Reality Check from TB

This post is an email my husband sent out yesterday.


Life is short...

....so don't take a minute for granted!

Exactly one week ago my almost 4-year old daughter, SB, woke up at 12:30 w/an acute croup attack (1st one). For a minute or so she really couldn't breathe......we thought we were going to lose her. Then it gradually went away. 911-ambulance-emergency room...the whole nine yards.

Today, my pregnant wife, due in August, was in a car accident on rt. 70 (major highway). While avoiding an accident in front of her, she was forced into a lane where the side of her car was hit by a pickup truck and threw her spinning across the 3 or 4 lane highway. This highway is normally packed w/tractor trailers, etc... She came away with only a stiff neck...and an eight hour, precautionary stay at Howard General.

The last few years I've been trying to appreciate what I have and always keep the big picture in mind. Events like this just make me try to live every day like it's my last.

Everyone who knows me KNOWS that the last thing I am looking for is pity. I'm sharing this so everyone can do a little reality check and remember what is really important.

See pictures below......

TB

Say What?

When I was pregnant with SB, and I mean very pregnant- like 8 months pregnant, I got on the elevator at work along with 2 other women. Once the door closed, one woman glanced around and said "Wow...on the elevator with 2 pregnant women. I hope we don't get stuck!" I kind of laughed, but after a minute's pause, the third lady said, very quietly, "I'm not pregnant."

The remainder of the ride was very quiet.

It's amazing to me what people have the balls to say to total strangers. And I seem to be on the receiving end of a lot of uncouth comments lately.

One of the members at my gym commented the other day, as she was walking by me, that I was getting bigger (duh, that's usually the idea with pregnancy). I smiled (phony) and mumbled out some unremarkable reply, mostly in agreement. This prompted her to stop to have a full-blown conversation with me. Which I regret taking part in.

Her: Actually, you look kind of gassy. Do you have gas?

Me: No, I'm pretty sure it's just a baby in there. No gas.

Her: Funny, because you look like those people in the commercials who have gas.

Me: Yeah...no gas.

Her: Has anyone else told you that?

Me: That I look like I have gas? No.

Her: Yeah, well who else would really say that to you but me?

Me (thinking): I think you're on to something there.

Since I've been very irritable these past few days...weeks...months?...I have since not made any effort to initiate conversations with this particular lady. But I can't avoid her, she's one of the lunchtime class regulars. One morning she called in to sign up for class, and felt the need to further irritate me.

Her: I can't make the 12:15 class so sign me up for the 11:30 class. Are you teaching that?

Me: No, The Intern's teaching it.

Her: What are you teaching today?

Me: Nothing.

Her: But you're there...

Me: Yes I am...but I'm not teaching anything.

Why do people assume that just because I show up to work that I have to teach a class? And the weirdest thing is that a few weeks ago, she was giving me a hard time because I was still actively teaching classes...so now that I'm 8 months along as opposed to 6 months, it's all of a sudden unacceptable for me to lighten my teaching load? Or show up without having a class to teach?

I don't get it.

Anyway, even total strangers are taking part in this whole crossing the line with comments. I brought SB to the pool tonight (not the one with Rick James, this is the outdoor family pool). Since I feel too obese to squeeze into my bathing suit, and too sick and tired with a sore crotch to get into the pool myself, the plan was to just let SB splash around the wading pool. That way I could just sit on the side of the pool and not really exert myself, but SB could wear her little self out.

There were 2 little boys in the pool when we arrived, and one grandmother. At one point, Grandmother yelled at the lifeguard on duty because he had picked up her noodle that she had left at the edge of the big pool, and was smacking the water with it while on the phone. Personally, I didn't really think he was hurting anything by being on the phone because there was NO ONE in the big pool. Every single person there was in the wading pool area.

But that's not my business. I tend to keep to myself.

But out of the blue, Grandmother looked over at me and said "It must be 4:30." I had just checked my phone for messages so I knew that it was actually closer to 5:30, so I told her that.

Her response: Oh, because usually at 4:30 the pool changes color.

It took me a minute to digest that and figure out what she meant by that. Honestly, my first thought was that she was implying that someone peed in the pool every day at 4:30. But after glancing at the big pool, which had by this time become a little more populated, I realized she was referring to the color of the people enjoying the pool.

