Weekend Coffee Share: Baking, The Kids, And Puke


Hello coffee drinkers!

First and foremost, can I get an “Amen” on the appropriately-placed commas in my title above? Because without it, I could be talking about baking the kids, or baking the kids and puke. Blech.


Okay, this may not be entirely applicable, but it’s still funny.

Now it’s time to get on with the show. I’d like to advise you to proceed into this coffee share using caution. One of my offspring turned into that evil little Excorist girl and projectile vomited err’where. On second thought, maybe you should just spray Lysol in my eyes, run, and then spray yourself down.

* * *

As you may have gleaned from the title and picture below, I once again attempted to bake some bread this week. It didn’t pan out. I used one of those “so easy a child could do it” recipes where all you do is add a beer and let it sit for a while and stuff, and mine looked like this:


It was not good. Sam and Little Man swore they loved it, but the looks on their faces when I asked if they wanted me to wrap some up for lunch the next day betrayed them. At least they tried. Seriously though, you could’ve chipped a tooth on that crust. And the inside was doughy. No es bueno!

* * *

So, have y’all seen that video where some reporter interviews a woman that lived in an apartment complex that caught on fire? Like the Sweet Brown “Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That” interview, this was pretty funny as well. The Sweet Brown interview/song came out shortly after LM turned 4. It drove him batty to hear some of our relatives quote the song. He’d get all irritated and correct them, saying, “No one has time for this.”

He’s since become a little more laid back and will sing the song (his dad is always singing it or something else). After watching the “Fire” song, he decided to sing “Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That.” It was pretty funny, so I had him do it again so I could record it (but of course!). I wish he would have done more of the song, but this totally cracks me up every time I watch it.

* * *

Baby Girl had her 18-month well child visit on Thursday. As predicted, certain ladies in the office fawned all over Sam for bringing his daughter to an appointment. She is healthy, and the only thing we need to work on is her head banging. When she gets mad, she leans over and hits her forehead on the floor as hard as she can. Occasionally she does this in a gentle manner just because she knows we don’t like it. Anyway, we will continue trying to stop that as well as her other hitting tendencies.

I got a chuckle out of her discharge sheet. That little thing is 30.5 inches (9th percentile for height), 33 pounds (50th percentile for weight), and her head circumference is 19.75 inches, which has her in the 100th percentile for that. That toddler bobble head is so cute, but it’s tough to find shirts that go over her head! I had to cut out a chunk of her sweatshirt so it’d go over.

* * *

Now for the last part. Baby Girl got sick all of a sudden yesterday. She took a longer nap than normal, and we were getting everything ready for the kids to go stay with Sam’s mom for the night so we could have a date night/put up the treadmill. (Don’t even get me started on that.) But then Baby Girl woke up feeling kinda warm and about 10 minutes later, she did this:


So long, Date Night.

She was running a fever of around 100. BG did the above number four more times throughout the evening. As fate would have it, I had just handed her off to Sam each time it happened. Sam had to change clothes so many time, and one time that mess was all in his beard!!! His reaction was priceless, too:


I felt slightly guilty since I started snickering at how he reacted. But I did clean everything up, at least.

BG was very tired throughout the rest of the evening and had a hard time keeping down and fluids. She seems mostly better this morning, thankfully!

Weekend Coffee Share is hosted by Diana at Part-Time Monster.


One Busy Day!

My husband is a people pusher, like Tina Fey’s character Ms. Norbury in Mean Girls.


Except for mostly the only people he pushes is me.

And I do need pushing, sometimes.

He’s all the time pushing me to do better with my health, to work on my writing, to expand my social horizons.

Mostly I ignore him. Let me drive myself insane by obsessing over that lump for a month and refusing to see the doctor! Let me put off working on stories ’til next year! Let me be a loner! Or something like that.

Today, thanks in part to his pushiness, I got to meet fellow bloggers Nerd In The Brain and Not A Punk Rocker. He was worried that I’d back out, since I’m a habitual backer-outer, and threatened to make sure I was where I was supposed to be with the FindMyIPhone GPS thingy. Just kidding on that last part–he barely knows how to make folders, let alone do anything high tech like that. 😉

I’m so glad I met up with them because those are two awesome people! After following both of their blogs for close to a year probably, it was nice to meet two people I felt like I’ve gotten to know via their posts in person. I also got to meet the infamous Pigpool, so I can cross that off my bucket list. (He was everything I imagined he’d be, so be jealous y’all.)

Aaaaannnd I only got lost four times in the whole journey. Fuck you Google Maps for refusing to read me directions!

No kidding, before I left, Sam asked me, “Do you know how to get where you’re going?” I informed him that I had driven to that area on my own once and he gives me the look and says, “You’ve driven many places and not known how to get there again. Do you really know?” I laughed and told him “Of course not, but I don’t need to know how to get places because my phone will tell me.” Naturally it didn’t tell me much of anything.

