I May Have Had 6 Heart Attacks this Morning, & There’s Blood On the Ceiling of My Garage

December 16, 2010 I'm a Tool.,Sugarpants Family,SugarSpawn

This morning, after EIGHT frigging snow days in the last week & a half, the kids and I woke up late (of course) for the 2nd last day of school before Christmas holidays.

I didn’t bother rushing. I highly doubt the school had some major academics to shove down their throats before visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

Nearly two hours late for school, we finally got our shit together and got ready in the front hall of the house.  I opened the door to the garage, hit the button to open it and was ATTACKED by what I thought was maybe a bat. Or a flying beaver. It was HUGE.

Needless to say, I had a heart attack on the spot while screaming my fool head off.  My screaming did not stop until the door was closed and we were safe in the front hall, all screaming at each other – though my kids were staring at me, wide-eyed, mouths open, emitting sounds that emulated my own screeching because they had no idea what the hell was wrong.

When I finally pulled myself together and shut my yap, I told the kids there was possibly a bird stuck in the garage.  By this time, the big garage door was open, so we crept out the front door of the house and peeked into the garage to search for the flying wildebeest.

I spotted the assailant right away, atop the highest shelves in the garage, panting wildly behind some chair-in-a-bag thingies we cart to soccer.  All I could see was a wing, going up and down quickly – I think the creature was having it’s own heart attack in my garage.

Sonofabitch.

Thankfully, my almost 12 year old manned-up way better than me and was more than willing to go into the garage, armed only with a sawed off broomstick.

I do not know why we have a sawed off broomstick in our garage.  The man-cave is perplexing.

My son was bound to get the poor thing out of our garage without harming it.  He tiptoed around my car, to were the bird was — and it was up very high — probably a good two feet above his head.

The 6 year old and I stood quietly by the side of the garage door, peeking in, little clouds of our breath hanging in the air.

My 12 year old got closer, closer, closer until he was standing next to the giant shelf, and he started tapping at the shelf to try to coax this thing out.

Nothing.

He went around to the other side of the shelf and tried from the other side. It flew out of it’s hiding spot — and directly into the top of the big garage door, smashing it’s stupid dumb head. It fell on top of my car, flew up into the ceiling and landed on another tall shelf on the side of the garage. Blood and feathers flew.

I heard myself screaming again.  What a pussy.

12 year old went straight for the shelf where the creature was at, tapped again and the stupid thing freaked out again, hit his head on the ceiling AGAIN, and landed on a box right in front of my car.

It was a dove.  A stupid, dumb dove.

I felt so sorry for it. Kind of. I’m really not a fan of birds, at all. Birds are odd and have eyes that pierce your soul.  I’m kind of afraid of soul-piercing birds and their eyes.

Clearly I have issues.

I decided the only way to get this little guy out was to remove my car from the garage so it would have more room to see to the outside and maybe not smash it’s head open again.

Here’s where I repeatedly peed my pants.  The only way to get inside my car was to get within 3 feet of this thing, and pray to The Great Canadian Heavenly Mooses (Meese?) that it wouldn’t fly at my head.  I had visions of opening my car door, ducking to avoid the flight pattern of the stupid dumb dove, and smashing my own pretty face on the car.  I have a really active imagination, and it usually ends up bloody in my head.  (Ask me sometime about my master bedroom closet that most definitely has ghosts in it, especially at bedtime.)

Anyway, me smashing my pretty face on the car door? That didn’t happen.

I instructed the kids to stay on the porch so I didn’t run over their little butts, and got in my car as quickly as a woman having 6 simultaneous heart attacks could.

I started the car and the bird didn’t move.  I could see his little head was bleeding.  Poor (stupid) baby.

I double checked that my spawn weren’t in the way, and slowly backed the car into the driveway.  The bird sat motionless, probably cursing me for having 2 concussions and a bloody head. Stupid dumb human.

12 year old waited for me to resume my post beside the garage door before he went in.  His plan was to pick the bird up in his gloves and bring it outside, if it would let him.

It didn’t.

He got within a foot or two, and it flew out in seconds, up into the sky and into some nearby trees.

I hope it’s going to be okay. I also hope it tells all it’s stupid, dumb, bird-brained friends to avoid my house.

Me on the other hand? I’ll be packing a BB gun and some nitroglycerin next time I open that garage door.

Spooning

December 13, 2010 Friends

I blatantly stole this post from Megan, but she said we could. And I’ve been thinking for a long time about doing SOMETHING for this person, who I love very much, and this is, well, perfect.

Let me ask you one little question: If you could do something to make a person feel better – a person you could otherwise not help in her situation of unfortunate circumstance beyond her or your control – would you?

Think about it. We’ve all been there. We’ve all had someone in our life – whether a close family member or friend or perhaps it’s just someone we know through the blogosphere or Twitter world or maybe even it’s someone whose story we heard from someone who heard it from someone else… but somehow, it touched us, it haunted us, it made us feel helpless and it kept us scratching our heads and wondering What can I do? leaving us helpless because sometimes, in this life, we don’t always have the chance to fix things for others. No matter how badly we want to.

So again, If you could do something to make a person feel better – a person you could otherwise not help in her situation of unfortunate circumstance beyond her or your control – would you?

:::

I have a friend (and chances are, she’s your friend too – or at least acquaintance) who could use a little cheer. She’s had multiple surgeries recently (she lost 13 inches of her colon, her gall bladder, her uterus, her ovaries and cervix) and finally after several emergency hospitals stays was diagnosed with Lupus.

I can’t fix her. I would LOVE to be able to fix her. The next best option is to try and bring her happiness in any way I can. And I’m not talking in the form of money or food or CLICK MY PAYPAL BUTTON RIGHT HERE sort of way. This idea, my friends, is far more creative and unique and I hope you’ll help me help her make this happen.

