Working Hard to Get My Fill

Griffin went back to the ER on Wednesday afternoon. I think it was Wednesday. Was it Wednesday? Fuck if I can remember anymore, it was about 12 hours after he was discharged the last time.

ANYWAY, so back to the hospital we went. And a phone call to Aaron. Something along the lines of get your fucking ass home now.

So, hospital. Yeah, two IV bags later and they still wanted to admit him for 24 hours. Griffin begged to come home and the doctors allowed it after eight hours.

Aaron got home Thursday morning, six hours after Griffin was discharged and then I went to bed. I had been up over 48 straight.

Aaron brought home gifts.


And I deserved every last bumpily goodness of my Lego gifts. EVERY DAMN LAST ONE.

I think I need another nap.

(Apparently, Griffin has some funky stomach virus. In the beginning, the doctors thought he had an appendicitis. But now they don't think so [it's still not certain]. The funky stomach virus has not fever, no nothin' except for not making them eat and drink. And then they get dehydrated. And then they get constipated. Then they are in really bad pain from the constipation. Griffin didn't eat or drink anything for over three days. I guess this virus is going around, so if you notice a kid not eating and drinking, BRIBE THEM. I made Griffin all his favorites -- bacon, homemade french fries, strawberries -- and offered him all the contraband food you could imagine, Pepsi, popsicles, he was having NONE of it. Punk ass kid. But! He is better now! Not great, but better.)

She Says She's Tired of Life, She Must be Tired of Somethin'

one husband + a three week business trip = batshit crazy wife

one child + achy belly + six hours = trip to urgent care

blood test + x-rays = inability to see appendix + high white blood count

inability to see appendix + high white blood count = trip to children's hospital ER downtown


three hours of waiting + contraband japanesse cartoons + cell phone = almost worse that drunk dialing

room in ER + nine hours of no fluids + needing an IV = five unsuccessful sticks

five unsuccessful sticks + one successful stick = unhappy child


radio active shots + CAT scans + more x-rays = inconclusive tests

inconclusive tests + really bad constipation - no appendix haloing = close to going home

IV bag + keeping sprite down = discharge papers

discharge papers + prescription + 20 minute drive home = puking in the car

getting home at 4am + cleaning child + puke in car + run to the pharmacy = mommy going to bed at 5am

baby waking up at 6am + realizing grandparents drank all the pepsi = sucks ass

crazed husband on 3 week business trip - child not having appendix surgery = husband not coming home early

husband coming on Friday + husband leaving on Tuesday + another 10 day business trip + sick constipated child = Mommy ready to be admitted into mental institution

Who's That Lady Comin' Down the Road? Who's that Lady? Who's That Woman Walkin' Through My Door? What's the Score?

Rrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggg.

"... School."

"Hi, I'd like to speak to the principal please."

"Oh, he's in a meeting right now. Would you like his voicemail?"

"No, I'd like to speak to him. My son is enrolled in the half day Kindergarten program and he got a letter today stating that his classroom's school supplies is on order as well as a curriculum and I've got a question - WHAT THE FUCK?"

"Let me see if I can get a hold of him...."

"Hi, this is the principal."

"Hi, I'm Laura [official last name], my son Griffin is in half day Kindergarten..."

"Oh, hi..."

"Yeah. Got your letter in his backpack today. It didn't clear anything up."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And what's this about a curriculum being on order? What the hell is that about?"

"Oh, the other two teachers are sharing their curriculums until the new set comes in."

"So, you're saying my son is actually getting an education?"

"Um, yes?"

"Because to the best of my knowledge, she doesn't have anything in his classroom. Other than carpet, that is."

"Huh?"

"Did you know the 14 children in the class stated a revolt because they only had six bottles of glue between them? Do you like have a second cousin to the Underpants Gnomes, because where the fuck is the three bottles of glue we provided you?"

"Um.... all their supplies should be in their classroom."

"Well, they are not."

"Oh... um... I thought they were?"

