*Wakes up from a seemingly short slumber, ill-rested with saggy bags on her eyes, only to find out it’s four months later*
WHAT THE………seriously. What the actual F. Is it September?! Are those leaves REALLY a diaper-colored YELLOW? Is it really fall? WHERE DID SUMMER GO?!? I OBJECT! I want it back….
It has been FOUR MONTHS. FOUR MONTHS since I have posted. FOR SHAME, MOMMY VINO. I have failed you. I have failed my loyal following of humor-loving, alcohol-drinking, life-loving psychopaths like myself. I have let time slip through my aging, arthritic fingers. For this, I am not proud.
SO MUCH has happened in the last four months that I TRULY can’t even remember all of the events that are relatively worth speaking of. Hell…I can’t even remember where I put my purse each morning, why would I think I could accurately recall four months of minute-to-minute craziness? Well, let’s just sum it up to this: my life is a real s**t show. A S**T SHOW, I tell ya! But I FREAKING LOVE this s**t show! It’s MY s**t show, damnit! *nods head once in solid agreement*
So, let me just give you a short recap of the time that has passed since my last post, assuming I can actually remember any of them. But I digress…
The beginning of the summer brought the busiest time for my job in addition to simultaneously selling our home and preparing for an impending move. Recital, registration, wine, class placement, website updating, more wine, taxes, book work, no school for the munchkins so naturally they are ripping my house to shreds all while I follow behind them with an industrial sized shop vac (You know, the ones that are big enough to consume a baby 14 days past his due date), margaritas, packing, cleaning, more margaritas, purging of belongings, paperwork, loan approvals, vodka, an abscess tooth and resulting root canal, copious amounts of vodka (see a trend?), banging of the head against the wall aggressively……. you know, that old chestnut. That basically wipes out the month of June right there, folks. I think? I dunno…
(SIDENOTE: it has taken me three days to get this far in this post. THREE. MOTHA-FRICKEN DAYS. Holy sweet mother of heyseus, that’s ridiculous. It’s because, on average, every 4.5 seconds a small, needy tyrant in the form of a child comes over and NEEDS something and I have to leave my beautiful new office space that was SPECIFICALLY designed to be a quiet lair away from my spawns (call it my modern day Safe Space, eh?), to get yet another snack or drink of water or toy or whatever else they MUST HAVE RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND OR THEY WILL JUST SPONTANEOUSLY COM BUST IN TO ASH RIGHT BEFORE MY VERY EYES AND IT WILL BE ALL MY FAULT! By the time this blog is posted, I will have been working on it for aboooouuuttttttt……..12 years. Ok, moving on while I still can…)
NEXT, the devil creeped in on our true s**t show and brought JULY. July……*shutters*. July was sent directly from Satan himself in an attempt to unhinge every sane fiber left in my being. Now, I admit it could have been WAAAYYY worse (I know, you all are utterly SHOCKED at my dramatics here ;). Out of July we DID get a beautiful new home, a nice big new yard with a ‘lake’ (they call it a lake. I call it a pretty pond. If I can’t water ski or cannonball my slightly chubby, swimsuit clad body in the cool, crisp waters then it is a POND. If I can stand on one end and stare at the other end, it’s a pond. But whatevs, tomato tom-ah-to…), and thankfully we did not lose any pets or family members. Overall, in hindsight, July wasn’t the ABSOLUTE worst.
HOWEVER, what July DID bring was two parents and one preschooler with the nastiest case of the stomach flu ever recorded, all simultaneously. When one parent is upstairs regurgitating their dinner while the other parent is downstairs trying to hold in THEIR dinner because the preschooler is tossing her cookies and needs her hair held back, that’s everyone’s version of a nightmare. A REAL American Horror Story. I knew there was a reason we purchased a house with a bathroom for every person in the family! It’s because we would all need to be REALLY breaking them in at the SAME DAMN TIME just a week after move in. Ain’t no better way to Christen a new house, I tell ya!
