the judgement of smothers

Did you all collectively groan when you saw the title of today’s blog? Yes vacuuming is not my favorite thing. In fact it is my least favorite chore in the world to have to complete. First of all it is noisy and it can leave you vulnerable to attack by humans, ghosts and or monsters from the ethereal plain. Second of all it is heavy and if it has great suction that fucking thing can get stuck to the stairs and you are standing there trying to turn it off while the machine is coming towards you at rapid speeds.

Let me explain….when I was a child my mother doled out chores to her children. My sister and I were to take care of household chores because we were using the “Little House on the Prairie” rules in our house. Girls do household chores and boys take care of the horses and farm, except we didn’t have horses and farm, so instead they had to take care of the trash. My brothers were older so they also had to babysit and boy babysitting involves a bike ramp and small children lying on the ground so that my brother can “Evil  Kenevil” over them. *no small children were ever killed and only slightly injured during these daring stunts.

My chores were to fold the laundry, which I love doing. Dusting which is a hideous job but can be done while watching Luke and Laura’s wedding on General Hospital and vacuuming, which can’t be done while doing another thing besides praying for your fucking life. Not today Satan, not today!!!!

Vacuuming has been something that I have had to do in my adult life too. *Insert small breathy sobbing noises here!

I have had to vacuum my two bedroom apartment all on one floor. It was easy because there was no back breaking lifting the fucking two thousand pound vacuum up and down the stairs. I have had to vacuum the haunted house that we built in Massachusetts. I raced through that fucking place “Our Father who art in heaven…..” I had to vacuum our transition apartment when we moved to Pennsylvania, the floor that practical broke my son’s jaw.

And I have to vacuum my current home. *even though the snotty little kid in the neighborhood said I needed to do it more, you know what small child the process of vacuuming gives me anxiety, okay. I mean you can’t even hear people creep up on you. You are totally vulnerable because you can’t vacuum whilst holding a weapon because the equipment is soooo fucking heavy! So take your popsicle outside with the rest of the children and let it drip down your fucking arm out there if you don’t want dog hair to stick to you!!!!!

I have owned several vacuums in my lifetime and I will say this “THEY ARE NOT ALL CREATED EQUAL!” Some break within a month and you are like “Shit! All I did was suck up a bathrobe tie and then all of a sudden the fucking thing is smoking and it smells like that time I burned eggs. *I’ve only burned eggs the one time. That is not a smell you want to repeat.

Some give you massive anal leakage and hemorrhoids from lifting it up the stairs. Some vacuums do not get the small stuff you are trying to pick up like that God Forsaken craft sand that your mother in law gave to the kids as a gift. She is wonderful the sand is not it is related to glitter and glitter is for fucking life. Some vacuums don’t pick up the big things even though the commercial is showing you that it will suck up quarters, that is a euphemism for the money you wasted buying the Damn thing. It’s like sucking all of your swear jar change in one fell swoop and now you can’t go to Disney. I even have a vacuum that runs by itself. I call her Rosie and she is my best friend but she is needy and is constantly telling me that she needs the little tank emptied. I am like “Bitch there is not anything in here!” Then she is like I’m done and I look around the house and I remember what it was like when I asked my children to vacuum. One room is spotless, one room is half done, every other room has trails of where the vacuum has been passed through once. Are you kidding me Rosie this is your only fucking job.

Recently I was vacuuming and I put on my earphones while I vacuum and listen to music because younger me was wrong you can totally listen to music and dance with the vacuum cleaner whilst vacuuming up all of the pet dander and fur. I was upstairs twirling around and singing because I thought that I was alone in the house. *not that I need to be alone in the house to sing….but I was doing my biggest singing and not at all using my demure stage voice. When someone taps me on my shoulder *in the few minutes it took me to turn around my brain put together this summation of what I was about to face. It’s a murdering ghost demon that is here for your soul and also it wants to leave your bloody corpse behind and there is no way for you to protect yourself, you should holler as loud as you can to alert your husband who is outside on his lawnmower to attract his attention, not that he could save you but so that he can join you in your demise because that mother fucker said to death do us part and he is not getting off that fucking easy!!!! When I scream I see my husband there with his hands up to prove that he is not some trickster demon coming in all innocent like my husband to then unhinge his jaw and eat my fucking face off! He is laughing and I turn the vacuum cleaner off and take my earphones off and I look at him like “Why are you interrupting my show? Are you fucking dying? Is there an ice cream truck *which is actually pronounced “Ding Dong Truck” what is the emergency? Because honestly these are the only two reasons I can think of for anyone to interrupt me while I am vacuuming and in my zone.

“Did you order something huge from amazon?” He asks me *he is usually the one who shops amazon for every need he has.

“Oh it’s my lanterns!” I announce. So here is a funny thing about me, I have bought things from amazon without checking the size of things. I have bought little tiny lanterns that looked huge in the picture and then when they came in were only five inches tall, and I bought enormous matches to light my candle so that I don’t burn my fingers except these particular matches actually take two people to light….so I am not great when it comes to knowing what exactly it is that I am buying. So now my husband is looking at me thinking that I have purchased some cartoonishly large lanterns for the deck. But its not that it is that I bought a large quantity of them because…..well let’s just say because and leave it at that.

“Why are there so many?” he asks as we open the box.

“Because I didn’t know how large they were going to be and if they were super small like the last time I was going to use them a different way.”

“Becki, they have a way to check the size before you buy them! You don’t have to be surprised every fucking time you get something in the mail.”

“But sometimes I am surprised, so I bought more of them!” I say and I smile and he just shakes his head and goes back outside to finish his yard work *because we sort of do the whole “Little House on the Prairie” rules at my house too, but they aren’t law at our house because I have mowed the lawn and my husband has vacuumed. Honestly I would much prefer Mowing the lawn than vacuuming. First of all it’s a riding lawn mower and its basically a go-kart and it too is loud so I listen to music and dance drive while using it….but it is also a weapon and that murdering ghost demon does not stand a chance against me on a lawn mowing go-kart because I will run his ass down. I will mulch his nefarious presence and carry on with my day. But instead I have to go back to my vacuuming and what the hell can I do with that stupid contraption? Suck him up in it? Then I have to lean over and empty him out of the canister and take the risk of being possessed. I mean this isn’t “Ghostbusters” I don’t have a plasma container to seal him up in. That is why they come after you when you are vacuuming! They are looking to kill or possess or the third and even worst option both. That’s where zombies come from…I am not about to be a zombie because those things do not look great.

