Mama In Stilettos

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Wanna know how to melt my heart???

Follow the schedule and RESPECT mine.  Meaning::: DO NOT INTERRUPT MY SHOWER or ROUTINE.

And keep the kids on schedule without me yelling.  That's it.

And when I obsess about going the WRONG WAY down the aisle in the grocery store?  Simply let me turn around and go the other way because that is the way I usually go down the aisle.  And if I need to wash my face then brush my teeth? Just let it be.  And when I am sick and still insist on making the bed and cleaning the toilet, kindly step aside.  If I can't handle it?? Have a fistful of klonopin handy for me to shove in my mouth.

Whoever you are....Just respect the schedule and routine and melt my heart.

Pet Peeves

Wanna know how to completely annoy me??

Wear flip flops in winter.

Even more?

Wear dirty flip flips in winter.

Yet even more?

Wear dirty white flip flips in winter.

When I see this?  I want to take the flip flops and wrap the dirty rubber thongs around the person's neck.  And strangle them a little.

Neverland Chipmunk

My doctor increased my preventative medication for migraines, since I have been faring through at least 3-4 a month now.  The problem with this, is that this medication is of the devil.  I can tolerate it at lower levels , but the increase brings on side effects that are like living in an alter universe.  He only increased it by 25mg and I now feel like I am living in Peter Pan Land..Oh wait..Isn’t that called Neverland?  That does seem to suit my situation right now.  Neverland.  Like I NEVER want to be in this place.  The dog is barking and it seems like a million gazillion decibels and the toys that make noise?  I want to confiscate and throw them down the laundry shoot.  Not to mention that I feel like a zombie and could hardly even figure out how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  As for cooking?  I hardly think I am fit to be near objects that could potentially cause fire.  Because my body would have the reaction time of someone who is underwater.  

Last time I had to increase this medication (granted I was post partum and a crazy hormonal hot mess anyways) I wanted to throw a plate against a wall.  Just to make sure that it would shatter and that I wasn’t living in The Matrix.  Since I was clearly not fit to increase the migraine meds last time, and I am sure my doctor thinks that I am selling my percocet and vicoden on the streets because I ask for them so much due to the freight trains that run through my head a few times a month, we decided to try the increase one more time.  So, that said, I feel like crap today, but I HAD to document what happened today.

I went to the post office with the kids and quickly came home (in case I couldn’t remember where my home was).  I got Cam Bam out of her car seat, gathered up my things and went over to Nicolas’ side of the car.  I opened up his door and stepped closer to unbuckle his car seat.  My foot landed on something “mushy” and “slippery”….I looked down.

And screamed my head off.

In my driveway.

And ALMOST dropped Cam Bam.

You know what the WAS?? It was an effing DEAD chipmunk.  How did it even GET THERE?? Had I KILLED it?? No! That would have been too much of a coincidence and his body wasn’t jumping or anything (even right now I have anxiety over this incident) . And I had stepped on his body..shooting guts galore out of orifices I didn’t know existed.  I couldn’t even look and I became faint.  And I still had to get Nicholas out of the car.

And I had chipmunk guts on my shoe.  <faintness again>

I sucked it up and got Nicholas out of the car.  I didn’t WANT to look at the chipmunk, but I couldn’t help but STARE.  And I had, again, PTSD from the Mouse House. 

Nicholas got out of the car and looked at the chipmunk.

“Oh no! Yucky! Oh no! Yuck! Night Night Chipmunk!”

I went upstairs and bleached my shoe.  Chris has some cleaning up to do in the driveway when he gets home.   

Scientific Coffee

So with the husband away, I am expected to make my own coffee in the mornings.  I know, I know.  It sounds ridiculous that I am whining and complaining, but let me explain why.  #1. I do not even know my name in the morning.  This is why my husband must already have coffee ready, or I am useless and he would have to take care of the children all by himself (god forbid) (if he is home) because there is no way possible I can wrap my mind around changing a diaper before having caffeine.  And most importantly #2.  Our "coffee maker" looks like this:

  

And I am so not kidding.

