stupid things i do

Post image for Moving Furniture, Overcoming Vulnerability aka I Hurt My Ninja Kicker

Baaada big boom! Also, if you appreciate how awesome my pants are and why then you get bonus points.

I do everything on my own. I have little help (though I do have awesome friends that will help if I ever actually need/ask… but I don’t… but that is another topic) but I’m okay with that. I like that I am obnoxiously independent. It empowers me. I embrace it!

Even if it ends up costing me.

I have this problem with moving furniture on my own. In the last several years I have hurt myself from doing this… but I can’t stop it.

I get bored. I move things around.

Usually I just hurt my back because I think I’m like mother fucking She-Ra and can move heavy things without help. I always prove that I -can- move things and sometimes prove that my body is older than I’d like to admit. Sometimes. So, it’s totally worth it.

I was rearranging the playroom when an organizer broke apart unexpectedly on my freaking foot.

You know those three drawer plastic thingies? Well, loading them up with paper, books and chargers/random electronic parts isn’t a good idea… especially when you move the thing and it falls apart and hulk smashes your freaking foot. It is still in pieces where it fell. The only thing I cleaned up is the blood. Ugh.

Also… Kicking the thing with said smashed, bleeding foot while calling it a stupid whoreface anushair isn’t a good idea. My son has a more colorful vocabulary and it did make the pain worse.

I felt at the moment I needed to teach the organizer bitch a lesson. I’m very logical at times.

I admit it, I cried. Actually, at first I couldn’t feel anything! My whole body rushed with adrenaline and I felt nothing. I knew right away it was going to be bad when I went from entire body numbness to uncontrollable crying. I. Don’t. Cry. I couldn’t stand up, move my leg and could not control it. The gaping cut in it was so bad it took me awhile to get it to stop bleeding. I was trying to stay calm because it was just me and my son there and unfortunately, he started to freak out. That makes me feel horrible.

He was really sweet. He brought me every first aid kit, frozen bag of veggies and ice packs as well as every stuffed animal he could find so I had “friends to make me feel better” while I failed at my attempt to keep it together.

Besides when my home and car got broken into I don’t think I’ve felt that amount of vulnerability. I don’t like being vulnerable at all but this was a completely different level that scared me out. Admitting that makes me feel even more vulnerable. It is an endless cycle and one that I loathe. I have to recognize this though.

I was on the ground for about an hour before I actually called someone. During that time I had to really think about my options. I do not go to the doctor unless it is something serious and at the time it was seeming kind of serious. That opens a whole laundry list of other hurdles. I can’t drive with my foot like this. Who will watch the kids? How will I get there? How much will this cost? What happens after if it really is messed up? What about camping? How am I going to feed my kids? How much more am I going to screw this up because I lack the ability to just freaking chill?

And the big question that weighs on my mind…

What if this was worse and something horrible happened to me… what will happen to my kids?

That was a jolting moment of reality for me. That always weighs on my mind and isn’t a new thought. My kids rely on me 100% and by me being an obnoxious independent ass about things doesn’t do them any good. It all just sunk in heavier this time.

This can potentially screw up our summer plans but it could be worse. So many more worse things happen and have happened to the people in my world. In many ways I’m very lucky.

We have Japanese Festival dancing coming up. I can’t miss that. I wanted to take them camping this month. My daughter’s 500 Club celebration for Girl Scouts is next weekend. I’m now at a loss as to what to do for my son’s 5th birthday party. I have Big Sur and Bishop Fishing coming up before I know it! And BlogHer… ugh… the list goes on.

All of this because I was doing something I know I should ask help for.

But, I am too programmed to think that it would be a burden to bother anyone… even though I’d drop everything to help those I care about and never feel burdened by them.

I like to make everything into some kind of lesson that I can walk away a better person from it. Right now I can’t actually walk so I’ll hop away knowing that I have great people in my life that I can rely on when I need it. I can ask for help. I can choose not to ninja kick everything on my own because there are people out there that would do for me as I do for them. I only keep good damn people in my life. I need to learn to let them help so I don’t screw things up for my kids.

… and next time I decide to rearrange an entire room I will ask for help…

or just remove the drawers in things before moving heavy objects.

See… that IS progress.

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I’ve always looked up to my Dad and unfortunately picked up a lot of weird habits of his. He is a truly amazing man who has shown me strength, humor, acceptance, insanity and humbleness. I swear I do mimic his humble nature! Anyway, one thing that I’ve noticed that I do is the good ole “sniff test” any time I pick up food or even drinks. Sniff. Ponder. Consume.

We have a problem with left overs and throwing away food so everything gets stored, reused and usually consumed before it goes bad. Sometimes… well… things are just beyond that window and you have two choices: Toss it or Test it.

Before deciding this you have to sniff the food.

Then grimace at it.

Sniff again.

Debate what your plans are for the rest of the day and weigh the options of warming something up that is potentially bad or making something else.

How much time will you save if it is still okay?

Will you end up staring at your feet all day while cursing your inability to sniff out bad food correctly from the porcelain throne?

Or will you survive to sniff another food another day?!

Today my Dad was over and made a sandwich. He opened my loaf of bread and I saw him sniff the bag.

Him: This bread smells weird. What is this.. Value White Bread? When did you get it?

Me: I got before camping. It is still good.

