Walk of Shame, the Day he put the Car in the River, and Reasons for my Divorce (in case you were wondering)

I can’t not tell this story.  It’s just too good. (And it’s my blog so I do what I want.)

The car continued to fly down the road, across the grass and then flew 20 feet over a pile of logs and stumps before landing gently in the river.  23622466_10156017524466108_8187372101427567255_n

The man admits that he was going at least 45 in a 30, just before a one lane bridge on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in the dark.  After it rained all night.  And was 19 degrees.  And he procrastinated on putting winter tires on for the past 3 weeks.  I call this poor judgment.  He calls it an accident.

He was lucky however that he didn’t die.  Just to the right of the car, the river goes over some rapids and under the bridge.  If the car had floated, he would have died.  If he had landed farther downstream he would have died.  If someone hadn’t come along just as he climbed up the bank and to the road and offered him a ride, he would have died.  Instead he landed softly and took a moment to think before he got out.


We went the next day to have the car towed out.  Not an easy task as it had to be dragged over all that debris that he never touched as he flew over.  He had to get into the water to secure the winch to a back tire.

Then Karma struck.


The driver’s door opened and the one thing he had left in the car floated gently out, around the back and down the stream:  his favorite pool cue in its special wooden carpeted case.  He stood frozen in horror until it had disappeared under the bridge.  Only then did he hear me asking if he was going to try to save it.  Too late.  It was gone.

The winch broke twice hauling the car over a huge stump.  By the time it was on the back of the tow truck it was a wreck.  He dragged it up the road a ways to make sure it was secure.  Then the next lapse in judgment occurred, the man who drove his car into a river turned my van around in the middle of that same dirt road, around a blind corner with me and my children in it.

I followed the tow truck to the junk yard, watching for pieces falling off the car and enjoying the sparks against the pavement.  This whole thing felt a lot like my marriage for the past two years.  I’m not sure what pieces fell off.  I think I was just trying to keep it duct taped together.

Ah, but the last bit of Karma was still to happen.  At the junkyard he discovered that his check for the tow guy was in his pocket the whole time and was soaking wet.  Unusable.  He looked up at me as I sat behind the wheel.  Like I was going to do something to rescue him once again, like a thousand times before.  I just stared back.  Nope, not going to write you a check for this one.  But I will remember watching that pool cue case floating ever so gently out of the driver’s door of the car.




Marriage, the Plunger Effect on sleep and exercise.

I’ll have to look back and see if I’ve explained the plunger effect before.  My husband plunges the  toilet VIOLENTLY so that there’s water and other things all over the bathroom floor.  Instead of using finesse, he uses FORCE like the suction of an F4 hurricane.  This M.O. occurs in other things he does as well.  It’s become a theme in our house.

Forward to today.  I’ve been on him about coming to bed with me instead of sitting on the couch watching television until he falls asleep and then waking up in the middle of the night and coming to bed.  Going to bed at the same time is really important to the relationship.  We have very little time together with only one day off together, 2 little kids, 3 adult children, and all the chores that come with living up here on this hill in the woods.

I’ve also been on him about exercise.  Because he gets none.

Then comes the PLUNGER EFFECT.  It started two nights ago.  He runs upstairs at 9, jumps into bed, and is sound asleep before I get there.  Then he gets up at 5:30 to exercise which I’m pretty sure means coffee and morning television, especially since I found the elliptical unplugged when I got up.  So then he’s so tired by 8:30 at night that he runs to bed again.   I’ve been very clear and specific about wanting to go to bed “together.”  I think.  Do I have to be so specific and include 6 minutes and 35 seconds of conversation at night in my request?

Do all men do this?

More penis stories

Little boys are so weird.  Already obsessed.  The 4 year old has begun falling asleep with his hands down his pants.  Last night when I tucked him in and rearranged his blankets just so, which meant pulling them all down and starting over, he was down there rubbing away.  I said “What are you doing?”  And he got so embarrassed.  LOL.  Poor little kid.  It’s like his own personal sleep aid.

Then this morning he was so sick.   We all are.  I let him snuggle on my lap in the recliner, with my oldest child sitting next to us.  I wasn’t dressed yet and had this thin v-next t-shirt on.  Next thing I know he’s rubbing my nipple with one finger.  “Stop with the nipple rubbing.” I said to him and the 21 year old started laughing hysterically.  I think she comes here for the hilariousness of my life.

I think the poor thing is also constipated.  For the two days I was truly down and out with the flu, I don’t think his sister made him drink anything.  So the husband was going to town for supplies this morning and I asked him to get some Fleet suppositories.

“Where can I find them?” he asked.

“In the poop section.”  I answered.  “Blue box maybe, they have orange handles.  Spelled FLEET..”  Seemed pretty clear to me.

“But where’s that?” he asked.

“With the laxatives,” answered the oldest child again.

“Where?” he asked again.


He looked surprised and that’s when the oldest child started laughing hysterically again.  “He thought you meant here.  You would have a Poop Section Mom.  That is so you.”

