Out of Dodge

Moved to WordPress:

http://betterthangrits.wordpress.com/

Complaint Department

Well..... My theory last week was such that I didn't have much to complain about. I mean, after a relaxing, soul searching trip to locate my "roots" in Ireland, I felt at peace when I came home. I'd been everywhere my grandfather had been. I'd met people who knew him and heard numerous times, "Christ! You look just like Patsy O'Mahony!" (My grandfather's name is Patrick so Patsy is the nickname). I also heard as many times that I'm the spitting image of my mother. One cousin even said that if she closed her eyes and listened to me talk it was like my mom was there. Good? I think so!

So, I decided on Wednesday afternoon that I would not carry out my promised Thong Thursday.

Wednesday afternoon my daughter came home from school with "sand"' in her eye. Please know that she wasn't miserable... just uncomfortable. I tried numerous things to get it out. Including, saline, water, tissues, etc. It wouldn't budge. I got on the phone first thing Thursday morning to get her an appointment with an eye doc. After being seen, it turns out that EJ had some sort of metal in her eye. Metal that took wouldnt move even after three rounds of four adults holding her down. Metal that finally came out after she was wrapped in a sheet and strapped to a bed while a speculum pried her eye open and a jackass know-it-all resident scraped off the lens of her eye and NEVER sedated her. Screams, blood, tears, busted blood vessels, terror, asshole residents, sympathetic nurses and staff, did i mention asshole residents?

I will NEVER EVER EVER forget that afternoon. I will never forget the sound of my daughter screaming for me to save her. I will never forget the breakdown I had in the car on the way home when it was all over and she was asleep. I will never forget that night when I stayed up holding her listening to her whimper in her sleep.

This morning, we were given a clean bill of health. Her lens has healed and her eyesight is fine. No more risk of infection and possible blindness.

In five short weeks my baby girl has had: strep throat, impetigo, pink eye, a second degree burn on her hand which needed surgery, another minor burn on the other hand and then metal in her eye.

Still. She's here. She's safe. She's happy. She's safe....

I don't have a thing in the world to complain about. So, no Thong Thursday. I hope you understand.

AND just because he makes me smile, here's a picture of my grandfather, Patrick O'Mahony before he died. Isn't he handsome?




This was a difficult post to write as there were many emotions wrought within me. I truly believe that my recent trip to Ireland was one that brought answers to many questions in my life but also gave me insight into just what depths we, as mothers, will reach to provide for our children. I understand my grandmother so much more now and stand in awe of my mother as well. Go hug your babies...

I will never fail you, Eva Joy.... as long as I live.

Thong Thursday

Okay, so I know it's not Thursday, but I have an idea:

I can't think of anything more irritating or annoying than a pair of thong underwear. Can you? If you don't agree with me you are a freak, or you haven't yet given birth to a giant set of shoulders attached to a baby. If you have and you still wear thong underwear because you want to and not because your partner likes it, then you don't know the likes of a hemorrhoid the size of a human head.

SO..... I'm going to dedicate Thursday's to anything I find bothersome at that particular time. Whatever strikes me as a nuisance that day will be the subject of my post. Feel free to comment with your bitch items as well. Misery loves company, right????

I see this as one day I give myself license to throw a hissy fit on the internet - guilt free.

Just wanted to give y'all a heads up on this one. I'll be on a plane to Ireland on Monday so we will start this tradition the first week in April. Aren't you so excited???

Go Play in the Street

Okay, so it's no secret that I sit in the corner like a junkie waiting on the next benjamin I can drop in White House Black Market. Not just because everything in the store fits me properly, is black or is white but because everything is RIGHT THERE. Neatly displayed on the rack with its matching siblings in ascending size order. You can move seamlessly from this to that without missing A THING. Bliss! Arrive in the store. Be magnetically drawn to the thing you didn't see last time. Reach for what you want with the "M" on the tag. Take it to the counter. Get a nod for being a lifetime Black Book Club Member. Pay. Go home. DONE!

HOWEVER, certain economic restrictions are in place now and I'm on sort of a spending diet. Which means I'm not allowed to go in the new entrance to the mall. I have to park outside the department stores AND make sure I take EJ with me because she will THROW DOWN if I make her go in WHBM. For some reason that much black and white between four walls is too much for her to handle and she morphs in to a random X-Men character.

