More February Madness and Some Photographic Evidence

Despite the Great Plague of 2012 aka Hell Month, I decided to attack potty training with a vengeance. Maybe it was extreme fatigue after a week-long battle with barf…

Whatever it was that led to my visions of potty training grandeur, it was wrong. Just. So. Wrong.

In the end, on one of the rare days in February that didn’t include stomach bile, I decided that I was done with diapers. You heard me, I was finito. Caput. No mas diapers.

I remember it well. It was Friday. The Friday following a pukey all-nighter. (And sadly, not the kind of pukey all-nighters I enjoyed in my early twenties.)  No, this was viral and the only booze involved were those fancy cocktails I was perusing on Pinterest while my children hurled beside me in the dark hours of night.

I started that Friday by waging battle with my eyelids. I nearly resorted to prying them open and, because of my extreme fatigue, I decided that everyone was staying home. School was not an option. Mostly because I don’t believe in sharing germs (too late) and also because I was riding a roller coaster of fear. One moment I was joyous that I had seemingly escaped the bug and the next I was poised to sprint toward a bathroom. The slightest gurgle in my gastrointestinal region filled me with dread and threw me into a  certifiably neurotic cycle of waiting. Waiting for the puke to come. Obsessing over gas bubbles and appropriate levels of saliva production.

After approximately six hours of stopping in my tracks to declare, “Oh, this is it. I’m going to throw up,” Dave began calling me Fred Sanford, clutching at his heart and saying, “This is the big one!” (Yes, I just dated my husband with a reference to Sanford and Son. He’s so damn old, y’all.)

Since I had nothing much to do but for 27 loads of smelly laundry, it occurred to me that it was the perfect day to break Kate’s will. Yes, the Friday following a mass vomiting was suddenly the most opportune time to fight the good fight. I was certain I’d conquer her inconvenient and disgusting choice of poo receptacle.

Perhaps the hallucinations from extreme fatigue placed these grandiose plans at my feet. I didn’t care. I went with it. I embraced my sleepless state and rode the wave toward visions of a diaper-free household.

I made her take her diaper off, kindly ridiculing her about nearly being three. Then I gently taunted her with declarations that all the other girls are doing it. I issued horrifying warnings about preschool being unattainable for pants poopers. Finally, I reminded her that poo-poo beans are positively scrumptious and, with that thought planted in her head, Kate dropped trou.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t totally on board with the plan. Not at all. She was pissed off and put out that I’d dare to suggest such a foul thing as defecating in a potty. So much so, that she stripped naked in protest and proceeded to made herself look as pitiful as possible.

So I couldn’t resist taking a series of photos. You know, for future ammunition because it has become quite clear to David and I that our years with Kate are not going to be easy ones. As a result, I shall endeavor to accumulate an arsenal of mortifying photographs and videotapes to be used at a future date. But only if completely necessary. Say, for that weird boyfriend we’re going to hate but that Kate dates simply to piss us off. I’ll show him the horrors of toddler Kate and hopefully scare him off.

However, since my blog stats indicate that preverts abound, I will not post any full-frontals of my baby girl on the can. (Take that creepy people who arrive at No. 7 with searches like “mom wiped my bum.”)

For the record, Kate did not poop in the potty and late Friday evening, my cocky proclamations of health were squelched by my gurgling gastrointestinal tract.

 

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It’s Official. I’m a Freak.

I’ve finally figured it all out.

I am a freak. Seriously. I’m a genuine freak and I saw definitive proof yesterday morning.

All it took was a routine dental exam and a new-fangled panoramic x-ray machine to uncover the evidence.

Living right there in my gums above my two front teeth is an extra tooth. It’s true. And it has gone undetected for more years than I care to share with you.

Of course, my twisted (freaky) mind immediately latched onto Stephen King’s, The Dark Half. I was so excited I almost started a manic plot description for the hygienist and dentist recounting Thad Beaumont and his pen-name turned alter-ego-psycho-killer, George Stark. Instead, I wisely chose to silently recall Thad Beaumont and the twin he absorbed in utero. The twin was discovered after Thad suffered debilitating headaches as a child. Initially, the headaches were blamed on a mass in Thad’s brain but, when the surgeon opened Thad’s skull, he found (GASP!) a nostril, fingernails, part of an eye and…wait for it…TEETH!

Purdy, ain't I?

Okay, so I’ll admit that my weird extra tooth wasn’t causing the dentist any visible alarm. It was merely my over-active writer’s imagination at work, but I was momentarily placed in a state of awe while I mentally reviewed the plot of The Dark Half. I might have a partially absorbed psycho-killer twin living in my head at this very moment! Think about it. It explains a lot. Like that time when I was eight and I cornered my brother and sister in the kitchen with a butter knife and threatened to kill them. They shouldn’t have teased me because evidently, they angered my toothy twin.

Anywho…

It turns out the dentist was more worried about the two wisdom teeth I need to have yanked. One grew when I was in my twenties and never really caused me any problems…until now. It seems my rogue tooth has, indeed, gone rogue. Sad to say, but it’s time to say goodbye to my beloved tooth and it’s impacted friend. They will be extracted by an oral surgeon at some yet-to-be-determined date in the near future.

Whatever. I always have time for oral surgery, graduate school, three children and a husband as long as I’m offered a hearty dose of anesthesia and a couple of Percocet for my trouble.  Also, my absorbed twin likes things like Percocet and booze. I find that keeping it medicated alleviates the anger it feels because I absorbed it in utero. Who the hell wants to share the spotlight with a twin? Sheesh. I’m way too selfish for all that business!

