Hyperemesis Gravidarum: what NOT to say!

Irony of ironies, I have barely been able to post the myriad of things I have wanted to, including wrapping the editing of the post where I announce my pregnancy, because I have been too sick.

So, by the way, I'm pregnant.  Yay!

I have always said I was a princess, but man, Hyperemesis Gravidarum just wasn't the thing I wanted to check off in that box as proof.  Not only to Duchess Kate and I hypothetically bond over illness, but this same illness is the reason we publicly announce our pregnancies.  HA!

It is hard to talk about HG when you are actively in the throws of it.  Go figure, talking about puking is hard when that is all you can do.  So I'll not tell you much right now about how I am doing or what this journey has been for me personally, but I will.  Just when I am better.  Presently I am 14 weeks and the clouds are lifting enough that I find this post possible, a few weeks ago it simply wasn't.

This is part hormonal, nauseated, angry rant with a dash of begging and education thrown in for good measure.  And lots of GIFs because they make me happy.

In no particular order because anyone of these if grounds for me aiming at you when I get sick for the 100th time today ...

1. "Oh I had morning sickness too!"

Morning sickness is crummy, I make no bones about it.  But HG is not morning sickness, though by medical definition it is often referred to as "severe morning sickness."  Let me put it this way, if you can count the number of times a day you get/got ill this is NOT the thing to say to me.

2. "Have you tried crackers/ginger/Preggie Pops/Seabands/some-weird-wives-tale/etc.?"

If one more person suggests ginger in any form {typing paused because I actually had to gag and dry heave over this} ... in a word, yes.  Yes.  I have tried all of that.  Desperately. Repeatedly.

3. "Oh my gawd, this one time when I was pregnant I threw up in...."

Do not talk about up-chuck in any form.  Not only do I not care, because that requires energy I do not have, I also cannot take hearing it.  Its also pretty freaking weird but for some reason people seem compelled to tell me.  I have managed to christen every receptacle typical for catching illness and many never intended for acts so vile.  We can swap horror stories some other day, for now please just shhhh.

4. "Have you tried just forcing yourself to eat or drink?"

Seriously?  I am trying not to drop F-bombs here but this one is hard not to reply with a good ol' "eff you" too.  Scientific question: what would happen if you tried to spray a garden hose UP Niagara Falls?  Same dif here.

5.  "But doesn't taking medicine while your pregnant make you nervous?  What if your kid has like a third eye because of that?!"

You're asking the wrong questions.  What if my child is so malnourished that s/he doesn't make it?  What if I am so malnourished or dehydrated that I go into preterm labor or miscarry?  What if both my baby and I don't make it, because that happens with HG?  I hate taking medicine, but without them I wouldn't have gotten this far.  It scares me, but not taking them scares me a lot more.

6. "Oh I understand!  When I was pregnant I would hurl the second I even saw *insert food item here* much less smelled it!"

I am sure that was awful, and I say that without too much snark.  I had that in prior pregnancies and it sucked then.  But here's the thing, I don't vomit because of seeing or smelling food, though that is a sure fire way to make me sick. I am sick no matter what.  Sometimes I can't even talk because the act of opening my mouth and activating my vocal chords does it for me.  I cannot swallow my spit half the time.

7. "I gained 30 lbs when I was pregnant, you're lucky to be losing some!"

Or anything like this.  Anything that comments on my weight loss as though it is some kind of GIFT makes you an undisputed asshole.

8. "Well you haven't lost that much weight."

Seriously, if you were an asshole on #7 this makes it even worse.

If you are looking at me and thinking I haven't lost that much weight chances are you are seeing how puffy and bloated the medication I am taking has made me.  Or even better, and way more TMI but you -- special snowflake that you are -- deserve it: Maybe my tummy is so large because the medication that they have pumped me full of makes it utterly impossible to poop.  Yup.  I am so damned constipated that my entire GI track is as backed up as a LA free way at 5 PM on a weekday.  What I manage to get down may never come out again!  So my tummy IS huge and I AM maintaining weight temporarily, but its not a good thing either.

9. "Oh I bet you are so sick because you're having a boy/girl this time!"

I admit, I have always joked (as a mother of only boys) to my girl friends who have had girls and are uncomfy through their pregnancies that it has to be that they are having a girl causing their misery.  "After all," I tell them, "two women can never occupy a confined space in peace!" so they MUST be having a girl. I swear, I will never say this again.

