My tooth is killing me!

Root canal on Tuesday. Fun!

I love my garbage men

Here on base we only have our garbage picked up every other week. You can imagine how much of a pain in the ass it is when you have brain-fade and miss a day...

We missed the last two.

All three cans were full, plus two cardboard boxes, plus a big oversized rubbermaid container, PLUS probably a dozen loose bags. The animals had been in it, it was overcome with flies, it was oozing, it was disgusting. (The Daddy has been re-bagging as necessary, and is on a first-name basis with one of the raccoons.)

They took it all, and I only heard them swear once.

So to all garbage men out there, I adore you. You are my heros. There may be a 24 of beer in your future, if you so happen to have my house on your route.

Oh, AND

And to top it all off, I got a reply to one of the resume's I sent out eons ago. Because Opportunity always knocks when you're naked, on the phone, there's a crying baby, and you've just shut your hair in the door.

Not that that ever, you know, happened.

Little bits

It's hot as freaking Hades here, and it's after 10pm.

We passed all our checks with everybody, and are very cautiously optimistic about the minute possibility that The Daddy will, in fact, remain on tour. It probably won't happen, but it hasn't officially been killed yet either.

Our new kitten now has a name: Ysma (Ease-ma). Kronk is afraid of her. She does not like to have her picture taken, but I will try for you.

It's REALLY hot here. I'm sweaty, and I'm just sprawled out on the couch watchin' tv.

I discovered last night that we get free MovieCentral. I watched a lot of movies on demand. I plan to do the same tonight.

I'm so tired.

The Doc says my post-partum depression is probably gone, and all I'm suffering from now is anxiety. I haven't decided if I believe him or not.

I have an appointment with a psycologist on the 3rd re: the anxiety. It's going to cost approximately $475 for her to climb all up in my head, which we have to pay for upfront. How to solve problems, military style: To cure anxiety, go see someone who will charge you lots of money to solve your anxiety problems, so that you're a-ok except for your newfound anxiety about not being able to pay your bills this month. Winning.

I'm melting. Gah.

The Daddy is surprising me with his helpfulness. He cooks, he cleans, he reads bedtime stories. He even dries the dishes, and I only asked him once. Feel free to envy me.

The Baby and I were out shopping last week, and picked up one of those Little Golden Books about fire engines. We now have to read it about 16 times a day. We all have it memorized. We've already worn the "Golden" off it. Best $3.54 I've spent on that kid in a loooong time.

Our duvet exploded. There were feathers everywhere. It happened right before our last housing inspection. The Daddy tried to sweep it up. Shockingly, that didn't work. Kronk was afraid. Thankfully, everybody understood. Sewing up the tear was an interesting edeavour though. I'm pretty sure I've still got down up my nose.

My laundry is still not totally complete. Shameful, I know. Whatever.

uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ sʇǝƃ ǝɟıן ɹnoʎ sǝɯıʇǝɯos

Life went quite spectacularly to shit recently. I'm pretty sure I will never want to go on vacation ever again.

Our last day of vacation, we got a phone call that the military po-po's had been in our house. Apparently the person who was supposed to be taking care of our cat, well, wasn't, and he had been yowling obnoxiously and annoying all the neighbours. The cops went in on the grounds that "they didn't know if someone was inside who needed attention". They found the backdoor unlocked, which prompted a call to Housing, and found cat shit everywhere (due to the neglect of the litter box. The cat had plenty of food and water at least), which prompted a call to Child Services. The house, of course, looked like a bomb had gone off because of The Daddy arriving home three days prior and basically dumping his shit and playing WoW until we left and my totally unorganized and last minute vacation packing. Basically there we piles of (clean) dishes, piles of clean and dirty and shit on laundry, standard little-girl messy rooms, my dumping ground of a bedroom (I spend zero time in there awake, what do you want?) and clutter as far as the eye can see. They were kind enough to take pictures and forward them to The Daddy's chain of command. Sweet, no?

At some point that night, our car was broken into. The window was smashed, and our GPS - my very lifeline - was stolen. We don't have theft protection OR damage coverage on our car insurance.

We've met with police, housing, Social Workers (plural!) half the damn military, and I have to go see a shrink because this. shit. is. not. good. for. my. anxiety.

So The Daddy is quite probably not going on tour after all.

I must have been really, really bad in a past life.