I didn't respond to that. It's one thing to warn me there aren't any Jews in Manchester, or to tell me I look gassy, but I was raised to be pretty much oblivious to color.

You Snooze...

...you lose.

At least, that's my motto.

For some reason I've started to get very irritated lately whenever TB falls asleep on the couch. At first, I would just get grumpy. Then, I started making SB pound on his chest and yell "WAKE UP, DADDY!!" Then I resorted to taking photos of him with my cell phone and sending them to all my friends, including him.

But now that's not enough.

So be aware. If you do this:

Then I will do this.

Where To Begin?

So....I've been busy lately. My husband calls it nesting. I call it making sure the baby has a bed to sleep in and clean clothes to wear. In addition to all the work around the house that I've been doing, it's also the end of the year for dance class, the start of the family fun season, and the start of the busy season for my husband. So here's a recap, in no particular order, of what we've been up to.

A few weeks ago, we went to Cascade Lake. This is a big smelly lake in Hampstead. We paddle boated around for all of 15 minutes then headed off to the "splash pad" to let SB get wet and wild. Which she did. TB even joined in the fun.


Our next adventure was a trip to some farm who took all the scenes from what used to be the Enchanted Forest. It was here that I got to take a creepy photo of my child peering out from the eye socket of a giant face.


Then last Monday we took a trip to Dutch Wonderland. This was exciting.
First, SB entertained us all with an interpretive dance in her "kini".


Then, TB knocked over all of the blocks that were sitting on a platform, and won SB a giant banana, who was subsequently named Mr. Banana. SB insisted on carrying him around the park herself. He now spends his days in the living room and his nights in the corner of SB's bedroom.


Then, being the awesome mom/wife that I am, I made my family do this. You can tell by the look on TB's face that he was thrilled to take part.


Since I am about the size of a whale who just ate another whale, and is bloated as a result, the number of rides/attractions I could take part in was limited. They actually had signs posted in front of a lot of rides that looked a lot like this. Except there was only one pregnant lady, and she wasn't quite as naked...or droopy.

Coincidentally, I stole that photo off the internet, but I can tell you that it was a photo of the back of a packet of Accutane tablets. I went on Accutane twice and am a total slob, so there were little "no pregnant women" labels everywhere in my apartment. I found it quite amusing.

Anyway, since I was pretty much forced to stand around a lot while TB and SB were on rides, I made friends with this guy. We spent a lot of time together. I felt that we got pretty close, but he would never tell me exactly what he was doing with his left hand.


Next we headed over to the Howard County Relay For Life event, where The Band was playing. Here, SB got her face painted.


After they finished playing, SB went up on stage to help her dad pack up, which I thought was cute, so I took some photos. Later, as I was going through them, noticed this one with some random dude in a sequined dress standing in front of them. Only in Baltimore.


Then was SB's dance recital. This will probably be its own post later on, but I had to throw up a couple of really cute photos.
My little ballerina.


And a not-so-great shot of the Father-Daughter dance. There will be video coming, but not for another month or so. I'm not sure why the little girl in the middle doesn't have a father at this point.


The last of our exciting couple of weeks was me getting a flat tire on the way home from the Bay Cafe on Sunday night. We (me & SB) waited on the side of 83 for about 15-20 minutes until TB could get there to change the flat. A police officer in an unmarked Infiniti had pulled over with me (he was the one who told me, because at this point I still was just thinking I was having problems driving straight) but couldn't stay. Something about a gun shot victim he needed to tend to.

Once TB got there, he put the donut on for us, which was no easy feat considering he had lost a contact lens on the way. With nothing better to do with myself, I decided to take a photo to chronicle the event.

Like you would expect any less at this point.

So of course, I sent that picture to several of my girlfriends, thinking they would reply with concerned comments about us being stuck with a flat late on a Sunday night with a 3-1/2 year old. But all they did was comment on his ass.

I think that pretty much brings you up to date with me. This weekend looks promising as well, with 2 gigs in DC, one in Catonsville, and my father and his crew coming to visit.

Rick James, See-Through Bathing Suits and My Water Breaking

Yes, you can see all three of these at my new gym!

Let me explain.

