When you suffer from Man-Cold but you’re a Woman

Woman are constantly complaining about their husbands having a “man cold” and I have a confession: I’m a man colder….In fact when I get sick my husband nicknamed me “Baby-Infant” because baby wasn’t specific enough. I was more like a infant: useless, unable to articulate why I’m crying and could barely hold my head up.

In fact, I currently have a cold and honestly: it sucks. I’m won’t suffer in silence either. I don’t actually see the point in it. If I’m sick I want everyone to know I’m sick. I want your sympathy and I want to moan and eat toast and not do a damn thing.

Does this make me a hero. No. I doubt it makes me super fun to be around either. That’s ok: I’m sick. I’m not currently enjoying myself, so why should anyone else get the pleasure? I just don’t understand this culture that likes to cultivate the idea that if your sick you have to soldier on and not talk about it. If you feel bad, feel bad. You have one life and it’s okay to take care of yourself and treat yourself to some well deserved napping, chicken soup and tv.

Also, if you get a boner because you are able to get through life not talking about how your feeling when you are sick that’s fine to. Just keep your boner away from me. Ain’t nobody got time for boners when they have the man-cold.

In fact the only things I DO have time for are: doughnuts, sympathy, bad TV, and ignoring my children.

 

 

Found a new way to make money: sell your child’s poop.

Last year I wanted a stroller: a specific, expensive double stroller. My in-laws had generously offered to buy me one as a new baby gift but I felt like a brat asking for a $500 dollar (plus) stroller. I also would buy the stroller used but knew they wouldn’t be comfortable gifting us something used, so I ended up getting a more reasonably priced one.

Which would have been fine if this wasn’t a ridiculously heavy & annoying stroller that barely fit in my car (I’m looking at you Graco Sit & Stand) I wanted my dream stroller: a red City Mini double. I became like the Ralphie from a A Christmas Story constantly dreaming about this his Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle.

I also had a desire to buy it with my “own” money. So this is when shit (literally) gets weird. Someone had told me about a diaper study. They said it was easy and pays $200.  Much like I do with anything, I did no research and just showed up for the study. I was given a bag, free diapers, and told to bag the first 4 diapers of the day and document how they “did” for three weeks. Then return the used diapers (weekly).

oh. okay.

I had not told my husband about this & decided it would be more fun to “surprise” him. Some women buy lingerie as surprise, I come home with a large tan bag that I will fill with my daughter ‘s poopy diapers. For weekssss.

So that’s what I did. And you know what: I regret NOTHING. I got my dream stroller & I enjoyed buying something with my own money.

That said, my days of bagging diapers and dropping them off to some random women at a research lab are done.

Probably.

Focus on what you focus on.

I just spent a week in St. John visiting my Dad. My dad lives a pretty simple life: he only gets PBS on TV, has a composting toilet, outdoor shower with no hot water, and an oven that he used for the first time when we got there.

His house is simple but it’s beautiful. It’s surrounded by nature, different kinds of animals and it’s a short drive to the most beautiful beaches on the planet.

I hadn’t realized how different my life was until I was there. When I’m home I get so swept up in my day-to-day life/routine that I didn’t realize that I developed some not-so-great habits. Such as: constantly checking Facebook, Twitter & Instagram, counting the clock till the kids go to bed so I could watch bad TV, and getting an endless onslaught of bad news from basically anywhere and everywhere.

There was a need for a change.

I had this epiphany on the flight home. I realized how much calmer and more connected I was when I wasn’t so tuned into the news, TV and social media. That said, the first thing I did upon returning was watch Summer House, a spin off of Vanderpump Rules…JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL (& the remote).

This epiphany was obviously still a work-in-progress.

So I know I need to pay attention to what I’m paying attention to. I’m not talking about sticking my head in the sand and not taking action about the massive injustices that are happening in the country but I want to limit my REACTION and focus on my ACTION. There is so much sadness in the news right now that it will eat you up. It overwhelms me everyday, so much so that I then take no action. There is no real traction, only DIStraction and it’s not doing anything for anyone. As the great Jen Sincero said “Wallowing in the pain and suffering isn’t going to help anyone, yourself included, anymore then you starving yourself will feed the hungry.”

So I’ve decided for a WEEK: no Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Bad TV, or reading the bad/scary news. I will check my email, and try to go to websites that focus on positive new stories (example: www.upworthy.com/lets-talk-about-the-good-stuff-that-happened-this-week-not-the-bad-stuff).

I will focus on my ACTION instead of my reaction and hopefully become a more balanced/happier person.

I also know myself and this is not sustainable for a lifetime but I’ll be interested to see how a week goes. See what positives changes occur and see if I can make a modified version that I can actually apply. I have found that when you stop doing something, detox for a bit, it can give you clarity about what’s working and what isn’t. Sort of like dieting, finding small changes that you do everyday (like switching how you take your coffee) can have a big impact.

Also, I know quitting Facebook & Bravo for a week isn’t exactly the most enlightened and spiritual thing in the world. I talked to a guy in St. John who went on a Buddhist retreat where you don’t speak for 6 weeks. Six weeks of silence. Just thinking about it gives me diarrhea. And then I would have no one to talk about my impending diarrhea. It’s sounds exhausting and I need to find my inner peace at my on pace, thank you very much.

So as a believer in the saying “Nothing changes if nothing changes.” I know I will either come out of this mini-detox a calmer, more focused mom and person or I’ll just go a bit deeper into my own madness. Either way: I’m excited for a change.

 

When life gives you diarrhea filled lemons…

Last week our furnace broke, so we said ‘No Thanks’ to cooking dinner and decided to go out. Our 2.5 year old is not quite ready for primetime when it comes to dinning out, so we went to a buffet style restaurant. I will not say the name in fear they will sue or worse someone will try to make eye contact with me.

So my husband orders and I find a table in the back corner. Everything is going ok, until my daughter’s butt literally explodes. Like there was a sound of bomb, everyone ducked and diarrhea filled our lives and our booth.

My husband froze, his face is utter panic and  he just kept muttered “Omg, Omg, Omg.” I’m not always a take charge gal, but I knew immediately I would be taking the lead in this literal shit show. So I grab my daughter, take her to the bathroom, strip her down, perform an exorcism, and try to get as much poop off of her as possible. Meanwhile I size up the situation: I have no diapers, no wipes, and a single pair of 12-18 month pair of pants in the car. I figure this will do as her tiny butt could not possible have any more poop in it & we are very close to home.  I tell my husband to clean the booth and get the pants. I dress my daughter in too small pants, no shirt and a jacket. Then I know the tough part is coming: leaving.

I open the door ready to make the quickest get-away possible. My husband did not get this memo or has had a shame lobotomy because he has packed up the leftovers and is frantically shoving salmon salad in his mouth. This is where our midwest/northeast differences appear. He doesn’t understand that once a crime has been committed: you leave, as fast as possible. You don’t finish your salmon salad because salmon doesn’t keep well. So I whisper as harshly as I can: “We need to leave.”

He sees my face and grabs the leftovers. I swear I can hear people whisper/chanting “Shame, Shame, Shame.” as we leave…

So this was a D-A-Y but that’s OK. Life will give you some diarrhea filled lemons sometimes. In the end know that I am lucky: we could fix the furnace, we could (eventually) laugh at our dinner and our daughter will return to having solid bowel movements soon.