I have been assured I am having a girl this go-round because of my pathetic state more times than I can count.  Wives tales and gut feelings aside, HG has no known cause, cure, or even a sure-fire treatment plan.  The gender of my child is not what is making me so ill, even if it winds up coincidentally matching your theory.

10.  "Bet this will be your last baby now, eh?"  

I admit, now is NOT the time for me to discuss ever being knocked up again.  But I find any questions like this rude and nauseating when I am not in my current state, why are you inquiring about this at all you nosy weirdo?

Because actually screaming would mean
I have to open my mouth ...

Between the sickness, and the resulting exhaustion and weakness I have experienced as a result, I have not been up to a whole lot.  Sitting up at the computer is actually a challenge.  So whether you found this because YOU are going through HG (hugs and sympathy!) or because a loved one is, hang in there.  My thoughts and prayers are with you.

la purga, part dos

So I sucked at blogging with any regularity again, what else is new right?  Things have been a bit nuts around here but if I start to expalin I will just sound whiney, so leave it at I have been suffering massively, mkay?

Anyhoo, the point of my post was not to whine, but rather to try and redirect my energies and focus on making me and my household as a whole better again.  Yay us!  This has meant for a lot of changes, and I have to be kind with myself on how to inflict, er, I mean institute them.  I have learned/am learning to accept my own boundaries and limitations physically and mentally (again, I would get whiny if I started LOL) and am constantly trying to honor them better than I have been.

While we did a la purga and a 100 Things Challenge a while back I still felt like we had a lot of crap and it was way too easy to not follow through after getting rid of stuff.  After all, all I did was toss stuff, not actually institute any kind of plan on how to not accumulate crap or how to organize the crap I kept.  And, if I am really honest, we just moved and transfered a lot of crap.  We kept tons of it, just moved it.  Not effective in the long run.

Pintercrack, as always, came to my rescue with this gem.

Ah, forty sounds so much less overwhelming than a list of 100 doesn't it?  Truth is with this we are getting rid of waaaay more than 100 things but far more importantly than the fullness of the Goodwill and trash bins around here is that we are trying to actually come up with a place for things.  It is impossible to keep a house clean if things don't ALL have a home.  I know this is obvious, yet somehow we were living in a state of denial about it.  We were also living in a state of chaos as a result.

So, la purga part dos was instituted and I began checking forty things off a list.  I won't share all of them here because, well, some are really boring if nothing else.  However some I will because I might just be soo proud of my accomplishing the impossible.  My hope is that I will see this one through and it will make an actual difference in our little hovel!  As of this writing I have actually already marked off exactly 21 things, so that is a good start!


Without further adieu, here is my list of 40 Things To Purge/Do/Clean:

1. Clean out Food Pantry
2. Outside of fridge
3. Shelves in Kitchen
4. Under Kitchen Sink
5. Inside Kitchen Cabinets
6. Clean the Microwave
7. Clean the Oven
8. Inside of Fridge
9. Buffet Table Thing
10. Bean's Dresser
11. My Dresser
12. Paul Bunyan's Dresser
13. Our Closet
14. Under Our Bed
15. Our Bathroom
16. Meatball's Bathroom
17. Meatball's Closet
18. Meatball's Dresser
19. Meatball's Shelves
20. Beans' Closet
21. Kids Glasses and Cups
22. Pots/Pans/Bowls Cabinet
23. Meatball's desk area
24. Our Desk Area
25. Living Room Toys
26. Living Room Baskets
27. Files
28. Outside Bar Stuff
29. Outdoor Toys
30. Side Yard
31. Shed
32. Washer and Drier Area
33. Cel Phone Apps and Contacts
34. Files on the Computer
35. Pictures
36. Keepsakes
37. Deep Freezer Clean Out & Organize
38. Recipes and Cookbooks, again!
39. Command Center
40. Board Games

P.S.  If you notice a biannual pattern to my sudden cleaning obsessions do not think that I have some kind of reasonable drive to organize.  My in-laws visit us roughly twice a year, usually just after the purgas.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Top 10 Things That Used to be MINE

Last night the Beans was being a two year old.  The nerve.

Paul Bunyan decided to read something on his Kindle Fire in order to tune out the baby death shriek and repetitive chant of "no no bed."  But the second he pulled out that electronic device a gasp rent the air, followed by approximately 2.7634 seconds of rare and precious silence.  Then came "BABY'S BIG PHONE!" and the Beans grabbed it from daddy and expertly jabbed the screen a few times until the Lorax cued up and began wailing "How Bad Can I Be?" on full volume.  Appropriate, no?