I joined a local commercial gym because I decided that, as I enter the final 10 weeks of pregnancy, doing things like walking and teaching step classes hurt my peepee. To the extent that it feels like someone spent a good 30 minutes roundhousing me in the crotch. And I mean that not in a kinky way, but in a martial arts way. So I decided to spend a few sessions a week swimming, which would ideally provide me with a good cardiovascular workout (trying not to drown) without all the wear and tear on my poor lady parts. Because they'll be going through enough in 9.5 weeks anyway.

The whole bathing suit ordeal is another post altogether. So fast forward to me, doing my best whale in a skirted one-piece imitation at the pool. I decided this time around not to worry too much about coordinating my breathing with everything else, because the last thing I need to be doing is hyperventilating or drowning. So I just grab a kickboard and kick away, back and forth.

I was kicking away last night, when the door from the men's locker room opened up and slap me with a trout if that wasn't Rick James standing there in his tight swimming briefs. Well, ok, maybe Rick James is dead and this wasn't exactly him. But it was his long lost twin brother, at best.

Maybe just a little shorter. And almost naked.

And with more of a long fro than jheri curl. But it still looked just like him!

Anyway, I went back to kicking up and down my lane. Both Rick and I were not in the best of shape, swimming-wise (at least I have an excuse), and we both stopped kind of frequently at the shallow end to catch our breath.

During one break, I looked around and noticed a few of the older ladies (by "older" I mean anywhere from late 40's to early 70's) who had been in the whirlpool when I first got there were now chatting on a bench near the entrance. One older lady in particular (who was on the younger end of the older lady age spectrum noted above) was wearing a lima bean colored one-piece bathing suit. Which, in and of itself, was not notable.

But the fact that when she dropped her towel, I saw that it was COMPLETELY SEE THROUGH, was. Since she was sitting, I didn't see anything below her waist (thank goodness) but I could completely make out what her entire breast looked like, including how big and how dark her nipple was.

Waaaaaaaaay tmi.

I tried very hard not to look in her general direction for the remainder of my workout. After I left, I wandered into the locker room to change into dry clothes (I was going to shower at home). As I was reaching into my locker to pull out my bag of clothes, I felt something dripping down my leg.

Now, I know I was wet from the pool, but this was a more forceful drip. Almost like I was peeing on myself. But I knew I wasn't peeing. And it wasn't letting up! Immediately I freaked out, thinking my water broke while I was in the pool and I didn't notice it.

I looked down and eventually realized that the water was coming from the stupid little skirt they put on the ugly maternity bathing suit. Somehow it had collected there, and was dripping down my leg.

It was an interesting night at the pool, I look forward to more "Stories from the Gym".

Happy? Mother's Day

I'm pretty sure I'm going to quit celebrating Mother's Day. I can't remember last year's Mother's Day too well (which is probably a good thing) but I remember I was Pissed. Off.

I think it was because both the MIL and my mother were at my house that morning making my life miserable by bossing me around and taking over my house. I remember being mad at TB for some reason but I'm not sure what that reason was. Again, this is probably for the better.

I think the bottom line was that it was my day, or supposed to be my day, but not a single part of it was fun or special for me.

This year, the original plan was for the three of us to meet up with my mom and my brother at Chili's (my all-time favorite restaurant) for lunch.

Simple and effective.

But nothing is simple with my family. Technically, this was our celebrating Mother's Day for my mom, not for me. And she refused to make any decisions. It took me forever to get her to decide on Chili's (it was only a coincidence it's my favorite- I swear!!) and then she wouldn't decide on a time. She told me to call my brother and figure it out.

Because I take the words "call your brother" as a personal insult (I know, I'm messed up in the head), that made me mad and I told her it was in HER honor we were going out so she needs to tell us where and when.

This indecisiveness went on for a few days until she finally said something to the effect of "just forget it, then". She goes for the guilt. In desperation, I texted my brother and asked him to call her and figure her out. He handles her a lot better than I do. Somehow he got her to agree to 1:30 at Chilis.

Fine. Done.

BUT then for some reason, the MIL decides she wants to come visit. I'm not sure where that came from, but after a few days of indecisiveness regarding what day she would come (she lives 2.5 hours away, so she usually spends at least one night when she visits), she decided she would get here at 1pm on Sunday.

Which would mean she would basically have to turn around and leave right away to go to lunch. But that was her decision, and SB was excited to have lunch with both grandmothers and her uncle. Plus, she would be around to watch SB so TB and I could go out on a date, which we never do, and would have pretty much been my present, so it was all good.

