My youngest son Trey always accompanies me in public restrooms. Even if Paco is around, Trey insists on going in with me.
Trey is an animated little guy, and he always has a lot to say. He loves to give play-by-play details on every situation.
This is an actual conversation that Trey and I had recently in a very crowded gas-station bathroom.
Trey: "Mom, I have skid marks and I can't erase them."
Me: "I am very disappointed that you have skid marks. You need to tell Mommy when you have to go potty."
Trey: "one time Dad had skid marks"
Me: "your Dad didn't have skid marks"
Trey: "Yes-Huh. I saw them. They smelled really bad."
Me: "Hurry up and get going so I can go to the potty."
Trey: "Are you going number one or number two?"
Me: "number one. hurry up."
a few minutes later . . .
Trey: "mom, why do you always put the papers on the toilet?"
Me: "it keeps the toilet seat clean so you don't get germs."
Trey: "why don't we have the papers at home?"
Me: "mommy cleans the toilet so that there aren't any germs."
Trey: "MOM!!!! You are going poop!!!!!! I can smell it!!!!!!"
Me: "ssshhhhhhhh" (courtesy flush)
Trey: "Ewwwwwwwww! It smells gross!"
Trey: "Your poop broke the paper!!! Now you are gonna get germs!!!!!"
I could hear the laughter from outside the stall. Needless to say I left with a VERY red face.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Eating Healthy Can Be Bad For Your Health. Seriously.
In a desperate attempt to lose all the weight I have gained since I injured myself, I have rid my house of all processed foods and evil temptations and stocked it with only healthy and nutritious foods. (Well, I did keep the many bottles of wine because I'm sure I read somewhere that it is good for you.)
To start off my fabulous new healthy-eating lifestyle, I went to our local natural grocery store and spent over $100 on things like steel-cut oats, quinoa, organic wild rice, grapeseed oil, lentils, and tofu. (I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I promise that I will continue to shave my arm-pits and I will NEVER own a pair of Birkenstocks. Pinky swear.)
I was a bit concerned about my new diet as I have had past experiences with health food where I could have sworn that I was eating pine-bark and toenails. But, desperate times call for desperate measures and I felt that this was the way to go.
I started out my first day with a warm bowl of steel-cut oats with fresh strawberries and soymilk. This was very yummy and kept me full until lunchtime. My lunch consisted of lentil salad. Again, quite yummy. Dinner was a salad I concocted out of quinoa, tomatoes, basil, feta, garlic, and a balsalmic vinagrette. Once I got past the texture of the quinoa, the flavors were really quite wonderful. I went to bed feeling proud and satisfied. I was on my way to being the poster-child for good eating.
Day 2 I started my morning with another bowl of steel-cut oats with soymilk. I packed myself a healthy lunch of salad with herbed-tofu, and I headed out for a 9:00 meeting with a client.
As I started driving, I could hear my digestive tract kicking in as faint snap, crackle, and pops could be heard from my lower abdomen.
About half way to work, I felt a bit, um, gaseous, so I discreetly let a few butt-bombs in the privacy of my mini-van. After about 200 or so, I figured I was safe and I headed to my meeting.
My client arrived promptly at 9 and we sat across from one another on some modern leather chairs. (I figured if I um, accidentally let a little one slip, I would pretend that it was the leather chair squeaking.)
About 10 minutes into our meeting, I could feel some strange cramping in my bowels. Again, I could feel the snaps, crackles, and pops, only now they were beginning to register on the Richter Scale.
At this point, I am in excruciating pain. I am rocking side to side and my legs are twitching. I have my butt cheeks squeezed together so tightly that I am now starting to sweat. I am afraid to move an inch for fear that the gas I am holding in will erupt like Mt. Vesuvious.
Within 5 minutes my face is red, I am sweating profusely, and I am sitting in the chair half hunched over. My client is clearly concerned about my pain, and naturally assumes it is my knee.
"Oh, yes, my knee is killing me right now. Yes, my knee. I apologize. It, um, hasn't been this painful for a while. Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I just want to go to the bathroom and um, splash some water on my face."
I do a baby duck waddle to the bathroom. (I couldn't take a full step with my cheeks squeezed so tightly together.)
I finally make it to the potty and what happens next . . . well, I don't even dare tell you. All I can say is that it was a scene very reminiscent of the movie Dumb and Dumber where Lloyd is at some girl's mansion and proceeds to drop the loudest two-sie in history. (I could have provided the sound effects. It was that baaaaaaad.) I actually had to look into the toilet bowl because I was quite sure that my bowels had literally exploded. I was certain I would find an organ or two in there. Or some spare car parts.
Seriously, the effect was similar to steel wool and a power-washer. Not pretty. After about 10 minutes, I was finally able to remove myself from the throne.
Lucky for me, my bathroom is located in a small room off of our storeroom, so there are heavy doors providing privacy (and a bit of sound proofing). However, if my client didn't hear my little episode, I'm sure the fact that I reeked of Spring Meadows after being gone for 15 minutes was probably a dead giveaway. (I'm pretty sure I was waddling a bit bow-legged as well.)