This made poor Paul Bunyan sigh and bemoan that he wondered when he would get to read on his Kindle again.  I had about 2.7634 seconds of pity when I realized that if all I was lacking was Kindle access I might be a shit-ton more sane.

 Top Ten Things That Used To Be MINE

1.  My boobs.  Bunyan likes to think of them as his, but a nursing baby wins every time.  No matter what, even when the milk bags are no longer feeding a little vampire any longer they aren't MINE anymore.  MY boobs had some life to them.  They were small, but they at least seemed to not lack filling.  Since nursing children I apparently lost like a third of my boob mass because they are still small but deflated and droopy looking.  What the eff?

They are actually *mine* ... well, they once were.

2.  My Wardrobe.  I used to get dressed because I liked an outfit.  Or I looked good in an outfit or it made me feel good.  Occasionally I dressed in something because it was comfy.  I would even go, dare I say it, shopping for clothes for myself ... and enjoy it!  Now?  I wear whatever happens to be clean, roomy enough to cover this expanding version of myself, and often provides easy access for nursing, running after children, or cleaning something.  Bonus points to clothing that can cover the ridiculous number of stains I obtain in a day without obnoxiously announcing "LOOK this is strawberry applesauce!" and "Yup, that's a booger" whenever you look my way.

3.  My Phone.  I have more than 72 apps on my phone.  I tried counting them but kept forgetting what number I was on, so there are at least that many.  I use 7 maybe 8 of them for myself regularly.  Lets make it a round ten apps for ME.  That means there are 60+ apps that are simply there because I need to put the food on the conveyor belt at the grocery store without Houdini baby trying to escape the cart.  My iPhone is so full of kid apps and pictures of kids that I actually only have room for one playlist of music.  Only reason I get that is because my children haven't realized it is possible to load any of their music on the phone yet.  They do know about my Pandora app though.

The ultimate Mom Purse

4. My purse.  Oh wait, that's funny I don't HAVE a purse anymore.  I have a backpack/diaper bag/first aid kit/snack storage/changing station/toy holder/crumb hoarder hybrid with a monkey hanging off of it that also carries my wallet and chapstick.  When I can find them.  Yes, it is actual one the one pictured above.

5.  My Jewelry.  I used to wear some.  I now wear a wedding band, and not the nice one either.  The other day whilst changing a poo diaper someone (AKA Beans) thought it would be hilarious to start bouncing his cute little baby butt all over the place.  Thus getting nasty baby crap all over my hand.  This had of course happened on the one day so far this year I wore the pretty channeled band Paul Bunyan bought me for Christmas three years ago.  If jewelry isn't an effective way to cause me pain while getting my attention (earrings and necklaces) then it means I am washing shit off diamonds.  Screw jewelry.

6. My Anything-Below-the-Neck.  Hell, who am I kidding?  I have grey hair, wrinkles, and raccoon eyes -- screw it being just the belly I don't want to claim and the varicose veins that make my legs look even worse than before.  What the hell happened to me?  Thank goodness children are cute, because the side effects that come with them are hell.

7.  My Bladder.  Perhaps if we are going for anatomical accuracy it isn't the actual bladder but the muscles of my pelvic wall or floor or whatthefrickenhellever.  I held out hope with the first pregnancy that the whole wetting yourself when you sneezed thing would go away.  Since child number two I am realizing that this is a pregnancy symptom that may never abate.

8.  My Sleep.  I used to have some, with complete cycles and everything.  I can almost remember back that far, but deprivation being what it is I may just be hallucinating.

9.  My Sanity.  I swear, I used to have more of it.

10.  My Life.  I used to have one that revolved around me.  Looking back, I am not sure that it was entirely enjoyable.  This may be exhausting, I might have lost of my sense of Self, and there are moments that straight up suck (anyone claiming otherwise lies) but this is a gift and I am grateful.

Again, I may be hallucinating here though.

Allergy-free Easter

Easter.  I know, it was like forever ago, but I am also ridiculously behind so hang with me!

So, the whole may be deathly allergic to eggs and all the candy worth eating (*sob* Reese's Eggs, I miss you!) totally altered our approach to Easter baskets this year. We wound up wanting to do the eggs hunt and all that jazz  but craving a way to do it sans Epi.

So we needed to keep it allergy free.