"You thought wrong. So, new topic: why did you split the classes up before being adequately prepared for them?"

"Because we thought it would be an easier transition now?"

"Did you just phrase that as a question?"

"No?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Well, um, four years ago the same thing happened and the school waited until the new classroom was outfitted and it was a huge disaster because by then the routines had been established and, um, it was a fiasco."

"So... you were thinking it would be less of a fiasco to stick some kids in the basement with no resources?"

"Um... I wouldn't say they have no resources..."

"You wouldn't? You sure about that?"

"Um... anyway, we thought the transition would be easier? We're working really hard on it."

"Doncha think maybe you need to pull some resources out of the other rooms?"

"Um... yes?"

"And you realize that Back to School Night is Wednesday and you're in hot water with the parents already, right?"

"Um... yes?"

"And there's been talks of lynching?"

"Um... yeah..."

"And talks of a lawsuit for discrimination?"

"Whoa, there is?"

"You do realize the only reason why I'm not completely ripping you a new one right now is because my son LOVES school and LOVES the fact that he's in the basement, right?"

"Um... now I do?"

"And the fact that he's learned to write his name shocks me and makes me happy."

"Um... great?"

"And you're gonna be Royally Fucked if that classroom isn't as nice or nicer than the other rooms by that night, right?"

"I do now."

"Yeah, you better STEP IT UP dude. You have two days before the school board is involved."

On Candystripe Legs Spiderman Comes

One may thing that by now I would have fully completed all my bitching, complaining and moaning about our incompetent school in regards to Kindergarten.

Well, one would be TOTALLY FUCKING WRONG.

at least the walk there is nice

School began last Monday, word came on Tuesday the school would be hiring a new teacher due to the high enrollment. On Wednesday a note was sent home that the half-day kids would be sent to the new Kindergarten class on Thursday.

Thursday morning I walked Griffin down the new classroom IN THE BASEMENT. The walls were white, there was carpet on the floor and a substitute teacher.

Yeah, that's it.

On Friday it looked exactly the same, but with two small tables and chairs. The kids did not have their pencil boxes. They did not have their towels their parents provided. No shirts for paint, hell no paints to speak of either. There was not art center, no science center, no books to read.

There was no tissue paper that the parents had provided. No diaper wipes the parents provided. No bottles of glue the parents had provided.

No cubbies for their stuff, no stuff to put in their cubbies. One hook for backpacks (compared to having three hooks in the official rooms -- one for backpacks, one for coats and one for hats).

On Friday the principal left an automated message on the answering machine. He realizes we parents are concerned.

Today he sent home a two page note that was basically worthless.

Dumbass, I know why you needed to hire another teacher. The enrollment was high. I. Got. It. I'm not fucking stupid.

But that doesn't explain why, instead of hiring two sub para-pros, you put a substitute teacher IN THE BASEMENT with the kids and NO SUPPLIES.

In the note today it even mentions that the curriculum is on order. What the fuck? Does that mean BESIDES BEING IN THE BASEMENT WITH NOTHING TO DO, my son isn't even working of a curriculum? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?

And yeah, okay, everything is on order. Don't fucking tell me you have no idea when this shit is scheduled to be delivered.

And why is it that it's the half day kids that are being thrown in the basement with any supplies? That's a little something I'd like to call fiscal discrimination (full day kids' parents pay $250 a month each to be full day). Why not the kids that had the late enrollment? Why not a class of full day kids?

I feel like I'm Fucking Losing My Mind with this god damn school.

Desolate Loving in Your Eyes

I've decided there are some Officially Fucking Stupid People in this world.

Because just look what I found a the thrift store today...


... three pristine 1950s listen'n'learn books with little albums. And wouldn't you know it, I still have my child's record player packed away somewhere in the basement. Totally need to go dig that out now.

Last week my friend Kim tagged me for fessing up to eight things you don't know about me. I run my mouth a lot, so I don't know if these will all be new or not.

