Jesus, Thank you for our Christmas Stomach Flu

Dear Lord, thank you for the Christmas stomach flu,

Thank you that it hit my girls a little before Christmas so they still got to enjoy the magic of your birth.

Thank you that Z doesn’t bother to wake us up when she throws up.  She just vomits in one corner of the bed, piles some toys on the top of it and sleeps in another corner.   It isn’t fun to clean up the next day, but it makes for a better night of sleep.

On a related note, thank you that when I found my toddler covered in dried puke with every toy and blanket she owns likewise coated that I had hot, plentiful running water to clean both her and her toys.  Thank you that I didn’t have to walk several miles with a sick toddler and a baby to draw up water from a well to clean my daughters.  Thank you that I had an entire stick of Oxi-Clean on hand to get the stains out.

Thank you Lord that Baby Bird only had a touch of it. When she had a poosplosion of epic proportions and my husband held up a sleeper covered in baby waste shaking his head we both knew we weren’t going to try to salvage it.   Thank you that I wasn’t standing at the sink with my hands covered in filth trying to salvage something so disgusting because we are just so blessed that we can just buy another sleeper.

Thank you that when my mother got sick that there were good friends at her work willing to drive her home and help her.

Thank you that Dr. Pepper is also on the road to recovery.

Thank you for our excellent health on most days of the year.  Lord, thank you that I am not holding a sick and hurting child every day wishing I could make them feel better.

Thank you for Phenergan.

And Ginger Ale….

And Ritz Crackers…..

And Lysol.

Amen

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Make IT Stop!

I must speak to and deride a most disturbing trend in Southern fashion.  I am quite sure that much like smocking and pin-tucking that this is a trend only seen in the Deep South and not in the rest of the country.  Don’t get me wrong, I love being from the South, but sometimes, things go too far.  For me, the horror began about a year and a half ago at a consignment sale:

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I know, I know, it is really confusing.  Let me explain to you what you are seeing in this photo.  It is a GROWN woman wearing pants with ruffles around the bottom, like a clown.   It takes me back to that horrible period in sixth grade when clown style jumpers were all the rage (this was an actual thing and it was horrifying).   This was a bad idea then and it is a bad idea now.   I immediately knew who was responsible:

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Matilda Jane makes a line of clothes for CHILDREN that are considered quite “charming” in some circles.  It is mismatched patterns of gingham and stripes and ruffles that looks like Dr. Seuss and Little House on the Prairie vomited out a confused sad clown.    I will admit, they mostly look cute on children, but the trend has expanded to adults.  I know, it is true.

I was at church group earlier this week and someone was wearing them.   I admit, she is about the size of a fourth grader, and could maybe pull off this look, but it is now everywhere I go, mocking me.   One of my friends sent me a “selfie” of her new “Christmas Pants” just to taunt me.

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I mean, she seems happy, but do you SEE how these pants make her look like The Joker?

Clown pants ARE NOT a good look ladies.  Please MAKE IT STOP.   I cant take it anymore.   Everyone should take fashion cues from me and wear ten year old jeans and graphic tees and all would be right with the world.

My Dad Drinks

An evening with underdaddy

Underdaddy

I have tried to be good, really I have. My cautionary tales of trying to be careful of what you say and do around children have apparently been in vain. There really is no way to guess what can be misrepresented.

I am responsible for the bedtime ritual of tucking the children into bed and I love it. Not only because it starts off adult time but because at the end of the day I get a few minutes with the girls to wish them well for the night and give hugs and kisses. For about a month now they have asked me for themed hugs at bedtime. Themed just means that I am supposed to act like a different animal and give them hugs like that animal might (an elephant uses big flappy ears and trumpets).

The first night I gave “Turkey” hugs where I would proceed to gobble my way…

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Karma, or Dogs are Not Children

Traditionally, I have not gone home much for the holidays. During residency and early on in my medical practice I spent many holidays at the hospital.   Now that I have children, some of that has gone out the window, so we decided to make the trip home to my mother’s for Thanksgiving.   There are drawbacks. In the tradition of little old ladies everywhere, it is way too hot, also, NO HIGH SPEED INTERNET, or ANY internet for that matter. Bonuses include plentiful, delicious junk food, FREE Babysitting, and nostalgia.

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my husband and I were taking advantage of the free babysitting by taking a nap. This is an absolute luxury available exclusively at the grandparent’s.   Imagine my surprise when I woke up to discover that my mother had cut my 2 year old’s hair without consulting me.   I mean she had casually mentioned beforehand that she thought she need a haircut, and I may have casually joked, “Good luck holding her down for that,” but I didn’t actually expect her to do it without me present.   But, we were taking advantage of the free babysitting so I decided to bite my tongue.

The next day, Dr. Pepper arrives and greets my toddler with, “Oh, who’s a pretty girl?   Did you get a new haircut Z?”   I mutter something under my breath about mom cutting her hair while I was asleep without my consent, and suddenly with wide-eyed, maniacal glee, my brother turns on me cackling, “So HOW does it feel? How does it FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL?”