Moral of my story if you are vacuuming remember you can suck  the murderous ghost demon up with your machine but you will have to immediately throw the fucking thing out because if you empty the bin into the trash you will get possessed. Also not all vacuums are created equal get one with a plasma container and start driving a hearse because one day you will be needed to save the world. Also if you have both sons and daughters, guess what, they are equal and you can give them equal chores, no more “Little House on the Prairie” rules because you want your children prepared to handle any situation on their own. And when purchasing anything online check the measurements because you don’t want to be surprised by the cartoonish sized thing in your backyard. Unless you are like me and find it hilarious.

Until next time 🙂

When my children were little we were very broke and couldn’t afford cable. My children didn’t watch tv except for the PBS channel. Which was great except for my children didn’t know what toys existed in the world. When it came time for Birthday and Christmas wish lists my oldest daughter was incredibly creative. She would go into great detail as to what the things on her list were actually able to do. My mother, bless her heart, would go in search of these things without realizing that they were made up.

“Becki, I can’t find what your little baby angel wants for her birthday. Do you know where she saw it? Or who made it?”

Me, knowing full well what is coming at me, stands there not at all ready to ask the question that I must ask, “What did she ask for?”

“It’s a bear that walks and talks and drinks tea!”

“That’s a cartoon called Little Bear, Mom, they don’t actually make those.”

My mother looking at me and says “Well that was all that she wants!”

In my day we would circle things that we wanted in the toy store flier to get the knock off version of it. My daughter asks for a real live walking, talking, tea drinking bear and my mother searches the depth of the Earth trying to find one. Now I am trying to figure out what to do because it is the only thing that she has asked for. She wants the walking, talking, tea drinking bear that she saw on little bear. She wants a furry friend to romp around the English country side with. We lived in Massachusetts.

“I don’t want to disappoint her!” my mother says. Which is completely true! None of us wanted to disappoint the sweet little girl. She never asked for anything but when asked she said these completely unreal things that she wanted. So my mother would take her out and have her search for her gift. They would have a day together, just the two of them. It was valuable.

Another example: “Sweetie what would you like for Christmas?”

“I want Balto.”

“A stuffed animal Balto?” (for those of you that do not know, Balto was an animated movie about a dog that had to race against time in Alaska to get the medicine that saved his friend who was dying of diphtheria)

“No, the real Balto in case I am dying of diphtheria and he has to save me!” she was two years old. My two year old is needing this dog that will save her from the deadly disease of diphtheria that she has been vaccinated for. What do I say to that? No! No you can’t have a life saving fucking dog. You don’t live in Nome, Alaska. You have already had that medicine but it was delivered by the middle aged doctor in a cold sterile office on the other side of town. It was less traumatic and more routine procedure! Keep in mind, SHE IS TWO YEARS OLD!!!!

So I took her out to look at the toys and asked her very poignant questions so that I could get the best option B. It was a full day of she and I talking and really getting to know each other.

She once asked for a fairy catcher. A Fucking Fairy Catcher!!!! What in the fucking hell is that? I don’t even know. So I followed it up with the follow up questions “Can you describe it to me?”

“It looks like a house and it has little plates and cups and a table that I can feed them. I will keep them in their very own little garden and they can be friends with the dragonflies.” She smiled at me and she had the BIGGEST Bluest eyes you will ever see and all she is asking for is this fucking made up shit that doesn’t exist and I really want to give it to her. So I got her a doll house. And a stuffed bear. And a stuffed Balto dog. But most importantly we spent time together talking. I was learning that my daughter was beautiful and intelligent and sensitive. She was so creative and fun to be around.

My oldest daughter to this day hates to make wish lists. She is in her twenties and she gets super stressed out by it. I know that somewhere along the way it was because she asked for these remarkably wonderful things and instead she got some cheap knockoff version of what she was asking for. Ah, Yes, the circle of life. I asked for a Barbie Doll and I got the “Barbara Doll” which was Barbie’s cousin thrice removed. She didn’t bend and her legs didn’t move. My daughter asked for the REAL LIVE Balto that would save her from a deadly childhood disease and instead she got Stuffed Balto dog that didn’t move or save lives.

At a certain point children have to learn to accept little disappointments and Wish lists are a good place to start. Truth be told my oldest daughter doesn’t actually feel like she needs anything and that is why she hates making a list.

“Mom, I already have everything I need. Maybe just pay my rent!” or “Why don’t we get together and go shopping!” she responds, now in her twenties. Maybe she always knew that she didn’t need anything and she would say such outrageous things because the question was so outrageous to her. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetie?” this is an outrageous question and my two year old knew it. She understood that. “What would you like for your Birthday?” another outrageous question. My oldest daughter is practical, in fact so isn’t her brother and sister. They now will ask for experiences, such as “Take me to a show!” or “Why don’t we all go to the amusement park?” Basically what my children now ask for is “Can we all get together and spend time with each other? Can we give each other a bit of ourselves to enjoy without worry and time constraints?” And they are right!

Moral of my story: In this hustle bustle world my daughter valued time more than anything. She valued the search for impossible gifts more than the gift itself. What your children want more than anything in the world is for your whole family to be together. They want you to focus on them. They want to play boardgames and to laugh with you. They want to sit on your lap and read. They want you to be present in their lives. The greatest gift of all is time! Give your time to your children and see how precious it is. Turn off the screens and the worries and the constant pull of the outside world and invest some quiet moments in your children. It is the one gift that they will never be disappointed with.

Oh My GAWD guys, I have been walking around for days with a crick in my neck. I am a hunchback because somehow I have slept wrong. I mean HOW was I sleeping? Was I doing headstands in my slumber? Am I actually doing an acrobatic routine without waking? Am I entered in some shut eye olympics? Or Am I sleeping with my neck wrenched to one side without knowing it? There are so many questions and secretly I am hoping that it is the shut eye olympics and that I have won a Gold Medal in the Snooze Gymnast category. But more likely I am losing the Olympic Dozing Wrestling category instead.

Truth be told: and this is more conjecture than truth, so you know “Truth”, I think it’s because I was holding on for dear life to keep some covers while sleeping. My husband has been traveling a lot and he is a selfish sleeper when he comes home after being gone for weeks at a time. When he gets home he cocoons himself in the blankets and eventually gets hot. When he gets hot he throws the blankets off onto the floor. And not back over to me the frozen lady holding onto her little shoulder corner trying to stay toasty and sleeping.