1. I'm currently going through a crisis of panicking over my house being too brown and it's causing me great stress. All of the sudden I feel like I'm encased in poo. So I'm trying to find some awesome fabric to make new curtains and stuff and I'm failing. Miserably.

2. I talk a lot. No, not a lot -- a lot. And I'm loud. And I have this really horrible high-pitched squeaky voice and I can't stand listening to it because it makes me sound stupid.

3. I actually think eating a gluten-free diet is Really Fucking Easy and I don't understand why people moan and bitch about it after their first six months.

4. I've lost two pounds this week from all this walking Griffin to and from school everyday. My fat ass really needed a walking program.

5. There's some dipshit lady that lives halfway between my house and the school and every morning I actually see her get her two kids in the car, drive them to school and then drive herself home. (Yes, that was about me, because I watched.)

6. I count to three way too fucking much.

7. My dad taught me to be thrifty, always taking me to garage sales and swap'n'shops. Unfortunately for him, he has that issue of Constantly Buying Shit Because It's Cheap, whereas I think I have good taste and only buy things that will be used.

8. I love internet shopping when I can get a deal on the prices and shipping. Not having to drag my demon-horned kids around town to different stores looking for shit rocks. The ability to pick my nose at will is nice too.

I Talk Out Loud Like You're Still Arou-hound

Yeah, in case you have forgotten: Aaron's been out of town on a business trip. Still is.

The only upside to Aaron being out on business trips is that I'm able to Get Shit Done without him trying to prevent me or bitch about it.

Case in point: the Thrift Store Gods have been smiling upon me this past week. My favorite purchase:


A very old, very heave metal and wooden desk and chair. The paint is disgusting, chipped and bumpy.

Four cans of Royal Blue spray paint and three layers of polyurethane on the desk top later and it looks like this:


And now the boys fight over it.

A few days ago I went to another thrift store to get Griffin a shirt to use as a smock (Aaron refused to give up any of his shirts he hasn't worn in the past ten years, damn his hording issues). So I ended up getting a bunch of shirts (to cut up for sewing projects), some sweaters for felting and this:


A three dollar quilt. It's currently being washed a dried. It has a lot of tears in the patchwork but come on, three dollars!

And if Aaron was home through all of this, you had better believe he would have been don't spray paint that now and what's all those shirts for? and you're gonna do WHAT to those sweaters? and why'd you get a falling-apart quilt?

Phsaw. Men.

Take Advice From My Exorcist

Oh my holy hell, this is not going to become All About Kindergarten. Really. I swear.

That said...

So, Griffin is getting a new teacher. One week before school began, Griffin's Kindergarten teacher mentioned the possibility of getting a new teacher. Their numbers were high, about 18 in each class. By the first day it was 24 and 23. Word came yesterday that the school is definitely hiring a new teacher and all the half-day kids (which includes Griffin) is going to the new class.

Upon hearing that news, I decided to email the principal last night. I went into great details about the HOSPITAL VISITS and the BLEEDING OUT THE ASS and DUNCHA FUCK WITH MAH BAYBEE. But, you know, with better grammer and spelling.

Even though Griffin had a good yesterday (and I'll be damned if he doesn't LOVE school and scream when I mention home schooling), I'm concerned about all the different teachers he sees in a day. And I don't know why everything seems to be food-related there, but it's rather ridiculous. And not having a policy of letting every teacher he visits know about the allergies is even more ridiculous.

Word came today after school that a new teacher begins tomorrow. :: blink, blink:: Tomorrow. Additionally, the new teacher is going to be a long-term substitute until a full time replacement comes.

So this means that I have to teach at least two more teachers about all this shit. Oh my fuck.

The principal emailed me back today and it was very good I had alerted him to this issue. He wasn't aware of any Kindergarteners with allergies other than peanuts.

So... we now have a new plan of action. With the principal. Who swears all the insanity is gonna stop now.

Meanwhile, meet my new best friend:

Cuz I Know There's Got to be Another Level Somewhere Closer to the Other Side

Griffin had a very awful, suck-ass day at school yesterday.

