Sassy Wifey: V-Day

Yesterday was Cervix/Uterus Independence Day at the Martin Household. Phil went and got his vasectomy and is now enjoying his status of "poor baby." Whatever....how about you squeeze out four babies...then tell me about the pain afterwards (we won't even touch on the hellish pain that necessitates the process of bringing a new life into this world).

The hardest part, for me, that is, was getting him a cup to wear afterwards. The following tale epitomizes exactly why we needed to get a vasectomy (I say "we" since it's so trendy to say "We're pregnant" nowadays. So "We" got a vasectomy), a method that requires no further planning. Phil and I plan.....hold on....I'm still laughing because I just typed, "Phil and I plan" and eventhough I was going to add "not one bit" just typing those first four words together have me in spasms. There you go...we suck at planning. Now, if you want us to fly by the seat of our pants and squeeze out the last $40 from the pay period for a week and a half, we're the people for the job. But plan? Well, we try....it just seems that our planning method never pans out better than our flying method, and wouldn't you rather fly?

Based on that approach to living you'll better understand our tale of the Hard-To-Find-Athletic-Supporter. The Urology department originally told Phil that he could get one at any Kaiser pharmacy. They said if he showed up without a cup, they'd send him down to the pharmacy to get one. We get to the appointment early (Score! +5 points for us) and head straight to the pharmacy (another 5 points for staying on track). They don't have any. Huh....? They tell us to head over to the hospital pharmacy....across the street. So Phil, already milking his "poor baby" status asks (you are going to love this...remind me to ask him to buy me pads in the future), "Do you want to go to the hospital pharmacy so I can register upstairs?" Of course I do honey! I just can't wait to jaunt my ass out of this building, through the parking lot into the parking garage, where I'll take the elevator up to the third floor and from there take the walkway bridge across the street to the hospital. Once at the hospital, I'll go down a flight of stairs, walk the length of the hospital to find the darn pharmacy and then walk around trolling all of their shelves for a cup. When not found, I'll stand in a long-ass line with old people bitching about anything and everything just to finally make it up to the counter to ask for a cup....which, SURPRISE, they don't have either! Yes, I can't wait to do this. And it's all for you baby, the love of my life.

I ask pharmacy #2 if it is possible to call urology from there and tell them I'm looking for a cup still (I was told to head to the other end of the city to the medical supply place and based on my calculations, I would just be purchasing it at the same time they finished on Phil) and the pharmacy cashier says, "Ohhhh....do you have their number?" Well, since I'm the planning genius that I am, of course I have the number, right here in my planner. No, of course I don't have it. And he can't take the five extra minutes to look it up in the Kaiser directory so I am forced to run back (this time I just took the outside route, flying up the sidewalk, crossing the crosswalk and walking through the parking lot) and tell Phil, who, when he spotted me in the waiting room looked as if he had found the Lord, that the other pharmacy was a failure also. We need two cell phones bad!

So there we are....him sitting and me standing and breathing heavily (and usually this would be a turn on for him) and he says, "Well...go to Wal-Mart." Are you telling me to go to hell?

Then I'm back in the car fighting off fellow car warriors on the highway to get to the nearest Wal-Mart five miles away. I took the wrong exit. I ended up at Target....whatever...it'll work. But I don't have my checkcard. But I do have the checkbook....whew....almost lost my marbles on that one.

And where exactly do you find a jockstrap/cup/athletic supporter in Target? Well, I can tell you where not to look....don't look in the Health section eventhough they have ace bandages and other supportive-type braces. Don't look in the men's underwear section eventhough they clearly have stuff that is worn in that area. No, just go straight to the pharmacist clerk and she will tell you that (insert gospel "Ohhhhh" singing and bright lights) they are in the Sporting Goods area. You know, where the bikes are? Oh yes....because right after Phil gets his vasectomy and straps on his jockstrap cup thingy, he's going for a nice long bike ride. Listen, I understand the logic of why they were there, but coming from a medical standpoint, it made no sense.

