Disaster Preparedness...

Chris decided to go watch the Chargers play at the stadium last night.  Cash and I drove through McDonalds, sharing a hamburger, and had just snuggled up to a carton of frozen yogurt when the lights went out.

Every power source in the house whined as it slowly shut off.  Sounds straight out of a horror film.

I wrapped one arm around the midget and crawled around the living room, searching for my phone to use as a light source.  I used the phone to find a flashlight and went outside to see if it was just me, or if the whole block was out.  My heart sank as I watched three neighbors get into their cars and leave, running from the darkness.

Did the radio warn everyone about a zombie apocalypse and I missed it because I was too busy enjoying yogurt and Judge Judy?!?

The problem is, I'm the PERFECT candidate for a zombie meal!  I haven't worked out since the kidlet was born and my legs likely have a perfect marbling of fat.  I'd be particularly delicious in a stew.

Cash and I sat on the floor near the front door, systematically shining the flashlight in the front yard, then to the back door, as if it would protect me like a light saber.

I Google researched the weaponry necessary to defeat zombies but got bored and went on Pinterest instead.

Two hours into the outage, Cash had fallen asleep on my lap and I had turned off the flashlight and rested my head against the door, staring into the blackness outside.  A huge utility truck pulled in front of our house and a crew of four large men silently climbed my retaining wall and into my yard.  This wouldn't be weird except... we have stairs.  Not one of them used them.  They chose to awkwardly climb the wall... like ZOMBIES.

I stopped breathing, wishing I had put a little more effort into the weaponry research.

Just as I was carefully moving Cash from my lap to the floor so I could grab the chainsaw from the garage, or at the very least, a cleaver from the drawer, the crew was climbing back down the wall and driving off in the truck.

It's been a rough week and well... I haven't showered for a few days.  My face resembles a pubescent teenager and my hair is stringier than a straw broom.  I've been sporting the same pajamas for a week.  In short, I smell.  I can only assume one thing...

they assumed I was already one of them.

I knew it.  I just knew it.

Laziness and procrastination eventually pay off.

More?

Chris and I have been teaching baby Cash a few words in sign language.  He's been catching on quite well but struggles with the word 'More'.

After a few bites of dinner and an empty plate, I lean over, smile, and say ,"More?" while pushing my fingers together.

He stares silently, smiling.

"More?" I say as I try again demonstrating with my hands.

He's still smiling.  Unmoving.


Frustrated, I tell Chris, "I don't understand why he's not getting it.  He's getting every other sign."


A few days later I pull out his dinner at home, serve him a few bits, and when he's done, I sign 'More'.

Radio silence from that boy... but he's got a grin on his face.

I cleaned off the table, did the dishes, and scooped myself some ice cream.  Cash and I share a few bites while watching a Baby Einstein video and as I'm putting away the bowl, he frantically runs over and starts signing 'More'.


And that's when I figured it out.  It's not that he doesn't know the sign...

My cooking is so awfully atrocious, he doesn't want 'More'.


Cash - 1.  Me - 0.

Burning Down the House...

We came home from our camping trip to a house full of fleas.  Apparently the sand we had delivered for the playset was loaded with them and our dogs brought them inside.  I've never had to deal with fleas before so naturally, I calmly assessed the situation, did some research on flea abatement, and controlled the problem.

Well, that's the way I say it went.  Chris describes it a bit differently.  He said I went a little crazy.

I started off by screaming.

That's always my first line of defense against home invaders, small or large.

Then, I sent Cash to my mother's to protect him - from me or the fleas, I can't be sure.  From here, well, it gets a little foggy... maybe because I set off 16 flea bombs in the house.    When they say one per room, they mean it.  You shouldn't put two... cough... or three... in one room.  Shouldn't.  That doesn't mean I didn't.

Every sheet, towel, comforter, and bit of clothing was drowned in a piping hot wash.  My house has never been so Tide fresh.

I bought two industrial bags of diatomaceous earth and we blanketed the carpets.  Chris donned his construction gas mask and ran around the house pretending a nuclear bomb hit.

Funny guy.

Real funny.


I vacuumed.