I woke up one day and passive aggressively said “Oh at least the floor is warm when I step on it!” He really didn’t hear me because he was sleeping….comfortably….like a fucking asshole!!!!!

I try to let that shit go. But I did try to mention it in a constructive way “Hey, honey when we fall asleep tonight can you stop taking all of the blankets? I mean I wouldn’t want you to have some sort of accident.” Jokingly of course.

Him “Yeah sure.”

So naturally he slept and I slept with a death grip on the blankets and every time he pulled them I pulled them back. You know restful the way nighttime should be.

Now that we have done this nighttime wrestling match I woke up with a sore shoulder, neck and back. He doesn’t even really know that he’s doing it. I know he isn’t doing it on purpose and there have been times when I will get my own blanket and just admit defeat like an intelligent person should. But now I can’t turn my neck because I wasn’t being that intelligent defeated person.

Bedtime is for rejuvenating yourself. I am not rejuvenated and honestly I understand Lucy and Ricky’s bedtime situation. I mean not the twin sized beds because those are small but queen sized beds would be good. (for those of you who do not know Lucy and Ricky, its mostly because you are young and vibrant and not at all oldish like me, but there was this show called I Love Lucy and it was in black and white. Also I would like to point out that I saw it as reruns and I am only pointing this out to save my vanity. But either way they were a married couple similar to Bert and Ernie and in separate twin sized beds.)

I have slept wrong either way and I am suffering and in pain and trying to get some sort of relief. When did sleeping become dangerous to my health. Is this what my future looks like now? Am I just going to have to get used turning my head to the left only? Either way I will have to work out these kinks so naturally I sat at my computer and began typing this morning, which obviously was a mistake because apparently typing uses all of your upper body to accomplish. So as I write this through gritted teeth and tears in my eyes. I just wanted you all to know I slept wrong and my neck is paying for it.

moral of my story: At a certain point in your marriage separate beds makes more sense.

Until next time

What? You wanted a better moral than that one? Me too readers me too! How about this one…..I may be the gold medalist in snooze gymnastics but I’ve definitely lost the dozing wrestling match. If you see any of these nighttime Olympics on television or youtube let me know. I would like to see when I won the gold medal. Also I am grateful to have a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head and covers to fight over with someone that I love. I truly am fortunate. I know that. My neck doesn’t know that but my heart does and she is the asshole that I follow in most cases.

Until next time 🙂 <- smiling like a winner of a gold medalist

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I have been suffering from writer’s block. Which is strange since I am writing mostly about my life and my memories. I am still living and have the experiences of life every single day. I cut people off in traffic. I hold the door for people at the gas station. I trip over my own feet. Just recently I got a new elliptical machine and for the first few times using it I realized how uncoordinated I really am. So it isn’t that I don’t have memories or life to write about. So what is the problem?

The problem with writing about my life is that one singular person is not having a life, it is intertwined with other people’s lives and how do I tell my story without telling their’s? I purposely do not write names of my loving family mostly because I am not trying to tell their story. I am telling mine.

We all come to this world with our own set of eyes. We can all have the same experiences but walk away with our own version of what the hell just happened. For instance when I wrote about my children heading to the dingle and how terrified I was that they would fall in…they told me that they were heading toward the dingle on purpose, the dingle was the destination in their contraption from hell.

I want to tell my story without embarrassing those who have crossed my path. My version is unique to me. I have been acutely aware that people in the same experience may experience it differently and I also understand that this can cause many arguments and fights. This is exactly why I would have my children do “mock trials” when they were arguing. They had to bring their case to “Mom’s court” and this was so that my children understood that there is always more than one side. I wanted my children to be understanding and compassionate. I wanted them to have an open mind and a willingness to hear another person out. What would the world look like if we listened as much as we talked? Look at social media, it is set up around throwing your ideas out there and not listening to anyone else’s ideas. Maybe they need time in “Mom’s court”?

I remember one time my son and I were having a heated discussion, which was strange because he was not one that pushed the envelope, and I stood there in the HEAT and less listening and more shouting. I finally said to him “One of us needs a time out and I don’t even know which one, so I am going to my room and you are going to yours. When we both have calmed down we will try to hear each other out.” Being aware of my limitations as a human and remaining humble helped me as a parent. I was not always right and I was able to admit it. In that ability it didn’t create a weak mother who had children walking over her. Instead my children and I had respect for one another. We worked together to resolve our differences and it taught them that it is perfectly okay to not know everything.

When I became a parent, and adult for that matter, I was like “Who the fuck allowed this to happen? I don’t know everything yet. How the hell can I parent when I don’t know everything?” Then when they handed me my little pink swaddle I was like “Hey there little angel. You and I are going to figure this out together, how does that sound?” We did figure it out together. My children grew to be confident and compassionate and humble. They knew that it was perfectly normal to learn and grow well into adulthood. They don’t have to know everything.

If you are a parent or adult and you feel like “Who the fuck is in charge up there? I am not ready for this!” I say to you, it’s okay! You grow every single day. You are allowed to say to your children “I don’t know, but we can learn together.” You can ask for help. You can go to therapy. You can join a support group. You can take some classes. You can continue to learn and grow and to really get to know yourself. You can ask yourself “Am I giving myself the very best?” “Am I living my life as I intended?” “What is my purpose?” You honestly do not really ever have to have an answer. Your answer to these questions can change a million times over. This is how we grow.

As I have always told my children: You are going to make mistakes, make the ones where you can face yourself in the mirror! If you are having a hard time living with your mistakes then explore them and try to find out what your mistakes are trying to teach you.

Also I have said: You are not better than anyone else and no one is better than you. We were all created in the image of God. All of us. Even those people you do not like. Loving God means loving yourself and others, even those you do not agree with.

