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All posts for the month November, 2017

I Think I’m Turning I-Insane, I Really Think So

Published November 14, 2017 by sarcasmica

That is supposed to be said to the tune of “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors.

If you handed me my purple, loud, cherubic daughter at the hospital and said, “She is gonna sleep like a champ for you starting at 11 weeks!! But when she starts losing baby teeth she will turn into a nightmare.” I would have gladly accepted her. Let’s face it, she was my second and the first never slept… ever. And also, when you are handed a newborn, the day this child begins losing teeth she does not yet possess is so far in the distance, it does not register. It’s like when strangers ask when you’re going to have another baby while you are still sporting the hospital diapers on your own body.

Let me just say, however, this is by far the worst stage this offspring has limped into. The drama. The screaming. The avoidance of all oral hygiene rules. The face map of all items ingested that day- all soft tearable, malleable foods. The screaming refusal of any food unable to be consumed with only 1/4 of her mouth. THE INSANITY!

She has lost six teeth already. 6. The anxiety and paranoia she is capable of is Kardashian levels, people. The child is just as bad with the 7th loose tooth as she was with the first. This is my payback for enjoying an infant who began sleeping 8 hours at 11 weeks old. Take heart, new parents, we all get it one way or another.

I actually wrestled with my daughter tonight over her miniature tooth brush. I went through the parental embarrassment of being seen in public with a child whose teeth look like they were coated in a Twix bar …. three days ago. I will not do it again. Did I mention she’s already lost six teeth?

So as it turns out, touching toothpaste to your tooth does not get it clean.

I am a monster!

Once I had a firm grip on the brush, I gently brushed her two permanent front teeth. I did not brush the loose one, but by the sound of it I was tearing the loose one out of her head one gum strand at a time.

Because of my careless and reckless light gentle scrubbing, her gum bled about as much as could fit on the head of a pin.

Hellfire rained down through the skylight. BLOOD?!?!?! What kind of Momster are you?!!? (again, she has been through this six times. Six times she has lived. Six times she was actually rewarded by that goddamned tooth fairy who just flits in when the battle is over and takes credit)

Three rinses which were 1/4 snot, 1/2 water, and 1/4 tears with a light essence of dirty blood mouth, and her mouth was nearly acceptable. I did not even tempt my last brain cell to make it through the fight of cleaning her face. She wiped half of it and that’s half more than was clean before we started.

I threw her pajamas over her head and tried not staring fiery daggers at the over-reactive hell spawn she was behaving like while she seethed smoke and snot out of her scrunched up nose at me while alternately sobbing.

So adolescence is gonna be a party.

Motherhood trains you for many things. Asylum Life stands out tonight as number one. Both running the joint and/or living comfortably in it. Right now I think i’ll take a cell and lock myself in for about eight more teeth.

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Vanity Is A Bitch

Published November 10, 2017 by sarcasmica

I grew up always the tallest girl in my class. Added to that my linebacker shoulders and Andre the Giant sized feet, childhood was …. interesting. I say that because, despite having two older brothers who loved picking on me alongside their older, cooler, pothead friends who also contributed, I had fairly healthy self-esteem.

School was inconsequential – I can now say – simply because I learned early on that if I made the first joke about my weight or tomboy tendencies, it took the heat off the burn. People always teased me for being fat, but in my mind that was a no-brainer. That’s like calling someone blonde and expecting it to hurt. “Duh, dude. Duh.”

Finding confidence despite my size is something I’ve always taken pride in. Do you know how uncomfortable it is for someone who hates being in the spotlight to have it thrust upon you simply with the height of your body? In my twenties, I always felt the heat in my cheeks walking into a club with my normal-sized petite friends. If I was smart, I would have found another tall chub to walk in with. NooOOOOoo, I had to walk in with the blond/brunette 5’4 – 5’6 height slim friends so people could mistake me for their bouncer, body guard, or dikey friend. If I was smarter, I would not overcompensate for confidence with 3 inch heels. I was usually uncomfortable-looking and never was asked to dance or bought a drink for. Literally. This is not said for sympathy, just context.

Vanity has never been big on my list of worries despite what I have pointed out. I wear make up when I want to and my hair is usually in a clip. Hair and make up are a constant class I just kind of peek in and see if it’s worth a sit down.

Now i’m 41 with braces. I’m 41 with braces covering a couple of gaps in my mouth where teeth once resided. I had baby teeth that lasted far beyond their expectancy. The only bonus of the braces is that they helped distract from the gaps… though never fully covered them up. I have had to hide my smile for the last year and a half. Every picture with kids, with friends, with the husband, every laughing moment, every fun candid feeling always vigilant to shut my lips tight so evidence of my current status does not show. All the work and appreciation for myself being comfortable in my own skin has gone out the window with a few pulled teeth and orthodontia.