And vacuumed.

And vacuumed.

For DAYS.

As Chris watched me remove yet another vacuum cleaner bag, put in a plastic trash bag, and duct tape the top closed, he said, "I'd hate to see what you'd do with bedbugs.  You'd probably burn down the house."

I looked at him seriously and said, "That's an option?"




There are no more fleas in the house.  OK, sure, the chemicals caused me to sprout a third arm and there is now a cancerous growth on my leg, but the fleas are gone.

I win.

My Fantasy League...

Chris convinced me I needed to join my family's Fantasy Football League.  Last year, Chris, my brothers, and sisters spent most of the season sending text messages leading up to and during football games.  Chris' phone would buzz and "SUCK IT!  YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE SUCKA" would scroll across the screen.

Well gee.  As fun as that sounds.

I decided to join... even though my only knowledge about the players is how cute the Kansas quarterback is.

Chris had to draft my team.  I had tried to pick players based solely on their hotness factor but Chris said that wasn't an indication of their abilities.

Says who?

He drafted the Steelers defense and suggested the Cardinals for my bye week.  "I thought the Cardinals were a baseball team." I said.

Chris just stared at me and sighed.

He 'skillfully' set my active and bench players and said, "It'll be fun babe.  You'll see!"

Game time.  I excitedly open the app on my iPad and watch my score...

30.

My opponent? 160.

It got better.  I jumped to 120... just before he jumped to 323.

I should have followed my gut and drafted on the hotness factor.  Educated guessing?  Not working.

Medical Necessity...

I went to dinner with an old friend last night and met his new fiancé.  She's in pharmaceutical sales, specializing in pain management through Botox.

"Botox relieves migraine pain?" I asked.

"Absolutely"

"Where do they put it?"

"In the areas patients feel strong pain.  Most is injected around the eyes, the forehead, and the neck" she said while demonstrating, "If you suffer from migraines, you should consider the treatment.  It's extremely effective and covered by insurance."

"Insurance covers Botox?!?!" I asked, growing excited... even though I don't suffer from migraines.

"For migraine pain management, yes.  You should also consider medical marijuana.  Studies show positive results in pain management" she said seriously.


Dear Primary Care Physician,

I've suddenly been afflicted with intense migraines.......



 

I'm Suffering from PTSD...

You know what they don't tell you about getting rear-ended in an auto accident?  You will forever jump when slowing.  I cringe at stop lights.  I cringe in traffic.  Heck, I cringe when I push my grocery cart through the checkout line.

I am now consumed with 'prepping' myself for an accident.  I go to the bathroom before I leave.  I wear comfortable shoes.

And then I realized...

I must reduce my reliance on Spanx.

I can just imagine my embarrassment, "Mam, first off, you're OK.  You've been involved in an auto accident, but it took three paramedics and a pair of industrial clippers to remove these odd flesh colored shorts."

I put on my skirt suit this morning, turned around in the mirror...

and decided a good looking butt is worth a little embarrassment in the event of a collision.

And I've decided, in an accident, my Spanx could double as a tourniquet.  Headlines... "Woman saved by body shaper.  Femoral artery severed but accident victim remained alive for 10 hours before help could arrive thanks to shape-wear 4 sizes too small. Doctors remain uncertain how woman squeezed into them in the first place."

I mean, sure, I could work out.  I could also be a movie star.  I could be the next president.  I could catch a ride to Mars.  I could....

All The Time In The World...

My husband and I are beach camping this week.  This is our 5th summer here and we've finally got it down to a science.  We have a laminated packing list and each year is pretty much the same... well.. except that we have a kid this year.

The night before we left, I was frantically downloading books onto my Kindle.  I usually read no less than 6.  My record standing at 11.

Five days in and...

I'm just about halfway through the acknowledgements page in book #1.

What I didn't anticipate?  My 14 month old would rather spend every second playing in the sand and playing with the other camp children than inside a cool air conditioned travel trailer with all his toys.

Rookie move.

Oh well. There's always next year.  He'll be 2 and...

Hmm.

I'm guessing it won't happen then either.

Looks like my relaxing with a spritzer, book reading days are over.