After we all parted ways, I had planned to go grocery shopping and come home to bake my sweet potato pies for tomorrow. The grocery shopping happened, but not the baking. When I got home, Baby Girl was wailing and pulling her ears, so Sam and I dropped Little Man off at my in-laws and took her to the pediatric urgent care. She has an ear infection and got a prescription. This is the first time she’s ever been sick beyond a cold. And on top of the ears, she fell twice today and got a knot on her head and a cut over her eyes. Bad day all around for the poor thing.

We finally got home shortly before 11:00 and I gave BG the antibiotic and ibuprofen and put her to bed. Hopefully the meds will kick in and she’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep and feel better tomorrow. Since we won’t have to be at my in-laws until the evening for Thanksgiving, I should have plenty of time to bake my pies, as long as nothing else comes up.

That’s all I’ve got for now. I hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving Eve. And, I’m going to pretend that I’m on West Coast time for the publishing of this post so I can say I didn’t miss a day of NaBloPoMo 😉

The Petunia Blossom Returns [Not A Gardening Post]

[This post is of a confusing sexual nature. Only venture ahead if you’re comfortable with sexual confusion.]

Do you remember the story I told you about how my Grandma called vaginas vulvas, fuck it, vajayjays “petunia blossoms“?

Well, I have a continuation to the petunia blossom story. (I was writing about my therapy appointment today, but got too bogged down in it, and decided to go the lighter vajayjay route instead. I strongly recommend this route for any bout of writer’s block.)

My grandmother was rather protective of my petunia blossom. I would say that she wanted all of its petals to remain intact until I said “I do,” but it looks like the flower is just one giant petal, so she wanted its one big petal to remain intact until I said “I do.” (I’m sure one of you flower people can correct me on the proper terminology.)

pink-petuniaGrandma did a great job with her petunia blossom detail up until I was 20. Just when it looked like my petunia blossom was going to whither up and die–judging from the looks I had gotten from my friends over the past two or three years when I revealed that there had been no fertilizing, this was sure to happen soon–Sam came along.

Even though Grandma had tried to push me into asking Sam out (I didn’t) and gave me hell about not kissing him the first two times he tried, when things got more serious and we started spending a lot of time together, she went into super protective mode.

Must. Protect. Petunia. Blossom.

I assured her many times that nothing was going on–and it didn’t for a while. Shortly before the one-year mark of us talking online and dating, I got sick with strep throat. Sam, who was trying to be a good boyfriend, wanted to take care of me.

Big mistake. You don’t take care of Grandma’s sick 20-year-old baby. She takes care of her.

I didn’t care, let ’em fight over who fawned over me the most. I was given all the soda and hot chocolate I could stand, was vaporub’d, force fed cough drops, forced to take my nasty medicine, had my temperature checked every half hour, etc. And then Sam had the brilliant idea to spend the night–he told Grandma he’d sleep on the couch–to keep an eye on me and get me whatever I needed if I woke up in the night.

Yep, all of that for strep throat. Not ebola or something really serious. Where the fuck is that treatment when I’m sick now?!

Well, in the middle of the night, I woke up to hearing them arguing. I was all “whatever” and went back to sleep.

When I woke up later that morning, I woke up to a rather furious Grandma.

Grandma caught Sam “sneaking out of my bedroom” in the middle of the night and accused him of staying there just to have sex. I was mortified. Sam told her that wasn’t true and that he had heard me coughing and had gone in to check on me and was coming out at the same time she had been walking in to check on me, also because she heard me coughing.

(Note: Sam’s amazing hearing ceased to exist when my pregnancy morning sickness occurred in the middle of the night. What a shame.)

So, Grandma called my dad up and told him to get out there because there was a problem. When he walked in, she told him how Sam had stayed overnight to keep an eye on me while I was sick and that she caught him sneaking out of my room and that we were obviously having sex.

My mortification reached epic proportions.

“Is that true?” my dad asked Sam and me, although he seemed rather mortified himself, as well as unclear on why he was being asked to intervene in his almost 21-year-old daughter’s alleged sex life. Sam, who was 26 at the time, was probably regretting the whole “date a younger girl” thing.

“No,” I told him. I pointed out that I had strep throat, and obviously, who would have sex while being sick with strep throat? (I later learned that strep throat or other illnesses don’t necessarily mean no sex.)

“No!” Sam said, with such a pitiful look on his sex-deprived face that it convinced my dad immediately that nothing had happened.

“Ask them if they’re having sex at all then,” Grandma said.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad more uncomfortable.

“No!” I exclaimed. This was true–if we can mix a flower metaphor with a sports metaphor, Sam had only made it to third petal. Venturing beyond that wouldn’t happen for a couple more weeks.

“Okay,” my dad said. “Mama, nothing happened.”

My grandma sat in her recliner just steaming mad. “I know it did.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips together. There was no convincing her otherwise–even when she brought it up after I had been married for a year and I told her she had been wrong, she still didn’t believe me.

So, if any of you guys out there have wonderful intentions and want to show your girlfriends how awesome you are by taking care of her when she’s sick–rethink that shit if she’s living with her grandma. You don’t want to be getting in a turf war with a grandmother. It won’t end well. Drop off some chicken soup and a movie and leave.