This means, because our family is uber speeeshul, that we had to pack plastic eggs (the irony isn't lost) without any traces of real eggs, dairy, nuts, honey, latex, food dyes, soy, and wheat.

So basically, food wasn't happening because I'm pretty sure I'd have had a mutiny on my hands had we put grapes and radish bits in baskets.

Sooo, here is a list if ideas, completely worthless for this year as it is long over but that may be of some use to someone later.

How To Stuff Plastic Eggs Without Killing Anyone I Love, Myself Included:

1.) toy cars
2.) silly putty (dude, it's already in an egg!) *note: Play Doh is cool but be careful with wheat allergies!*
3.) sponge capsules that get slimy and might expand in the water
4.) magnetic letters or numbers
5.) Legos
6.) beads and string for a bracelet
7.) spare change
8.) fun shoe laces
9.) tattoos (do I need to say temporary?)
10.) stickers
11.) little bubble bottles
12.) small figurines, action figures, transformers
13.) tokens or tickets to a fun place (allergens may be present, depending)
14.) glow bracelet (make your hunt glow in the dark!)
15.) notes leading kids on a scavenger hunt

If I had children that liked that sort of thing, I'd have looked into things like hair clips, little nail polish bottles, jewelry, nail stickers, etc. As it is, I really didn't think my dogs deserved that kind if torture.

Ultimately, we didn't use all those ideas. The dollar store is a great resource all things considered here. The point isn't to spend a fortune in the name if bunnies (or even the Resurrection), rather I wanted to not make my kiddos feel like they had to miss out on yet another thing because our genes are a tad whack.

I can attest to this much, it worked. Kids had a blast, no one died. Yay parents!

its a passing phase

Productivity comes in cycles for me.  Sometimes I have like zero ambition, and that can even be an ambitious estimate, while others I seem to be a bit obsessed.

I have to make the most out of the obsessed times because they are usually short lived and often followed by stretches of lazy lostness.  Yes, I make one fabulous housewife.

At any rate, I've been more productive than usual.  I am referring to my in-person-life here because my blogging alter ego has been pretty much worthless lately.  In so doing, I have also developed an abnormally large sense of self confidence, which I figure will either translate to shit getting done or a whole lot of writing material.  I call it a win-win either way.

I have heard that in order to be really truly accountable you have to tell people what your goals are.  If you don't share them, then you never really need to admit you failed.  I usually have no problem castigating myself over my own failures, but what the heck, lets make a list here and see how I do with the public thing:

I have birthdays, summer, and in-law visits on my horizon ... I gotta get crap done ...

(in no particular order)

1. Clean ceiling fans, because I rarely have them off and notice how dirty they are
2. Organize the growing box pathetically labeled "pictures and keepsakes"
3. Finish the 11 year old's baby book *hangs head in shame*
4. Clean house thoroughly closer to visits, not halfsies clean
5. Finish the "measure the kids" ruler thingy that has been half-done for like a year and a half
6. Clean out Meatball's closet
7. Clean out the Bean's closet
8. Clean out toys ... purge the hell outta toys ...
9. Make a Goodwill and/or consignment shop run to ditch some crap
10. Make my kitchen cabinets look less blah
11. Make my/our bedroom not be the one with the door always closed in shame
12. Do something with the bathroom walls, b-o-r-i-n-g!
13. What are we doing for the Beans' birthday?
14. Hair cut, its pathetic and been like a year since I did that
15. Garage -- make the parts that are my problem look less like a bomb test site
16. Garage -- urge and support Paul Bunyan to deal with the rest of the garage
17. The backyard will only be a livable space for a couple months, make it look nice for them
18. Make my Command Center wall so I can at least appear organized!
19. Shave the dog.  Yes, I said that.
20. Come up with an item # 20 because you can't have a list of 19 things!!!

There, that is a start.  I have no real hope of accomplishing all of that in the ridiculously short time frame I am giving myself ... which is like 2 weeks ... but let's see what we can do, eh?

Insanity will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2 ... aren't you glad you don't live here? ... and 1 ...

5 things to *never* say to a reflux mom

Beans, taking the pink goo like a champ!

The Beans, who never does anything halfsies, got sick last week and into this week.  Poor kiddo had horrible chest congestion, the stuffiest/runniest nose in the history of cute little button noses, and not one but two ear infections.

Thusly, I was reminded of the one and only perk I can think of for his earliest days of constant medication needs.

My nearly 2 year old takes drugs like a pro.  Okay, that sounds kinda bad, but it is actually really good.  Well, in context anyway.