Please don’t think I am perfect because I so am NOT by any stretch of the imagination. I know I am imperfect. I know I have limitations and short comings. Such as, when my husband does laundry, I am livid. Why? My cats have a full drawer of sweaters that used to be mine (because he shrinks them all). One time he turned an entire batch of clothes pink and we couldn’t afford to buy new. My oldest daughter HATES the color pink, probably because my blood would boil every time I dressed her in her matching pepto bismol colored outfits. EVERYTHING she owned was this fucking color. It wasn’t even a pretty color pink. It was a weird color pink. So now when I get sick and he tries to help with doing the laundry I have to tell myself that he is trying to be nice and that I shouldn’t make a voodoo doll of him. I try exceptionally hard not to hate him when he says “I did laundry!” I know this about myself and so now I ask myself “How important is it?” shrunken clothes is not that important. HE is! My husband and our relationship is way more important than my favorite sweater. It took me a lot of therapy and self reflection to be able to say those words and mean it. Honestly isn’t he sweet for helping me? I think it is really very kind. And now my cats have a full drawer of sweaters and they get to hate him now. How do I tell that story without everyone knowing that my husband is no Mr. Mom?

That’s my point! It isn’t about him. It is about me. It is how I deal with it. I really do try to let it go. I try to be forgiving of him. The same as when I accidentally wash his clothes without checking the pockets first. How many times do I have to find shreds of paper in the dryer before I think “I need to check pockets!”? I bring him the tiny bits of paper and say “I hope this wasn’t important!” In that instance I forgive myself because I am being honest and upfront about it. He forgives me too because he usually says “Nope, it’s fine!”

Moral of my story: I find it difficult to tell my story without trying to tell everyone else’s. I hope that all of you realize that this is my truth on this blog and I do not speak for anyone else. Also we are not perfect and we can humble ourselves a bit to realize that no one else is going to be perfect either. Take the time to get to know yourself and who you want to be. None of us wants to be the person that backs into our husband’s truck taking out both cars in one hasty swoop, But we totally fucking are! (I mean I did that but I am sure you all have an equivalent story, right?) We are going to make mistakes we can either repeat them or we can learn from them. My husband has decided to repeat the laundry one and I have learned to let it go because his voodoo doll can not take much more abuse. Also we spend our all of our lives in a stage of forgiveness, either needing forgiveness or giving forgiveness or both. If we are going to forgive ourselves we have to be honest with ourselves. If we are going to forgive others we have to be honest with ourselves.

Until next time! 🙂

When I was young we had a swing set in our yard. Our Yard was built on a hill and we had very little flat places to put the swing set. So our swing set was on the lower plot of land that my parents owned. It was also near the tree line behind our house. We all had our “self appointed” swing that we used. I don’t ever remember our older brothers using the swing set. There was four little ones and we four used the swing set. My brother, we will call him number three, used one of the single swings, my sister used the other single swings and my youngest brother and I used the see-saw swing, or as we called it the space ship.

One day I went out to the swings, which was not unusual, because I both loved to be outside and I loved to swing. I was out there using one of the single swings because the swing rules were fast and loose that way. I was there swinging and probably singing some made up songs about clouds and birds, because I was cool like that, when number three came out and said to me “Hey, try to kick me in the face.”

Yes you read that correctly, one of our made up games was “Try to kick me in the face!” I was swinging and swinging. I was pumping my legs harder and harder. I was kicking my legs forward and reaching further with my toes trying to stretch so far so that I could kick my brother in the face. I didn’t want to kick him in the face but it was the object of the game. I don’t know what I was going to win, I mean probably an ass beating, but thems are the rules and I play by the rules. So as I was pumping and stretching and reaching and doing my best to kick my brother in the face, as he was standing out of my reach, I didn’t realize that the puny fucking swing set was giving up or maybe it was trying to help because that bitch of a swing set was humping up out of the ground. Finally the swing set tipped over and there I was on the ground. My brother did not get kicked in the face and as far as I know he didn’t even get hurt. BUT the aluminum slide did. That slide bent in half. So when my brother and I put the swing set upright the slide had this ninety degree angle in it. We both looked at it with wide eyes and decided that we had better fix it. I mean how the hell could we burn our asses on a hot slide if we couldn’t even use it. So we bent it back and now there was the hope of tetanus too. So if you rode our slide you had to wear long pants or else you were risking lockjaw.

Another game we played on the swing set was try to flip over the top bar. Also ended with the swing set tipping over. My youngest brother and I, as I had mentioned, rode the space ship swing and man did we go on some lovely adventures with that thing. WE saw aliens and walked on the moon. There was the time we all piled on it to see if we could swing if all the neighborhood children were on it all together. Also tipping the swing over. I got a fat lip with that one because I was horse laughing as we were all trying to swing and I’m pretty sure my jagged ass buck teeth took a chunk out of  someone’s skull.

As we grew older we didn’t use the swings as much and one day it was gone. That was probably a sad day for that tired, old bent up swing set. We kids all growing up and not using it anymore. The aluminum slide heated up in the hot sun but there were no asses to burn. No legs to stick to it as they were trying to make it to the bottom and no kid not quite down the slide to be ejected off by the momentum of the impatient kid behind them. To my recollection we never played “try to kick me in the face” on the slide. That would have been too easy. But we have all tried to ride down the hot aluminum slide all together and I got stuck and the weight of all the kids behind me pushed me forward while my shorts rode all the way up my asshole and crotch so far that I had to floss them out of my teeth that night at bed time. Yes a swing set is filled with so many possibilities.

My children played push the ice down the slide to the other one who would try to catch it. That one ended with a new pair of glasses and a bloody nose. My children had a high tech swing set with a bumpy plastic slide and as far as I know nobody got wedgies or burned asses from that one. But they did all try to ride down it together and catapulted their little sister off the first hump and she came running in for a band aid. When I finally saw what she needed a band aid for I was so impressed because she cut herself but good. But like the true medical specialist that she was at eight the wound was band aided without cleaning. She trapped the dirt in the wound. But what she really wanted to do is get back outside to play because her brother and sister were finally playing with her.

Moral of my story: Swing sets are a good time. Kids may get a little bumped and bruised, but that is okay. We used our imaginations and we got fresh air. My swing set gave me many good memories. My children’s swing set gave me even more. A swing set is the perfect toy. Also they make slides out of plastic because I am sure some one got stuck and got some two degree burns from the old aluminum ones. Those got hot and sticky sweaty kids trying to slide down them didn’t exactly go as planned.

Until next time 🙂

Elevators are such a strange social arrangement. How are we supposed to behave here? I mean we are all shoved into a metal box similar to the tube I send my demands for money at the bank in. *some people call this a withdrawal slip. 

