Friday, June 29, 2007

A Pint of Ice Cream: maybe Rice Dream

Surprise, surprise! Here I was happily sending my gripes out into cyberspace, thinking no one but my cute sister was reading them, when lo and behold- I find out at least two other people in the universe have read my blog- all on the same day. Well, this presents a bit of a problem for me. First of all, one of the two people was a guy and apparently they don't want to read about the lady doctor. Second of all, although I'm sure my diatribes are generally entertaining, they are also somewhat negative. This would be fine since my intention is to have a cathartic purging of whatever happens to be pissing me off on a given day. However, if my fellow MySpace residents are actually coming here to get to know the me that is now, I don't want them to think that all I ever do is bitch. Because I'm not one. And I don't. Also, I guess somebody was traumatized by certain references in my last blog (read it- you'll know which ones they are) and I promised a G- well at least a PG- rating from now on. So the problem is finding the time to sit down and recount the funny stuff that happens being a mom of 6. There is a lot of it. And not sounding like I hate being a mom of 6. Which I don't. But children will push your patience to the utmost limit and sometimes you have two choices. Laugh, or cry into a pint of your favorite ice cream. Sometimes I do both. I must look like a raving lunatic.

Today Monster Truck (2) decided that it would be fun to dump uncooked rice onto the kitchen floor. Now, I'm not sure if this was part of his continuing quest to figure out how to eat uncooked rice, or if he just liked the soothing rainstick sound that pouring rice makes as it hits the ground and scatters in all directions. Whichever it may be, I caught him methodically dumping handfulls of rice out of the container directly onto the floor. I scolded him, he took off before I could make him help clean it up, and I grabbed a broom. I swept the rice into a pile (luckily there wasn't that much of it this time), and I began looking for the dustpan. The Pinkiest(4) had absconded with it a few days earlier and therefore I could not find it. So I thought, "That's ok. I'll just leave it here for a little while until I find the dustpan. The kids will see that it has been swept into a pile and will know to leave it alone." I should really check to see if there is some sort of a gas leak in the house somewhere because I must have been completely stoned to have had this thought come out of my brain. Had I been sober, I would have known that although the rice would have been completely invisible to my kids if I had asked them to sweep it up, and they would have insisted it was not actually there- even as it was sticking to their feet while they ran in and out of the kitchen, bringing it with them onto the carpet in the living room; by the simple act of leaving it swept into a neat little pile, I was not only making it visible to their selectively blind eyes, I was creating a veritable rice Disneyland- right there- in our very own kitchen. So it was not long after that, that I entered the kitchen to find Mr. Yuke (3), carefully resifting the pile through his fingers into a carefully scattered mess again. He did this with such precision I would not have been surprised if the next moment he did not call everyone down to strip to their diapers and start sumo wrestling right there. (Yes, I know they use salt for this purpose and revere rice- don't bother me with your politically correct comments.) So I chased him out of the kitchen and I grabbed the broom. Here is where I made the dumbest decision of my day- I swept that rice right up. Into another neat litte pile. And then I walked away. Yup. I thought- "well, the little boys have both gotten in trouble for this now, and the big kids all know better. It'll be fine until we find that dustpan." (Waiting to exhale...) So a little while later I come in, and the rice is more scattered across the room than it has yet been this entire day. I began interrogating the suspects and discovered that Bubba (6) "didn't see it and walked right there". He is a sweet boy and I love him dearly. But it has just lately come to my attention that somehow, when my hubby and I taught that boy to walk, we must have left out the very fundamental detail that it works best if your feet actually leave the floor. So Bubba somehow managed to shuffle 2 cups of rice across the whole entire kitchen and dining room, just by walking in there for a second. I swept it up. Again. At this point Little Mommy (8) found the dustpan and finished the job for me. It's a good thing, because who knows how many more times I would have repeated this today. I guess being pregnant 11 times has killed off a few too many brain cells. It was one of those days. But then tonight, after they all wrote in their journals- even Monster Truck (2)- while Daddy read us "Charlotte's Web" out loud, and we sang and prayed together, Mr. Yuke (3) jumped into my lap and threw his little toddler arms around my neck and showered me with a dozen goodnight kisses. And I was thankful it was one of those days. In one moment of jelly-faced, completely sincere, heartfelt, toddler love, all the aggravation from the little things of today just melted away. And I was glad for the tender moments we share as a family. I guess when you're a mom it pays if you walk- no-- love softly, and carry a big stick. And a broom. And a dustpan.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