Given that Beans had to take meds twice to three times a day from infancy onward he just presumes swallowing nasty goo is part of life.  No fight.  No crying.  No spitting.  No death shriek while writhing on the floor the way Meatball always did.

So I count that as one perk, and likely the only one I could come up with in a pinch.  That said, I don't think I would try to reassure any mama's of babies currently in the midst of GERD that one day they will be able to laugh over being able to dope their kid with ease as a result.  In fact, there are a lot of really stupid things that are said to mamas and dadas of refluxers with the intention of being helpful or soothing that wind up making them want to commit murder ... or aim the fire hose of baby puke their way on the next, inevitable, round.

Five things to NEVER say to a Reflux Mom:

1. Oh its just a little spit up!

Its. Just. A. Little. Spit. Up.  Oooooooh, is that all?  The endless screaming in pain, is that a figment of my imagination?  The refusal to eat OR the constant need to eat, is that also part of me being dramatic?  The contortions my baby puts himself in, the bruises his itty bitty toes give me as he tries to scale me getting away from the horrible burning?  How about the vomit that launches out of him and hits the opposite side of the room?  The constant burping and hiccuping that keeps him awake?  The possible need for surgery, expensive formulas, medication? Go ahead, tell me again how its just a little spit up.

2. Lots of babies have reflux!

Mm-kay.  This may well be true, I honestly don't know the numbers, but I do know that the "reflux" I am talking about isn't standard run of the mill she spits up after every meal kind.  Even if a million other babies are currently cry-puking with their exhausted helpless parents wanting to do anything to make it better right there with me, minimizing how hard this is hardly helps.

3. He/she will grow out of it!

Oh there is a light at the end of the tunnel ... but it can take years.  Even if it takes only a few months, ask yourself this: how much do you actually like sleep?  Ear drums in tact?  And again, it isn't just a baby crying and keeping you up -- your child is suffering.  Yes, I hope the timetable is a short one, but understand the road is a tough one.

4. Do you burp him/her after feeding?

Holy Similac Batman, you mean you are supposed to BURP the baby?!  WTF chapter of What to Expect When You're a Freaking MORON was that part in?!

5. Oh I always had to avoid *insert food here* when I was nursing my baby.

If you are nursing your refluxer, chances are between Google and your doctor you are down to eating saltines and water rations in the hope that it will help.  My elimination diet was exhaustive for my child, and while I happily avoided foods that I knew would make things worse for him it was still challenging as heck to be tired, physically drained, and then to have to watch every single thing that went into my mouth with microscopic intensity.

For formula feeders, this shit be pricey in some cases!  While some babies may drastically improve with the avoidance of certain ingredients or even brands, some need special formulas that one does not get at a regular grocery store.  And the smell?  *shudders*

Bottom line, if you decide to be patronizing, minimizing, or condescending to the parent of a infant/baby/toddler with reflux, you may get shanked with a medicine dropper in the eye.  

*stuff* parents say

Parenthood changes you.

One moment you have dignity and some semblance of self worth, the next you are feeling like hot stuff because you shaved your legs this month, a stolen chicken nugget is a meal, and you feel a huge sense of accomplishment when you teach your children to use a bottle opener for you.

I know in my pre-kid days I was a Judgey McJudgeison who often turned my nose up at parents who's children weren't eating their broccoli with smiles at every meal, saying please and thank you in their sleep, and knowing how to locate an effing salad fork.  Seriously, I don't even  know which one is the salad fork so I am not sure where these delusions came from.  At any rate, I was thinking the other day that there are some real gems that my kid-free friends would be equally horrified and amused-in-a-non-understanding-condescending-way at hearing me utter.

Here are my top fifteen.

Shit I Never Said Before I Became a Mom

1. I used the baby's Nose Freda ... on myself.  I feel better.

2. Thank gawd, it is only pee.

3. Bye bye penis!  Bye bye now! *said in a really animated voice that makes pulling one's pants on acceptable even when one really doesn't want his pants on*

4. I can't tell for sure, let me just sniff his butt.

5. Ha ha ha, they say it is unbreakable!

6. So do you want to wear pants today? Please?

7. Is that a booger or a scab?

8. OMG, seriously, I can go to the grocery store and shop By. My. Self?! (okay I have never said this, but I fantasize about getting to, and that is a new thing)