Doesn't it look like a science experiement?  Well, it is.  I am supposed to line it with this special cone shaped filter, then add coffee grounds (which I have absolutely no clue how much to add), then add boiling water.  But I have to add it bit but bit it filters from the top to the bottom. Then, if I add too much water, it overflows from the top, and with it comes a waterfall of boiling water and coffee grounds.  It's great in the morning when I can't even see straight and I scald my hand and then have to clean up microscopic coffee grounds from around the coils of my stove, which I can't even see without having coffee first.  And it takes a million gazillion years to drip from the top to the bottom.

That's it.  To Target I go to buy myself a coffee maker from this century instead of dealing with 11th grade chamistry each morning.

The Mouse House (Part II)

So I continue my “Mouse House” saga.  If you haven’t read Part I. Please do.. It’s essential.

My mother in law arrived at the house in record breaking time.  She may have used a brick on her gas pedal.  I’m not sure and I’m not asking because I was so grateful that she got there as fast as she did, even though each second of me perching on the beam in my kitchen seemed like an eternity as I watched this MOUSE jump around my counter.  Touching every surface.  My sink, my counter where FOOD is PREPARED, my stove and my DISHES.  That’s it.  I was throwing away those dishes.  I can’t stand KNOWING that a mouse was running around inside of them.  Little critter hands slipping around in my yogurt and little critter tongues licking the remains of my fruit.  It was too much.  No amount of bleach was going to erase that type of memory and I just wouldn’t feel right eating off of those dishes ever again.  Thank god I wasn’t using fine china, or that would have been a waste.

My mother-in-law came in the house and saw me on the beam.  “It’s okay, Sarah.  It’s not going to hurt you.”

“I know that.  I just HATE them!”  I said as I started to cry again.  “They’re dirty and they FREAK ME OUT!”  I sobbed.

“Okay.”  She stood still in the kitchen.  See? This is the good thing about having a mother-in-law who is from the country.  She is more level headed when it comes to these things.  Believe me, she doesn’t like them, but she can be more rational.  

The mouse came out.

Again, my screaming got the best of me and I began having another panic attack.

“Okay...It looks like he’s coming from behind the stove..So next time he goes back behind the stove, I’m going to block him in there,” my mother-in-law, Judy, said.  I resumed breathing.

“oooo….kkkk.” <panting>  The mouse went behind the stove and she darted to grab a large canister in which she placed beside the back of the stove, blocking the little demon there.  I took a few deep breaths and slowing uncoiled myself from the beam as she went into the other room to check the baby.  “We need to move.”  I said.  “If there are mice here, I HAVE to MOVE.  You don’t understand.  I seriously HATE them and I will not sleep at night.  What if they go in my bed?? What if I hear them at night?  What is they are walking on the counters at night? OH MY GOD!”

“Sarah,  it’s probably just one that we scared while moving in here.  He looks like a baby and he is probably just lost.  It’s fine.  We’ll set a trap.  And then he’ll be gone..ok?  Don’t even worry about it.  We can take care of this.”  Judy said.

We set a trap under the sink, because we found EVIDENCE of the mouse under there (OMG!!!!)  How did I know there was EVIDENCE?? I had literally COVERED all over my cabinets and cupboards with stark white parchment paper..That way I could see everything..And by everything, I mean everything. I could see traces of them everywhere.  I think you could have classified me as insane as I walked around the house wringing my hands and jumping at every little noise and yelping like a hurt puppy.   I had Chris check the trap under the sink about 12 times an hour..And you know what?? We caught the sucker the first NIGHT!  

But it wasn’t the little mouse I saw in my cereal bowl.  It was a HUGE mouse..Oh my dear lord.  It was his mother!  What if we had a FAMILY living here?!?!? Lots of little feet running around my house leaving there pellets behind, just in time for my little baby to pick one up and..

OH LORD.

Fainting involved…. Nausea.