What the BEEP?!!!! (-More like a shriek, actually)

So the power went out. Of my house. And my tirade. I was just getting a nice froth worked up there when everything shut down and the super-duper surge supressor thingy-muhgadget my sweet hubby has on the computer started beeping at me- more like a shriek, actually- as if to say, "You better get the heck off this computer in the next 10 seconds or I am going to explode and YOU'LL BE SORRY!!!". So I had to shut it down and post my blog as finished as it was. I had no closure. I felt empty all night. It was terrible. Like when you have sex and he finishes just before you get there. So I got back on here tonight with every intention of editing it to say what I wanted it to. And do you know what I discovered? I was finished. There was nothing more to say about that. (Would you like a chocolate?) It's a strange sensation to know that you hit your climax and you missed it. So weird.

So I've had more adventures in MySpace. I finally found some of the people I went looking for. Not Barneys. Mostly. It's been good. And sad. For the friends I loved who have ended up where I hoped they would, I am filled with a sense of happy satisfaction. It is lovely to see them all doing so well. For the friends I loved who have gone down other roads, I am filled with deep regret. I wish they were... well I don't even know how to say that without offending. I can only say that I wish the best for them.

Today I went to the OB/Gyn for my 6 week postpartum visit. (I'm almost 10 weeks postpartum, by the way. This was the soonest they could see me.) So I got there for my 4:10 appointment at 4:11. I felt a little pang of guilt for being late as I signed in. I was not overwhelmed by the feeling mind you, I'm late often enough that it's amazing I even still notice the guilt. You would think I would have become desensitized to it. Nonetheless, I felt it, if only for a moment. I sat down and pulled out my phone so I could catch up on my missed calls and messages for the twenty minutes I would be sitting there. (My apologies to anyone who is annoyed by this behavior, but I can't waste any minutes of the day. With 6 kids, time is just too precious.) So, I called my sister-in-law to chat. We talked for about 15 minutes and she had to go. This left only a few short minutes to sit and peruse a magazine before I would be called to go to an exam room. Or so I thought. Little did I know. I am very naiive considering how many visits I've made to lady-doctors in the last decade. By 4:40 I was up, pacing. At 4:55, I asked the receptionist how far behind were they running? I explained that my babysitters (aka- my in-laws) had to leave for southern Utah in a very short while and I really needed to get going. She said it would be "any minute now". Then she told me she would go check and see as soon as she finished
helping the person standing next to me and that I should go sit down. I did not go sit down and now as I think it over I'm wondering if what followed was punishment for failure to follow directions. I wonder this because from where I stood pacing and trotting in place, I witnessed her help four more people without getting off her fat butt to ask anyone anything. Then a girl from the book keeping office came out and they gossipped together for about 6 minutes until another patient entered the office. She helped that woman and then, after shooting a look in my direction, walked back to the nurse at about 5:08. She came back and said it would probably be about ten minutes. I'm thinking- ok, if I get back there in ten minutes, strip, get my "pap" smeared, talk-talk-talk, get dressed, I could be out of here by 5:35. So then I asked, "Once I get back there, how long will I have to wait?" She looked me straight in my eye and said "you won't have to wait back there". Ah, how comfortable a false sense of security can be! I happily stood there waiting, though a little antsy, for the ten minutes to pass. And they did. So did eleven minutes, and twelve minutes, and then pretty soon it was 5:50. When my head was starting to beep- more like a shriek, actually- as if to say, "You better take me back there in the next ten seconds and stick some swabby thing up in my nether-regions RIGHT NOW, or my head is going to explode and YOU'LL BE SORRY!!!", the nurse came out and said in the most irritatingly calm voice, "amy?"- like she fully expected anyone in their right and sane mind to have left by now. I walked back and she insulted me with her stupid scale and her "we need to get your weight"- if they ever took it that would be one thing. But they never get my weight. They all remain their happy little 120 lb. selves and just insult me with the fact that I am their weight if there were three of them. So, she "gets" my weight, we walk into the exam room, and she asks me pointless stupid questions like, when was your baby born? (it's in that chart you're holding writing down the answers to the stupid questions you're asking me. ON THE PREVIOUS PAGE!!!) Was it a boy or a girl? (chart! Hello?) What is her name? (Why is that relevant? She's not here and even if she were, she doen't know her name yet.) and have you had a period? Ok, maybe that one isn't so totally pointless, but asking it after all those others, seemed to make it ridiculous. Then she handed me a tiny gown and a teensy sheet and told me to get completely naked and put this on. At this point I had to ask, "How long is it going to be until she gets in here?" The nurse looked at me with the confused expression of "what-a-strange-question" with her head cocked to one side like a poodle, and said, "Probably at least 20 minutes. She has back-to-back IUD implants so that will take a while." I think my eyes must have turned some evil, luminous color at this point- I KNOW that my nostrils were flaring- but I just looked at her like- I am going to KILL that receptionist. BEEP!!! She left, and I sat there in my tiny hospital gown on that comfy butcher-tissue paper they always put on 2/3 of the table to make it all nice and clean for you with my naked ass hanging out. I picked up and read the only thing in the room- Us Magazine, whose cover story was all about Brittney Spears and her estranged mom beginning to make amends for the first time since Brittney went into rehab. and thinking "damn you, for not bringing a book." (Time is precious. And when it comes down to spending it onBrittneySpears... there just aren't enough hours in the year.) Well, fortunately, I only had to wait for the doctor for half an hour and therefore never really made it into the Brittney article. The tedious wade through all the Brangelina pages before the feature took up most of that time. In the silent space of that 30 minutes I could actually hear myself getting dumber. When I finally got to the suspenseful moment of revelation that all the cover headlines had teased about, I read one sentence and in came the doctor. Of all the moments she could have come, she had to wait until I was about to learn the secret inner workings of Brittney Spears and her mom's relationship. (A moment of silence. I think my standards died today. The bar dropped, at least....) And to think I felt guilty for being one minute late. BEEP!!!!!