In an effort to keep this as low-key and not-so-obvious to my friend I’m not naming or linking you to her blog but instead I’m sending youHERE to read the back story, to help this friend of ours, through the giving of spoons.

Yes, spoons. (The full story is here – a bit lengthy but worth the read.) A spoon from your kitchen drawer, a spoon from a gift shop, a spoon from anywhere, it doesn’t matter. That’s all. It’s rather simple, really.

I’m asking you to:

- Send a spoon (address information here)

- Pass along this information on your blog (you can copy/paste this if you would like)

- Tweet/RT this post to pass along the message

And you will have spread the cheer I was talking about. We can’t cure diseases. Sometimes, it’s hard (at least for me) to even convey the right sentiments in a tweet or email to the ones we’re thinking good healing thoughts for. But this? This is a start.

xoxo

(And if you have questions about who we’re helping, feel free to email me or leave a comment and I would be happy to reply back.)

Just Who Do You Think You Are?

December 1, 2010 I'm A STUNDENT.,I'm a Tool.

I have a test tomorrow.  Oh wait, it’s 12:30 a.m. The test is today.

This is a test that requires me to rise at 5 a.m., review my notes, get the kids ready, etc., and this test is one I haven’t really studied for.  (So I’m blogging. Heh.)

I have great reasons for not studying for this particular test.  Most of these reasons involve my family needing me as my mom was hospitalized with her 4th bout of pneumonia (she is in the late stages of lung cancer, if you aren’t in the know) and I have been up and down the highway several times in the last week.  There were errands to be run; Dad needed help around the house; and of course there was a lot of time at Mom’s bedside that I wouldn’t trade for any time with my textbooks!

I have pulled 80′s and 90′s this semester and I’m determined to get on the Dean’s List. Tomorrow’s test is probably gonna fuck with that a little unless I get up at 4 and really cram it in this old brain.

Sometimes I catch my breath in my throat. Like maybe that I can’t do All of This.

Tonight I thought that, several times, after I’d put the 11 year old to bed early and was beyond exasperated trying to get the 6 year old in his bed.  He had 672 reasons for staying up, and he was grating on my very last nerve.  I may have lost a fraction of my shit when he came upstairs again at 9:40 saying his bellybutton was cold. *eyeroll*

Sometimes I take the kids out for dinner, or we have soup and salad, or breakfast for dinner, because I’m too busy to cook a meal for them.  The guilt piled on top of my heart at this mere fact is eating away at me.  I want them to eat healthy on a daily basis and I feel very behind on the organizational end of things right now.

I am a person who likes order.  When I was home with the kids, the laundry was folded right out of the dryer and put away while it was still warm, and I never ever had more than 3 loads that needed doing; mainly because I have the stupidest of sorting techniques, and there wasn’t enough for a full load and I’m all about the damn environment, dontchaknow?

Now? We are getting dressed out of the dryer. Heck, we’re getting dressed from on top of the dryer, from the end of my bed, from a pile on the couch and if I don’t get on top of LaundryFuck Mountain soon, we’re going to be getting dressed from out of the hampers.

I haven’t talked to my Granny in a month.  Mostly because I forget to call until it’s 11 p.m. and we all know Granny goes to bed right after Jeopardy.

Not Calling Granny = Heavy, Bonecrushing Guilt. You don’t even know, man.

I haven’t seen my kitchen counter in at least 4 days. Oh, I get the dishes into the dishwasher and set it to run at 3 a.m., but the mail and flyers and school papers and little random toys and probably a sock or two might be sitting among a tea towel or ten, my shaker cup and a massive box of panty liners that haven’t made it up to the master bathroom yet.

Today: Oh hi, Builder Guy that’s here to fix a couple things! Would you like a Kotex?

I am ashamed.

I feel guilty, constantly.

It is, however, a little bit funny.  My Mom would laugh at me and tell me I’m nailing all the important things, like seeing family and doing well in school and Goddammit Karen, life is too SHORT so please enjoy the time you have with me young lady.

She is a wise woman. And I certainly DO cherish the time we have left with her, so very much.  I’ve been focusing on the positive, really taking more time with her and Dad because I know this isn’t forever.  I’ve taken more time with the boys and my husband too – really looking at them, listening to them, and ceasing all multitasking when I know these moments are slipping away all too quickly.  I don’t want to turn around and find that my little boys are suddenly men.  I want to relish in today.

I wonder though, if my dream of becoming a nurse, is taking a toll on this family.  I wonder if my husband comes home after working 60+ hours a week and wonders if a bomb hit the house.

Last night, instead of tackling Mount Saint Laundry (like I should have), the kids and I opted to put up our outside Christmas lights, sans The Man. The boys were all too happy to climb the ladder and hang the lights.  We had fun and we went for burgers. The boys were really proud of themselves when we returned to the house with more decorations and we finished the job together.

I beamed at them. I wished Mom could see their faces.  Then I swallowed a buttload of guilt for not cooking them dinner.

I know I’m doing the right things when I spend quality time with my family, but I can’t quiet that devil on my shoulder that keeps asking me: Just Who Do You Think You Are, trying to prove something by becoming a nurse, by earning a degree, by selfishly wanting the career of your dreams?

The angel on my shoulder says, It’s just laundry.  It’s just clutter.  Chillax.  They’re only little once.

Of course, the sensible part of my brain is saying, Throw a load of laundry in or you’re going to be going commando by Thursday, Dumbass.

Remind me to do that, wouldja?

I’m serious.

Because as of today, I added One More Thing to the mix.  I’m training for a half-marathon and this is the schedule.

You know what that means, right?  More laundry. Hold me.