There is nothing wrong with making sure a person is regular.  Next time they ask me for some smooth move tea or want me to look at their turds to see if whole piece of whatever are normal or if I see the face of Darth Vader, I’m going to remind them that pooping is EVERYTHING.

Another Penis story . . . Little boys love their penises.

My friend seemed to like the penis story I posted a couple of days ago, so here’s another.  I’ll create a category just for these stories so she can follow them easily.  YOU ARE WELCOME.

The littlest one who is now three was taking a bath last night.  I was cleaning the sink like a good housekeeper while he played.  Then I looked over and he had his legs really fair apart and he was yanking on his penis, stretching it out as far as it would go and it was purple and he had it under the bathtub faucet that I’d left on to let him play.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed, as any good mom would when faced with this situation.

“I am cleaning my pee-pee.”

I think there was more to it than that.


I swear men are regressing in their evolution.

I said “We’re out of money for the month.  And both vehicles need gas.”

And about 10 seconds later he asked “Do you want to stop by the children’s second hand clothing store today?”

If I haven’t got any money for gas, then I don’t have money for clothing.  It seem logical to me.  What part did we not connect on.

N0 money=No gas=No clothing

I think he heard something more like “I feel poor and I’m too lazy to go out in the cold to put gas in the car, so will you do this and then drive me to shop?”

No money=Me whining=Fix it and take me shopping.

What I really want is more like

No money=Do something about it

He’s been home and on crutches for over two weeks and if he continues to watch Do-It-Yourself shows I’m going to duct tape him to his recliner and make him watch Sisterhood of the Traveling pants and the sequel.  So If he calls you sobbing and talking about how big his butt is, you’ll know that it worked.

Baby Days and Teenage Days lead to confusion

How did my days become all about juggling a baby AGAIN???  He’s adorable of course, but at this late stage in life I should be lounging in my pajamas and drinking coffee while watching Vampire Diaries, not Sesame Street.  I found myself this morning googling:  What’s wrong with Natalie Portman on Sesame Street?

She was losing her voice.  Hey, I was concerned.

Should I have to deal with random spit-up on my clothing at the SAME TIME I have to deal with sex, drugs, and whatever that music is that they’re listening to that makes Rock and Roll seem very tame?  I’m teaching someone how to say Mama at the same time I’m teaching someone else how to drive.  I’m wiping poop off someone’s back at the same time I’m still trying to get the eyeliner out of the carpet.  Soon I’ll discover I’ve stuck the wrong kid in the playpen and put soda in the baby’s bottle.

I did reach for a baby bottle one day instead of my beer bottle.

Am I trying to get someone to take a long afternoon nap or driving kids around and around and around?

Soon I’ll find the baby chewing on the cell phone and the girls asking me why I keep sticking pacifiers in their mouths.

Meanwhile and completely off topic, or maybe on the same topic I made a monthly budget and the ONLY THING he wanted to raise was the amount spent on alcohol.  Men.

But now for a brief interlude:  The closet cat thinks he is the baby.  These pictures are not staged.

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On becoming more ZEN with men and pets

Life is a test of patience, which at times I fail badly.  And what Hutch said once was true, that whatever the issue is with me will be the issue that keeps showing up at my door.  Only she was talking about my job and I’m generalizing that to my entire life.


This one is a true test of patience for any woman.  (Some of this post I’m stealing from Abrah, but she won’t mind because she loves me.)

  • Is it necessary to spend 45 minutes talking to a dog about going for a walk, without actually leaving yet?
  • Does my pregnancy cause him to sit in a recliner in his pajamas watching television?
  • If I have to lay down after everything I do because my heart is racing and my legs are weak does that give him permission to do the same?
  • What am I supposed to say when he asks if he can help when I’m halfway through something like cooking dinner or cleaning out the toilet?
  • Thinking about doing a chore does not deserve applause.
  • If I’m carrying trash in from the dumpster and he asks if he can carry it out for me, and I’m already annoyed because I can’t find my license, it’s a bad time to  have to explain the whole thing.  Stopping me for long, complicated explanations that make me sound crazy is frustrating.
  • Saying “I would have done that” after I’m done doing something isn’t really helpful because I can wait until my shoes stick to the kitchen floor and an “I would have done that” didn’t make it any cleaner.
  • I’m sure what I’ve said 5 times isn’t useful information to a man and that’s why he can’t store it but I don’t know whether to laugh or growl when he looks surprised when I say it for the 6th time so I settle for walking out of the room to sigh.

I’m sure men have their good qualities and that’s why we keep them.  And now that I’m carrying a boy and I’m full of boy hormones I understand better how different they are from us.  My IQ has dropped 20 points and I have no idea what anyone said to me yesterday.    My processing speed is about that of his old laptop that grinds when it wakes up.

I need to finish this post and talk about pets and how I really would like a life in which everyone in my house knows where to pee, but I need something and I don’t know what it is so I’m going to wander around until I see something I might want.