Needless to say, my meeting ended shortly thereafter. I spent the rest of the day worshiping the porcelain god. (And I have since come to the conclusion that I will never buy anything less than two-ply TP ever again.)
I promptly bought myself an industrial-size bottle of Bean-O and I have have started eating an insane amount of cheese.
I am proud to proclaim that I have had a thorough power-cleaning from my rooter to my tooter. However, I have eased up a bit on the fiber, and try to limit it to once a day.
Who knew that eating healthy could be bad for your health?
To start off my fabulous new healthy-eating lifestyle, I went to our local natural grocery store and spent over $100 on things like steel-cut oats, quinoa, organic wild rice, grapeseed oil, lentils, and tofu. (I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I promise that I will continue to shave my arm-pits and I will NEVER own a pair of Birkenstocks. Pinky swear.)
I was a bit concerned about my new diet as I have had past experiences with health food where I could have sworn that I was eating pine-bark and toenails. But, desperate times call for desperate measures and I felt that this was the way to go.
I started out my first day with a warm bowl of steel-cut oats with fresh strawberries and soymilk. This was very yummy and kept me full until lunchtime. My lunch consisted of lentil salad. Again, quite yummy. Dinner was a salad I concocted out of quinoa, tomatoes, basil, feta, garlic, and a balsalmic vinagrette. Once I got past the texture of the quinoa, the flavors were really quite wonderful. I went to bed feeling proud and satisfied. I was on my way to being the poster-child for good eating.
Day 2 I started my morning with another bowl of steel-cut oats with soymilk. I packed myself a healthy lunch of salad with herbed-tofu, and I headed out for a 9:00 meeting with a client.
As I started driving, I could hear my digestive tract kicking in as faint snap, crackle, and pops could be heard from my lower abdomen.
About half way to work, I felt a bit, um, gaseous, so I discreetly let a few butt-bombs in the privacy of my mini-van. After about 200 or so, I figured I was safe and I headed to my meeting.
My client arrived promptly at 9 and we sat across from one another on some modern leather chairs. (I figured if I um, accidentally let a little one slip, I would pretend that it was the leather chair squeaking.)
About 10 minutes into our meeting, I could feel some strange cramping in my bowels. Again, I could feel the snaps, crackles, and pops, only now they were beginning to register on the Richter Scale.
At this point, I am in excruciating pain. I am rocking side to side and my legs are twitching. I have my butt cheeks squeezed together so tightly that I am now starting to sweat. I am afraid to move an inch for fear that the gas I am holding in will erupt like Mt. Vesuvious.
Within 5 minutes my face is red, I am sweating profusely, and I am sitting in the chair half hunched over. My client is clearly concerned about my pain, and naturally assumes it is my knee.
"Oh, yes, my knee is killing me right now. Yes, my knee. I apologize. It, um, hasn't been this painful for a while. Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I just want to go to the bathroom and um, splash some water on my face."
I do a baby duck waddle to the bathroom. (I couldn't take a full step with my cheeks squeezed so tightly together.)
I finally make it to the potty and what happens next . . . well, I don't even dare tell you. All I can say is that it was a scene very reminiscent of the movie Dumb and Dumber where Lloyd is at some girl's mansion and proceeds to drop the loudest two-sie in history. (I could have provided the sound effects. It was that baaaaaaad.) I actually had to look into the toilet bowl because I was quite sure that my bowels had literally exploded. I was certain I would find an organ or two in there. Or some spare car parts.
Seriously, the effect was similar to steel wool and a power-washer. Not pretty. After about 10 minutes, I was finally able to remove myself from the throne.
Lucky for me, my bathroom is located in a small room off of our storeroom, so there are heavy doors providing privacy (and a bit of sound proofing). However, if my client didn't hear my little episode, I'm sure the fact that I reeked of Spring Meadows after being gone for 15 minutes was probably a dead giveaway. (I'm pretty sure I was waddling a bit bow-legged as well.)
Needless to say, my meeting ended shortly thereafter. I spent the rest of the day worshiping the porcelain god. (And I have since come to the conclusion that I will never buy anything less than two-ply TP ever again.)
I promptly bought myself an industrial-size bottle of Bean-O and I have have started eating an insane amount of cheese.
I am proud to proclaim that I have had a thorough power-cleaning from my rooter to my tooter. However, I have eased up a bit on the fiber, and try to limit it to once a day.
Who knew that eating healthy could be bad for your health?
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Grocery Getter
I drive a mini-van. I feel like that should be the opening line to Mother's Anonymous. It has been 14 minutes and 12 seconds since I last drove my minivan.
It is the true and official symbol that my care-free days are over. I used to pick on people that drove mini-vans by saying things like "where is your Soccer Mom bumper sticker?" And naturally I had to stick my foot in my mouth the day one showed up in my driveway.
Not only do I drive a mini-van, but it is a dirty mini-van with 2 honkin' dents in it as well. And, I'm pretty sure if you look really closely under the driver's window you can see the faint markings of the words "pee" and "poop" forever etched in the paint.