As we are all standing there shoulder to shoulder what is the appropriate way to behave? Whatever the appropriate way is, you can bet your sweet ass I am not going to do it. I have this social nervousness that brings a stand-up comedian out of me. I see those poor trapped souls as an audience for my shenanigans.

Typical people on the elevator. Press the button once. Wait for the elevator. Check to see which elevator is opening by indicator lights. Step onto the elevator. Politely nod and smile as the elevator glides down to your stop. Should the door open and someone gets on or off, you shift to make room for a more comfortable space for all others in the elevator. As you exit you may say something, you probably won’t.

Me on the elevator. Press button for elevator. wait a hot second. Press button again in case the button doesn’t know its job. Stand and try to guess which one will open. Put bets on which one. “It’s going to be the last one on the right. I think this middle one is broken. I never took the middle one. If it is the middle one do I get on it? I mean now in my mind that fucking thing is a death trap.” I press the button again because it is obviously broken. Doesn’t anything in this hotel work? Stand and hope that it isn’t the middle one that opens. I hear a ding and I now look to see which door opens. I walk over and that elevator has a few too many people in it for my comfort level. I smile and say “I’ll get the next one.” The elevator door closes and I push the button again. The same elevator door opens. They all looked super annoyed I shrug and say “Still waiting for the next one, but thanks for circling back.” I now wait a beat and press the button again. As I am standing there waiting for the elevator I am now really hoping that it isn’t this hunk of junk middle one, because now that I think of it I am pretty certain I heard someone died in it once. It’s haunted and only goes to the thirteenth floor. Okay maybe I didn’t hear it, maybe I saw it on a commercial for a movie that I was never going to watch. The next ding indicates the middle one and there, in the middle one, is a young couple and I step in. I step in and say “Good Morning!” with  a large smile. They both smile and then begin to look at their phones. “What’s on your agenda today?” I ask because I mean if we are going to be forced to fight demons together we might as well get to know each other first. They both smile and say “Oh we are going to go out to the pool!” The elevator makes a noise and I look at them and say “Sounds like this thing is being operated by monkeys.” They laugh politely! “I actually thought this one was broken because I haven’t actually used it yet!” That’s usually when the elevator starts to work more as a prop and is in on the joke. Now I’ve made them nervous and they begin to really look at their phones. The door opens and a business man gets on with his badge. “Hello, Mark!” He looks at me and looks confused. “Are you here for the convention?” Mark asks. “No!” I say. He looks even more confused. “I was just telling these two lovely people who I thought this elevator was broken. Well to be honest I actually thought it may have been one that was possessed and would only stop on the thirteenth floor and we would all die. But I know that can’t happen because,” I point to the number panel “There isn’t a thirteenth floor. How super scary would that be if the door opened and there was some old timey bell hop there and was all ‘welcome to the thirteenth floor’ I would totally shit myself.” Everyone in the elevator now a little more jumpy chuckles nervously. The door opens and everyone jumps a bit. “I step aside to let the new member of the audience on. “Good morning, How are you today?” I ask. This person smiles and stands a little further away from me. “Oh Mark, I think Joan over here is going to the same conference as you.” I nudge Mark. He looks at Joan and says “Oh are you here for the ass scratchers convention?” She smiles and says “No I am here for the ingrown toenail convention.” *these aren’t real conventions that I am aware of. They both kind of grimace and I think ‘that was super fucking awkward. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, because that was brutal to watch.’ The elevator makes a strange motion and I say “Hey guys we are almost to the thirteenth floor.” and I laugh. They all look at me with this strange look on their faces. I guess they don’t think that I am that funny. The doors open on the pool floor and I step aside so that the young couple can get out. When Mark and Joan get out I am a little surprised because they aren’t even wearing swim clothes, unless they are going to the pool in their suits, which I doubt. A nice woman steps on and we ride the elevator down to the lobby together and as she is stepping out I say “Have a nice day!” Which is premature because now she and I have to walk all the way to the coffee shop together in weird silence.

Now that is just an ordinary elevator ride for me. In Vegas I can do a better bit because of the audience, it’s typically drunk or tipsy adults and I can turn up my material. My sister and a friend of hers and I were in Vegas with our husbands. Us ladies were in an elevator together with a small group of people. There was a young couple and another man with us. There was a floor 23 and it was a rather large button on the panel in the elevators obviously a big frigging deal. Someone in the elevator asked “I wonder what floor 23 is!” We all start guessing and I am thinking ‘Oh this is a delightful crowd that came to see my show.’ So the young guy in the back said “I heard it was a sex club.” I was all like ‘fucking awesome! These folks are in for a treat.” So I look straight at this guy and his wife and I say “Well if that is the case my safe word is *insert choking sound* because you never know if you’ll even be able to speak. It’s hard to enunciate the word POTATO with a gag in your mouth.” The other man hits a button for the next floor and immediately exits the elevator. I look at my sister and her friend and honestly ask “Too far?” because sometimes that’s the case. Some people know that I’m joking and Other people do not. The young girl, with the culprit who egged me on, was staring at her phone. I was sitting in silence as I listened to everyone else ring out with laughter. My job here has been done. I said “I’m here all week folks. I am typically playing through floors twenty to thirty!”

So I honestly don’t know what you’re supposed to do on an elevator. All I know is that if you are in Vegas and I have embarrassed you, I truly apologize. I honestly was just trying to entertain you. If I made you laugh, then you’re welcome.

Moral of my story: I am still not sure how to behave in an elevator. I just think that if we are all going to be standing that close to each other maybe we can strike up a conversation. Also be safe talking to strangers, they may not think you’re funny at all and that hurts. And if the elevator does open on a mysterious thirteenth floor with some old timey bell hop to greet you, maybe hit that close door button and see if that saves you. Otherwise it was really nice knowing you.