For starters, I waited for him outside his classroom. Apparently I was suppose to be outside. Oops.

So when I realized I was suppose to wait for him outside, I told him I'd be with the other parents and I'd see him in a few minutes.

More than ten minutes later, the kids were brought to us. Fifteen minutes pass the time they should have been out. And, of course, by then Griffin had lost all his shit.

I don't know why, but Griffin has some serious abandonment issues. He's always afraid I'm gonna forget him and I never had.

When the kindergarten teacher (not his teacher, the other one) brought the kids to the parents, she made Griffin wait to be last to come outside. What the fuck? Seriously? I'm standing right there. He calmed down like you asked. Why the fuck would you torture my kid like that dipshit?

It took me a good five minutes to calm him down. As we were walking away from the school I tried to divert Griffin's attention from the end of the day. I asked him if his applesauce he picked out for his snack was good.

(Due to our extensive allergies, the school is under strict orders not to give him anything other than plain water unless I have provided it.)

Then Griffin had a total, complete meltdown. No, he said. The teacher did not give him his applesauce. She yelled at him. Other kids got a snack but he did not.

So we turned around to go find the teacher.

Of course, the teacher couldn't be found, she was at lunch but not in the class room nor the teacher's lounge. I asked that she call us later in the day.

When we got home, Griffin was still upset. He could barely talk (good lordy, this is a long story). So I gave him an applesauce and half way through it he began to calm down.

Turns out the class did an activity completely involving gingerbread men. For snack, the kids each got a gingerbread man cookie. The teacher gave Griffin a gluten-free cookie (that I had provided at Kindergarten Conference).

It took over 15 minutes for me to explain to Griffin that he did get a snack, it was a cookie. He just Did Not Get It, because of course he would have rather had the applesauce instead of the cookie. So then we had to have another conversation about how the teacher is the boss and if she decides to change his snack it's okay as long as it's food Mommy has provided.

Way later in the day, the teacher called. The first words out of her mouth were Griffin had a very bad day at school.

She went on to tell me that he was very chatty (gee, I wonder where he gets that from) and had a hard time listening.

Apparently, she made him miss an entire 15 minute activity and sit in time out because he wouldn't sit on the floor and say his name.

Time out for 15 minutes? Doesn't that seem a little excessive?

Then she went on to complain that he won't look her in her eyes.

Woman, I know. Did you not read all his paper work? He has Sensory Integration Disorder. He's unofficially High Function Autism. Did you not read up on this?

Oh yeah, she read it. But then she goes on to tell me how sever it is. And she's never seen it so sever.

And let me just say this lady is old enough to be my parent. Don't tell me you've never been exposed to a child that isn't Perfectly Mainstream Oh My Holy Hell.

And then she goes on to say oh no, he's perfectly normal.

What the fuck? I'm starting to think the teacher is bi-polar.

Then we went on to talk about the snack issue and she says on Thursday she's giving raisens and Griffin can participate in that.

Uh, NO HE CAN'T. So once again, I had to get into the whole Allergy Issue and if she wants to let me know what's going on ahead of time I'll be more than happy to pack a similar snack or provide her with a variety of snacks for him but she IS NOT ALLOWED TO FEED HIM FOOD UNLESS I HAVE PROVIDED IT.

So then I had to go on and give her a 10 minute lecture of the FDA and food practices and how due to the FDA being a bunch of Dumb Fucks and allowing gluten to be used as an anti-caking agent on foods and that doesn't have to be listed on the ingredient list and Griffin will get very sick and he has more allergies than "just" wheat she's not allowed to give him something I have not provided.

At that point, I took the opportunity to inform her that next week Griffin has a re-evaluation for his sensory disorders (yes, two) and if she would like to provide the Occupational Therapist with some notes I'm sure they'd appreciate it. Her reaction was like I told her I'd take her out for the Biggest Hot Fudge Sundae Ever.

THEN the says she's giving him fruit punch tomorrow at snack time. ::banging head on table:: No, you are not. Most fruit drinks have gluten OH MY FUCK.

