Summer Camp

I don't know what I want to do for camp this summer. Do I have to go to camp at all?

Cinderella was undecided on what she wanted to do. This is the first year she was being given a choice.

Mommy, I want to go to Tae Kwon Do camp!

In a few weeks Hansel will be 5. Old enough to attend summer camp. For him the choice was simple. Arts & Crafts, swimming, field trips, hiking, Jedi Training... what more could a kid want?

Ok, I want to go to TKD camp too.

I wanted to tell Cinderella NO. Point out how she and Maleficent did nothing but bad-mouth and complain about that camp for the two summers she was "forced" into going. About how her over-priced-half-day acting camp run by a former child star was all-that-and-a-bag of chips.

And now all of a sudden TKD camp appeals to you because your little brother is going?

Get your own camp!

Then I realized that Cinderella is going to be 11. Puberty is setting in and before we know it she won't want to spend time with her brother.

So we better embrace this time as it will probably be one of the last times that Hansel will get to tag along with his big Sister.

Cinderella and Hansel start camp on Monday. They will be gone every day from 9:30-5pm.

Two down, one to go.

I better enjoy this time with Gretel while I can.

Because I Am a Lazy Wench

Oh, you mean I was supposed to post about Hansel's preschool graduation last week and how I cried the moment I saw his teacher leading a classmate (not him!) by the hand into the classroom and then again at her 1.5 second speech in which she referred to them all as "my babies" and then choked up herself?


Ok. Well I cried.


They wore caps of red, white and blue. Hansel's was white.
They showed us how to count to 12 in sign language.
They sang songs apparently complete with hand movements but which I could not see because every other parent was STANDING IN FRONT OF ME taking pictures of their kid forcing me to hold my camera blindly in the air like some paparazzi hoping to catch some newsworthy photo.
I did manage to catch the moment he was given his diploma.

Not bad, eh?
And yes, his cap is on SIDEWAYS! Seriously, whatthehell?!
But I fixed it for this picture.

He was so proud. And apprently, as I've found out this week, had no clue that he would not be going back to preschool.

(Oh yeah, and our school district sucks ass at scheduling. Cinderella's graduation from 5th grade was the same day. So Prince Charming missed Hansel's ceremony and I missed hers.)

Box of Fire?!

"Did you feel that?"
What?
"The entire livingroom floor just rumbled! It shook like a freight train went through it!"
No.
"What's that smell?"
What smell?
(Ok. Seriously? Why do I have a husband?)
"The boiler, which is directly below the livingroom, has kicked in. The livingroom SHOOK and now it smells like oil in the house."
Out. Everyone out of the house!
Grab the kids, barefoot and still in pjs* and go outside into the yard while Prince Charming investigates.
(*Me. Not them b/c I am a lazy whore who apparently also suffers from bipolar according to some Twitter Troll stranger who only finds me barely amusing so I guess that means I must try harder b/c I should give a shit about his/her/its opinion when really I think it just comes down to the fact that they are jealous b/c the voices talk to ME and not them. But I digress.)
Hide out in side yard after realizing that not only am I still in my pajamas and barefoot but I am also going commando in too-short-shorts that offer unwelcomed glimpses of my vajayjay.
Prince Charming emerges.
From what I can tell, the boiler probably just needs a good cleaning.
Call oil company, have burner cleaned then get told that the chamber/firebox part of the burner (as in the place that contains the FIRE and FLAMES used to heat the water) is cracked and crumbling and could lead to something bad like a flood or to leak FIRE and FLAMES into the WOOD FRAME of our home.
Well, sure, if it keeps rumbling and shaking like that! WHY DID IT DO THAT?!?!
Firebox is being replaced tomorrow.

Did You Know...

... that there was a Wicked Stepmom Store?!?!

No?

Me neither. I forgot about it. Had written it off (at least from the blog) thinking noone really cared for or wanted any silly t-shirts or mugs with my lame-ass amateur poison apple logo. It's been sittin' there for a year now collecting virtual dust.

Apparently I was wrong! I got an email last week from CafePress! Telling me I had made some sales! As in purchases! As in people actually wanting the T-shirts and mugs and magnets, even!

