Touch A Truck

These are some of the pics I took of Butter at the first Touch A Truck even here in our fair city. From the back of a military transport vehicle.



The inside of the Humvee. I'd figured out how to open the window. Butter was mesmerized by my mad skillz!

Go-cart heaven.

A second go-cart. Both were designed by students at the local community college. They placed within the top ten in a nationwide competition against such schools as the University of Virginia, Virginia Tech, and USC.

Ahhh the cement truck. He was digging this one. I tried to get him to climb up the ladder in the back, but he demurred. Ha ha! I have to say that the men and women who brought their vehicles to this event and donated their time were AMAZING. I didn't hear a "no" from any of them when a kid would ask to touch, sit, push a button, beep a horn, etc.

From the top of the HUGE dump truck that looked just like his Tonka. I don't think he could have been happier in that moment.

See? I TOLD you how happy he was! Me? My ass was damn happy to be on the GROUND.

Lookie! In an 18-wheeler's cab. He almost fell over from delight when he discovered a BED in the back.



Driving a city bus.


In a combo loader/digger thing. Holy crap. He looked at the guy and said, "I have TWO of dees at home. Dey are only toys, but I got 'em!" The guy spun him around in the seat so he could see the other side and how you can operate both parts of this enormous machine.

If any of your local parks and rec departments or civic groups sponsor something similar, you simply MUST GO whether or not you have kids. I can't wait until next year's event.

One Organized Bitch

That's me.

I may be feeling blah about things lately, but my damn fridge and two freezers are fucking organized. I also cleaned upstairs yesterday - scrub-a-dub, scrub-a-dub, scrub-a-dub-dub! That's Butter's song. He loves to help me clean. And with that new Swiffer Dust Mop thing, sheesh, it's a breeze. I know it doesn't work for all people, but ya know what I say about that?

Too fucking bad, my brothers and sisters. I live by this sucker. I dust-mop and sweep every day now. I wet mop every other day. I don't care about buying those single-use wet and dry moppity thingies either. To hell with that. I found $2 coupons for 'em.

And now. On to my freezer.


I bought about sixth month's worth of beef, chicken, and seafood the other day; all single-serving packages - ya know air-tight and shit. Pack Mule, who has worked in the restaurant industry since they invented dirt told me I made a good deal and that the meats and seafood are high-quality.

Here's the beef and chicken. I even organized the veggies in this freezer with 'em. The stand-alone freezer holds all of the soy products as well as seafood. To say I am proud is an understatement.

I started a food blog the other day and have been adding to it little by little.

I need some feedback - if you were looking at a food blog would you prefer one with recipes using some prepared products, everything homemade, or a mixed bag of both. Do tell. As I get more recipes up there, I'll share the linkage.

Mother of the Year

Again.

I am under a deluge of awards as of late.

The latest is Mother of the Year.

G'head. Clap for me. A salvo or two, if you will.

The reason for this illustrious award? Read the following transcript from my latest telephone call to Butter's pediatrician.

Me: Hello, I'd like to make an appointment for a physical for my son. He will be attending a 4-year old preschool in the fall, and the enrollment paperwork includes a full physical with documentation of his vaccination record.

Lady: Did you get his 2 and 3 year old check-ups elsewhere?

Me: No. I wasn't told I needed to come in for those because he wasn't up for more shots. (I feel like I'm talking about my dog here, but I digress.)

Lady: So he never had a check-up?

Me: He had PLENTY of check-ups with his immunologist. You know, surgery, post-op, quarterly or more appointments. But nothing with you guys. Guess that makes me Mother of the Yeah huh?

Lady: *silence*

Me: *silence* (I wasn't about to let her off the hook with this one.)

Lady: I didn't mean to make you feel bad.

Me: (Wanted to correct her poor use of grammar but let it slide.) Oh you didn't make me feel badly. Not at all. It take a LOT more than that to make me feel like a shmuck. So when can I get an appointment?