The reason I'm telling you all of this is that I'm headed to Ireland in oh, seven days and need several new pairs of jeans. My girlfriend, Rachel, can apparently spot a cute shirt/jeans/skirt/shoes on sale from the next state over. I'll admit I'm terrified of stores like Kohl's and Marshall's because I'm too lazy. The LAST thing I want to do is plunder through shit-tons of shirts whose only commonality is that they are a size medium! You gotta be talented for this type of shopping. Rachel wrote the fucking book. Naturally, I asked her to be my stylist/cutejeanshiddeninthegodawfulrackofdeath for the afternoon. I drove.

Within minutes I was given a job. "Go get a shopping cart." she said. I know she was just trying to get rid of me so she could do her thing. Which I'm sure if I waited around would have been something akin to psycho-kinetically pulling the cute shit out of the clusterfuck of hideous things I would have picked up were I left alone in such a situation.

I'm three new pairs of perfectpocketposition jeans richer and in total freakin' awe of my BFF.

Know It All

"Mama, why do you have a stamp on your back?"

"Because when I was 18 I thought I knew everything. It turns out that I didn't."

"When I get bigger can I get a stamp on my back?"

"When you get bigger we can talk about it again and see how you feel."

"Okay, because I want a Dora one."

Mother of the Year Nomination - REVOKED

Dear Ms. Levine,

We not-so-regretfully wish to inform you that your nomination for Mother of the Year is revoked based on the following facts:

Bedtime Lullaby Incident:
"Mama, please sing the piggy song"
"Biggie Biggie Biggie can't you see. Sometimes your words just hypnotize me...."

Yeah Yeah. No more songs by dead gangsta rappers. Got it.

Snack Time - Child Given Grapes
"MMMM! These taste like fruit!"

Yeah. Yeah. Buy fruit so she can at least identify it. Got it.

Cultural Diversity - Lack Of
"Mama, why are there more vanilla people than chocolate people?"

Yeah. Yeah. Undo stigma and introduce more culturally diverse learning opportunities. Like, leave Evans every once in a while. Got it.

Unnecessary Paranoia's and Phobias
"Mama, if you see a spider out here you should leave the door open so you can RUN BACK IN real fast so it won't bite your leg off."

Yeah. Yeah. Stop exaggerating and inflicting my own ridiculous fears. Projecting faults. Bad. Got it.

Sincerely,

The People At The Grocery Store Who Stare At Temper Tantrums Like Children Are Alien To Us

p.s. Please schedule your grocery shopping during the 15 seconds you have between daycare and work each morning so we don't have to listen to the screams erupt from your child AGAIN about why she can't have the candy/balloons/toys we have strategically placed at her eye level so she will try to wear your ass out about them the whole time you are in the store until you are actually uncorking wine at the checkout. Shopping is a pleasure here, remember?

Padded Walls

Saturday:
Blood-curdling screams from the back seat of the car. Child clutching ear.

Sunday:
Ear drainage. Begin drops.

Monday:
Ear drainage. Drops. Begin Children's Motrin.

Tuesday:
Ear drainage. Drops. Mama starts taking Advil.

Tuesday PM:
Mama has fever. Takes more Advil.

Wednesday:
Drops. Motrin. Advil. Mama's throat is swollen shut and body quit working. More Advil. Ear drainage starts to stink like the produce drawer in the refrigerator. Make appointment to have ear looked at on Thursday. Can't remember who took what meds when. Begin writing the doses down. Medicated child frolics through house taking advantage of mother's immobile state.

Thursday:
Mama can't move even more. Sends child with mere ear infection to school. Rest before daunting task of standing in the torture shower. Take both Tylenol and Advil because can't remember which one's turn it is. Take child to the doctor. Both child and mother diagnosed with strep. Call daycare and apologize PROFUSELY for being "that mother".

Friday:
More meds. More drops. Antibiotics.

Saturday:
Feel better! Can move!!! Child gets pink eye. Wine.

Sunday:
Back to the Doctor. More antibiotics. Child cannot come in contact with other humans for 24 hours. Cry.

Monday:
Take infectious child to work. Get busted by boss. Unsuspecting 20-year-old brother shows up at office and leaves office with rambunctious bloodshot eyed three-year-old with instructions to wash hands every 30 minutes. Worry needlessly about 20-year-old and 3-year-old. Should have worried about the state the house would be in at the end of the day.

Monday PM:
No new illnesses. Everyone is happy and healthy. Whew!

I'd say I'm going to work tomorrow but I refuse to jinx myself.