Rule of Life #4: Feng Shui is Important

I never used to buy into Feng Shui, you guys.  I’m just not a very superstitious person by nature.  I don’t wish on stars.  I don’t read my horoscope.  I walk under ladders, let black cats cross my path, and I spill salt all.the.time and never even think to throw a pinch over my shoulder.

But recently I’ve become a big believer in Feng Shui.  For those of you reading my blog that live in Kentucky don’t know what Feng Shui is, allow me to illuminate you: Feng Shui is an ancient Chinese system of aesthetics believed to use the laws of both Heaven and Earth to help one improve life by receiving positive energy.  Basically, Feng Shui is a system used to rearrange furniture, primarily by pretentious Westerners with too much money and time on their hands.

Which hardly describes me. (Because, Kentucky! Ya’ll.)

My interior design strategies mostly consist of, “From which fabric will I most easily be able to remove baby shit stains?” and “What furniture arrangement will assist in the successful evasion of a trip to the ER now that Violet’s favorite past-time includes:

1. Spin in circles, many, many times

2. Close eyes

3. Run like your being chased by Christopher Walken from the Weapon of Choice video* until you hit something hard with your face”

Top that off with the fact that we currently live in a somewhat small apartment, and, of course, we do not have a lot of options in terms of the décor.

Little did I know that our lack of consideration for furniture placement would eventually come back to bitch slap us in the face.  Stay with me here, guys.

In our family we split up the laundry duties** so that no one ever gets stuck doing 30 loads of laundry without any help.  Dan separates, washes, dries, and brings upstairs, I iron, fold, and put away, and Violet pretty much just plays with the hangers.

Not very helpful, but pretty freakin' adorable.

Not to sound all unappreciative, or anything, but laundry?  Not Dan’s strong suit.  You see, Dan believes in efficiency.  And to get laundry done efficiently (read: fast) you have to put the drier on the super hot setting. So, needless to say, the first time I wear my pants after they’ve been washed and dried by Dan Davis, I mostly look like I painted on some high water pants, because, Holy Camel Toe Batman! they are about two sizes too small.

Also things that make laundry go faster?  Neglecting to sort the clothes.  Whites?  Darks?  Dan Davis cares not about small matters such as these.  EFFICIENCY!  CRAM THE WASHING MACHINE WITH LAUNDRY LIKE IT’S A PIE EATING CONTEST AND THE CLOTHES ARE THE PIE AND THE WASHING MACHINE IS YOUR MOUTH!!  Wash, dry, repeat.

Although his technique is annoying, it’s something I’ve learned to live with. Much as Dan has learned to live with the fact that my face turns inside out when the shirts in our closet aren’t sorted by sleeve length and collar type. See?  We all have our little quirks!

I didn’t really think a lot about it the other day when Dan took the laundry baskets from both Violet’s room and our room down to the basement to man handle the washing machine into taking on more than it’s fair share.  While Dan may march to his own drum in terms of getting the laundry done, he is considerate when it comes to using scented detergent and fabric softener.  (It’s important!)  Normally when there is a load of laundry in the dryer, we can smell the scented fabric softener from the exhaust billowing up into the house, particularly when we have our windows open.  I love the smell!  So clean and fresh, just wafting into the house on our weekends at home.  It almost makes me not mind folding and putting away the loads of laundry.

Naturally, once the laundry was going for the weekend, I was a little concerned when the only smell wafting up from the exhaust was…shit.  It was…rather confusing.

I asked Dan if he smelled something funny, and he agreed: yep, yep, shit indeed.  So he went into Violet’s room and decided that the Diaper Genie was the culprit. He emptied it, and we went about our business…all the while, the shit smell kept getting…well…shittier.

I sent Dan downstairs…to see if the dogs had shit in the basement??  It would be weird…however it was really the only thing I could think of at that point.  Nothing could have prepared us for what happened next.

I’m sure many mommies out there have accidentally washed a lot of things.  Hell, crayons, chapstick and sharpies are all on my “whoops, should have checked the pockets!” list.  And that was before Violet was even a dream in my head.  I can even imagine what it must be like for those mommies that accidentally wash a diaper…cotton all over everything ugh…what a mess.  But Dan Davis went ahead and took it a step further…because he’s competitive, you see, and so he washed AND DRIED A SHITTY DIAPER.