Until next time 🙂

The question shouldn’t be “What’s in your wallet?” I get it, it’s a slogan for a credit card. The real question is “What the Hell is in your Purse?” because My purse is a dumping ground for as long as I use that purse. If it is large enough I can use that purse for years and continue to shove shit in it as it’s intended for. I’m surprised by the garbage, literal garbage, I keep in my purse. So here are the contents of my purse today:

3 used tissues, 1 package of unused tissues, a candy bar wrapper (that I found outside in the parking lot and I was all “tsk tsk no littering people”…then I shoved that fucker right in my purse for safe keeping), an empty tin of mints, a million free-flowing mints and mint bits because they spilled, receipts for every grocery I have ever bought EVER, Two Million Four Hundred Thousand Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars and seventy-nine cents of change, lipstick with no cover, clumps of lipstick that has hair stuck in it, a tube of lip gloss that is almost empty, 3 tubes of closed lipstick all similar shades of rose, Chapstick that may have come with the purse, a panty liner in a package that is barely hanging on, my wallet that is neatly organized because that is the true hero in this story, a bookmark, eye drops, my inhaler, eyeglasses from the last prescription in case my new ones don’t work out (still, from about eight months ago), a plane ticket from a trip long past forgotten, eyeglass cleaners, eyeglass wipes (yes they are different things entirely), a hotel room key (could be from the same trip, Probably not), a used Starbucks gift card with a couple of dollars on it that I keep forgetting to use, Earrings (hoops that don’t close all the way anymore), my car keys, sunglasses, bobby pins of various colors and sizes, lotion, and sunscreen (both travel size and definitely NOT from the last trip I took) and my identification card (in case I get stolen or my purse does).

This purse weighs a thousand pounds, could be from all the change, but I will never know because I will probably not clean it out until I find a new purse. Which is a solid lie because I just grab my wallet out and move into the new purse and move on with my life. The only truthful time that I clean my purse is when I want to use it again for something. Then I grab a trash can and pick through the garbage to find “Oh that’s where that necklace went!”

My husband laughed at me when we first married and moved and I found a purse with a wad of cash in it. And by laughing I mean Not Laughing. “Becki, you had that money all this time?”

“I guess so!”

“How long have you had this money?”

“Hmmm? I used that purse before we met. So that’s my money from my paycheck from two jobs ago!”

“You are so careless!”

“I’m fucking magical. I found money, like a God damned leprechaun and you’re going to be all judgey about it? Fine, give me my wad of cash and I will use it for people who appreciate me!”

That was a lucky find. The bag of melted M&M’s was not great to find. They obviously melt in your purse in the trunk of your car as well.

Why does my purse become a dumping ground you ask? BECAUSE I’m busy, BARBARA! I grab and go! GRAB and GO! and eventually I have so many receipts and chauchkies in my purse that I can no longer shove more things in. Then I have to get a new purse. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking I will be different if I had a smaller purse. But that is when I am a fucking liar. I then buy a big purse and I shove my little purse into my big one. That’s better. Little purse! Psshhht, what the fuck was I thinking? I do this at least once a year!

When I had babies it was the diaper bag. Although diaper bags collect way worse things, like empty dirty baby bottles. Fuck me! What smells like HOT Fucking vomit? I mean besides me! Oh that’s it, the baby bottle! That wasn’t my fault, I breast-fed. Where did that bottle even come from? I mean I know where it came from but, you know what, breast-feeding was not accepted in public as it is now. *smirking because I know it’s not accepted now either which is super fucking weird because it’s literally what boobs were designed for. 

Why don’t you just clean out your purse? you ask! Because I’m Busy, SUSAN! But you are literally taking time to sit here and label each thing in your purse when you could be cleaning it!

I’m doing this for you, Jennifer! I am letting you know that it is okay to be a little or even a lot disorganized. I am still a good person! Hold my purse and be helpful would ya, Judge Judy?

Moral of my story: My purse is like a junk drawer. I don’t actually have a junk drawer because my husband is exceptionally organized. He has more than one label maker. I use it to write obnoxious labels. He uses it for organizing his life. How did we end up together? I am a magical leprechaun! Also it is okay to be disorganized. I promise that I am not really a train wreck, it’s just that my purse is a mess. It is my personal space and it is a mess. But, I got you, if you need a bobby pin with a bit of lipstick stuck to it! That could come in handy for something, you never know. I am like a lady MacGyver! A Magical Leprechaun Lady MacGyver!!!!

Until Next Time 🙂

My personal story on these two topics is something that I try to joke about. I try to be light-hearted and then I close doors and I cry deeply and soundlessly. I try to not measure myself by my mistakes and failures, but try as I might sometimes it is all that I can see and believe of myself. This isn’t what this blog is about. This blog is about funny and joking and laughing and what the fuck Becki you are going to drag us all down with your own self loathing? Why? We don’t need it.

That’s right! We All don’t need it. We don’t need to gauge ourselves by how many mistakes we make. We don’t need to sit back and ask ourselves why we are so stupid to make these failures. So then what? I am no expert, I mean I do study psychology and I hope to one day be in that field, but I am no expert. All I can say is that when I write down on paper all of my mistakes, I have a list. That list can grow and grow and so won’t my heartache and tireless self-hatred. My insecurities get bigger and I hope that when I am with people they will like me. But truth be told, I am not looking for their approval nor am I looking for mine, because I have said before I am looking for my failure. If you look for failure you will find it. We are not meant to be perfect. We are not meant to be without mistakes. We are meant to be human. We are meant to lean on God.

Now the challenge I give to myself, and hopefully to all of you, is for today, look for your success and your good qualities. Once you begin to make this list you will find a new way of looking at yourself. Not only that, you will begin to do things to add to your list. You will open doors for people with their arms full of groceries or children. You will give a penny, quarter or dime to the person in front of you at the checkout. You will start to understand what it is like to be confident in your actions. Sure, you will not stop making mistakes, but you will start to measure those in a healthier way. You will be putting mistakes on the “oopsy daisy list” instead of “Oh God How Fucking Stupid Could You Possibly BE list”. Also maybe change the name of your mistake list. Because I am going to be honest the “Becki you Fucking Moron list” is really hard to walk away with a good self-esteem.

I was never really happy when I only looked at my bad qualities. Those qualities mad me feel less of a person. I hated that list of failures. I hated myself for making them. I sat and tried to play them over and over again so that I could somehow learn from them and change. *changing the past without a time machine is impossible

When I balance that out with my success, I see that sometimes my mistakes are not so bad. They are livable. They are non perfect and that is okay. Sometimes my failures are not even failures or mistakes at all, they are just occurrences that are reminding me to slow down and be present. Sure I may say something flippant and curt to my loved ones. Sure I may forget a word that is easy to remember and I stand there in silence as people are trying to help me find it. But without these moments, I wouldn’t get the opportunity to say I’m sorry that was out of line. I will do better. I am humbly flawed and that is how I was made to be. I wouldn’t get the opportunity of the comradery of searching for Becki’s missing word. *It’s usually an ordinary word like fork and instead I say something like pokey eaty thing! I mean even Ariel, the little mermaid, had a hard time with this one, but she also used it to comb her hair so she clearly wasn’t an expert.