Him: (sniffs again) WHEW! It smells like armpit!

Me: (said softly) … maybe that is just you….

Him: (sniffs again but louder) YUCK! What is wrong with this bread? I don’t see mold. Is it supposed to smell bad?

Me: Yes, of course. Its butt bread. I got it at target I think. I took it camping. Maybe it absorbed the sweet smell of nature.

Him: (BIG HUGE SNIFF) Did you store it with your dirty socks???? …. Well, I’m just going to stop sniffing it and eat it.

After he made his sandwich and left the kitchen I smelled the bread… and yeah, it truly was butt bread. I won’t even try to eat that so I told him he can take it home.

It ended up in the trash.

The biggest flaw of this sniff test habit I find myself doing is that I have a freakishly small nose, tiny nostrils and crappy sinuses! My sniffer isn’t entirely accurate. Another wonderful gift from my Dad’s gene pool. I can totally relate to pugs.

Oh and… I never do the sniff test with food I am giving the kids. This is reserved for my Dad and I’s mutual stupidity. It’s awesome. I can’t even count the times when him and I have both chanced something and ended up occupying the bathrooms.

Thanks for that quirk, Dad.

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Seriously out of all the fucking planets my kid could have picked for her solar system report why did she choose URANUS!? This is a true test of my ability to be a good Mom. I cannot stop my internal death by giggling!!! I haven’t grown out of my potty humor or dirty mind phase. I think it is stuck with me forever!

Here are some things she decided to say to me today…

“Uranus is good.”

“I really like Uranus!”

“Wow Mommy… URANUS IS HUGE”

“No wait Uranus is small.. or sometimes big… or I can’t tell!”

“I wonder what you would find on Uranus?”

“Has anyone been to Uranus?”

“After I am done with this I’m gonna be like the Uranus Queen! I am ALL about Uranus”

(When discussing using telescopes) “Do a lot of people see Uranus?”

“Whooooaaaaa… Uranus is pretty! I thought it would be ugly or boring or something”

I swear a part of me wants to blurt out “DO YOU  KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING OR NOT?! ARE YOU REALLY MESSING WITH ME!? IS THIS PAYBACK FOR CHORES?!!?”

Someone. Send. Help….

I’ll be stuck on Uranus.

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My now 8 year old daughter has always had a resistance or strange defiance to flushing the toilet. We tend to make a lot of poop, pee and fart jokes in this house so “dropping bathroom bombs” and all toilet humor is usually well received. However, a few years ago it wasn’t so funny when her clogging the toilet caused me to bleach my arm, replace a door knob, test the absorbency of breast milk pads and feel like I was in an episode of a very HBO type of Dick Van Dyke show.

We had just come in from gardening so I was changing out of my clothes when I noticed that my daughter had not flushed. The second I pushed that silver handle down I realized she had flushed it but it was just really effin clogged!

Naturally I just jiggled the handle. Nothing.

Water continued to rise.

My sweet son was starting to crawl towards the bathroom door but I was so worried the water was about to overflow that I asked my daughter to watch him while I fixed the toilet. As I closed the door she asked, “Did you drop a bathroom bomb in there, Mommy!?”

Ha. No, kid, you did!

The toilet started to overflow so I yelled, tossed the two towels I had on the rack down on the floor. Nope, that was not enough because the poo-water was coming out ANGRY! I thankfully had a bunch of clothes from showers that morning and the night before left on the floor… woo hoo for being sick and lazy!

When I lifted the lid of the toilet I had to face the harsh reality of my situation. Floating poop and lots of it. That is when I remembered that the plunger was in the other bathroom! SHIT! (haha)

This is where one of my flaws totally screwed me up even further because I tend to get all yanky, slammy and agro when I get upset. When I turned to open the door I ripped the damn door knob off. Yup. Right the fuck off! Then I heard my daughter approach the door “Mommy are you…” and then… Clink. Bang. Ugh. The other side came off as well.

GAAAAAAH!

All I could think about was if the water reached the doorway that my ten month old son would be splashing in gross poo water! So I did what any sane person would do… I stripped butt naked, tossed the clothes down and even strategically placed my breast milk pads at the front of the towel-clothes-fortress.

Yes, I realize that those things don’t soak up much but I was in serious butt ass naked panic mode!

No plunger.

No door knob and nowhere to go.

Concerned kids on the other side.

Poo water flowing towards me and on the floor…

No more breast milk pads!!!!

There was only one thing left to do…

I faced that bitch ass toilet, thrust my hand in there, found the clog, ripped it out, screamed my head off during the entire process as if I was getting eaten alive by wild monkeys and I released the clog. TAKE THAT POO CLOG! Who’s the Queen of the Porcelain Throne HUH?! The water started to drain and I could rejoice.

At that moment I felt like I knew what it was like to win the world cup! To score the winning touchdown in the Superbowl! To be the nerdy dude in high school finally scoring the hot chick he obsessed over. I beat that poo!

So I seriously did a little victory dance. It felt good. Until I realized that poo water + slippery tile + clumsy ass me + oh did I mention POO WATER = me falling on my naked ass.

That was the day my kids learned about the courtesy flush rules. We started keeping plungers in every bathroom after that. I also learned that if you use bleach to scrub your hand and arm it will cause the dark hairs to turn a nice shade of blonde.

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