I bought it, jetted back to the medical building, went upstairs, stood in line (a-freaking-gain) and then handed it to the receptionist while whispering, "My husband is back there getting a vasectomy and he needs this." To which she said, "Oh, they were just asking if you were here yet." Whatever lady. I almost flipped her off. Because clearly, I was absorbed in getting a manicure and pedicure or some other girly thing and I left poor Phil hanging...literally.

I told him as we were leaving, "You knew two months ago that you were going to need a cup...why didn't you buy one then?" He looked at me with a facial expression that clearly said, "why?" and then we both laughed.

Sassy Mama: Glories of family life....AGAIN

It must be a federally mandated law that while the making of dinner at least one child needs to approach my tiny kitchen workstation and tell me, "Ewwww....I don't like that." I don't understand this because the following conversation always takes place:
One of Them: EWWWW....I don't like that. -OR- EWWWW....I don't like it cooked that way.
Me: So?

I know that kids need repetition and consistent enforcement of rules and routines, so I guess this evening ritual must fall under that umbrella too.

In a family of six, there are no short-orders. I always laugh and laugh when I see that mom description...you know the one....where it talks about how much moms should be paid because they are nurses, counselors, taxi drivers, yada, yada? When I get to "short order cook" I laugh my ever-expanding ass to a teeny-tiny daisy duke behind because that just never happens here. No way. I've got four kids who are like night and day. Well there's four of them so they are like dawn, day, sunset and night. So following that analogy, one is jone-sing for a strong cup of coffee, another is starving for an IHOP-style breakfast, another has a blood sugar drop that warrants a big meat and potatoes meal and yet another wants a nice nightcap. I can't even compete with that. So I make whatever floats my boat. Generally I try to keep the meals to a 50% approval rating, which in my world means at least two kids will eat it. Other than that, I don't care. My job is to prepare tasty meals for you. If for some anal retentive reason you don't like hamburgers or stove top stuffing or carrots that are cooked, that is YOUR problem. And by not eating the tasty fare placed before you, you are not doing your job and that makes mommy very angry (or at the very least annoyed if I'm already exhausted).

Let me point out I have no guilt in this. Perhaps if I had less children I'd feel more apt to perform an outstanding job of catering to my kids' culinary diversities. Perhaps I'd decorate their plates with garnish. Perhaps I'd even sport a cute little apron ala Mrs. Cleaver. Perhaps......I'd end up raising self-centered little humans.

I'm not knocking families with less than four children...I may actually be envying you...but that's another post for another day. I'm just realizing my tendency would be to over-indulge if I had less children to rear. And that would be no good.

On my more ambitious days I like to think my Roseanne-esque attitude of "take it or leave it" actually benefits the little angels. It's important to know that you can't always get your way and be able to adjust to things as they are presented.

Since I love my children I like to prepare them to real life. As I told AstroBoy tonight, "You better get yourself a good job." (I mean when he's an adult.) "Why mom?" he asked with innocent eyes peering across at me. "Because you only like expensive things: crab, steak, chicken and salmon." "Okay" he said.

To which I know he thought , but had the foresight to not say, "Oh so we have to eat shitty hamburger because you and dad have crappy jobs?"

Sassy Mama: The longer I.....

I've noticed that the longer I've been a parent, the smaller the stack of parenting books on my bookshelf becomes.

When I had my first child, I bought every book for each new milestone. From teething to temper tantrums, I had the experts at my fingertips. And with each additional child I birthed, the less I referred to these books. Were the books so well written that I had it memorized and no longer needed to go back? Well, possibly. But the main reason I never went back was they didn't work the first time. I'm sure those average, "normal" couples (what is that again? Last time I checked it was: 2.3 kids, live in the suburbs, own a two-story with a pool, own a couple dogs...a cat possibly, two incomes and a combined daily commute of four hours) have children that adhere to the advice these books spout but I ain't never met a book that could figure my kids out. Never, ever.