I was also made to be loving, kind, funny and at times sure inappropriate. I was made to be quirky and comfortable for others to be around. I was made to be a mother who reminds kids that they don’t have to be perfect to be loved. I am giving and thoughtful. I love to sing, dance, read, cook and to laugh. Boy do I love to laugh. I love to be with my husband and my children doing absolutely nothing but enjoying them being there.

We all make mistakes. As I tell my kids “You are going to make mistakes and you are the only one who has to answer for those mistakes. So make the mistakes that you can face yourself in the morning.” Mistakes are personal and they belong to no one but you. My mistakes do not get to hold me hostage. They do not get to suck the life out of me. I am not doing anything so terrible that I have to weigh myself down with this anchor of doom. I can apologize and I can ask for forgiveness but then I have to move on.

Moral of my story: Life is a balancing act. It is all about doing our best and sometimes falling short. What we do with our mistakes is how we learn and grow. But we must remind ourselves that we aren’t all bad. If you make your lists and you find out you are all bad with no redeeming qualities maybe seek some help. There are plenty of people out there who are willing to help, that is their job. Therapy is something that is going to be helpful and can even be enjoyable. So, What are you waiting for? Go make those good people lists and see how good it can make you feel.

Until next time 🙂

Now that we have gotten to know each other, and like most people I meet in person I have been doing all of the talking and I haven’t learned anything about you at all, I think it is safe to say that I have a favorite curse word. It is NOT the word that you are thinking it is. It is not the f word. That was just the most adaptable word into speech. The f word s versatile in language and therefore the most useful. The f word is the word you kind of ease into it as a kid.

Easing into the f word as a kid looks a little bit like this: “Oh sugar!” then you wait to see if that gets a rise out of your parents and when that is deemed okay you move on.

“Fiddlesticks!” is a bit more daring and makes your mother’s eyes dart at you.

“Fudging A!” is one that is daring enough to get you punished. *side note as a kid I wanted to open a fudge shop and call it Fudging A selling grade A Fudge. TM don’t be stealing my good ideas guys.

“You Friggin jerk!” which I also would mix together with “Fricken jerk” because I didn’t know which one it was. Both got me in trouble.

“Fooken!” I have tried fooken. Which is the equivalent of sticking your big toe in to see if hell was going to be too hot for you. By the taste of the Zest bar being scraped by my teeth, I would say “yes, hell is going to be too hot for me!”

Finally I have graduated from high school at seventeen and am an adult and could say “Fuck” but not around my mother because she would still grab a bar of soap.

But, to your surprise, fuck is NOT my favorite curse word. My favorite curse word is a bit old-fashioned and I fucking love it. Here it is folks my favorite curse word is:

TOUCH HOLE!

I love this curse word. Because what even is a touch hole. Is it the pooper? Is it your pee hole? Where is the touch hole? My dad would use this curse word when I was a child and I had forgotten about it for a very long time. Then one day I was driving with my kids in the car and some person pulls out in front of me and I almost hit him and I started to rant with all of my road rage that I also got from my father and when I was about to call the guy an asshole I remembered that my little cherubs were in the car. So instead I yelled out “You Blazing Touch Hole!”

Which surprised me for a step because that just came from the recesses of my mind. Where have I been hiding this fantastic word and why? Holy goodness I love this word. It makes me smile. Say it with me “Touch Hole” can you say it without cracking a smile? I can’t.

Also, what ever hole the touch hole is, if it is blazing it may need ointment or cream. This word became my ultimate favorite curse word and I try to not use it until I absolutely have to.

For instance when I am trying to diffuse the tension in a steamy argument with the hubs. I will say touch hole and it catches him off guard and makes him laugh. It is magical like that. I swear guys just yell out “You Touch Hole!” the next time you are in a bitter argument and trust it will get some laughs.

So basically touch hole has become somewhat of a safe word in my marriage and my husband never says it because he isn’t clever or quick or maybe he thinks it’s just stupid. Also I may or may not have told him that he can’t use it. That is my curse word. It’s my favorite and his lips will never taste the sweetness of “Touch Hole” as it exits his mouth.

Well the other night we were having a discussion, not an argument, because we have had couples counseling. If you have been to couples counseling it makes you better at communication. You get to use “I” statements. Such as “I feel as if you are going to do laundry, I suggest that you learn how!” he has shrunk many sweaters.

So anyway, he and I were telling each other what we feel when I said to him “Look, I’m not trying to be a touch hole about this.”

This is usually a good clue that my funny childish side is coming out and that my ADHD has set in and I have lost track of the argument, so my husband starts to laugh.

*you know when you are angry and all super serious and you say something and the other person laughs and you think that they have no other choice but to leave.

That!!!!

To be fair touch hole had always been used for this purpose. I, however, did not intend it for this purpose. I meant “Hey I don’t mean to be an asshole but never fucking do this thing again. Okay?” but using “I” statements and not telling him what to do Like a mature adult.

He heard “I don’t mean to fight, discussion, you. Let’s make up! I’m not even that serious about this topic anyway!”

Wrong!!!!!!!!!

He was so wrong. I literally went over to the computer and looked up dog houses for a hot half hour. Which is stupid because I don’t even know how I would enforce that. Also it’s a saying but has any husband ever had to sleep in a dog house? I mean it is a saying. I have heard of sleep on the couch and on tv the couch is a pull out bed and I am like that is a punishment because pull out couch beds are eighty percent bars going across your back , ten percent flimsy mattress and ten percent where is that blinking light coming from? But “You must sleep in the dog house”, is like some level up shit! You are no longer worthy of inside or the comforts of human habitats. I mean even the dog doesn’t LIVE in the dog house. My dogs live in with me and go in and out twenty times an hour. I don’t have a dog house for them because they have mine. The only time I remember having a dog house was when we were little and I found my frozen dead cat in there. So I know that it isn’t a great protection against the elements. But that is where I was when my husband heard my safe word and he thought I was joking. Shame on me, perhaps, but my husband has a new respect for the word touch hole. Or maybe a new respect for shrinkable fabrics. I am not sure.