Seriously. I am this close to start calling other schools in our district to see if anyone has a better food allergy policy.

I'm trying really hard to not be an asshole. Really hard.

And I realize there is an adjustment period and the school has to learn about this issues.

But it's really fucking concerning when I filled out paperwork at Kindergarten Roundup and went into great detail about these things. And I talked to his teacher for 45 minutes on the phone two weeks ago and went into great detail about these things. And I filled out more paperwork at Kindergarten Conference and went into great detail about these things. And then I had to tell her THREE TIMES yesterday and went into great detail about these things AND SHE'S STILL NOT GETTING IT.

And to top it all off, Griffin did not get to do any science yesterday.

Just Hold on Loosely, But Don't Let Go

First day of school! First day of school!

That's what I've been chanting all morning.


Griffin began Kindergarten today. It's very exciting. All that walking him to school and walking to get him from school. Over 4,000 extra steps. Super exciting. Approximately three hours of him getting socialization and learning stuff. Like reading and writing and history and math.

Of course, he's only focusing on learning the science. That's all he cares about learning. Science. The nerdiness begins early.

Anyway, very exciting. All this schooling. So! Fucking! Exciting!


Really. I swear. Exciting.

Just Got Paid (Just Got Paid), It's Friday Night

I got a job on Tuesday.

Seriously.

An all-grown-up-helping-take-care-of-my-family-job. Working from home.

So you may heard of the company, BlogHer Ads. ::blink, blink:: Yeah, the people that run the ads on the side of site.

You see the links under neither the ads? I update those. Well, half of the ones in the network -- not all of them.

And hey! Guess what! You can make my job easier. :: blink, blink:: Help me by giving more variety in what I do.

See, BlogHer Ads is seriously expanding. We (we, hee hee, I'm part of a team now) are more than doubling our network in the next two months. Which means we (we) are accepting applications for blogs to run ads.

Rules... rules.. rules.. you need to update two to three times a week and your blog has to be at least three months old. That's it. Seriously. So if you are interested (because, damn, I don't want to shove it down your throat) feel free to email me and ask questions and/or go to the site, read up and apply.

And who doesn't want a little extra mad money for fabric shoppin'?

She's Always Runnin' from Something

Dude.

I am busy.

Biz-zay.

I don't how the hell this happened and I'm sure some of it has to with Aaron's massive three-week business trip but yo, I can barely catch my breathe.

And I'm sure quite a bit of it is the little things, like watering the damn garden. And? I swear our yard has the good juju for tomato plants. Every damn year we get volunteer red tomatoes, this year in the big dirt patch from the greenhouse tear down.


What the hell am I suppose to do with these damn tomatoes? Darwin is allergic and Griffin and I don't eat raw tomatoes.

Uh, yes. I am completely blaming my insane busy-ness on tomato plants. Or, at least, I am blaming my insanity on the damn tomato plants.

Okay, maybe the tomatoes are not completely at fault for being busy. But they're getting blamed for it today.

Now the Feeling is Beginning to Grow and the Meaning is Something You Only Know

"Mo-o-o-o-o-om!"

"What?"

"Ewwwwww!"

"Griffin? What's on your fingers?"

"Look at my butt!"

"Griffin! Why do you have poop on your fingers?"

"Uh..."

"Griffin! You HAVE TO stop sticking your fingers in your butt crack!"

"Mom, I WOULDN'T HAVE STUCK MY FINGERS IN MY BUTT IF I THOUGHT I'D GET POOP ON THEM."

And I Remember the Thunder

Last Wednesday night we had an unexpected thunderstorm.

It was everything a summer storm should be: lightening, thunder, rain pounding on the windows. It was glorious.

On Friday my house began to smell like ass.

::blink, blink::

Seriously. Ass.

A few weeks prior, Aaron had gotten all crazy-productive and trimmed up some bushes in the front yard. Bushes that had over grown and fully blocked the basement windows from sunlight. Turns out, they also blocked them from rain.