I demanded that we call an exterminator.  Or I wasn’t living there. Fact. I was out if these things weren’t gone asap.  It was decided that Judy would call the landlord and explain the situation and tell her that we needed a exterminator to come to the house to take care of the apparent “problem”...Along with the various spiders (who were on steroids and I believe pumping iron) that became involved also.  Judy called the landlord (who knew how to pick up a telephone..I know! Surprising since she looked as though she was one of the witches from the Wizard of Oz..And I’m not talking about Glinda the “good witch”).  “There is no mouse problem at that house,” she said.  She said this even after Judy explained that we had, in fact, caught one in our old fashioned trap filled with peanut butter bait.  And after the explanation of the evidence, AND the explanation of the mouse on the countertop.  Judy hung up and reported back to us what had happened.

“Does she want me to BRING her the dead MOUSE?? Cause I will!” I said.  “Is that enough EVIDENCE for her? Or should I VIDEOTAPE the mice in my breakfast!”

My head shot around to the stove.  I heard rustling.  And scraping.  And then more rummaging.  My eyes may have bugged out of my head for a nanosecond before I darted over to the stove with (yes, I know it’s cliche) a frying pan.  We all went into the kitchen and low and behold, were were the sounds of critters above the stove in the fan.  And you know what? NO WAY to get to THEM.  Of course I ran out of the house as Chris dismantled the fan, only to find that it had been blocked off.  Welp.  Guess we found the nest!  And no way to get rid of them! We can be one big happy family, rustling up something for dinner, enjoying a meal together.

It was decided then.  We were going to pay for an exterminator ourselves and deal with Mrs. Ancient after the problem was #1: PROVED and #2 TAKEN CARE OF.

$600 later an exterminator tells me that he found evidence of mice in every room of the house.  

I may have thrown up at his feet.  I don’t know because it’s all black and spinny, as he placed locked cases of poison in most of my closets, under my sink in the bathroom (which I still hated and would rather pee in the yard because I have a feeling it would be more hygienic at this point in time), and under my sink in the kitchen.

“So what happens when the mice eat the poison?”  I asked.

“They die.”  He said,

duh.

“But where?” I mean, do they just die, like, on my living room floor.  Or run around on my counter choking and wheezing and then keeling over?  I needed to know the logistics.

“No..They will probably die in your walls,”  he replied.

And that they did.

And so, so much more. 

   

A Story Through Pictures

Here is a story through pictures:

 

The Mouse House (Part I)

With little Cam Bam’s birthday party this past weekend (which went fabulously!!) we decided that we would increase space in our house by rolling out one of our oriental rugs downstairs, which is partially finished, well, mostly finished, but not to my standards.  My standards would be to rip everything down and start over.  Which is a possibility...Anyways, we were rolling out a rug and found THIS:

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THIS IS?!?!?!

IT’S A FREAKING MOUSE NEST!

Okay, so went we found it, I certainly first grabbed my camera to document this event and then let my emotions kick in.  I turned about 15 shades of white, grey and then green and had to rush upstairs before I keeled over.  I then proceeded to put my head in  between my legs to avoid passing out and tried to control my breathing because I was starting to hyperventilate.  Were they still alive and LIVING in that nest?? Or were they setting up shop somewhere else in my house?  Was I living among them AGAIN??  Was I going to see those little demons running across my kitchen or my washroom?? Or hear them in my WALLS??  Even as I type this, I feel small spasms of anxiety shoot through my body.  How did all this start?

Let me start at the beginning.

We decided to move closer to my parents and to find a house that had a small apartment attached to it for Chris’ mom, as (at that time) we were planning on building a house.  We finally found a farmhouse in a nice little town that seemed to fit our needs.  Sure, it was old, and not attractive.  In fact, I HATED the bathroom and the layout of the place, but, hey, I was near my parents and needed help with Nicholas who was a small baby at the time and it had a small apartment in the walk out basement for Chris’ mom.  And the rent was affordable if we split it.  And the kitchen was sunny and it had an attached deck and the landlord allowed dogs and cats.  It also had a detached garage for storage.  Seemed like I could deal with it for the short time were were supposed to live there.  So we put our two bedroom condo up for sale and moved north towards both of our families.  