At any rate, it took us all of one day to get the place - to quote the social worker - "spotless". You can imagine how terrible it was that it could be so drastically changed in one day. So now we're doing paranoid anal-retentive things like bleaching the walls and lining everything up at precise angles in an effort to show the constant stream of people coming through here that we are NOT neglectful lazy slobs and are in fact willing and able to maintain a healthy level of cleanliness. We have three kids, it ain't always gonna be magazine perfect! But it was actually suggested to me today that it's "unusual" to go to bed with dirty laundry in your house. I really, truly must be completely off my rocker, because I think that is utter bullshit. I mean, seriously? What about the clothes you just took off? Even if it's just the outfits my family wore that day, there's a full load of dirty laundry right there! Am I totally out to lunch? Do people actually wash clothes that are still warm from their bodies?!? Whatever. This is why God invented laundry baskets.

I have long maintained that people who have nothing to hide hide nothing. I have told them all to please drop by any time, I was opening closets and storage areas for inspection despite them telling me it was unnecessary. I made the Social Workers look in the fridge and cupboards so that I knew they knew we had an suitable amount of food for our family. I'm bending over backwards to make my life an open book so that this can be as simple and easy as possible, but for such an intensely private person such as I - it stings. I have appointments with different people all over town to tell them my life story and get a support network in place. Privacy is apparently a privilege, not a right, and definitely not in anyone's best interests. Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do - and right now, I gotta do this and play by their rules. It doesn't really bother me so much as it exhausts me. I'm so tired of talking, of explaining, or refuting, of repeating myself... I think I'll just start issuing press releases and be done with the whole thing. There is something to be said for Gov't taping our lives and tapping our conversations. Pressing rewind+play would be soooo much easier and less emotionally trying.

I always said it would never happen to me, how stuck up was I? Karma is a bitch! Note to future self: Do not leave the house anything less than STERILE and IMMACULATE, because "clean" is subjective and sometimes that can mean "never, ever good enough", and there is always justification for someone being all up in your business whether you want them to or not, and second chances have to be paid for in blood, sweat, and tears. I'm pretty sure I'll end up medicated.

Is this week over yet?

If you need me, I'll be in the bubble bath with a glass of wine and a slutty romance novel. Calgon, Cowboy, and Cabernet take me away.

I wish things like this still surprised me

Today Rachel went on a field trip with her class. When I picked her up, instead of wearing the uniform she'd had on when I dropped her off, I found her in an unfamiliar "Dino-MITE" t-shirt and red sports pants with flip-flops.

Rachel fell in the duck pond at the park.

I'm not even a little bit surprised.

(The clothes belonged to a boy in her class. Her uniform was covered in duck... stuff. She'd drawn the line at borrowing his underwear though. Because THAT would be too weird.)

How to kiss ass or make friends

Step one: Fresh fruit from the newly opened farmer's market.
Step two: Cut off the green bits before the baby eats them.

Step three: Show your blog friends that you have mad skillz with an apple peeler - that's all one long strip, yo.

Step four: World-famous (ok, maybe not "world" famous, but well known in certain circles) pie crust a la The Mommy.

Steps five and six: Fill and cover.

Step seven: Decorate.

Step eight: Bake, then admire. Then sigh, because they're just so pretty.

Step nine: Deliver to those who teach your children, because that's the kind of mom you are today.

Finnigan is TWO!!!

Yesterday was Finn's second birthday. When you ask him how old he is, he will say "This" and give you his hand, because he wants to hold up two fingers but his fine motor skills aren't quite up to his will yet. But if you pin down the rest of his fingers so that he's only holding two up, then he can show you that he is, in fact, two years old.

And he learned yesterday how to peel his own oranges.

Happy birthday Finnigan!

RAAAWWR!

There has been a cougar sighting on our base. A real cougar, as in here kitty kitty - not the type you find in bars after last call. Anyway, there's been a cougar sighting on our base, and now the military police are putting up big warning signs and the poor kidlets are all stuck inside on cougar lockdown.

I'm thinking of putting a can of tuna on the porch. Just for fun.

My mind: now with two tracks!

I know I have been away a long time. This is because my mouth hurt, and I would have to tell you is how much my mouth hurt, and that is very dull indeed.

The cavern has been repaired. I feel sooooooooo much better now. The only pain I have is from the wedge they had to put between my last molar and my wisdom tooth to space them out so I can actually floss in between. No more trapped stuff, hopefully no more cavities! Yay!

I have much to say now, but I need to round up more pictures, so I'll be back. I'm too busy right now enjoying being able to eat and drink things that are NOT the consistency of baby food and NOT strictly lukewarm.

And also, I have to clean this dump of a house that I ignored due to aforementioned sore mouth.

Then I will come back and show you pictures, because I like pictures on other blogs (because I am nosy that way).