Now I get to move onto the next step: implants. Huzzah! First I have to have the braces removed, which I honestly cannot WAIT to have happen. No more wires poking, cutting, rubbing. Caramel can very slightly come back into my life. The next part is where my 12 year old insecure inner child rears her embarrassed head. Prep for a dental implant is not immediate. I have to wait some time before an actual post is put into my mouth.

Today my wonderful husband stumbled into a land mine on the phone with me. The sheer act of having to have a conversation with someone else about buying teeth, affording teeth, implanting teeth sent me over the edge. It’s humiliating. It’s not normal! He is, of course, my best friend and knows all of my deep dark secrets and loves me no matter what blah, blah blah. Having to discuss the plan for replacing my teeth with him reduced me to a rocking, crying blubbering moron feeling like a giant piece of white trash.

What is the first image that comes to mind when thinking about an ignorant, trashy person in terms of physicality? Teeth. What is your first impression you make on someone? A smile. I have a perfect trifecta of humiliation; unusual height, overweight, and visibly missing teeth.

I would love to say that I am an elevated human being who does not discriminate or judge based on looks. I would be a big fat liar. I do. Despite my best intentions, I do. I see the instant reaction people have when I laugh uninhibited at a joke and they get the full force of my mouth. I see the change in the face of the cashier who is open and friendly until I answer a question or smile.

I will try my hardest to find some sort of positive spin on being a 5’11 over 250lb adult who will be waiting not-so-patiently for teeth to be implanted into my mouth.

August Mom Again

Published November 2, 2017 by sarcasmica

Hello again, it’s me. Your friendly conscious neighborhood August mom. I was staring at my computer screen wanting to get so much off my chest, but then I realized I just want a second cup of coffee instead.

November kicks my ass every year. Every. F-ing. Year.

I love Halloween. Love it. It’s my fave for those millennial readers 🙂 After it’s all over, I always get a little blue. I procrastinate taking down the decorations. I make a mental note of the neighbors that are cleared out and cleaned up by November 1st.

There is so much prep that happens leading up to Halloween, y’all, my brain is just scrambled eggs by the time it’s over. I’m always left thinking, “Really?! That’s it?! It’s done for another year ?!!”

Think about it.. back to school, parent/teacher conferences, all the fucking communication – or lack thereof – between teachers and myself, my daughter’s birthday, then my birthday, then BAM! Halloween.

And then it’s November and i’m looking at Christmas decorations at the pharmacy. November is my husband’s birthday and Thanksgiving, and before I know it it’s anniversary time and then Christmas. Getting older just means less prep and organization between shit. It’s all, ‘Really? Already?’ while everyone around you is holding a calendar wondering what your malfunction is.

This year my son decided to mature. He decided to do this not with a job or paying rent, but by going trick or treating with new friends in our new neighborhood. They warn you this will happen. They warn you when you least expect it, your kids grow up. They don’t warn you it will happen in the form of ditching mom on her favorite holiday to go ring doorbells and take candy!

Ok, i’m calm. Sorry. I am so proud of my anxious, worried, safety-minded, cautious boy for going out and conquering the neighborhood dressed as a psychotic murderous animatronic  bunny. But why couldn’t he warn me last year that it would be the last family trick or treating year?

He is my oldest and he’s (finally) growing up. He actually commented while doing homework last night – which, by the way, has been meltdown free all year!!! – that he cares about his work and he wants to get good grades.

Huh?! Where is my child?! What the fuck is happening right now?!

All of this is happening while we are having minor construction done on the house. We are adding a deck to our nonexistent back yard. I’m supposed to be keeping track of shit like schedules and ordering crap I know nothing about when I can’t even manage a home cooked meal for my family every night. Every day is a magic trick of turning my seemingly empty pantry and fridge into not one, not two, but three meals for my kids! Somehow there is food in their lunchboxes that does not get a note home from CPS for me every day. And it’s not because I don’t go to the grocery store. I’m there all the time! But still we never seem to have one important ingredient each day.

I am not an organized person. I am an August Mom. I am getting by. I am dealing and managing, but just barely. I’m one missed cup of coffee away from a mental break down at all times, it seems. My husband, who has been working very hard lately coincidentally, and I had a fight last night about fucking deck lights. Deck lights! Why can’t we fight about who loves who more, or who wants to have more sex? Or why do you spend money on all of these gifts for me? Why waste that brain energy on fucking deck lighting?!

 

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