I drive a mini van with the full knowledge that I am now in the ranks of Soccer Mom. And, that every time I open one of the doors, a bevy of children are expected to come pouring out. I get this.
That is why it never ceases to amaze me when men flirt with me while I am in my mini-van. Seriously, would you even want to flirt with a guy that attempts to hit on a woman in a mini-van?
Even my niece has told me that every time she drives my van someone flirts with her or tries to pick her up. So, at least I know it's not just me.
On my way in to work today, I was sitting at a stop light and I started swatting at a baby bee that was buzzing around my van. I had my hand up, and was waving it around trying to swat the bee. The guy in the red truck next to me thought I was waving at him, so he smiled and waved back. And, when I rolled down the window to shoo out the bee, he rolled his window down, thinking that I was ready to chat.
I should have been flattered. I wasn't.
Clearly I drive a mini-van because I have children. LOTS of children. More children than the average car can hold. I do not drive a mini-van for looks or for gas mileage. (They are both ugly and gas guzzlers.)
I can't really fault the guy. From his perspective, I was a blonde babe waving at him. (I was wearing sunglasses that cleverly conceal my wrinkles and my fat ass is not visible from the window. So, clearly my best view.) But, come on . . . the mini-van should have been a dead giveaway.
I was tempted to flirt back. And teach him a lesson. But then I remembered a story my GirlFriend told me recently about her four-wheeled flirting experience.
In a nutshell, my Hottie GirlFriend was in her SUV at a stop light and she was giving "the smile" to the cute 20-something guy in the big truck next to her. He smiled back and they played flirty-face for the next 3 stop lights. At the fourth stop light, my Hottie GirlFriend looked over and noticed that the cute 20-something in the truck was um, stroking his, er, gearshaft. (Yeah, I hope you get the picture here because that is all the details I am gonna give.) And, um, at the next stop light, she could tell that the um, er gearshaft had been freshly oiled. Yeah. True story.
So naturally, that's all I was thinking today when the guy in the truck next to me was trying to be amorous. What was my reaction? I yelled "Hey Scooter, can you have one of your 6 brothers hand me a fresh PBR and my ciggarettes" to the empty back seat.
He peeled out as soon as the light turned green. And I peed my pants laughing all the way to work.
It is the true and official symbol that my care-free days are over. I used to pick on people that drove mini-vans by saying things like "where is your Soccer Mom bumper sticker?" And naturally I had to stick my foot in my mouth the day one showed up in my driveway.
Not only do I drive a mini-van, but it is a dirty mini-van with 2 honkin' dents in it as well. And, I'm pretty sure if you look really closely under the driver's window you can see the faint markings of the words "pee" and "poop" forever etched in the paint.
I drive a mini van with the full knowledge that I am now in the ranks of Soccer Mom. And, that every time I open one of the doors, a bevy of children are expected to come pouring out. I get this.
That is why it never ceases to amaze me when men flirt with me while I am in my mini-van. Seriously, would you even want to flirt with a guy that attempts to hit on a woman in a mini-van?
Even my niece has told me that every time she drives my van someone flirts with her or tries to pick her up. So, at least I know it's not just me.
On my way in to work today, I was sitting at a stop light and I started swatting at a baby bee that was buzzing around my van. I had my hand up, and was waving it around trying to swat the bee. The guy in the red truck next to me thought I was waving at him, so he smiled and waved back. And, when I rolled down the window to shoo out the bee, he rolled his window down, thinking that I was ready to chat.
I should have been flattered. I wasn't.
Clearly I drive a mini-van because I have children. LOTS of children. More children than the average car can hold. I do not drive a mini-van for looks or for gas mileage. (They are both ugly and gas guzzlers.)
I can't really fault the guy. From his perspective, I was a blonde babe waving at him. (I was wearing sunglasses that cleverly conceal my wrinkles and my fat ass is not visible from the window. So, clearly my best view.) But, come on . . . the mini-van should have been a dead giveaway.
I was tempted to flirt back. And teach him a lesson. But then I remembered a story my GirlFriend told me recently about her four-wheeled flirting experience.
In a nutshell, my Hottie GirlFriend was in her SUV at a stop light and she was giving "the smile" to the cute 20-something guy in the big truck next to her. He smiled back and they played flirty-face for the next 3 stop lights. At the fourth stop light, my Hottie GirlFriend looked over and noticed that the cute 20-something in the truck was um, stroking his, er, gearshaft. (Yeah, I hope you get the picture here because that is all the details I am gonna give.) And, um, at the next stop light, she could tell that the um, er gearshaft had been freshly oiled. Yeah. True story.
So naturally, that's all I was thinking today when the guy in the truck next to me was trying to be amorous. What was my reaction? I yelled "Hey Scooter, can you have one of your 6 brothers hand me a fresh PBR and my ciggarettes" to the empty back seat.
He peeled out as soon as the light turned green. And I peed my pants laughing all the way to work.
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