9. Well at least he didn't swallow it, we are no where near our deductible yet.

10. What, you don't have the number for poison control memorized?

11. Holy flip flops Wolverine, trim those toenails!

12. When did I get that black eye?

13. Oh it is only a little poop/pee/vomit/snot.

14. Did you actually use soap/toothpaste this time, or just water?

15. Dora is a hooker, DJ Lance is on acid, but Caillou is a whiny bitch.

What about you?  What are some zingers you never thought you'd say prior to parenthood?

mod podge, hair "gel," and cheapo x-mas gifts

Sometimes even I can be amazed at my own ability to be overly confident.  For Christmas this year I decided that somehow I was capable of not only being crafty, but sewing.  I don't know what the hell I was thinking with the sewing part, but that is a separate post that I will probably drink my way through writing ... and sewing, I think it may improve my odds.

This post?  Well I thought this would be easy, after all I have done this stuff before.

Remember my easy yet cheap gift for my mother?  This one?

Yeah, all of two ingredients, Dawn dish soap and sugar, and you have a pretty scrub.  I foolishly signed on to make about a million of them for a baby shower  which was adorable by the way.  Here is a picture of the blue version since the mama-to-be was baking a baby boy in her oven:

So by the time December rolls around I am like a scrub-making-bad-ass.  Done it a few times, can't possibly screw it up.  Right? HA!

I made the scrub without a problem, because honestly it is that easy.  But then I looked at that jar and I thought to myself "Self, I don't have any more cute spoons.  I need a pretty label!"  So I sat down and I made these.

So far so good, ultimately.  I am not a thousand percent pleased with the label but I needed to glue those babies on and get my jars drying because some of my presents were getting mailed and I needed to get on that.  So out comes the Mod Podge and in comes all those opportunities to screw stuff up.

How to Eff Up EASY Christmas Gifts in Twelve Simple Steps:

Step One: Gather your supplies.  This should be easy, make your scrub following the directions found here, and pour into the jars of your choice.

Then grab Mod Podge, and something to paint it on with.  Side note: If you are going to use a really cheap brush you happen to have and intend to just throw away when you are done please note the odd pricking sense of foreboding you have because the brush is about to be your downfall.

Step Two: Nearly rip all the skin on your hands off trying to open the murther fracking Mod Podge that has sealed itself within the bottle.

Step Three: Put some Mod Podge on the top of the jar.

Step Four: Put one of your labels on top of the Mod Podge.

Step Five: Start putting Mod Podge on top of the label.  This is when shit starts going wrong.

Step Six: Realize that the ink from your printer is smearing and you need to use fewer brush strokes.

Step Seven: Realize that your cheap assed brush is shedding hairs into your pretty Mod Podged labels.  Try to pick it out and swear at it without smearing additional ink around.

Step Eight: Run your hands through your hair in frustration and realize you just Mod Podged your hair into a pony tail.  There is no picture accompanying this damn step.

Step Nine: Realize that you might have just Mod Podged the goshdamn lids and/or rings on to the jars and remove/wipe as necessary.

Step Ten: Add another layer of Mod Podge while still picking out hairs from the brush and feeling your own hair solidify.

Step Eleven: DO NOT TOUCH THEM.  Just leave them alone, you have done enough damage, let them dry.

Step Twelve: Remember to put a hat on before answering the door for the FedEx guy because you haven't had time to take a shower so you still look suspiciously like a scene from Something About Mary.

So with all this success rolling around the house I decided today is not the day to attempt sewing, something I cannot do well at on a good day.  I figure when I need to chisel my hair we can safely assume this is not a "good day."

There is the finished, not wrapped product.  Not quite as cute as I pictured, but at least no one knows what I was aiming for.  Without that mental image to compare it too I think they work just fine.

how to boil an egg

How to Boil an Egg* in Ten "Easy" Steps -- Domestic Rocket Surgeon Style

Step One: Remember to buy eggs at the damn store.  Once you have your eggs put the desired number in the pan.

Step Two: Fill the pan -- or is it a pot?  I guess this is a pot and not a pan. -- fill the pot with water so that it just covers the eggs.  Some may float, this is because nothing is simple and life wants to mess with you at any given opportunity.

Step Three: Try to not drop the pot of water while you put it on the stove, that would suck.  Stick that burner on high.  Oh you can add some salt if you want ... and some lime and a shot of tequila because your in the goshdamn kitchen and it seems appropriate.

Step Four: When the water finally hits a boiling point (watched pots eventually boil, it just takes 27 years) you want to set a timer for 5 minutes.  Leave the eggs there in their purgatory.

that looks like three minutes ... right?