So, the "office" in the basement completely flooded.

I put "office" in quotes because it's suppose to be the office but is really more a dumping ground for old magazines, miscellaneous papers, old baby clothes and all sorts of other crap.

On Saturday Aaron pulled out the completely-flooded, starting-to-mold rug (the major component in making the house smell like ass) and I began to do large loads of laundry with boiling hot water and bleach to salvage as much clothing as possible.

I spent the day yesterday filling two trash bags with trash, three bags full of stuff to donate and bag full of recyclable.


Of course, I had to go through every damn magazine that wasn't moldy and rip pages out of it to keep. For what, I haven't figured out yet.

And I'm keeping all my Martha's. I can't seem to get rid of those. Why is that?

So, the room is about a fourth of the way cleared out. A fourth. Oh my holy hell, a fourth.

I'm trying to make myself believe this fiasco is just what we needed to jump-start the reorganization of the basement. But seriously, why did it take the basement smelling like ass to get me to do it?

She Loves to be One of the Girls

Yesterday we had another Kansas City(ish) crafty blogger meet-up.

Lots of awesome people were able to come this time. And Jenny hosted again. And since someone is pregnant, we decided to also make it a surprise baby shower.

baby gift from me: a minky blanket and two mini-moopies

We had a great time and talked about everything (as usual) (we're a gabby bunch).


And it was great to have an afternoon out, especially since Aaron left for a business trip today and our basement flooded last week and oh shit, I'll just bitch about all that tomorrow.

Does it Feel That Your Life's Become a Catastrophe?

So.... good news: the bone in the nose is not broken.

Bad news: the cartilage is.

Let's look at the photographic evidence.... Before:


Nice, normal, cute little nose. Right? Right.

After:


The Barbara Streisand nose. Oh my fuck.

So. Yeah. Hi. The cartilage in my nose is broken. I now have a nice knot on my nose. Everything is swollen and I can't breathe.

I have to give my nose a month to heal. If I still have the lump and/or breathing problems, then I get to go visit an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist and have plastic surgery to fix it. My nose is the last place I would have ever considered having plastic surgery before this.

Wanna know the worst part? The damn doctor didn't even give me any good pain pills. The bastard.

It's the Only Way to Breathe

Last night as I was lying on the couch, bitching and moaning about the heat, Darwin entered the room. Next thing I know, I'm screaming in pain.

It turned out Darwin decided to pelt me with a wooden train, landing squarely on the center of my nose.

Mike's Tender, aka Darwin's Weapon of Mass Destruction

So, yeah, it bled a little and I popped an assload of motrin and stuck an ice pack on my face and ate 20 bazillion popsicles and I figured everything would just be okay.

Well, this morning it was hurting more so I just ate more pain reliever like it was gluten-free candy and just tried to get on with my day. Sure, my nose is shiny and red but, hey! It's summer!

Then this afternoon I realized I was breathing through my mouth. I can't breathe through my nose. My nose and sinuses are really read and swollen. Then I decided to email Michelle and be all woe is me and my nose hurts and she was all duh, doncha think you need to see the doctor? and I was all huh, didn't think of that.

So, of course it's too late in the day to get an appointment (slackass) and the doctor recommended I go to the emergency room. And I'm thinking, uh, no thanks, I'll go to urgent care in the morning and save fifty bucks because, you know, I still have priorities.


Like keeping the children from stealing my ice pack. Priorities.

You Might Think I'm Crazy to Hang Around With You or Maybe You Think I'm Lucky to Have Somethin' to Do

What the hell? Halloween decorations already?


(I have no shame! No shame! Welcome to my messy kitchen counters! No shame!)

It doesn't help that the boys are total Halloween junkies. Griffin lives and dreams in aliens, ghosts and monsters. If some sort of goblin decided to secretly deliver him thousands of Legos, Griffin would be in holiday heaven.

So we have a good 30 more days of hellish heat. Because, damn yo, I'm tired of not having any energy and wittiness. What few brain cells I have are all too busy bitching about the heat to do anything else.

