothing store tell Julia Roberts she can’t afford something when she hasn’t even asked the price.

Maybe I get snot from people because I homeschool. Maybe it’s because I let my 2-year-old get a cavity, so that qualifies me for White Trash Status. Maybe it’s because I have the balls to have 5 kids and stay home with them. Don’t know. And lately I. Don’t. Care.

So it seems Callie may have ANOTHER cavity (yes, I am deeply embarrassed to be admitting that … even though I personally brush her teeth, apparently my Sugar Mama status has caught up to us, not to mention she may have inherited my and my grandma’s “soft teeth.”

I call the dentist to get her an appointment. I expect a QUICK appointment (within a week) because I can SEE the cavity. They tell me their first available is 17 days away, and get an accusing tone with me because she hasn’t been there for 2 years. In my defense, I don’t see how ONE cleaning every six months will make a difference if I’m totally on the brushing thing AND then there’s the little matter of how Callie kicks and screams when they even try to LOOK in her mouth. I don’t want her equating the dentist with torture, so I’ve just kept her away. White Trash again, I suppose. And I know you’re wondering, and no, the kids don’t have a particular love for the actual dentist.

I pondered the snotty receptionists at the dentist and started looking through KC Parent magazine for alternates. I found one who had an appointment in just 3 days, AND the receptionist was extremely sweet. I know I made the right decision because when I called the other dentist to cancel, the receptionist pulled 20 Questions on me:

Snot: “Did the matter resolve itself?” (Yeah, lady, the cavity just disappeared! It was like something out of Harry Potter or the Bible.)

Me: “No. I just found someone who could get her in sooner.”

Snot: “Is this her first time here?”

Me: “No. Does it matter? I can SEE a cavity … wouldn’t you try to fit someone in quickly? I think ya’ll are just too busy.”

Snot: “Is she seeing someone else, then?”

Me: “Yes.” (meaning: Lady, you can put down the phone number for Child Protective Services because I’m not going to try to drill the cavity myself to save money since I’m all White Trash with all my barefoot hillbilly kids)

My point is: why do we stick with providers we don’t like or other people (including friends) who are rude to us? This goes for family, too. If someone exudes negativity toward you, you don’t HAVE to be able to explain it. Just get the hell away. This goes for if you get negativity off of ME, as well. I apologize, and let’s just stay the hell away from each other.

AT&T and My Technologically Abusive Husband

I love when AT&T calls me about once a year to discuss new products and services.

First they want to know how I access the Internet. I tell them I don’t. They ask if I even have a computer. I say yes. They ask if I want the Internet. I say no, not unless my husband dies first.

Then they ask me about DirecTV and other cable and want to know how I get my cable now. I tell them I don’t. I tell them my converter box rocks. And that I won’t get cable unless my husband dies first.

Then they ask about our cell phones. I tell them I’m on my mom’s Sprint plan (no Internet, no texting) and Aron has a TracPhone.

Then I tell them I wouldn’t get any of that stuff from them anyway since they screw me so bad on my land line service, which I’m stuck with since Aron won’t part with it.

I live in a strange household, don’t I? It’s almost like Aron is technologically abusive toward me. Good thing for him he rocks in every other way.