Until Saturday night, when I came down with the cold from HELL. It actually started on the way home from the Cambridge gig on Saturday (which is why I totally blame Vagrant Girl) and got progressively worse until I found myself awake all night with the most painful sore throat I'd had in my entire life. It hurt to sniffle.

When SB came into the bedroom with her usual cheery "Good morning, Mommy!", clutching her Curious George, Cat in the Hat and Cow stuffed animals she sleeps with, it usually melts my heart into waking up to accompany her into the living room. But I was so grumpy, tired and in pain that I quickly deferred her to TB even though I knew he hadn't gotten to bed until very late (since I was awake all night). Thankfully he dutifully got up with her.

An hour or so later, when I finally rolled out of bed, I felt like death. I couldn't hear out of an ear and my throat was on fire. I couldn't breathe through my nose, so there were all these nasty lumps of mucous on my tongue from dozing with my mouth wide open all night. It was not a pretty sight.

After some convincing from TB, I hauled my nasty pregnant self to Patient First to make sure I wasn't seriously ill or contagious. Almost 2 hours later, I was on my way home clutching a prescription for antibiotics and a fact sheet on upper respiratory infections.

Lucky me.

I spent the remainder of the day trying to avoid my own daughter (yes, they said I was most likely contagious) and drifting in and out of consciousness. I didn't make lunch and got even more pissed when TB came back without any food for me. Sure I never asked, but he KNOWS how much I adore those southwestern eggrolls. There should have been no question. Of course, I wouldn't have been able to taste it, but whatever.

It turned out to be a blessing that the MIL had decided to come, because her presence made SB not care about her nonexistent mom so much. But it was still an incredibly miserable day for me. I never got my present (date night) or any other present. I couldn't even kiss my own daughter because I didn't want to get her sick. Let's hope next year breaks the spell.

Why I Hate Other People's Kids

Or I guess, more accurately and fairly, why some people shouldn't have kids.

The Man's busy season has started. Festivals, fairs, wine tastings and parties galore coming up in the next few months. Saturday he played in Cambridge, MD at a blues festival. We had attended this last year, and despite the long drive, it's not a bad gig. They only play for slightly over an hour, it's not incredibly crowded, and there's a courtesy tent for the band (and family) behind the stage.

Saturday was gorgeous- 80 degrees and sunny, without the typical Maryland humidity. SB and I chose a spot and settled down. We didn't even really care that we put the blanket down on what was probably the only spot on the entire field that was wet. Someone must have emptied a cooler or several camel bladders on the spot just before we got there.

Just as we settled in, a little girl about SB's age came up to us and plopped herself down on SB's princess chair, which was set up on our blanket. She put one leg over the arm of the chair and sat there eating a slice of pizza. SB and I looked at each other in surprise then SB started to cry, saying that was her chair and she wanted to sit in it.

I looked around for the girl's mom, but didn't see anyone anywhere that seemed to be a parent whose child was on my blanket. I tried to calm SB down by telling her she wasn't sitting in the chair and that she should share it. But secretly, I kind of got why she was upset.

Then the little girl reached down and took one of SB's toys that we had brought to keep her occupied. This set SB into a whole new wave of tears. This time I told the little girl that SB was playing with that and could she please give it back. She stared at me for a full minute then threw it at SB.

Yes, she threw my child's toy at her.

TB came up to us at this time to see if we needed anything and saw SB in tears. I explained this girl was sitting in her chair and playing with her toys then throwing them at her, and I didn't know who she belonged to. He asked her to get up so they could go find her mommy or whoever she was there with, but she just sat there. She wouldn't budge. TB wasn't about to pick her up and carry her off to find her family, not in this day and age, so he just left to go get ready to play.

SB was still whining about her chair, so finally I told the girl that SB had brought this chair so she could sit on it, and she really wanted to so could she please get up. Finally, she got up and left. I watched her go a few blankets up and sit in a lawn chair that I had seen an old lady occupying a few minutes before. Something told me she was chair squatting again. But not my chair, not my concern.

This girl came and went a few times. Sometimes she would sit on the princess chair and sometimes she would try to go through my bag. I kept asking her where her family was and she kept ignoring me. On one particularly long visit, she and SB were playing with SB's bubble blowing stuff, and SB asked the girl about 20 times (no joke0 kids are persistent) what her name was. But she refused to answer. I was nervous about her playing with the bubble toys because some of them require you to put your mouth up to the toy and, not knowing this girl, I didn't want them sharing. One by one I took those toys away.