Gall bless it, just end it already. I would rather gag myself with a rusty spoon, BEFORE a tetanus shot, then to ever go through THAT again. It took us FIVE DAYS (That’s 120 hours, people. 120 hours of wondering WHY, GOD, WHY?!) for the last person to finally stop excreting some sort of bodily fluid. And once the last fever broke, I thought to myself “Thank GOD that is over! After that, we should be healthy for AT LEAST 6 months! WE’VE DONE OUR TIME!” But, alas, what did the next few weeks bring?! More fevers. Ear infections. Sinus infections. And MOTHER FLIPPING PINK EYE. GAAAALLLLLL damn it, already! You had to take bucket loads of vomit and fevers, extend them out over a several week period, and THEN slap a nasty, goopy, BLOODY eye infection on to each tiny human in our home on top of THAT? Well, AWESOME. Have you ever tried to put eye drops in a 4 or 1 year old?! Dear LAWD have mercy. I had to use all of my Mighty Mom strength and basically strap them down like a dead deer during hunting season then give the bottle a hefty squeeze in the general direction of their flailing and then PRAY to the almighty pink eye gods that some eye drop made it in around the tears (I don’t even know if they were their tears or mine)! If that isn’t the s**t icing on top of a crap cake, I don’t know what is!
(UPDATE: At this point, I have now had to walk up or down the stairs an additional 17 times as my love nuggets are incessantly summoning me with their ridiculous need to interrupt any work that I attempt to do the absolute second after I start doing it. With all of this walking, it is a wonder why I am STILL not beach-bod ready and am more fit for an oversized hoodie? Even my Fit Bit is confused! It currently says “flights climbed today: 7,000. Why you still fat?” I am POSITIVE that is has NOTHING to do with the bag of Doritos that make the trip with me each time! Errrr….I mean…..the apples. Yea, that’s right. The APPLES I take with me each time I trounce my buns up the stairs. HEALTHY, HEALTHY APPLES…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
*Licks cheesey-chip goodness from the tips of my fingers* I am not proud. *hangs head in shame* )
July has now been aptly named “THE MONTH WHICH WILL NEVER BE SPOKEN OF AGAIN”. And if I EVER see another pile of partially-digested grilled cheese sandwich, then that will be the end of me. That is how I die. (Given the fact that I am sure I have at LEAST 16 more years of vomit cleaning ahead of me, I better go pre-order my casket now. Ya know, to help the family out when I perish due to bodily fluid exhaustion. I think i’ll choose a nice, crisp black. Like my soul.) ANYWHOOO….
Let’s focus and get back to this new house and the adjustments required with two small children in a new environment. Pre-move, I thought FOR SURE that the first few weeks in the new house would be my living version of hell on Earth. I thought the littlest clone would struggle in the sleep department and the oldest would run around the house like a naked, rabid squirrel. But much to my surprise, there was hardly any adjustment at all! It is SORT of a moot point because let’s be honest, Everlee ALREADY runs around the house like a naked, rabid squirrel so 50% of my feared issue is actually a normal occurrence, but I digress. FINALLY, something is easy to ease the pain of constant illness-induced sanitation. I mean, for the first few nights in the new house Everlee had decided that she would join the clan of NORMAL children and ACTUALLY leave her bed in the morning without me having to get her. And I must admit, it made me slightly sad that I no longer got to stay in bed and ignore listen to the sounds of Everlee yelling “MOOOOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOOOOOMMMMMMMM I’M AWAAAKE!” knowing that she would stay put until I drug my sleep-deprived body in to her room to retrieve her and end the loud morning madness. Now a days, she exits her room at any given time in the morning, but not before she changes in to her princess dress-of-choice and puts on copious amounts of makeup, clip on earrings, and hair bows. She then tiptoes her giant preschool feet out of her room, down the hall, and in to my room where she will meticulously place herself in a hidden corner of the room JUST in time for me wake up in a fit of terror and nearly pee my nightgown (yes, I wear nightgowns to bed. SHUT IT, PERFECT POLLY. They are comfy, breezy, and they provide me a socially acceptable way to be pant less. I don’t even care if that makes me a grandma. Just call me Granny Vino, I don’t even care!) Imagine waking up to a cackling, snaggly-curly-haired, Joker-style-faced Moana who is crouched down next to your bed like a real life psychopath ready to attack. If that ain’t enough to make you s**t your britches, I don’t know what is. And it happens EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. But if that is the worse adjustment that our move has induced, sign me up with a permanent marker!