You can imagine my horror.  I went through all of the classic stages:

1. Denial: No way…this can not be shit in the drier.  It’s just not possible…who shits in a drier?

2. Anger: A freaking shitty diaper?!  This is your fault for never sorting the laundry!!!!!!!

3. Bargaining: Okay, okay, you’re right.  It could have been either of us that tossed the diaper into the laundry hamper.  Who’s idea was it to put the hamper RIGHT NEXT to the Diaper Genie?  I know, I know…you’re right, now is no time for the blame game.  How bout this: how bout I’ll rewash all of the laundry if you just clean out the drier…I’ll throw in a back rub if you can do it without puking.

4. Depression: Okay dude…we need to just throw the drier away.  There’s no coming back from this.

5. Acceptance: We’re really both to blame for this.  How dare we tempt fate by not taking into consideration the placement of the clothes hamper in the nursery?  Of course this would happen!!  The Feng Shui Gods are punishing us!

And that’s why it’s always important to consider Feng Shui, you guys.  Because when you put the baby’s hamper right next to the Diaper Genie?  One of you is bound to toss a dirty diaper in the hamper in a sleep deprived stupor under the influence of the noxious poop fumes.  Frankly…I’m surprized it took 15 months for it to happen to us.

*If you can watch this whole video without your butthole puckering, you deserve some kind of an award.

**I laugh in my head every time someone says “duties.”  Because, of course, I’m totally thinking, “doodies.”

Posted in Rules of Life | 2 Comments

Hope you’ve got your tickets…

Posted in My Baby, Roundhouse-Kicks to the Face | Leave a comment

But Seriously You Guys…

I don’t really do a lot of serious posts on this blog.  I don’t think that a lot of people out there know that between this post and this post, a lot of things that I didn’t really write about happened.

Or a whole lot of nothing happened.  Depending on your point of view. 

Ya know how in 6th grade they tell you about how sex is super dangerous?  And how if you have it before you are married that you will most certainly:

1. Get Pregnant And Ruin Your Life.

2. Contract AIDS and DIE.

3. Go straight to hell.

This crock of shit line of reasoning really resonated with me in my formative years.  So much so that I became convinced that if I was even an hour late taking my birth control pills, I would surely wind up pregnant with a child that I was not prepared for and could not support.*

Naturally, when Dan and I decided that it was time to start a family, I assumed that getting pregnant would happen like this:

Step 1: Simply stop taking my birth control pills

Step 2: Dan ogles me as I’m getting out of the shower

Step 3: POOF! pregnant. Super duper pregnant.

It has been my experience that it is not always that easy.**

I would like to direct you all to this short tutorial on trying to succeed, and failing miserably: a month by month guide.

Basically I couldn’t put it any better.  Don’t know what “charting” is?  Don’t know how long the luteal phase needs to be to facilitate implantation?  Never heard the term “implantation?”  No idea what TTC, EOD, ED, LP, BD, O’ing, AF, 2WW, BFN, EWCM, HPT, or LMP mean?  Most people don’t.  Most people are super lucky like that.  But most people don’t even realize how super lucky they are not to have to know these things in order to procreate. 

Dan and I were not so lucky.

After about 6 months of trying, I really started to lose my shit worry.  Because it’s my thing.  To worry.  Despite the well-meaning, “Well, it just takes some people a little longer!” and “Just stop trying and it will happen!” I worried.

After about 12 months, Dan started worrying.  And then I knew it was really time for me to worry.  Because Dan’s thing is not worrying.  Dan’s thing is totally being mellow and trying to keep me from worrying. 

After about a year we started in with poking and prodding testing to find out why the eff I wasn’t getting pregnant.  Both of our tests came back 100% clear: there was NO medical reason I shouldn’t be knocked up.  To the best of my knowledge, the only things that were preventing us from producing offspring were:

  • We actually wanted a child, and were actively trying to produce one
  • The fact that we could actually afford to provide for a child, and had no intentions of using said child as a way to collect food stamps or welfare
  • Neither Dan nor myself were alcoholics, snorting cocaine, or smoking crack

Because so far as I could tell…those were all prerequisites for bearing children.

Yeah…I wasn’t bitter or anything.

Fortunately for Dan and I, there was a happy (and non-invasive) ending.  And I know, I know, I KNOW. That sounds like a really glossy way to end things all wrapped up in a nice little package with a bow.  “We got our happy ending.”  The problem is that there isn’t a “sincerity” font.  So that you can all feel how much I mean that I know that we were so damn fortunate. Blessed.

I still follow the stories of those that haven’t yet found their happy endings.  Some that might never.  Some that have fought a harder battle with that bitch infertility than I ever had to.  Some that have lost that battle.  And some that have won.  If you’re interested…their stories are right over

there———————————————————————–>

in my Blogroll.