After the bubble visit, once the girl had gone, SB announced she was hungry. I pulled out the crackers, cheese and turkey I had brought for her and immediately the girl appeared. She said she was hungry.

There was no way I was sharing food with this girl, for several reasons. First off, she was obviously not interested in being friends with SB, she was only coming to play with her toys and sit in her chair. Secondly, I didn't know this girl from Adam and I wasn't about to give her food, risking her having an allergic reaction, without a parent to confirm it was ok first.

So I stood my ground. I told her no, if she wanted food she needed to get it from her mom. She said she didn't want her mom's food, but she was hungry. I told her she was eating pizza when we first saw her so she couldn't be too hungry. But either way, we only brought enough food for SB and myself, so she needed to go ask her mom for some food.

Then she tried to sit in my lap. This was too much for me. I'm very lovey with SB but I'm not touchy-feely with other kids. At all. Especially bratty vagrant kids whose parents let them run around unattended at festivals.

So I pushed her off my lap. I said that I didn't know her, and that I didn't know if her mother would want her sitting in a stranger's lap.

Just at that moment, I looked up and saw another girl, about 7 or 8 years old, standing at the edge of our blanket. She didn't say anything but just stared at me. I was really starting to get creeped out with all these freaky kids being attracted to our blanket.

Eventually I found out that this was Vagrant Girl's sister. Still no hint of parents, mind you. Vagrant Girl started putting her shoes on (which had somehow appeared in front of our blanket- maybe Vagrant Sister brought them? VG had been barefoot the entire time I saw her). I told her she was putting them on the wrong feet and she ignored me. Oh well.

VS announced that she would be right back and left. VG finished putting on her shoes, then left a minute later. I saw her wandering around some other blankets, and at one point, watched a mom wrestle a bottle of apple juice away from her to give to her own son. Then I never saw her again.

Thankfully.

Although a little while later, like maybe a half hour, VS reappeared and asked where VG had gone. I told her I had no idea, I hadn't seen her for a good half hour.

Crazy stuff. I'm the kind of person who, at these festivals, likes to be left alone. I'll interact with the people next to me to tell them their baby is cute or warn them that their dog wrangled off the leash and is humping the bass player's leg. And I'm all for SB making friends with kids her age and running around and playing with them. But VG was too much for me.

It's Relative. And Full of Ass.

I've been crazy busy lately trying to keep busy. All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep, wake up, eat, then sleep some more. In fact, if I could figure out a way to eat without waking up, I'd be a happy girl. But because the brat my daughter doesn't nap anymore, and I'm more or less a single mom during the week, and I have to be at work at 6am 3 days per week, I don't get nearly enough sleep.

I fell asleep the other night while SB and I were parked on the couch watching some Disney movie involving a princess. I think I zonked out around 7:30, and woke up around 8:30 to find SB had passed out as well. I tried to wake her up to bathe her, put her in her pj's or at least brush her teeth, but she went all Exorcist on me, with her eyes rolling back into her skull and muttering phrases I couldn't even begin to decipher. So I gave up and put her to bed fully dressed, skank-mouthed and dirty, praying that when she woke up at 3am all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, TB would take pity on me and wake up with her. Turns out she slept straight through until the morning. I, on the other hand, was up until well after midnight, thanks to my little nap.

So because I'm terrified of falling asleep on SB again (not literally on her, although I'd be lying if I said that's never happened), I've been dragging her to all sorts of pointless places just so I stay awake. Plus I want her to remember that we actually paid attention to her at some point in her life, since when the new baby comes, she'll probably not get as much attention.

Last week I picked her up from school and took her to Spring Meadows Farm. It's about 15 minutes from our house, and mostly a garden center, but has some animals like geese, goats, ponies and guinea hens you can feed. There was a donkey there, who was very happy to see me.

Is that your leg or are you just happy to see me? Luckily SB did not notice the Hornball Donkey's 5th appendage and question it.

This past weekend, I dragged my family to the Catoctin Zoo, which was waaaaaaay overpriced for what it was. But, in keeping with the Ass Theme, we met another interesting donkey. He was not quite as happy to see me as the other one, but he was a special donkey. Instead of 5 appendages, he only had 3.