Social Graces

One of my favorite people came to visit last weekend. She flew in from Dallas on Friday and hopped a return flight on Sunday. She personifies class and fairly drips with social graces. She can hobnob with socialites and celebs as easily as she can hang with, well…me. So why then, when she left, was my four year old daughter able to say, “Eat me?”

In her defense, it all began innocently enough. Dave and I were recounting a stupid conversation that we’d had the night before. It had been one of those evenings where I was utterly besotted with love for him. Despite our 10 years together, I have the tendency to become overwhelmed with butterflies at the sight of his magnificent face or the sound of his voice and follow him around like a puppy dog. Mostly, I assume he’d like to choke the life out of me, but I’m not entirely sure about that. Anywhosey…as we were explaining to my sister-in-law, I’d been blathering on about how much more I love him than he loves me when, in a semi-psychotic sounding attempt to impart the actual amount of love I hold for him, I said, “I love you so much that I want to crawl inside your skin. No, I love you so much that I want to eat you!”

Before you jump to conclusions, I’m not related to Hannibal Lecter and Jeffrey Dahmer’s sociopathic methods of victim possession (cannibalism) aren’t high on my list of aspirations. I’d simply had three glasses of wine and this was the most eloquent description of my love that I was able to muster whilst riding my pinot grigio buzz. Poetic, aren’t I?

So after we finished laughing ourselves silly at my expense, Dave and I rolled over and fell asleep minus bite marks and cannibalistic husband noshing. I squished myself against my love’s warm body, leaving a vast expanse of king-sized bed behind me. He’s cool like that – not minding when I squash him onto the edge of the bed just so I can snuggle and regale him with disturbing professions of my abiding love.

This is the conversation that we were recounting to my sister-in-law as we drove her around the sights of southern Maine. She laughingly said something which ended with the words, “eat me” and not in the context that you think. Get your mind out of the gutter! Gwen ran with it. For the next 15 minutes the minivan was filled with Gwen’s filthy and highly inappropriate order. Her response to everything became a simple, “eat me.” Despite ourselves, we quietly giggled and attempted to hide our bemused smiles behind the headrests where Gwen was unable to see us.

Child Rearing Tip No. 235: when filthy, socially inappropriate words and/or statements are spoken by preschoolers do not, under any circumstances, laugh.

The humor began to fade as we imaged Gwen at preschool on Monday, parroting those nasty words to a classmate or teacher. Horror washed over us and with grave expressions David and I forbid her to repeat those words again. Ever.

Why?
Because it isn’t a very nice thing to say.
Eat me isn’t nice?
No. It’s rude.

Why?


Aunt Sara flew back to Dallas on Sunday, leaving her words here in the capable hands of the niece who idolizes her. Love you, Sara!

Where Did My Weekend Go?

Why do the weekends insist of flying by so quickly?

Saturday morning was a mad rush to feed the kids and get everyone to the Pinewood Derby for the 9:30 weigh-in. Joe had a terrific time and although he didn’t win, he was very proud of his car…even though he barely helped! It was clear from the get-go that he didn’t understand that the derby was done in heats, so when his car came in second place in two of the heats, he was thrilled. At the end, he really had no clue that his car placed 9th out of 13. Maybe you will do better next year, kid. Now that we know what the whole thing entails, we’ll get on the ball a little faster.

With the derby done, I needed to get the out of the house before I went utterly psychotic, so on Saturday I went to check out a new vintage/antique store in Windham, Maine called My Sister’s Garage. Technically, it isn’t new, but simply relocated from further north and they have taken over an entire house. Each room is decorated with vintage and repurposed finds, as well as some antiques. I was too busy shopping to take photos and it was a complete mad house since it was their grand opening.

Let me clarify that I’m not planning on changing my blog to focus on “design,” but one of my first posts last summer was all about the kitchen before we started re-decorating. For months, friends and readers have been asking for my ‘After’ pictures. So, I’m finally posting some updated pictures of exactly one half of the kitchen. Why only half, you ask? Well, because the other half was filled with all of the crap from the half that looks neat and tidy in my pictures.

I have been looking for some inexpensive replacements for two of our kitchen chairs and stumbled upon a decent enough find at My Sister’s Garage.

$85 for both chairs and I’m not going to worry about them getting some wear and tear. They work pretty well with the rest of the kitchen decor too, right down to the burlap on the seats that match the drapes I finally finished. Well, I finished them with the help of my mother who doesn’t have the attention span of a flea…thanks, Mom!

A few years ago, I was obsessed with crewel work and bought a few vintage bed covers on EBay. I re-purposed two of them into drapery panels in our downstairs bathroom. For the kitchen, I bought some inexpensive burlap and used my favorite vintage crewel bedspread to make drapery panels.

Here are a few before and after photos of the dining area in the kitchen…

Before/Prior Owners

During


Last summer, while I was agonizing over exactly which color to paint the mantle and the island, we were busy priming and painting all of the wainscoting and woodwork in the room. The wainscoting and walls were both painted Marble White (Benjamin Moore) and I ended up using Farrow and Ball Green Blue for the mantle and island.



After



The next thing we need to tackle is the track lighting over the table and the stove and the countertops. I’m still holding out for carrera marble or soapstone on the countertops and butcher block on the island.
After

 While I was at My Sister’s Garage, I also spotted this vintage grain sack pillow that I couldn’t resist. What can I say, I’m a sucker for terriers. Can you tell? It can hang out with Stella on the window seat.

Please take a moment to vote for No. 7…then I’ll be inspired to write something a little less boring and slightly more funny.