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See? I may appear to have my shit together but had NO IDEA I was supposed to take my kid for checkups every year. Let's add this to my pseudo-chagrin: I stopped going there on a regular basis as soon as I was referred to Butter's immunologist. For more than a year I was regularly told that he either had a virus or allergies. When I finally asked to have allergy testing done, I was looked at as though I was an idiot. I told the doctor that I wanted to find out what was causing all of these "allergies" so that I could help ease the suffering my kid was enduring day in and day out. Her first answer? "It's because he's in daycare. I told you to expect him to be sick 3 out of every 4 weeks each month if you were going to have him in daycare."

Hello? Fucktard? Don't attempt to guilt-trip or punish me for having to work full-time and employ some people to provide care for my kid. It's that or live on the streets. I'm certain that he'd be a hell of a lot sicker if we were homeless and destitute. And WITHOUT insurance.

Hello, again? When we went to the immunologist, the guy diagnosed my kid with THREE different infections, all of which were resistant to various antibiotics. He had masses blocking many of his sinus cavities. He also had to endure a CT scan so we could see how far the infection had traveled. He then had surgery to remove bones from those cavities and to power wash the caves of the cavities with a mixture of various antibiotic washes.

He's currently on two nose sprays, one nose ointment, and one pill EVERY day. Additionally, he had a nebulizer with two different medications to help treat his asthma. The same asthma you said didn't exist.

So.

If me taking him to someone who was going to be an advocate for his health, proactive in his treatment, and able to put his ego aside and ask for consults with fellow doctors in an effort to heal my kid makes me mother of the year, I will accept the award with gratitude.

Touch It. Now

Taking Butter to a Touch A Truck event being held locally today.


Touch a Truck…wheels, wings and water! Where kids of all ages can climb, discover & explore.

There will be fire trucks, rescue vehicles, airplanes, motorcycles, cement and garbage trucks. A plethora of things all Butter. My kid will be in heaven. We're looking at getting more sun today which is always a good thing. I think this is the first summer in years where I've relaxed, even with the shitstorm of crap I've had to deal with.

Yesterday we went to a local park where there's a playground and creek running through it. We looked for crayfish and shells for a while in the water and spent a lot of time playing on the swings, slides, and climbing stuff. I was crispy from all the sun by the time we left. My redheaded kid? Tan. What the hell?

He's got his Daddy's skin. He might look like a clone of me, but he's definitely gonna be brown as a berry as he grows up and spends 24/7 out in the sun.

And this morning, gazing out the window of my home office at the sun, my green carpet of grass, the bright phlox and Black Eyed Susans in one of the beds, I'm just content. Today will be beautiful.

My Phone. My Fucking, Fucking Phone

What is one of the most unfriendly places for a cell phone?

*ding fucking ding*

Guess where mine is at this very moment?

Guess how I used some mad detective skills to solve this fucking crime?

My cell was ringing earlier this evening. I will admit to accusing my offspring, Butter, of "hiding it in a secret place." I used a cajoling tone of voice when I asked him about this. He said he had no idea where the phone might be HIDING.

Whatever.

The Pack Mule? He hrumphed about the ringing. And hrumphed as though I'm the only person alive who's misplaced something. Whatever to him as well.

It's almost fucking 2am here, people.

I couldn't go to sleep without finding my cell. Which brings me to this admission.

I started a load of laundry.
Figured out that the HOUSE FUCKING PHONE hasn't been ringing for over a month because SOMEONE unplugged it.
Plugged in the fucking house phone, called my fucking cell phone, heard NO FUCKING RINGING when I HAD heard MUFFLED ringing earlier this evening.

AND realized it was in the fucking washing machine that was happily chugging away like the fuckhead workhorse it is.

Fuck you very much.
Fuck you phone.
Fuck you too big shorts that allowed my beloved phone to fall out of the pocket and into the towels I gathered and threw into the fucking ass machine after giving Butter his second shower of the day.

Fuck you.

Now I'm going to have to start my day at FUCKINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG Verizon tomorrow. NO! Today. TODAY.

Gah.

And forget telling me to be nice. I know I'm already up for a "new phone" -whatever that is. I hate it when cell phone places act as though they're doing you a favor; a favor for which YOU PAY THEM.

I'm sure there will blogger fodder after my time in the Oasis of Hell. I'll have to pack snacks, drinks, and a catheter for Butter. There is no way I'll leave my place in line to take him to go potty.

PS
Start emailing those damn numbers to me again. I'll have to REPROGRAM EVERYTHING once I get another overpriced piece of plastic. Bastards.