So I spiffed things up a bit, added some fun (and loving) products for the Stepkids and replaced the link on my blog up over there.

Oh, yeah. And ordered myself this shirt. You'd think I would have done that already, but nooooo. Instead I wear a stepmom shirt from someone elses CafePress store.

I'm an effin' Self-Promotion & Marketing Queen, I tell ya!

Where Everything Stops

A mysterious plague has struck our home.
Every one of us has been sick since last week.
Mostly it's your average cold with your run-of-the-mill cold symptoms.
Stuffy nose.
Cough.
Sore throat.
Fever & chills.
As is typically the case, none of us have the same symptoms at the same time but they always cycle through each and every one of us. And some of us, if we're lucky, enjoy a second round of said symptoms.
(The crap coming out of my nose today is just WRONG!)
We've each gone to the doctor. Each been tested for strep. All negative.
Just for fun, I also have a slight case of pink eye, because I am so special.
Never one to be outdone, Prince Charming tops the weird symptoms list. His problem is all in is stomach rendering him unable to eat or drink without suffering excruciating pain.
He's been his doctor, the ER and a gastroenterologist.
He's has blood work, X-Rays, ultrasound, CT scan and an endoscopy.
Everything's come back normal. Well, if you consider this ultrasound pic normal...



(Yes, he's pregnant with a bunny.)
(I can't believe the ultrasound tech encouraged that.)

His doc performed a biopsy during his endoscopy on Tuesday. We get the results today.
Doc tried to assure me he believed it was something viral. But still.
Nothing can bring one's world to a screeching hault like the word B-I-O-P-S-Y.

Ebullience

e·bul·lience
n. Zestful enthusiasm.

Custody & Visitation: Into the Ether

He wrote:

Maleficent –

Our current method of “communicating” is just not working. Ignoring my phone calls and not responding to my emails or voice mails is not doing either of us, or Cinderella, any good.

We need to talk. Please, let’s not go back to the way things were. Not after we’ve worked so hard over the last year and half to move beyond the past. I will make myself available ... so we can resolve this issue.

- Prince Charming

She responded:

There really hasn't been anything to communicate about but the emails work great. Thanks.

Cinderella then came home from visiting with her Mom and said:

Mommy looked at my throat and said it looks really bad.
Mommy thinks I may have strep.
Mommy said I am immune to amoxicillin.
Mommy said I should tell the doctor that I am immune to amoxicillin.
Mommy said augmentin will keep me from having my tonsils taken out.
Mommy said I might have allergies.
Mommy said I should be tested for allergies.

For someone who has nothing to communicate about, Maleficent sure has a lot to say.

Custody & Visitation: Communication Break Down

It's always the same...

Maleficent continues to maintain radio silence.

Citing that Prince Charming's telephone conversations with her are "disruptive in my home and to my health." Dictating that their communications are to now take place via email only.

She refuses to answer or return phone calls. They don't work for Her, she says.

Perhaps it's too much Reality for her fragile Psyche to handle. She can't escape to her distorted view of reality when engaged in an actual conversation with her Daughter's custodian.

She's hiding behind her Role of The Victim. Escaping reality through Active Avoidance. And in so doing stripping Prince Charming of any and all Authority.

She's not answering his emails either.

Maleficent will send an email when she has something to say. When she wants extra time with Cinderella. When she feels the need to remind Prince Charming of an impending deadline to choose summer vacation weeks so she can then pick her vacation time.

ONLY when She has something to say.

Otherwise, Prince Charming's missives get lost in the ether. Questions, unanswered. Concerns, dismissed. Pleas to work things out, ignored.

He's having one-sided conversations.

It's as if He only exists in her World when and IF She allows it.

I'm tempted to yell. To pick up the phone and scream some sense into her. It's frustrating. Stupid. Childish. And mostly a waste of effort and energy.

My View

From my livingroom window.
My neighbor.
One his roof.
Painting.
He's fallen off once before.
Dropped a ladder and sliced open his hand another time.
You would think he'd be a bit more considerate and stop going up there.
I have enough to worry about with my own husband.