Fun things down your pants

I was mowing the lawn tonight at 9pm (It's hot here, ok?) and when I got in, I had an itch on my leg. So, I scratched it through my jeans, and I felt something small and hard on the top of my thigh (don't go there). I thought it was a pebble, so I pinned it to my leg and reached in to get it.

Not a pebble.

A ladybug.

It was still alive.

I put it on the desk in front of me, and Kronk - who had been sitting in my lap until then - watched it try to walk away.

Kronk was afraid of the ladybug.

But not too afraid to eat it.

Crunch crunch crunch.

Rachel Says:

Rachel: Blah blah blah blah Jesus died because he got hit by a bus.
Me: ... Wait, what?
Rachel: He got hit by a bus, and then they put him in a rock, but then he got alive again and came out.
Me: Jesus did not get hit by a bus, he got nailed to a cross.
Rachel: OHHHHHHHH... I thought he got hit by a bus.

[I think someone needs to pay closer attention during RE (Religious Education)]

I just thought you'd all like to know

... that I had a Twinkie for dinner because my mouth still hurts. Then I had an ibuprofin chaser.

*pout*

Because God hates me personally

Remember how I was whining about having a cavity? Yeah, it's not a cavity, it's a cavern. The dentist doesn't even know if he can save the tooth, so I have to go in again to see if the tooth can be saved via root canal, or if it's a lost cause and I need a molar-ectomy followed by a dental implant (of which I want two, just because then I can walk around telling people I have implants. Heee.). Next Wednesday I go back and he is going to "remove all the soft tissue from that tooth" which sounds like it will hurt but I am assured I do not need the soft stuff, only the hard stuff (always a good rule of thumb, no?). Better me than The Daddy though, I say, because at least I am not a wussy GIRL when it comes to the dentist. Poor Mr. big military man is a-scareded of a little oral action.

Anyway, my new dentist shall now be known as Dr. Hottie, because no need to say open wide - my jaw hit the floor when he came in! Har har har, all is well until he stuck a pic in my cavern (and not the fun way) and then I bit him. Tool. Do not poke exposed nerves with sharp objects! Isn't that like dental rule #3, right after brushing and flossing? I digress. He asked very sweetly if I'd be ok if he blew a bit of air on the bad bits, because (and I quote) he "didn't want to have to peel me of the ceiling - but the pic he just lays into me with. See? Education can only get you so far. So I may or may not look like a hillbilly for a while.

By the by, root canals and tooth removal are covered by our insurance. Crowns and implants are NOT. We're hoping for the root canal and crown, because otherwise I'll have to pony up $3k out of my own pocket. Of course, Dr. Hottie Happy Pic "recommends" an implant because of my age. Youngness wise. See, implants are more durable. WTF does he think I'm putting in there, rocks?

Oh, AND, AND the dumbass that removed my wisdom teeth only got three. I am still somewhat wisdomous. They took my #2 molar instead in that corner. Whatever the hell a #2 molar is. Whatever. The short and the short of it is that the cavity from hell is right beside my stowaway wisdom tooth, but because they removed the molar the wisdom tooth fell over and is now sideways so that the top part is now facing forward in my mouth, which creates a lovely little pocket for food and God knows what to get caught between that and my holey tooth, which explains why it is now so holey. AND depending on whether the stupid sideways wisdom tooth is part of my bite or not, it may or may not get to stay. Nothing like having your wisdom teeth removed twice.

P.S. Dr. McHappyPic and his lil' silver friend have made my toothache about 5 times worse. As in, the pressure from my cheek resting against my tooth sends shooting pains down into my jaw. Good thing he's pretty.

Now Lily. Lily has many cavities, and two teeth need to be extracted, and her jaw is misaligned (a level 2 overbite, for those in the know), and she needs the brackety spacey things because her top jaw is too spacious that the teeth are kind of all floating around with no one to cuddle up to, which makes them do crazy tooth acrobatics, and then she'll need braces when she's 12. The poor dentist pretty much washed his hands of her and referred me to an Pediatric Orthodontist. In fact, she's got so much going on with the rest of her mouth that the doctor didn't even notice that she was missing a third of her front tooth. He let her out of the chair, and I asked him about it, and I got the Blank Stare of Doom that you never ever want to see from your medical professionals. BUT she is now squeeky clean, and the hygenist complemented her on her tooth care habits. And she doesn't even need to floss because of the aforementioned spaciousness of her mouth. Sweet. Now if our teeth could please just stop crumbling of their own accord, that'd be great.

On the plus side, I referred the dental hygenist to BBC, so hopefully she'll come around to straighten out the whole "soda pop in baby bottles" issues there. Not good, people, not good. Don't let your kids get the bad teeth.