UPDATE:

I am such a fucking drama queen. Holy shit. I could put Shirley McClain's performance in Terms of Endearment to SHAME if I'd had a video of me at 2am this morning.

Ahem.

I slept almost none.
I didn't find the phone in the washer last night because once I realized that was the only place it could be, it was FILLED with nasty sludge soap water with all the dirty paraphernalia in there.
I got this morning, resigned to give that phone a proper burial. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon NOTHING when I put the load of towels in the dryer? No phone? Are you kidding me here?
I got onto the newly-working house phone (fuck you, again), called it, and THIS TIME HEARD A RING. How could that be?

I say again, HOW COULD THAT BE?

Don't you know it was on the front porch. On the GODDAMN FRONT PORCH.

Once again, Drama Queen here, signing off. Thanks for coming to the latest performance that is my life.

Hunker Down

No news about the stalker hell.
Which means good news.

I spoke at length with Lara last night - she's my blogging whore architect. I've changed the title of this place. The first one I chose was just so...whatever. It was the first one blogger would accept, I wasn't thinking clearly, I just wanted a PLACE to BE again.

So much for me including "military strategist" in my portfolio.

There are some templates I'm mulling over. I'll let you know when I've got things JUST SO.

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Last night we watched Batman - The Dark Knight. I never saw it in the theaters. Never watched the DVD. My husband (who shall be known as the Pack Mule from here on out) tried to watch it once. I'd gone to bed. Butter got up. Pack Mule got scared that I'd beat him and turned it off.

Last night Butter asked FOR TWO HOURS to see "Dat Batman movie! MY movie!" He doesn't understand the vast difference between Batman cartoons on Boomerang and Batman who has an evil side and also battles that fucknut Joker played by poor Heath.

Against my better judgement, we watched it. Butter lasted all of 17 minutes. That's long-term for a four year old. I knew I had luck on my side when I realized his potential for paying attention to something that wasn't a cartoon. He didn't watch it. Good times.

But that Joker. Back to that fucker. What the hell? Pure evil shit. Genius on the part of poor, dead Heath. I got the willies more than once. I'm getting rid of that DVD. Gone, baby, gone!

Who wants it? Lemme know.

Back in the Saddle Again

After a very short time of reflection spent thinking of all the heinous shit I could heap on those people who feel the need to out my blog and other personal shit among a supposed circle of friends, strike that shit - ACQUAINTANCES, I am now making this place home. Any more shitty, middle school-esque, jealousy-driven bullshit, and I'll be forced (Let's be honest here, it'll be a fucking CHOICE on my part. A damn choice. And I'll live by the consequences, dammit.) to revert to the bitch who's sitting in that brass box deep inside my head; no longer will I take the High Road.

The High Road got me here.
I have forgiven but not forgotten. Oh hell no.
The memory of the cunts who have felt it was their right to publicly try my personal choices without knowing the entire story?

Yeah. THAT memory has been locked in the brass box as well so the bitch has something to play with just in case she's let out again.

Genius on my part. No?

Here's the deal.

A supposed friend completely betrayed me.
This person was entrusted with the care of my son and one of my nieces.
This person lied to my son, locked my niece in a bedroom, and spread vicious shit about me to other "friends" as well as within my professional community.
This person told others that I was "using" my son to "manipulate" her "into spending time" with me. Direct quotes. She said that.

I also found out that she'd been passing my son off as HERS when she was in public with others and I wasn't there. She almost did that one time when I was standing nearby, but I immediately corrected the passerby. Once the guy looked at my face, he knew no other person could have given birth to Butter. (THAT'S what he'll be called here. Hell, that's the nickname I use the most with him. He's my Butter.)

She took great joy in manipulating many people into thinking I considered them "enemies, outcasts, and otherwise amputated from my life." (I only recently heard from ONE person who finally decided to talk with me and say "goodbye" even though she wanted to remain friends after repeatedly hearing what that bitch planted in her head. Until then, I had no clue that the bitch had spoken to anyone other than TWO people. She's been a busy fucking cunt.)