Step Five: Come running into the kitchen chanting "oh shit" because you totally forgot to watch the pot and have no real idea how long those damn eggs have been at a rolling boil.  Assume it has only been like a minute or two and set the timer accordingly.

Step Six: Be grateful that your husband is either not home or hasn't noticed Step Five because he always has some speech about responsibility and you being an awful lot like your mother prepared for moments like that.

Step Seven: When the timer goes off, just shut the heat off and leave the eggs on the burner.  Unless you totally blew it on Step Five and you think they were boiling for a while already.  Then take them off the burner but leave them in the water.

Step Eight: Once the boiled egg water is at a temperature that won't melt your skin right the eff off (I recommend just waiting like two hours, its easier and takes less time than a burn heals) drain the water.  That sounds so easy, but unless you only boiled one egg you are going to feel like a drunk monkey trying to hold an octopus in a pot while trying to do it.  Either way, get the warmish water out and fill with cold water and some ice cubes.  Exceptionally lazy domestic divas let the water get cold on their own and just add ice.  This will probably promote the growth of botulism or swine flu or something horrible, so it is probably not a good idea.

Step Nine: Once the eggs are cold they supposedly peal easier.  Frankly I think this is like a "your eyes will stick that way if you cross them" lie.  Mostly I just like having a reason to ignore them a little longer.

Step Ten: Cut the shit out of your fingers on egg shells.  The injuries you sustain will be similar in agony to a paper cut, but yield a lot less emotional support from your peers.  Except me, I feel bad for you.  Try not to bleed all over your stupid eggs while you wonder for the millionth time why you went to all this trouble to make a food that smells like 16-day-old-rancid-ass.

And there you have it, the ten "easy" steps to boiling an egg.

* For those following the Saga of the Bubble Boy Beans, yes, eggs are one of the could-kill-him-items.  Obviously not a frequent food here any longer, this was an idea from a while ago that I thought was worthy of sharing.  Perhaps some of you really don't know how to boil an egg properly? Ah, well now you do!  You're welcome.

20 Things I Want My Sons To Know

I have recently seen lots of pins on Pintercrack that sound like "10 things mothers of boys should know" or "15 things you should raise your son to understand" or something along those lines.  I have read some of them with a smile and nod, and some of them offended the spit right out of me.  Many of them focused so much on how to treat or get women that it implies that this is the sole life-goal men should have.  Others were so watery and transparent that I really felt they were almost demeaning.  The daughter ones are just as bad, but I can't speak with much authority on them since I don't/haven't raised girls.

But I decided to to my own boy list, one with some dignity and humor.  It got longer than I meant for it to, so we are now up to twenty.  Some of them, I admit, are taken from some of these lists I found pinned (like #4, totally true but makes me laugh to read it every time).  But the vast majority of them are mine.  

20 Things I Want My Sons To Know

1. Some chicks dig scars, some tattoos, all women appreciate a man in a well fitting suit and tie.

2. Spitting in publicly gross. Even in sports, don't do it unless you must.

3. Aim.

4. Dutch ovens are never funny. EVER.

Not this kind

5. Education is the one thing no one can ever take from you, no one can force on you, and can make all the difference in your world.

6. No woman is worth your dignity, except The One, and she'll never want you to compromise your dignity. 

7. Just because you're male and society tolerates certain things by virtue of being male doesn't mean you should be impulsive. Your first, and any number of times after, should only happen when you're ready and when it matters.

8. Wear protection, always. From riding your bike on forward, if protective devices are made for the activity in question use them.  Helmets can save your life, and "helmets" can prevent life from being created. Wear them.

9. Respect the work others do.

10. I will always think you're awesome but you'll have to prove it to the rest of the world.

Trust me, it looks stupid

11. Demeaning others is never funny.

12. Don't just dream, do. The only things beyond your reach are things you're not brave enough, devoted enough or strong enough to chase.

13. There is no such thing as "woman's work."  Men who think there is are either lonely or in relationships with weak women.

14. Never wear pants that require you to walk like a pregnant woman to keep them from falling down. You shouldn't wear women's pants either unless you plan to go full throttle and live as one.

15. Be courteous to everyone, not just pretty women or people you hope can help you.

Rock on, baby!

16. If you ever call a woman a word that starts with B and rhymes with "witch" just know that she should lose all respect for you.