Doc told me to take 1000mg of Acetominophen + 800mg Ibuprofen. I have zero cares in the world right now! I'd have a glass of wine, but A) we don't have any, and B) I might die.

Lastly, there really should be more hottie dentists in the world. Because baby, when a hot guy tells you to open your mouth - you do it. No problem-o.

Rachel's appointment is in 3 weeks.
Finnigan's appointment is in a year.
I will have have a standing weekly appointment until then, I am sure.

OH, and I have alignment issues myself AND I need a night guard because I clench and it is destroying my enamel. I'm pretty sure my dentist cried when we left.

Like those kids that are raised by wolves

Have you ever heard stories of kids who are like, abandoned in the woods and then a momma wolf adopts them and they're raised within the pack, and they grow up kind of ferel and wolf-like? It's like that, except instead of wolves, Finn is being raised by a pack of women. We were going out to the car yesterday, and he saw a bug. Do you know what he did? He danced around on his tippytoes, with his arms clutched dramatically to his chest, saying "Ew! Eewww! Ewww, ew eww eww ew!!!"
It was hysterical. If he wasn't so 'boyish' with his build and his haircut, face shape, and armload of toy cars, it would have been downright flamboyant. Can something be "a little bit flamboyant"? Because that was. Unless "a little bit flamboyant" is a catch 22, like Jumbo Shrimp, or New & Improved, or Honest Politics.
He also will not dig in the dirt of the garden with me, and don't even THINK about making him touch a worm (also called a bug, he says).

Today he is moist

Last night I switched around some furniture in the baby's nursery, because he was getting so big that he'd bonk his head on the shelves above his dresser/change table.

I forgot about the bum cream in his top drawer.

I put the dresser/change table next to the crib.

I went in to get him this morning, and he was so white he looked like a ghost of himself. It was such a stark white that he actually kind of looked pale blue.

Bum cream does not come off, you have to wait for it to soak into skin. Unless of course your baby is climbing all over you, or the couch, or any other fabric surface in the house, and then it will lovingly transfer to all of those whilst remaining also on baby's skin.

Can you still classify your couch as 'beige' if it has brown chocolate smears, blue pen ink drawings, unidentified purple blotches, grey watermarks, and is covered in a fine white film of bum cream?

You just KNOW there is a post coming wherein I slipcover it...

Nitrites??!? Ewwwww!

Yeah I fed him a Luncheable. Lynch me.

I love it soooo much

Do you have a favorite little corner of your house where it's just so pretty it makes you smile every time you walk by? This is fast becoming one of mine:

The Dining Room, or should I say "Dining area of the Living Room" is so small, but I've been wanting a china (chinet) cabinet for storage. Then I found this one, and it was love at first sight!

I love the decorative shape of the door panels and, well, the shape of the whole thing.

I love how it holds all my collectables, and I ADORE the chicken-wire over glass in the bottom panels. It's a PITA to clean, but the things we do for beauty...

I also love the little stained flowers. You have to really look to see them, so it's not loud and obvious and in-your-face.

Working in such a small space means you have to kind of jam everything you need in one on top of the other, which is why the Ficus tree is stuck between the couch and cabinet, and then has a table in front of it (which actually works well at keeping the baby out of the dirt! I think this little nook of my house turned out pretty well! I just want to cozy up and be surrounded by my favorite things.

(By the way, when I first got this cabinet home it REEKED of cigarette smoke. Gross. That is what the Lemon Oil in my last post was for, and it worked a charm! Imagine if it had actually been the Furniture Stripper after all? All those pretty little flowers would be gone. Gone gone gone. And I'd be PISSED.)

Uh oh...

This is what I bought to treat my antique furniture with:

Today, Finnigan shredded the paper wrapper, and this is what was revealed:

Uh oh.

School Spring Fair!

There was a cake walk, a silent auction, bake sale, raffle, bounce house obstacle course, mini golf, a clown, a singer guy, hot dogs... Unfortunately I missed EVERYTHING because the guy who was supposed to take over the bean bag toss from me at 12:30 didn't bother to show. Neither did the guy supposed to take over from HIM at 1:30. Or the one taking over at 2:30. At 3pm I just shut the damn booth down. It was either that, or start whipping bean bags at the little brats children. Besides, I hadn't eaten yet and I had to pee! At least I only had to buy one set of tickets for my own kids. Once those were gone I just recycled from my booth. I figure if I'm stuck there, my kids should at least get to play (without me) for free. Maybe I'll get detention for it, or get sent to the principals office. I hope it's quiet there.

But it was a sunny day, and I came home with all three children I started out with. That my friends is a SUCCESS.