27 February 2010

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Contraceptives....

My kid has pink eye.

No, stop it, that wasn’t a sympathy fish hook. It’s just the beginning part of the explanation as to why I was in the Rite Aid medication section today.

Why is this:

Above this:

And this?

I just feel like you could have named this aisle better. Maybe "Family Prevention" or "Sperm Deterrents". Or maybe just plain 'ole "Seventeen ways to avoid making a trip to Planned Parenthood".

Anyway, Rite Aid, if you’re reading this, I’m super confused.

21 February 2010

Into That Good Night....

Dear Sergeant Husband,

I need to get this out, and I couldn’t in good conscience write you this letter and put it in your bag before you left. I feel a little whiny and self serving, and you know how much I hate admitting that I’m anything less than a halo-wearing rockstar who makes a kick ass meatloaf.
Anyway, here’s the thing:

I hate when you leave.

Every time I have to watch you pack a bag, even if it’s only for a week or a month, it puts a knot in my stomach until the second you return from playing Army. It makes me petulant, even. Sometimes I want to take your sneakers or your boots or your razor and hide them, so that you can’t leave. Now, of course, I understand that wouldn’t actually keep you home, but it makes me smile a little bit, and that’s something that I feel a bit short of lately.

It didn’t take the baby long to realize that you’re gone, either. He walked around the house calling you, and when he didn’t get an answer from you, he came and called for me. Thank god I answered him, because he looked really confused. I even tried to explain it to him, but he got distracted and tried to feed me his sock. You know how he gets. It’s probably better, anyway. You being gone makes me teary, and when I cry, he head butts me. At least when you’re gone, your logic and genetics are here.

Now, I know I’m not the only one. I know that there are people who’ve had it much worse…long deployments, deaths…. I really shouldn’t gripe at all, but I can’t keep from throwing myself a teeny, tiny pity party, so that I can get it out of my system and move through the next little while at least a little productively.

Since you usually don’t read my blog and I’ll probably want to back out of these offers later, I’m going to make a list of things I’d do if you were just at home when I get there:

I’ll clean your clothes up out of the bathroom without a word, or even any silent seething. I’ll make you lasagna, pop your back, and not look at you sideways when you want to watch “Pardon the Interruption” instead of “Iron Chef”. If it snows again, I’ll shovel the driveway, and if the snow magically melts, I’ll mow the lawn. I won’t wake you up when you snore, I won’t get mad when you make an inappropriate joke, and I’ll totally let you pick out the ice cream flavors for the next six months.

Just come home safe and soon.

I love you.

Snips And Snails And Kitty Food Popcorn

Know what’s gross?

Cat food.

Know what’s grosser?

Eating cat food.

And right now, you’re probably either scratching your head in confusion, or wishing you hadn’t clicked on my article. But you did click on it, and let’s be honest: some tiny, nosy part of you wants to know why I ate cat food.

See, I didn’t choose to eat the cat food. I made the mistake of dozing on the couch while my terror…I mean, toddler, sat mesmerized by Linny, Tuck, and Ming Ming, too. Unfortunately, he did not stay mesmerized.

Please, don’t misunderstand. I do NOT make it a habit to fall asleep while my kid is loose. Hell, I can’t even pee while he’s awake without him trying to make an open-bleach-bottle-ginsu-knife-hot-oven-rack art piece in the middle of my living room. I really do pay attention to my kid. I hardly take my eyes off him. But this particular day, if I had to hear how “Sewious” saving the baby dragon was for one more instant, I was going to have to google “how to cut like an emo kid” to relieve some of the suffering.

Rather than googling, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, it was because something small and gritty had been shoved in my mouth. I sat up, and watched as my son popped a piece of cat food into his mouth. Then he tapped my mouth, and smiled, “Fankoo”. I gagged on the fishie shaped realization that I’d just had cat food shoved into my mouth. Scoob laughed.

Now, in all fairness, he was being very kind and gracious. He loves cat food in a big way. So much, in fact, that I’ve ceased every attempt to keep it away from him. I figure eventually he’ll either stop doing it, or his first girlfriend will not visit our house more than once. Either way, there will be a ray of sunshine poking out of that raincloud.

For now, however, I am stuck without that ray of sunshine, because I’m too busy picking twice processed salmon leftovers out of my teeth.