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.

Birthday Post

Years ago I started a birthday tradition for myself.  I think it was the year I gave up on my idiot exhusband and bought myself presents and made myself a cake and sang to myself as I ate it alone.

Since then I have found great enjoyment in doing the most pathetic things I can think of on my birthday.

This morning started at 3 a.m. when I found my 16 year old sleeping on the couch with the television on some infomercial.

You’d better get to bed before your mother finds you here, I leaned over her and said softly.

I was sleeping here so I’d be the first one to wish you happy birthday, she said with great cheer as she shuffled off to bed.

Then at 8 a.m. I warmed myself a cup of left over coffee and sat my butt in front of the television to watch Justin Bieber on the Today show.  Just as he started his first song I felt the need to use the bathroom and although I vowed that I could hold on until his song was over, I ended up running to the bathroom and coming out just in time for it to end.

Someone in the audience held a sign that said It’s my birthday! and I absolutely love them for being my twin and for being as obsessed with Justin Bieber as I am.  Maybe it was Miley Cyrus because she’s my twin too!

I was going to head up to our drop in day center at work to have a Thanksgiving meal with the clients and staff, but ended up last minute shopping at Walmart and still somehow forgot minimarshmallows and orange juice so I have to go out again.

Then Haley and I made pie, but even though I said clearly on the shopping list when I went with Nick:  Chocolate pudding, NOT INSTANT.  He still got instant.  And graham cracker crusts.  I called him to find out where he’d hidden the pie crusts (in the garage in the supercooler, duh) but decided not to complain about instant pudding until he got home for lunch, but he didn’t show up.

Meanwhile the youngest came home 3 hours earlier than planned and the middle one said she’s making up missing gym days, although it’s the half day before Thanksgiving break so I sincerely doubt she’s actually there, but is instead at City Park with the druggies.  I will be stalking her in half an hour when I run to the store again.

Oh, and I forgot about the rabbit.  The cute little bunny who pooped once in every 5 square foot area of the carpet and then peed on the couch.  I was on my hands and knees chasing her under the kitchen table.

My birthday is about halfway over.  My gut hangs over my jeans.  I used the wind as a hair dryer.  And I can’t even get drunk.