Be Near Me, Be Near

I guess, perhaps, I'm a really bad mother.


Because I do not understand how in times such as these, dirty, stained, sweaty, very most favorite turtle shirts must be worn no matter what.

Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey

"Hey, Mommy?"

"Yes, Griffin?"

"You see that baby on t.v?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Isn't it cute?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Doncha wish you could reach into the t.v. and take it and put it in your belly?"

Can't You See That I Am Losing My Marbles? It's Marvelous, Losing Another, Losing Another

You know, I'm really tired of bitching about the heat. But seriously, there's nothing else to bitch about.


Oh, right. There is my hair. My fucking too short, won't even get off my neck in five (five!) ponytails, ridiculously incompetent hair.

And I suppose I could bitch about money. And writing jobs that are actually disguises for advertising campaigns (where has our ethical code gone?).

Or I could complain about this being Aaron's last week in town before he goes on a three-to-four week business trip, oh my hell.

But meh, it's too hot to bitch and complain.

Let's see... good news... good news.. hmmm... good news... oh! Yes! I got some sewing time this weekend. But I can't ruin my friend's birthday surprise so I have to hold off till next Monday. Damn.

You would like me to bitch about that?

'Cause You Know it Don't Matter Anyway

Summer is kicking my ass.

Why is it my children have to go against the grain and get more sick in summer than they do any other season.

Oh, wait. It's because they are my kids and have figured out my secret of fucking everything up. Yes! That's why!

Grrrrrrrrrr...

So. Griffin's been complaining of a stomach ache for about a month. I took him to the doctor earlier this week and as far as they can tell, nothing is wrong. So we took him off fruit punch. He seems to be fine now. Of course, I decided if Griffin was giving up fruit punch I'd give up my Pepsi and WooWeeBoy does iced coffee ever have an ass load of caffeine in it. Wheeeeeeeee...

Now, Darwin on the other hand. He can't stop pooping. He's a non-stop pooper now for the past three days. I'm talking at least a dozen poopy diapers a day, no lie. And his ass? Is totally red. And he's acting like a brat (imagine that! a sore butt and child acting like a brat ALL AT THE SAME TIME, I bet you can't wrap your mind around that one).

Welcome to my life: tummy aches and sore butts.

I Can Do it in the Water, I Can Do it On Dry Land, I Can Do it with Instruments, I Can Do it with My Own Bare Hands

After the kids go to bed, we usually try to catch up on some of recordings of the DVR (so worth that extra five bucks a month, you have no idea).

Last night we settled in to watch Eureka.

In case you haven't been wise enough to be watching Eureka, it's a show about ubber-smart nerds in a town that invents outrageous stuff working for the government. A "regular guy" and his teenage daughter stumble upon the town and he ends up being the sheriff. He's not a nerd but he is most certainly the town hero.

ANYWAY.

We were watching Eureka and one of the characters, Fargo, who always manages to fuck things up gets his hands on a Multi Application Combat Armour Alternative -- a personal force field generator.

Obviously, we watch the coolest shows.

So this personal force field encases Fargo and keeps growing. And growing. Growing so much it may take over the whole world. And it looks as though they are going to have to drop Fargo down a two mile deep hole with a bomb behind him.

Meanwhile, Aaron keeps yelling at the tv that Fargo? He needs to pee on the force field. Because his urine? Will totally short circuit the electrical field.



So, for about 40 minutes all I hear is, Pee on the force field, Fargo! and Damn it, dude, pee! and he's smacking his head and waving his arms and throwing massive hissy fits because that guy on tv is totally not listening to him.

Aaron goes into the semantics of the benefit of urine and how urine is so great and GOD DAMN IT, WHY IS HE NOT PEEING ON THE FORCE FIELD?!

Of course they figure out how to disarm the force field, which totally did not involve any urine.

Instead, it involved a demagnetizer that drained the battery and then when the backup battery started up that used Fargo's body heat they used a big stun gun to stop Fargo's heart from beating.

Duh.