I should have known things were bad.  I mean, there were signs.  The landlord was ANCIENT.  And by ancient, I mean she was pushing 90.  And she had this sort of “pool boy” / “fix it man” who lived in another small apartment on her property which was across from the farmhouse that were were going to rent.  He was probably in his 60’s and to this day I have absolutely NO IDEA what he did.  She had a lawn service come and take care of her grounds, she had a pool service come and service her pool, and had several repairmen come and go from her house.  So who was this guy?? I can only imagine and my stomach twirls into grotesque knots to think what he was there for.  And? He ALWAYS reeked of cocktails.  And he knew nothing about fixing things. When we had a clog in our kitchen?  She sent him over and he had NO IDEA how to fix it.  He fiddled around under the sink with a huge flashlight and a plunger.  And then called a plumber.  So the mystery continues. 

Anyways, I digress.  The week we moved in, we were cleaning the cabinets and I found these little “pellets”.  I had no idea what mouse poop looked like! How was I to know? I didn’t grow up in any sort of country, nor did I ever feel the need to have a rodent for a pet.  So when I asked my mother-in-law “Hmmm..What is all this stuff?”  And she replied,” Gee...It looks like mouse poop.”

I think I jumped a mile and ran out of the house.  She then assured me that it was a country house and that it had been vacant. She was sure that they had probably been in the house, but now that we were in there, they would be very scared and had run away to wherever it was they came from.  I still refused to touch the stuff and proceeded to put on medical gloves and then rubber gloves to touch anything in the house that wasn’t disinfected first.  I even peed in the yard three times because I hadn’t bleached the bathroom to it’s fullest potential (meaning to the point where the linoleum was bubbling and the fumes of bleach officially burnt all of your nose hairs out of your nose).  And I made Chris buy a new toilet seat.  There was NO WAY I was using one where I had NO IDEA who’s butt had been on it.  

So when everything was disinfected and moved in, I relaxed a bit before I had to start my new job.  I had a couple of weeks to acclimate to my new surroundings and give baby Nicky a chance to acclimate also.  We had a hard time using his favorite swing because the floor was so slanted and was made of HUGE wooden planks that his swing had a difficult time keeping rhythm.  Oh well, I thought I could deal.  I maintained a good attitude, until one morning after I had my breakfast.  

I had finished my yogurt and fruit and set it beside the sink and went to check on Nicky in his swing.  It frequently needed a “push” because of the uneven floor.  I checked on the baby and then returned to the kitchen.  I turned the corner to enter the kitchen and looked over to the sink just in time to see a small, dark critter jump from inside my cereal bowl, run across the sink and jump behind the stove.

It was a freaking MOUSE.

I started screaming.

And screaming.

I ran out of the kitchen to the telephone where I called Chris.  I clutched the phone with white knuckles as I slowly walked back into the kitchen as I was waiting for Chris to pick up on the other end.

It was there again.

Hopping in and out of my cereal bowl.

Chris answered the phone and I was mid-scream. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  I don’t think I took a breath as I continued into the next scream.  “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”  I could hear Chris on the other end, “Oh my god! What is wrong! SARAH! ANSWER ME!  STOP SCREAMING!!”

Okay, so there was a wooden beam (ala Little House on the Prairie) going across the kitchen near the ceiling.  I imagine people would have hung herbs and flowers from this beam once upon a time.  This time I was climbing it.  I jumped onto the counter (far away from the mouse) and grabbed onto the beam where I hoisted myself like a trapeze artist onto the top.  There I perched...Still screaming and becoming very faint.  Chris, on the other end of the phone was still yelling at me to explain to him what was going on.