Speaking of s**t your britches, there may be ONE MORE unnerving adjustment that has surfaced itself in the past month. We call it….“The case of the Sneaky Pooper”.
*DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN*
I must admit, the name is slightly misleading. There is no “CASE of the Sneaker Pooper” as we know EXACTLY who the culprit is. Let me give you a hint: There are two adults in this house, both of which know that flushing a toilet is a vital part of cleanliness and are fully knowledgeable in the department of simple manners. Then there are two Ali-incarnates children in this house. One of which is not yet potty trained, thus forcing him to relieve himself in the diaper he SOMETIMES chooses to leave on and thus removing him from the possibility of dropping a deuce in the toilet and leaving it there for the next unsuspecting soul to handle. That’s right, folks… SOMEONE (who shall not be named) has decided that having four bathrooms provides a HILARIOUS opportunity to secretly birth a few turd babies in a different toilet each day, at a different time each day, and then NOT flush the little nuggets down the toilet, leaving them as a festering gift for the adult who is blessed enough to find them.
FUUUUUDDDDDGGGGGGEEEEEEEE that’s SICK. Kids are SO GROSS.
I can not tell you HOW many times we have found floating fecal matter in an obscure toilet in this house. Do you know how irritating, not to mention disgusting, it is to RUN in to the bathroom in a fit of unearthly speed so as not to pee your pantaloons, only to have to halt mid-squat and flush the surprise preschool poop down the crapper? All while attempting to postpone the needs of your OWN bladder so the toilet can fully finish it’s flush cycle? ONE DOES NOT WANT TO PEE ON FESTERING WATER, CHILD!! It is to the point now where I will hear Kyle loudly yell from across the house “SNEAKY POOPER STRIKES AGAIN!” and we both know what S**Tuation he is currently in. I must admit, containing laughter in these times is immensely difficult, sometimes impossible even. But we MUST eradicate this newfound Sneaky Pooper once and for all!
The conversations with said Sneaky Pooper tend to go as follows:
“Hey (insert Sneaky Pooper’s name here), did you go poop in the basement bathroom today?”
“Ummmm…..errrr…….uhhhh…..I can’t remember.”
“Oh, you can’t remember, huh? Well, why is there a Nemo fruit snack on the floor next to the toilet? Weren’t you eating some of those this morning?”
“Yessssssssss……….”
“Well, then was it you that pooped in the downstairs toilet then?”
“Perhapppssss……….I really can’t remember, Mom. My brain says that it can’t remember.”
“Oh ok, then. That makes sense. Well, why don’t you tell your brain that someone forgot to flush the toilet AGAIN!”
*insert girl giggles here*
“Ohhhh man, my brain says it must have FORGOT to flush the poop!”
“You better tell your brain that the next time it ‘forgets’ to flush the turds, it will be scrubbing the toilet after.”
*12 hours later* (insert Sneaky Pooper scrubbing the toilet with no complaints)
It seems that my child may be the long-lost, distant relative to the lady in Colorado that likes to go for a jog and take her morning dump on people’s lawn. When I first saw that news article, I panicked and sent a prayer up to the God’s above that this was not a glimpse in to my dear child’s future. Let’s just pray that MY Sneaky Pooper keeps it within the home and within the confines of the porcelain throne. Amen.
Now do you understand what I meant by “my life is a real s**t show”? I was being very literal. I’ve seen more bodily excretions this summer than Trump has seen protesters (ope…too soon?). And while I would like to blame my interwebs absence solely on “me wanting to take time and spend more quality time with my family”, and that is partially true, it was mostly because this summer flew by faster than Trump’s Air Force One on the way to the Hawaiian Tropic Tanning Competition (ope….I did it again). When I think back on the last few months and all of the work, personal life chaos, illnesses, home remodels, birthday parties, and the IOWA STATE FAIR, BABY (skkkeeeeeewwwhhoooooppp!), I quickly realize that time slipped through my sweaty fingers and BAM! Summer was gone. Time travel is DEFINITELY possible.
But Mommy Vino is back, and I am ready to blow through wine bottles faster than Trump can say ‘Son of a B***H!’ (ope! I can’t help myself). Cheers, my friends! Here’s to a new season of madness!
Mommy Vino 