My Parrot

Tornado E: Uncle J is cool.

Uncle J is my mom’s baby brother.  He may be many things, but he is not cool. The dude looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, smokes like a chimney, and is not the brightest penny in the fountain.  What mid-forty-something forgoes paying the gas bill to buy a new paint ball gun and go paint balling?  But I can see why Tornado E likes him; he listens and never talks down to kids.

Yet I couldn’t help explain that Uncle J is not cool because Tornado E also decided to adopt Uncle J’s football team . . . the Oakland Raiders.  The Husband and my baby brother will tolerate many things in the love of sports, except for the love of the Oakland Raiders and the New York Yankees.

Sunday night we were over to have dinner at my grandma’s, and I had stepped out of the room.  My uncle, aunt, my dad, and my boys were sitting around the breakfast bar, snacking on nuts.

Tornado E: Uncle J, my mommy says you’re not smart.

The room grew silent.  (And for the record I NEVER said that.  I said he didn’t go to college, and in another conversation I said smart people go to college.)

Tornado E: And that you smoke!

At this the room bursts out laughing.

Aunt S: Yes, he sure does.

Tornado E: (beaming) Smoking is yucky!

All the adults: Yes, it is.

I think I better be more careful how I phrase things.

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Yellings in the grocery store

We were at the grocery store with one of those stupid car carts because they had been banned from them for a month earlier and I figured that it was time to try again.  We were in the canned foods aisle picking up food for the food drive, when I heard Tornado E shouting at the top of his lungs.

Tornado E: Stop touching my penis!  Stop touching my penis!

I investigated to see Tornado S had his hands on the wheel, and Tornado E was just having fun.  Ever have a moment when you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to scream or beat a child?  I pulled Tornado E out of the cart and quietly explained why we don’t say things like that in public when they are not true.  Then he marched next to me for the rest of the grocery trip.

There has to be an easier job out there.

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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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