<Panting> “There’s there’s a m-m-m-mouse. <yelp> <more panting> IN THE KITCHEN!!!!!!!!!” “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“SARAH! GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF! Oh my god.  I thought you were being attacked! DON’T you EVER do THIS to ME!” Chris yelled from the other end.

<hyperventilating> “I’m calling your MOTHER. NOW! she needs to get here. NOW!!!!”

I hung up the phone and frantically dialed my mother in law’s number.

She answered. “AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” THERE’S A MOUSE IN THE FREAKING KITCHEN!!!!!! IN MY CEREAL BOWL!!!!!!!”

“Where’s the baby?” she asked.

<panting> “In the other room in his swing”, then I start to cry. “ I HATE MICE!!!!” WAHHHHHHHH!!”  I begin to sob.

“Hold on! I’m coming right now. Where are you?”She asked.

“I’m on the beam in the kitchen. <sniffling> I HATE mice!!!!!!!” <realization> “OH MY GOD! They are still IN THE HOUSE!!!!” <more hyperventilating>

I remained perched on the beam in the kitchen until my mother-in-law arrived.

Birthday Nostalgia

Tomorrow, Cam Bam, you turn one year old.

  I am using today to reminisce about you and think about you before I get wrapped up in all of the birthday party madness and then have several panic attacks about having that many people in my house.  All those feet and butts in my house....Anyways.

I am truly amazed at you.  I can't even believe how much my heart loves you and how I burst with happiness each and every time I see your smile.  Your smile lights up, not only your entire face, but the entire room.  I have never seen anything like it in my life.  

You are so completely different than your brother, who is 17 months older than you.  And it all started from birth.  You were a snap to deliver compared to your brother with whom I was hyperventilating, hallucinating and praying for God's mercy on my soul.  You were my "pumpkin pie baby" because you only craved pumpkin pie from a certain fruit farm down the street.  Lucky for me these pies were ginormous.  Pies on steroids.  And I polished off at least one per week for approximately 8 weeks straight.  Could be why you had to be induced.  And why I gained 75 pounds.  I gained another person, besides the one growing inside me.  

You were incredibly dramatic from birth, as you tortured me with 9 weeks of colic.  For no apparent reason you found it necessary to cry constantly.  I thought I was going to die.  You pushed me to my limit, little Cam Bam.  This leads me to think that you are going to do this in the future.  Push the limits and learn boundaries very quickly.  

You are also fiercely independent.  You will go off on your own and control the room, while your brother will not leave my side.  You are confident and friendly towards others and will love without hesitation.  You refuse to be shy and thrive when you are with other kids, or family who love you.  When we go to "Romper Room" you take off on your own, crawling all over the place, never looking back to locate me.  You are okay to hold your own.  I can only hope that you feel the need to have my attention and the desire to be a "mommy's girl" as you rush towards "toddler-hood".  

You are also sensitive, like me.  You can be very strong in many ways, but when someone is harsh with you, you melt and cannot hide your emotions.  You wear your emotions on your face and on "your sleeve" and that's what I hold dear to my heart.  I can read the love in your eyes and know when you just want some affection.  

I love hearing you laugh and hearing you "rummage" through the toys in the other room.  Sometimes we call you "The Rummager" as you tear all the toys out of each of the toy boxes, not knowing what is going to please you.  Sometimes, falling in the bins.

   

You are taking steps now, and eating grilled cheese sandwiches.  No more formula and we are on our way to saying goodbye to bottles.  How do I feel about all of this?? Tears come to my eyes. My baby is no longer a baby.  I can't wrap you in a receiving blanket and fall asleep with you on my chest.  But I can watch you sleep from the side of your crib as you suck your thumb and cuddle your "Bunny Bunnerton".  I certainly do not miss the waking in the middle of the night, or the many contraptions cluttering my house that would soothe your crying, if only for 10 minutes.  But I know that you still need me.  And I know that I need you.  I think I need you more and more each day as you learn about the world and make it a better place for me.  

Thank you for making my world complete, even when you tear your hair apart after I spent some time slaving over it,

Mommy

Oh Crap!