17. Being a "mama's boy" as an adult is not a good thing.  I love you, I will always want to be part of your life and will be there for uou, but once you're married your wife becomes your immediate family along with any children you have. Dad and I become your extended family.  Be the independent man I have raised.

18. Reading is always awesome, keep doing it.

19. Say how you feel, I know sometimes it is hard or awkward, but always worth it.

20. Your imagination just might save the world someday, I believe it.

the top five worst places ...

I love lists. I live by them. I have an app on my phone called Clear that I'd probably die without. I put stuff on my to do list like "shower " or "eat lunch" and I swear there are days I'd forget to do both were it not in my list of things to get done.

I also love top tens, fives, or whatever number lists too. It appeals to my listiness and my short attention span to give me the best (or worst) at a glance.

Well here is another for you, not conventional, but if you are a parent you will understand and may be able to add to it.

The Top Five Worst Places For Your Kid To Make the "Poop Face" 

1. In a family heirloom, at a quiet moment, surrounded by microphones.  Oh yes, every single person in my very large Catholic family on my mother's side has worn the same Christening gown, painstakingly and lovingly created by my great grandmother from her children on down.  It is so delicate, so beautiful, so terrifying.  So when Meatball's baptism was wrapping up and we were in the home stretch to getting that sucker off and back in the box with my aunt where I'd no longer have to worry about it being destroyed by myself or my progeny I was taking a sigh of relief thinking we were in the clear.  Oh, no, not so lucky.  Have you ever noticed that those adorable itty bitty newborns, with their itty bitty cute bodies that are ever so tiny can make flatulent noises that out-do Fat Bastard in Austin Powers?  Well now have your little munchkin firing off a five minute symphony while on an alter surrounded by microphones.  Lovely. The whole church was laughing, and I was dying, praying that those Huggies held up to the onslaught.  For the record they did.

Am I the only one a bit
horrified with these commercials?

2. The bathtub. Is it better because you can clean them up easily -- hey they are already in the tub! -- or worse because they are sans catching system and diaper free? How do you clean the tub if your kiddo has had a little more fiber than they aught?  Given that the floor of my tub is textured for reduced slipping risk, I find the prospect of the kid dropping a deuce in the tub quite horrific.

3. In their PJs, seconds from falling asleep.  Are my children the only ones who do this?  Oh man, I am so tired, I'd better take a poo first, cuz I can sleep so much better in a warm diaper.  So standing over them in their ten-seconds-til-they're-out-state while they wrap up that package you have to give yourself the talk.  No, it would be bad to leave them in that all night.  Yes, it will probably wake them up and you will have to start the night time routine, complete with fifty-six readings of Good Night Moon and Fox in Socks, all over again.  But it would be like a super-bad-mom-moment to leave them in that foul thing, even for a little while.  They will have a nasty rash, sigh, lets do this.  So I change them, and we start all over again.  I swear, they do it on purpose.

4. In line to have your picture taken with the Santa at the mall. My oldest was only three months old for his first mall Santa picture. As a first time mom I was so exited and had this adorable little outfit picked out for him with overalls and little boots and socks and everything. Quite the adorable, if not thoroughly complicated ensemble. So after two hours of waiting in line and only five people away from the fat man in red himself, when the Meatball's face turned purple with effort, I was not going anywhere. Sorry Saint Nick, I would loose my place and have to start all over if I went to the nearest changing table and disrobed the intricate series of buttons, flaps and straps, untied the little fake hiking boots that this cute little outfit contained and reassembled the kid after a thorough decontamination. So when it was our turn, eyes watering, I marched up to a retiree who generously had donated his time, apologized and set my little stink bomb down on his knee. Kudos to that Santa, he took a deep breath through his mouth, said the suit was machine washable and smiled for the camera. I display that picture every year, and laugh whenever I see it.

Ew, really now?!

5. When you are getting professional, non seasonal, pictures taken. Competition among brothers can be intense. The Beans hosed his father quite thoroughly in his newborn pictures -- because you just have to get a picture of that little bum -- but I think he instinctively knew number one wasn't enough. So when we went for his one year old shots he just had to up the ante. While posing like the adorable lil ham he is and working it like a professional model, he suddenly stopped mid-shoot and started grunting like a tennis player at Wimbledon. The photographer, who apparently does not have children, panicked and asked what was wrong with him. She must have realized that he was okay because we as parents wee laughing hysterically off to the side and asked of we could take a ten minute break.

I call it a tie between the two boys, simply because I don't want anyone to try to out do the other any more.