You're probably wondering if something happened or if he was born that way. I had the perfect opportunity to ask, since the zoo lady who takes care of the donkey (and the lioness) was standing right next to me, but I couldn't bring myself to ask because I was worried the answer might depress me. So we will probably never know.

The Catoctin Zoo had plaques at each station with facts about the animal- its natural habitat, where it comes from, what it eats, etc. So it was a learning experience. And I'm bringing that learning experience to you. Here's what a fat pregnant woman who had to bring her daughter to the Port-a-Potty (which is a feat in and of itself, trying not to get her to touch anything at all with any part of her body whatsoever) looks like when she leaves the Port-a-Potty and walks right into her caring, obviously suicidal husband taking a picture of her.

The lesson? Don't ever take a photo of someone in that situation. Ever.

After the Zoo, TB had to head to Winchester for a gig so SB and I stopped at my mom's, because I was out of ideas as to how to entertain her for the remainder of the day. Another learning experience.

Remember the creepy balls of hair I found in a box of stuff my mom had brought me? I've discovered it's her hair. And I know this because while we were in the basement, my mom and SB disappeared into the storage section and SB came running out a moment later and threw this braid of hair at me.

A braid. Of human hair. Of MY hair.

Gross.

My hair was always very thick and very curly, and extremely long. Like down to my butt long. If I left it down, my back got very hot, plus it would end up extremely tangled, so my mom always put it in a braid. I got it cut right before 7th grade, up to my shoulders and my mom, being a sentimental freak with an obsession with headless human hair, kept the hair. In a braid. In her basement.

And my daughter found it and thought it was absolutely hysterical to throw this hair at me and laugh maniacally at my reaction, which was absolute disgust. I'd gingerly pick it up and throw it back at her.

This morbid game went on for a good 10 minutes before I got really grossed out and threw The Braid behind a bookshelf.

Game over.

The Good, the Bad and the Smelly

We all know how I feel about my job. It has its perks, but is ultimately incredibly boring and lacking in challenge and opportunity for growth and professional/personal development. After much contemplation, I have effectively whittled down the personalities of three staff members who work at my fitness center (myself included) into a witty Clint Eastwood movie title spinoff.

How clever am I?

The Good? Well, duh. Obviously me. I come to work on time, I know my stuff and I follow the rules. Can you say model employee? Sure I surf the net and harass the innocent employees of the company whose fitness center I run staff via email and beg them to accompany me to the cafeteria since apparently I'm incapable of walking there by myself. But when the day's over, my work's all done and my ducks are happily sitting in a row. I meet my (few) deadlines, errors in print media I put out are minimal (if existent) and my stuff makes sense (for the most part) to anyone capable of reading at or above a second grade level. I also have the neatest handwriting of my colleagues, and smell the second prettiest (BS takes first place on that one after he douses himself in Axe).

The Bad is also a no-brainer. Blank Stare has obviously lost interest (if there ever was any) in maintaining a respectable display of what we adults call work ethic. He shows up for work late consistently. This wouldn't be a big deal if we lived in Cube Land where each person is responsible for his own crap. But when I get there 10 minutes before the center is scheduled to open so that by opening time, all the equipment is turned on and all opening duties have been completed, and BS strolls in 5 or 10 minutes AFTER opening ALL THE TIME, it starts to irk me. And that's putting it mildly. He surfs the net all day (big deal, we all do) but he has the audacity to search and apply for jobs online on company time. This is, of course, after he spends the first hour and a half of his day working out, but before his first shower of the day. In which he takes longer than I do because, according to my sources, he takes the time to flex in front of the mirror. (And people wonder why I have so many guy friends at work...the information they give me is priceless!)

Again- would this all be a really big deal if he carried his weight in terms of getting crap done? Not at all! But he does bare minimum. He has very few responsibilities, and they are rarely completed on time. When they are completed, the fliers and posters are riddled with typos and errors and sentences that either don't make sense, or aren't true. Seriously, how can strength training take years off your life? And I'd like to know what resource he found that documented that there are actual carbohydrate-laden foods that lower your blood sugar levels (as opposed to just resulting in less of a spike)?

I could go on forever. But to save you the agony of reading my rants about BS, I'll move on to the final part of the Work Trinity.