So I had all that lady-doctor stuff they do done, and then raced to dress again. My sister-in-law called me ten minutes after I had left the office (6:30) and was amazed that I was just leaving. She suggested it would be something to blog about. I wasn't sure if I was up to recounting the longest afternoon of my summer, but then tonight when I got on MySpace I discovered that she has started her own blog and so I was inspired to put into words the story of The Eventual Lady-doctor Appointment From Hell.
So now I have but three questions about all of this:

1) What did they gain by having me wait an extra 4 weeks to have the appointment?

2) What on earth was that receptionist thinking when she looked at me and without blinking said it would be ten more minutes? Would it have killed her to tell the truth? Is she under strict orders not to reschedule any patient for a time that would be more convenient for them? Is that why we're called patients? Because we have to be? And how long can someone go before their head explodes and SHE IS SORRY!!!?


3) Will Brittney and her mom ever be able to overcome the rift that is between them? How will I ever know?

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Men From My Past

So I found some of the people I was hoping to, finally. Also I found some people I was hoping not to. My dad has a MySpace page. How weird is that? He set it up in March- from Kuwait I guess, because it's my understanding that's where he was in March. It doesn't tell anything about him though. Not very helpful if you want that voyeristic aspect of getting to know a person without interacting with them or having to tell them you're doing it or anything about yourself.

My hubby is gone for three weeks. I took the opportunity to use my new MySpace information today and call up an old boyfriend. THE old boyfriend really. It was a perfectly harmless conversation, and a one-time thing. I just wanted to get two things off my chest that I've been carrying around for the last 13 years. One- that I did care about him and that our mutual decision to break up was the hardest and best thing I've ever done; and two- I needed his forgiveness for something specific that happened between us and which I won't go into. I feel much better having said those things to him, and I am definitely telling my husband about the conversation. I think if you can't be honest then it would be innappropriate, but if you have nothing to hide then you've done nothing wrong. However, I'm not sure just how to approach the subject with him. He is not always totally secure. How do I explain that I now have some long-needed closure and that, if anything, I will feel even closer to him now?

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Buncha Barneys

I just looked up every person who graduated from my high school between 1993 and 1996 on MySpace. Who ARE these people?! I don't recognize any of them. And how come 80% of the people that I would actually WANT to find on there aren't?