Along Came a Spider...

IN. MY. PANTS!

While I was WEARING them!

Holymotheroffuckityfuck.

I shit you not.

LOOK!

'Ello, beastie.

How did I find it? Well, it went something like this.

Get dressed. Decide to wear almost-too-tight stretch capri jeans because it's warm but not warm enough for shorts and the lack of full length mirrors in our case allow me to perpetuate the myth that I am truly still a size 8.

Come downstairs to do some blogging and Twittering (and we all know how long THAT can take... 5 minutes, right???).

Go back upstairs to tend to ignored children.

Put Gretel down for her nap.

Walk around aimlessly picking up toys, tidying up, blahblah whatever.

Feel something kinda scratchy, kinda itchy on my inner thigh.

Determine it feels almost like a loose end to one of those thin-plastic-tag-holder-on thingies.

Scratch at itchy thigh area and tug a little at almost-too-tight capris to try to adjust whatever-it-is that is causing my discomfort.

Feel THROUGH THE JEANS a small bump beneath the fabric.

Hmm...

(Take a moment to quickly go through my head the small handful of things that could possibly be substantial enough to be felt through denim.)

(Feel panic start to set in.)

Casually undo button and zipper and s-l-o-w-l-y peel almost-too-tight capris downward so the insides turn outward because I know that if this itchy/scratchy thing is what I think it is I am going to want IT as far away from ME as possible and will need easy access to the thing that I am hoping it's not in order to brush it away.

Then I see it. On the inside of my almost-too-tight capris.

BIG. BLACK. And it starts RUNNING.

DOWN.

BACK INTO MY PANTS.

Fuckityfuckohhellnoyoudon't!

Quick flick. Leap out of almost-too-tight capris in a single bound. Find still stunned spider on floor. Grab toddler cup toy thing to cover and trap it.

Inspect my leg and see that the spider paired with the almost-too-tight capri jeans left a mark.

A mark!

On my tender thigh flesh!

Run back and forth though my house in my skivvies searching for my digital camera b/c OMG this would make a great blog post!

And here it is...

And just in case you forgot what it was that made the indentation...

Why I Support Breastfeeding

[edited to add sappy photo & note.]

- CLEAVAGE!

- Shirts for me like "Nip/Suck" and "I make breastmilk. What's your Superpower?"

- Knowing that if someone yelled out "NICE RACK" they, for once, meant it.

- Shirts for Gretel like "I'm No Weaner" and "Mother Sucker."

- And if someone did yell out "NICE RACK" finally being able to respond with "Thank you, I grew them myself!"

- While I can no longer fill my nursing bras (yes it is mostly about the boobs for me wannamakesumthinofit?) I can STILL spill out of a padded push-up stuffed-with-tube-socks training regular bra.

(But this is only at night now and only if I have not nursed Her throughout the day and stored up enough of my stuff so I can resemble something like looks almost like a girl and less like a pre-pubescent boy with freakishly large nipples.)

But perhaps the number one reason is sharing the one thing that only She and I have shared from the start. Sitting in her room, skin-to-skin, her hands gently petting the skin of my stomach. Skin once stretched to its limit that is now so soft and pillowy that she takes every opportunity to lift my shirt just enough so she can steal a snuggle. For those few moments, we are both brought back to Day One. The day I became Her Mother. And the day she became My Daughter.

(*Since this post, Gretel is now weaned. It's a bittersweet milestone but one that we were both ready to happen. The tummy snuggles continue and I'm happy to oblige for I get as much of the comforting benefits from the skin-to-skin contact as she does.)

2 Firsts for Gretel

Her first lollipop.
Followed by her first urinary catheterization.
Boy is she strong!
"Yeah, thanks doc. Can we move this along please? I have a big toe IN MY EYE!"
Oops.
"Umm, doc? That is NOT something I particularly want to hear when you are sticking a tube into my daughter's vajayjay."
***
Tests came back negative. No UTI. No diabetes.
Cause of stinky urine and pirate breath. Unknown.