Those of you who read my OTHER PLACE might be thinking *ding fucking ding* WW-Woman! Yeah. I have used the work "amputated" to describe how I deal with people who betray me. I can forgive. I've learned how to do this. I didn't particularly like it the first few times I did it, but I stuck with the process because the anger I had for people in my life was literally eating me alive.

I have not heard from a great many people who depended on me each and every day during the past several years at my job. I have done sub plans, called subs, copied worksheets, met with parents, taken kids, run interference, you name it. These very same people have taken it upon themselves to be judge a jury of me because I chose to not go to the bitch's farce of a wedding. I made it clear to my husband that if he chose to go in order to support his friend (husband and I introduced them), fine. However, I and my son would not be attending.

Let the gossip and sniping begin because people just can't fathom that I didn't show up at the shit-ass wedding. What? You don't like that I didn't make you privy to the shitstorm that was going on since December? You don't like that I know how to keep my mouth shut? Too fucking bad. I don't have to explain myself and won't. Period.

One of the oh-so-disappointed people took it upon herself to tell someone that my "amputation" post was about her. Hello? You are so insignificant in my life that I wouldn't bother to waste the flurry of fingers across the keys in order to draft something about you. EVERYTHING is about you; at least from your twisted perception.

Ready for the one that will ultimately slay you, fellow bloggers? The same one who bitched about me not going to the wedding and about the amputation post "offending" her? She has come to me asking for the addy for this place.

Fuck me without a reach-around once, shame on you.
Fuck me again, same style? Shame on me.

There's NO shame in this game, mama. Oh hell no.

So. That's the gist of this.

The one who started it all? She's been transferred to another location in my fair city and won't have one fucking reason to come back into my location.

To those of you who are saying, "Why not fuck her up? Why not confront the bitch? Why not give her a taste of her own medicine?" - my list of reasoning is concise:

1. I believe in karma. If I dish out something remotely resembling what's been throw in my court, I'll receive something ELSE from the Fates. I'm sure I won't like it.
2. I am taking the High Road - STILL - even though it's tough, painful, and frustrating.
3. I have vowed not to waste any more time with these people.
4. People like her move on when they realize that cannot engage the object of their attention. Doesn't matter what I do: "play nice" or "confront and maim" - she would be getting my attention. That's what she wants. I'm not giving her an ounce of energy beyond today. Sadly, she will move on to someone else. She will wheedle her way into that person's life just as she did mine. She will earn their trust, be encouraged to be part of that person's family, be entrusted with those people and events most of us hold in the highest regard. And she will break, just as she has here. She will be faced with not being #1 and will go after that person. Me? I will be elsewhere in life.

She took the most joy when my husband and I were on the edge. He'd been delivered the ultimatum to start marriage counseling with me or move the hell out. I was in my first trimester at the time. She knew me at the time. Years later, she told me she "knew" I "couldn't afford to make that mortgage payment" on my own so her plan "was to move in. We'd live together, and I would help you with your bills.

One, you are a stalker.
Two, you have obviously had a psychological break with reality.
Three, I simply cannot believe you just admitted that to me.
Four, I can always cover my bills. Don't attempt to use monetary figures to get me to do anything. When I gave my husband the ultimatum, my final statement was this:

"I don't NEED you. I don't need you to do this - be a woman, own a house, work full-time, and BE A MOTHER. I don't need you, but I WANT you. Wanting is the stronger statement - it means I CHOOSE you. Think about that."

Rambling. I'm now rambling like a fucking idiot who's had her own psychotic break. *cackling here* But you peeps know me too well to think I'd be the one losing her mind. Mine's safe and strong.

I am surrounded by friends here and in the blogosphere who love me and readily accept me for who I am rather than when I can do and be for them.

I have two sisters who dote on me and love me even when I'm a screaming menace on the phone, giving them the blow-by-blow of the recent events. One of them even said, "Oh. My. God. Balls to the wall! That's what this is! Balls to the wall!" I won't say which one. I wouldn't want her to be outted for saying the word "balls" more than once in one sitting. I'm the one with the penchant for profanity in the family.

My last statement, I cannot believe the outpouring of support and friendship I've received from many of you through comments at the old place, through email, and on Facebook. Thank you. I may be taking the High Road on this latest adventure, but I'm not going down Wishy Washy Road. Oh hell no.