The Smelly. Oh Lord, where do I begin? The Bossman is a great person and a wonderful director. We get along well and I absolutely love my work time with him. Unlike BS, he gets his work done, but is able to laugh and joke and have fun while doing it. But he has one flaw. He takes his sweaty, smelly shoes off while sitting INCHES from my chair.

Seriously, that is one nasty funk. It's not the typical foul male shoe/sock/sweat odor. This is the ultrastank that is produced only by the sweat glands of someone on a very unhealthy diet, who works out incessantly and never washes his shoes or socks. Or showers.

Not to say Bossman doesn't shower, or wears dirty socks, but the stench that emanates from his feet is nasty at best.

Yet he keeps taking off his shoes right in front of me. And, lucky me, today he even peeled down the back of his sock to reveal a smelly old nasty dry cracked peeling heel because he's been complaining of pain there.

Then, get this, he asks me to RUB IT.

Who the HELL deserves to be subjected to that kind of abuse at work?

I tried the pregnancy card, saying I was more sensitive to smells and couldn't take it. I think I even gagged a little today. But he's in denial and told me it wasn't that bad. NOT THAT BAD? His sense of smell must be as bad as his hearing, because it was a lethal odor.

Anyway, so there we are. A motley crew at best.

But you gotta love us.

At least The Good and The Smelly.

Treated Like a Stepchild

One of my all-time favorite things to do is ponder the dysfunction that is my family. Holidays provide the perfect opportunity to sit back and watch said dysfunction in action.

Yesterday, for Easter, my mom, brother and sister-in-law came over to watch SB hunt for eggs, then have a family meal together. They were actually all on pretty good behavior, aside from the normal freakishness. My mother, who was only supposed to bring a turkey (because I absolutely refuse to stick my hands inside a turkey carcass to get the stuff they stick in there out. You know, the giblets and all that crap), brought 3 boxfuls of food, specifically JUNK food, including: 4 chocolate bunnies, an unnaturally yellow chocolate duck that looked like it belonged in the bath tub, 4 bags of different flavored potato chips, a jar of salsa, a tub of nacho cheese dip, a tub of onion dip, 2 trays of baklava (her specialty), 3 unopened bottles of salad dressing (even though no one had prepared a salad) and a cherry cheese cake. Plus boiled asparagus. My brother arrived in his typical fashion- about 20 minutes late. His wife, as usual, knew everything about everything.

It's inevitable that at some point, argument (albeit good-humored and judgment-free) ensues. This time, my mother and brother were arguing about when my brother acquired his first computer. My mom announced that it was a first communion present, so age 7. My brother Joe disagreed, claiming that he already had a computer before she bought the Commodore 64 that was his first communion present.

As they went back and forth, recalling completely unrelated events that occurred in relative proximity to the first communion, I wondered what I had received for my first communion. If Joe got his own brand new computer, then I must have gotten something really special too! I remember getting ready for the big day, my mom dragged out her curling iron that I was only allowed to use for special events, to straighten my curly bangs (seriously, Mom, who gives a kid with curly hair bangs? That's just cruel.). I remember the dress I wore- a white frilly number with a red velvet belt. But I didn't remember any present.

So I asked. And was answered with a blank stare (and believe me, if anyone recognizes a blank stare, it's me after working for nearly 2 years with the master of blank stares). Then the following conversation commenced:

"OH MY GOD, MOM, YOU NEVER GOT ME A FIRST COMMUNION PRESENT, DID YOU?"

"Well, you had your first communion in Illinois, they let you come back for it."

(Ignoring that her last statements made no sense whatsoever)"WHO CARES WHERE I HAD IT, YOU NEVER GOT ME ANYTHING! AND YOU GOT JOE HIS OWN COMPUTER!"

"We moved to Maryland right afterwards." This was said in a tone of voice that implied that it was supposed to make me feel better.

"SO THAT WAS MY PRESENT? MOVING TO MARYLAND? BEING WHIPPED AWAY FROM MY SCHOOL AND ALL MY FRIENDS TO SOME STRANGE PLACE? WHILE JOE GOT A FREAKING COMPUTER? NO FAIR!"

By this time, my mother, completely unaffected by her blatant lack of fairness, was laughing too hard to formulate a response. I'm glad that the double standard that she called parenting was funny to her.

"You owe me a computer."

Technically, she owes me a lot more, because this was 23 years ago, so some kind of interest should apply. She better pay up. Or else.