Case in point or rather "A Day in the Life of Smudgebaby":

Exhibit A:
Child (pick any of the four): throws a tantrum and starts yelling.
Book says: Tell the child calmly and firmly, "I don't like being yelled at that way. You may talk to me when you are ready to be respectful.
My REAL-LIFE results of saying the above: I get chased around the apartment by a child yelling, "But I am beinnnnnngggg we-spect-full! MOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!! MOMMMMYYYYY!!!!!"

Somewhere, my child did not hear nor heed the part about, "You may talk to me when________." When I try to remind them by repeating my statement, they give me a "who me?" expression as to say, "Oh....you were saying all of that for my benefit." No sweet child, I was talking to the cat. And then they start screaming AGAIN.

Exhibit B:
Children are fighting/wrestling/manhandling/beating the utter crap out of each other.
Me (following chapter from parenting book): "Stop. Stop! STOP! STOP!!!! We. do. not. hit. in. this. house. We are respectful of each other in this house."
Eldest child: "Mom, we don't live in a house we live in an apartment. And besides, he hit me first and I was just trying to defend myself. I explained to him. He didn't stop. (second eldest child starts to pinch eldest child while talking) Mom! Mom...DO. YOU. SEE. WHAT. HE......"
and before he finishes his sentence he starts pummeling second eldest child and I am left screaming, "Stop. Stop! STOP!!!!" Sound familiar?!

Now repeat this above scenario several times a day, interchanging the three older boys in a do-si-do fashion. When finished, slide Mom a cold one.

I have many other examples: For instance, how the baby daughter's dolls are all (hmmm...a mystery) missing their tops, the eldest child's insistence (he's only 9 for crying out loud!) that he isn't going to prom because he isn't going to part with his money (what money?!) to rent a tuxedo, and the 3-year-old son's penance for yelling, "I'm a punk, I'm a punk!" and giggling (no, thankyouverymuch, he hasn't heard that from me) or chanting Eminem lyrics (oh...alright...he probably heard the lyrics from me).

See....I live in an odd world.

Sassy Mama: Oops...I've fallen asleep at the blogger-wheel

And judging from my counter, millions (insert sarcasm here) are wondering where I'm at. Okay...more like, maybe, 30 people are wondering where I'm at.

But I think I like it that way. I'm a regular reader of some of the more popular blogs and I've noticed that if the blogger actually tries to have a life (lest he or she will run out of blogging material) and leaves the blog for, say, three or four days, their inbox lights up with tons of fans wanting the next installment. And whereas I'm sure that is flattering (I'm guessing here....) I can also see how that is smothering. Personally, I'd freak out.

In other news:
I haven't run away yet...from any of my "jobs": mother, wife, maid, lackluster cook, and most recently an actual part-time paying job. In fact, I'm enjoying my outside employment more than I thought I would. Which is nice...but strange. I usually start jobs and about two weeks into it I start asking myself, "What was I thinking? This is awful." So far, so good....which is GOOD.

Now, I'm aware that I live under a rock (actually, my rock is my four kids) so I'm not hip to pop culture as much as others are. So keep this in mind while I spout off at how great I think this "new" (meaning: new to me) website, www.43things.com is. It is so neat to participate in. If you are a fellow under-rock dweller, you might not know what this is. 43 Things is a website where you can list your goals in life. You either type your goal in or click on one that interests it and then click a button to add it to your list. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. Maybe too much so because, although I'm only at 29 things, I have a feeling that I'm going to go over 43 things. In fact, what does happen if I go over 43 things? Hmmmmm.....gotta find that out. Anyway, you can also list places you want to go. When you add a goal, it shows you others (if there are others) with the same goal and their comments (if they left any). And quite possibly there will be others who have accomplished this goal that leave comments on whether it's worth doing or not. Which is another neat perk for YOU. Say you've quit smoking (guess you can tell what's on my mind), you type in "quit smoking" and it will take you to the page where others have left comments. If you want to, you can click on the "I've Done This!" button and a new page opens and it says, "Congratulations, you've done__________!" and it gives you the option of whether to rate it (Worth Doing or Not Worth Doing) and/or comments.

Tired now and am finding that I ramble-type when tired.
More later...sleep soon.