They’re all awesome women, each and every one of them. 

I know that all of the mommies I know love their babies whether they were surprises, planned, or fought for.  Not one of us is any better or lesser than any other; we’re all mommies, and for whatever reason God blessed us with this beautiful responsibility. 

But if you are one of the mommies out there lucky enough to have just stumbled into motherhood unexpectedly, (or if your husband stared at your ass too long and you wound up pregnant) take just a second to savor your babies as if you had to fight tooth and nail for the privilege of carrying them in your bodies, if only because some women, some very fine and amazing women will never get that privilege despite how much they deserve it, and despite how much the children they long for deserve mommies like they will never have the chance to be.

*But I didn’t worry so much about it until well after my formative years, as, of course, I was not engaging in premarital sex. Nope.

**Unless you are under 18 and reading this blog.  If you are under 18 and reading this blog, and if you have premarital sex the result will be pregnancy, AIDS, death, and hell.  Also you will develope a menacing case of acne, and your feet will grow to such an extent that they will not be able to fit through the legs of those skinny pants kids these days are so fond of.***

***WTF is up with those skinny pants anyhow?!

Could I end this post without a beautiful baby picture?  I could not.  To do so is illegal in 14 states.

Posted in I'm Sure You'll Agree..., Life and Things and Stuff, My Baby, Pregnancy, trying to conceive | 1 Comment

Hadda Thought…

If you’ve ever pooped with someone else sitting on your lap, you know you’re a mom. 

Or a pervert.

Posted in Hadda Thought... | 2 Comments

Mixing Business and Friendship

is not advisable.  SERIOUSLY not advisable.

I’ve got this friend that is a lawyer.  Let’s call her…Shmessica.*

Anyhow, I asked Shmessica for some advice of the legal nature about a situation in which I am potentially going to get bent over a table and screwed without lube stand to lose a substantial amount of money.  Here’s my version of that conversation:

Me: Hey dude, you know how that landlord totally has a huge sum of my money to secure a property in Kentucky where we are moving in T-two weeks? Ya know, so that my husband and I and our tiny, innocent and fragile baby have a place to live and are not forced to beg on the street for scraps of food and dirty washcloths that we can use as diapers?

Shmessica: Yes, I am privy to this information.

Me: Yeah.  Well the douchebag landlord told me that the house that we are renting is super big and nice…and I believed her because people are basically good and honest.  It turns out that the house is actually super tiny…like half the size that we thought it was, and that people are, on the whole, assholes.

Shmessica: Is there a lease in question?

Me: Yep. Lemme show you it!

Shmessica: Mmmhm.  Mmmhm.  Hhhmmmmmm…yes.  Yes, you are very screwed. You have made some very big mistakes here.  Let me tell you about all of the very big mistakes that you made:

  • Signed lease with person you have never met without consulting me (A LAWYER)
  • Relinquished funds to said person that you have never met without consulting me (A LAWYER)
  • Entering into a year living situation in a house that you have never seen without consulting me (A LAWYER)

See how many things you did wrong? You should promptly commence kissing your money goodbye.

Me: OhMahGah!! I am such an idiot!!! The landlord is a dishonest biotch!! The law is an asshole!! And you are a super mean landlord and law defender and I need to hang up on you now!

This is her version of the conversation:**

Me: Hey dude, you know how I like to give away my money away all willie nillie and sign contracts with people I’ve never met before?

Shmessica: Yes, I am privy to this information.

Me: Yeah.  Well I totally gave a lot of my money to this lady who told me things that I wanted to hear, and they turned out to not be true, and now I want you to get real lawyer-ee on her ass and fix what I eff’d up mmmmk?

Shmessica: You see Sarah, there is this thing called The Law.  And even though you may be technically right about this, there is still The Law, and The Law says that this lady may have a right to keep some of you money.

Me: Soooooo….You’re gonna fix it?

Shmessica: Let me put it this way: I am a lawyer, not a magician.  I can advise you on how to handle this, but I can not magically get rid of the lease that you willingly signed, or make your money appear from my magic hat like it’s a rabbit.

Me: OhMahGah!! I am such an idiot!!! The landlord is a dishonest biotch!! The law is an asshole!! And you are a super mean landlord and law defender and I need to hang up on you now!

