Hell has frozen over

This weather/the universe rant is knocking off one of two posts about some disciplinary problems that will be hilarious one day if I attain my second of my two parenting goals, keeping the boys out of juvy.  (Because it is important to manage life by setting high but achievable goals.)

When I’m already “grumpy” because someone decided 5am would be a great time to wake up and roll, it is not in the best interest of anyone to freeze the water in already wrapped pipes.  My showers are like coffee.  With few exceptions (which usually involve a vacation away from schedules and chores), I NEED my showers to function and not bite off heads. 

If I lived anywhere but the desert, there would be snow.  Since I did move to the desert, I expected certain things.  Like the fact I’ve already lived through the hottest day on record here, 119°, I think.  Maybe 118° or 120°.  Once you are able to cook food on the hood of your car, numbers really don’t matter, and digital thermometers should just start blinking “HELL.”  I’ve accepted the fact that it is clearly stupid to live in the desert if you are of Northern European descent.  No one looks good with lobster red skin, and no one feels super to have portions of skin cut out by a doctor.  Bless the person who invented sunscreen.  Needless to say I also expected not to be frozen when I’m outside.

Every time I psyched myself up, I felt a new low.  Like: Ok, the pipes are frozen; it’s going to be freezing.  Then I walk outside, and it’s worse than I fear.  Much worse.  I psyched myself up as I buckled everyone in and turned on the car to hear the dj say that it was 19°  with the wind chill of 0°.  Zero, people!  What part of desert does this weather system not understand?  But I rationalized the numbers away.  Then I got out of the car and remembered that the houses are so packed in my neighborhood that they act as a partial wind-break.  I shut the door and strung enough cuss words to make my older cousins proud of the day they taught them to me.  Holy crap, it was cold!

Yes, I did confirm it.  I have now lived in the coldest day in Tucson history.  F- me.  I’m immigrating.

I promise you it’s not the plague; it’s allergies

I need to go on a rant here, and it might just be too much information for some of you.  So if you want to slink away now, I won’t hold it against you.  I’ve been thinking about this rant for some time because I’ve got no one in real life that can truly understand, and I figured since I know so many moms online, maybe someone will understand out there.  Besides some of my most favorite bloggers are open and honest about their TMI stuff and their embarrassing shit.  And I want to be like them.

About six weeks ago, Tornado E came down with a cold.  A nasty little thing that knocked him down for almost a week.  Fever, chills, runny nose.   You might remember me mentioning I had it before committing radio silence for a week.  Fever, chills, runny nose, and a cough that sounded uncomfortably close to a smoker’s cough.  Sweet.  Not only did I feel like crap, people looked at me like I had the plague.  All I needed was a couple of boils, a hood, and a bell to ring and call out “Bring out your dead.”  Since I’m a responsible pregnant mom, I didn’t down a bottle of Nyquil like I would have and been done with it.  No, I suffered for a week before my OB/GYN appointment, where my doc told me what I could take and that there was a list of medicines on the website if I ever needed to look anything up.  Sweet!  I was on the mend.

Except the cough.  Which lingered.  And lingered.  And by God, it’s been five f-ing weeks.  About three weeks in, I searched, scoured the website, and you know what.  There was no list of medicines.  So after a day or so, I called.  And low and behold, they told me what to take for a cough.  Sweet!  Now I was on the mend.

Except my allergies hit.  After going eighteen years without allergies, moving to CA for another ten, and returning home, I have allergies in my home town.  Are you kidding me?!  Now my nose runs like a faucet because I can’t take the good stuff.  And I still have that damn cough as I try to hack out a lung.

I was probably out of morning sickness danger for over a week before it dawned on me the only time I vomited was when I had a real bad coughing attack after lying down.  Just yesterday a coughing fit sent me running to the toilet where I dry heaved for five minutes as I pissed my pants because that’s what I do when I’m pregnant and vomiting.  I piss my pants.

Oh, and it gets better.  If it’s a powerful coughing spell, I piss my pants.  Sometimes it’s just a little; sometimes it actually does wet my pants.  Then I can’t make up my mind whether I feel like a four-year-old learning to potty train or a ninety-four year-old losing my faculties.  Either way it’s extremely embarrassing.  In the beginning it was so bad that I wore a heavy day pad (Thank you to whatever blogger mentioned that) so I wouldn’t pee in public.

Now I know this is partially my fault.  I should have been doing my kegel exercises.  I did push out Tornado S without contractions, so that was bound to loosen things up.  But I never remember to do them.  It’s on my list of things I should do, but tend to forget.  It’s pages after file all the old business papers and organize Tornado E’s school work, but it is before the-husband-feels-neglected-because-of-the-morning-sickness-I –should-really-give-him-a-bj.  Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get around to that either.

So I figure I should just keep drinking cough syrup and popping allergy pills until it is all gone away, not (my original plan of) stopping as soon as I start feeling better, leaving the rest up to the immune system.  Because hey, they’re losing the battle there.  I hope the little bean can forgive me if there are some side effects, like a lower IQ, the need to watch professional wrestling, or sixth finger.

Wish me luck.  And thanks for listening.                                 Um . . . any one there?

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