Has P. Diddy accidentally ended up in MY YARD and discovered the phantom poop cemetery? THANK god!!!! We have been looking for the phantom poop FOREVER!!! Maybe now I can walk across my lawn with my head up instead of scrutinizing every blade of grass for mysterious land mines.

And here's the culprit!

  Gracie says: "Do you think that bodyguard is for hire to clean up all my poop????  Cuz I haz A LOT! And NOW they FOUND it!"

Death by Skittles

Yesterday I almost DIED. By myself. In my kitchen. From a Skittle. I was this close to throwing myself over one of my kitchen chairs to perform the Heimlich maneuver on myself. Does that even work anyways? Oh the pain of choking on fruity rainbow flavored goodness. The pain of the fruit flavors suddenly appearing in my NOSE and then sputtering them all over my GLASS cabinets. By the time I was finished with my episode it looked like Rainbow Brite was massacred.

It’s a good thing no one saw me because I’m pretty sure it was a horrifying scene. Tears running down my face, bringing with them my favorite Dior mascara. My face bright fed and splotchy that NO concealor could ever dream of covering up from the coughing fit. My hair wild and undone from my bun that I had pinned back earlier in the day from my head heaving forward with coughs that seemed as though my lungs would end up in my sink. I could have probably passed as a crack fiend. But without the badly fried hair from “box coloring” every two weeks in order to maintain anonymity from my pimp.

I choked while shoving my kid’s Halloween candy down my throat. And the whole reason why I was shoving? Was so I wouldn’t change my mind half way through and feel guilty. The quicker I inhaled the candy, the less likely I was going to have to think about it later and admit that it happened, as opposed to lingering over the chocolate and monitoring how much I actually was eating and then feeling the amount of guilt later. Although, by the dent in the bowl, there was no denying my indulgence. I have a problem and it’s called ADDICTION to FOOD. I just can’t stop eating. Maybe the choking was the universe’s way of letting me know that it is time for rehab. It’s time to take control back and to stop my madness of taking over the pantry several times a day. Or the madness of shoving something, anything, sweet into my mouth the second my feet hit the floor in the morning. And I so am not exaggerating. The minute my daughter starts to stir in the morning and I have to get out of bed to fix a bottle, I am already plowing my way through either a Kit Kat or a chocolate chip muffin. Why? I have no idea.

I used to be so militant about my diet. I had both my kids and whipped myself back into shape. Literally. I was IN SHAPE. I could RUN. Without feeling like my life was ending or that my body was about to shatter in a million different pieces. Or without feeling like I was hit by a Mack truck the next day. Pretty impressive. So what happened?? One day I decided to sleep in. Just one day I didn’t get up to do something physical before the kids got up. And now? Ever since that ever so horrible bad decision? It has been a down hill plummet. A rollercoaster bringing me down right towards the world of flabby thighs and a milkshake butt. A world where my stomach hangs. I actually saw some pictures taken of me this past Halloween and I just about had an anxiety attack about how it looked like I had an oversized jelly donut beneath my dress. And I was wearing BLACK. The universal color of thinness. ARGH. What am I going to do?? Well, I can tell you one thing. I still have a bowl of candy staring me straight in the face. And a pantry full of potato chips and cookie greatness. Should I purge them?? Oh the PAIN of PURGING food out of my HOUSE. Should I just wait until it’s all gone and then start over? Oh the decisions. I could monitor my food intake and then slowly wean myself from this junk addiction. Who am I kidding?? I’m like a Hoover when it comes to junk food.

I blame my father. It’s in my blood. He has a “junk food drawer”. Yep. Downstairs right next to his recliner. At any time one can take a quick walk downstairs and open the drawer to reveal a stash bigger than the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He sits in his recliner with his DIET coke and rummages through the drawer every night. Every night. I blame him. He has set my precedence. I know to starve myself every time I go to my parents house because I probably consume enough calories to survive for approximately 3 days from one visit to their house, more specifically, from “the drawer”.

It’s time to break the cycle.