Next time I need a lawyer, I’m gonna find one that I’m NOT BFF’s with because what I really wanted to hear from Shmessica was, “Dude, you are totally right, that landlord is a total whore, and the law is an asshole.”  And I’m sure the next time Shmessica has a tenant/landlord case she will think about how her BFF is the same brand of ignorant trailer trash that she represents for a living.

*Because if I don’t mask her identity she’s likely to have my ass thoroughly tied up in litigation for slander.  And she’d win. Cuz she’s a LAW-yer.

**Allegedly***

***I don’t know if the term, “Allegedly” is really appropriate in this context.  But this post was about legal crap, and so I had to fit it in somewhere.

Posted in Life and Things and Stuff | 2 Comments

Rule of Life #3

image

It’s important to use cup holders instead of your crotch to hold your Iced Venti Americano. Because it’s 90 degrees out, you guys. And your cup is sweatin’ like the fat kid in gym class. And the public doesn’t typically assume that wet crotch = cup holder for sweaty Starbucks deliciousness. The public typically assumes wet crotch = swooty. Or incontinent. Either way, that’s not the image I’m going for here.

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If Violet Could Talk Today…

she would say, “Stop rocking me.  Stop shushing in my ear.  Stop hummmmmming mom! Stop asking if I’m tired!!!!! I’m NOT tired I AM JUST CRABBY!!!!!!!!!”

"I JUST NEED TO HAVE A MOMENT!!!!!!!"

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Sexy Muffins

I hate Starbucks muffins.

They are baked in these decorative, tall, paper muffin cups that extend over the sides of the entire muffin. Aesthetically, this is very pleasing. They look a little fancier than muffins baked in the traditional shortie muffin cup; just a little bit…more slender and shapely.

Starbucks muffins don’t have muffin top.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to eat a dessert or breakfast pastry that mocks me. It’s not that I’m trying to blame the muffin for the fact that I’m a butterball. I think I’ve made it plain that growing a human in my body for 9 months and my affinity for bean burritos may have also contributed to my waistline situation.  But let’s face it, muffin top more aptly describes what I’ve got going on than burrito roll or Violet’s landmine.

So when Starbucks comes along with their skinny-bitch muffins, it doesn’t exactly entice me to stuff my cakehole with baked goods and breve lattes.  In fact, I feel much the same after watching the Victoria’s Secret Runway Special as I do after looking at a Starbucks skinny-blonde-probably-Swedish-bitch muffin; ya know, like I should probably start that water and air diet that I’ve heard is so effective.

So, not that you asked or anything, Starbucks, but here’s a pointer: if you want the kind of people that eat muffins (ya’ know: people that have muffin tops) to eat your muffins, quit making them so sexually attractive, and bring back the short, fat muffins with muffin top!

Posted in I'm Sure You'll Agree... | 3 Comments

Dear Violet,

You have taught me more about life in your short 14 months with us than I ever could have known without you. 

My heart would never have been this big had you not come into my world, and made it more beautiful. 

With every breath you take, my heart beats. 

I learn more from your smile than from any I could from any book that’s ever been written. 

Your love for me is worth more than any job could ever pay me, in a whole lifetime. 

 The fact that I got to be a part of your existence for even the briefness that is this life makes my life worthwhile.

Thank you so much, love.

Posted in Dear Violet | Leave a comment

Rule of Life #2

People who use “EXIT ONLY” lanes to cut me off merge into traffic instead of just staying in the lane that they intend to travel on should catch on fire.  Or their engines should explode.  Or they should have to suffer through a Steven Seagal movie marathon, unimaginable episodes of torture.

I have so much contempt for the vile excuses for humans who contribute to the congestion of rush hour traffic.  What could they possibly be thinking when committing such detestable acts of assholery? 

I think it’s something like:

“I’m going to exit. I’m going to exit. I’m going to exit, cuz I’m in the ‘EXIT ONLY’ laneNOPE! GET THE EFF OVER ASSHOLE I LIED, I’M TOTALLY  NOT GOING TO EXIT! Oh, and sorry about not using a turn signal when I merged back in to traffic and almost spanked your front bumper. I was too busy fantasizing about BBQ’ing puppies and punching old ladies in the face.”

Because we all know the only douchebags people douchy hateful enough to perform such a douchebaggy reprehensible maneuver in rush hour traffic are those that also derive great pleasure from BBQ’d puppy and the sport of old lady punching.

New feature of the 2012 Honda: Your engine fucking explodes when you use the "EXIT ONLY" lane to cut people off, bitch.

Posted in I'm Sure You'll Agree..., Rules of Life | Leave a comment