It took me a moment of thought to determine what he was referring to with such vigor. Suddenly I recalled an incident about three years ago, before my days of childbearing.   Dr. Pepper was at work and left his precious, angel, Lucky in my care. Please see picture below to include crazy-laser eyes (he gets those from his daddy).

 

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As you can see, Lucky looks like you took a Yorkie and supersized it.   He has “bangs” falling into his eyes chronically and on this particular day, he kept running into my table, walls, doors, etc. because HE COULD NOT see. So, I took it upon myself to do a grooming which Dr. Pepper claims he undertakes regularly.   It took a week, and a liter of industrial strength pipe cleaner to set my bathroom to rights after this grooming.   I gently trimmed his bangs so that he could see, and Dr. Pepper went absolutely ballistic. He started screaming about how grooming his dog’s hair was akin to assault and how he would one day cut my future children’s hair without permission.

It was at this point that I pointed out that DOGS ARE NOT CHILDREN, much to the chagrin of my own personal Neurotic Beagle.   I understand.   I really do.   I have been that childless individual over-fixated on my four legger.   I still love the snot out of Neurotic Beagle, but the idea of someone grooming her not to my specifications does not fill me with the ire that the grooming of my toddler can inspire.   I know that this was a moment of Karmic justice in the eyes of Dr. Pepper, but I maintain that DOGS ARE NOT CHILDREN.

 

Bathrooms And Humiliation And Transvestites, Oh My!

I have been giving a lot of thought to the hubbub in Houston over public restrooms. For those of you unversed, the city council of Houston has passed a bathroom bill.   Section 51-17(b) of the bill reads as follows,

“ It shall be unlawful for any place of public accommodation or any employee or agent thereof to deny any person entry to any restroom, shower room, or similar facility if that facility is consistent with and appropriate to that person’s expression of gender identity”

In case you missed that, it means that if a person thinks they are a female, even if they aren’t, then they can use the ladies restroom, shower, etc.

First of all, this is not really anything new.   When I was in my twenties, showering at the local YMCA, there were mothers who brought their clearly way-too-old male children in to the women’s locker room.   This has been a pet peeve of mine for some time. If your kiddo is old enough to shave; and his voice has dropped, then he is probably too old to hold your hand on a trip to the bathroom ladies. My point being is that this is a variety of humiliation that women have been subject to for some time. We are used to this junk, so bring it.

Everyone is crying about the poor children and how they may have to go to the bathroom with some man, but it is not the children I am worried about.   I am not sure that these transgender individuals have any understanding of the rather complete extent to which children can embarrass you.

On a recent shopping trip to Kroger, whilst in the deli, my 2 year old palmed my boobs and squeezed them hard, yelling, “Honk, Honk Mommy! I squeeze your bellybutton.”

Amidst the snickers and glares, I remained calm, “Is that my belly button?”

Z collapses into a fit of giggles, “No Silly Mommy, that’s where milk comes from, like a cow.”

At this point, I really wanted to die, but wait, there’s more. The very next week, same Kroger, frozen aisle we are just passing a smokin’ hot guy.   Z immediately starts blushing and flirting, batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair.   I am bemused by this rather appropriate response. She looks him deeply in the eyes and in her best toddler, husky voice uses the greatest pick up line of all time, uttering, “I eats my boogers.”

Great. Thanks for that kid.

Similarly, my friend Supermom is in the bathroom with her tot at the zoo.   Tot says, “I like your butt mommy. You have a nice butt.”

Cute, right?   Everyone in the adjacent stalls laughs politely.   Supermom said later that she could see the next thought run through Tot’s head and she tried to cover her mouth right as she blurts out, “I don’t like your front butt. It too hairy.”

She had to hide in the bathroom till everyone is gone. Almost ALL of my friends have been subjected to some variation of the above by their overly honest children.

So in conclusion, if a tranny would like to use the bathroom with my kiddo, you are welcome to do so, but I am clearly unable to stop her from embarrassing me in public, so when she says, “Mommy, why does that dude look like a lady?” don’t blame me, she does this stuff ALL. THE. TIME.

Also, don’t think I won’t use this to my advantage if it comes to my area. Believe me, I have waited through enough lines at the ladies room during concerts and sporting events to take significant time off my life. From now on, I plan on marching over to the men’s bathroom and explaining that I am feeling really masculine today and take my place atop the porcelain throne.

Actually, I think this whole thing is really stupid.   If you are good enough at being transgender, then people really shouldn’t notice that you are in the wrong restroom to begin with. Seriously, have you seen pictures of trannies from Thailand? They are stunning and I challenge you to pick out which ones are really men.   On the other hand, if you appear obviously male, and happen to be wearing tights, you should probably stick with men’s room. I think this is a good rule of thumb, but apparently the city council of Houston knows best.

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