Moral of my story: When arguing with your spouse use I statements to turn it into a discussion. Also if you are going to use a word to lighten the brevity of the moment, don’t change the rules. Also Please, if you know why “I’m in the dog house tonight!” became a thing, could you tell me the history on this because I would really like to know. Also if you know which hole is the touch hole please tell me this too. If you having a blazing touch hole ask your doctor if “fill in pharmaceutical name here” is right for you.

Until next time 🙂

When I was pregnant with my first child I thought several times that I was going into labor before I actually did. People sometimes talk about this and sometimes there is an article titled “Braxton Hicks?” But for the most part this whole your body is preparing for birth is still wildly under exaggerated! I mean there were times when I was like “this is totally it!” only to find out that “No It is going to hurt a whole lot worse.” Not to mention the times when I sneezed and totally thought my water broke only to find out that I’m incontinent now. That’s a fucking surprise…and guess what, that never goes back to factory reset either. Pissing yourself while laughing or coughing or sneezing is just your body’s way of reminding you that you are a mother.

The real event happened with me on the phone talking to my friend. *it was the early nineties so this wasn’t weird then

I told her that my back hurt and I wasn’t feeling great after dinner. “I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Isn’t tomorrow your due date?” she asked

“Yes, but babies hardly ever come out when they are supposed to.” *I guess it gets you ready for when they are here and you are trying to get somewhere on time.

“Okay! But call me if you go into labor!” she says and I promised *as I am writing this I realize that I broke this promise. If you are reading this, I had the baby she is a girl and she is at veterinarian school now. Surprise!!!!!!

I looked at my husband, who was young and handsome and practically a baby himself. We both were. I said “I’m not feeling great. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay! I have a meeting in the morning that I am preparing for, so it’s probably going to be a long night!” no truer words had ever been spoken.

“Okay! Good luck! Good night!” I go to bed and getting comfortable was impossible at this point in my pregnancy. I tossed and quarter turned myself to sleep. As I am sleeping I wake up and I feel so super uncomfortable. My husband is lying next to me asleep, he is less handsome because my super sense of smell can help me detect his diet for the past seven weeks. *excuse me sir but have you been living off from tuna, men’s used socks and old cheese for the last few months because close your mouth. Pregnancy is a good time, it’s a rollercoaster that you all can ride together.

I get up and go to the bathroom and I am looking at myself in the mirror and I am thinking “Whoa! Is my body having an earth quake or something?” I have a backache and every once in a while I have a front ache too! In my sleepy state I decide that it was whatever I ate for dinner, and maybe my husband’s breath and I go back to bed. In bed I start to fall asleep and there it is again. I try to roll over but that’s where my husband’s face is and I’m trying to avoid that right now. *my husband may not have had bad breath but again pregnancy has brought on this super power of sense of smell. By the way, worst superhero in the world. “My sense of smell is telling me that the bad guy is about to drink bad milk!” I threw things away because, to me, they couldn’t be in the house anymore. My husband once opened a can of tuna fish and I told him that it smelled like it was at least twenty years bad. “It smells fine to me!” almost were his last words, ever!!!!!

I start to fall back to sleep and again my back ache reached all the way around to my front again. I was all “C’mon! What does an overweight girl got to do to get some sleep up in here!” I wasn’t overweight but I felt it. Good Golly I gained forty pounds on my tiny little frame and then I swelled due to the preeclampsia. I had one outfit that I could fit into and it wasn’t my maternity sweat suit. *because You Know what you fucking did!!! I threw that out with the tuna fish!

I start to fall asleep and “HOLY FUCKING MUSCLE SPASM AROUND MY CENTER!!!!” What? What is happening? Why does this keep happening? I just want to go to sleep, please let me just get some rest. I close my eyes and I am all good and ready to drift…..No! It’s back! Wait!!! Wait a fucking solid minute. Am I in labor?

I sit up and I start timing my muscle spasms and yup there is a pattern. The pattern at first was a little disorganized and about 20 to 25 minutes apart roughly. As time goes on the spasms get more organized and a true pattern emerges.

The pattern is exactly this: 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes, 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes, 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes.

“Honey! Honey! Wake up. I think it’s time!” I say it like they do on tv because I’ve only had this experience vicariously through tv characters.

He rolls over and brushes me away.

I would try harder but I am currently having another contraction. I wait until my contraction is over and I say to him again “Honey, honey, I think it’s time!”

He, still trying to keep me from interrupting his sleep, pulls the covers over his head.

I now have to wait for the shorter contraction to be over and I try again “Dear! I think I am in labor!”

This time he looks at me and says “I don’t have time for this Becki, I have a really big meeting in the morning.” *which is fair because this isn’t the first time I was in labor with this one baby

I get up and walk into our tiny living room and pace, trying to figure out what to do, or maybe where to hide the body. *joke!

I then sit in a rocking chair and time my contractions some more. They are the same. I then call my doctor. The answering service tells me that they will have my doctor call me back. I sit in the rocking chair and I know which contraction is coming next and I wait between them. 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes, 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes.

My husband wakes when the phone rings and I answer it.

“Hello, yes I think I am in labor. My contractions are 6 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes.”

“How long have you been having them?”

I look at the clock and I tell her that it has been three and a half hours.

“Do you have someone there that can drive you to the hospital?” she asks

*yes but I am not sure he is going to make it! i think to myself

“My husband is here.”

“Your contractions are very close together and I need you to get to the hospital now! I will meet you there.” she tells me.

“Okay. I am on my way!”

My husband looks at me as I walk into the bedroom all smug and grab my over night bag.

“What did the doctor say?”

“She said to get someone to drive me to the hospital. You can bring me and drop me off, I know that you have that big meeting in the morning!” I say all mean and awful.

“Does she think you are in labor?”

I was going to answer him but I doubled over in pain instead. I was leaning against the bed and breathing when I notice that he had jumped up and got dressed in a single bound.

“Okay. Let’s get you to the hospital.” He guides me out to the car and we had to stop twice because of the contractions. With each labor pain I get more and more smug. The more smug I get the more passive aggressive I become.

“You can just drop me off. I will let them know that I am there to do this alone!”

“I’m sorry but how many times have you gone into labor this pregnancy?” it was a fair question and the total was not important, the important thing is that this time it is the real fucking deal and you will always be remembered as the dick that said “I have an important meeting in the morning.”

So as we are driving to the hospital it is snowing quite bad. When we get there I go in and the doctor comes and checks me and announces that I am fully effaced…meaning that it is going to be a while.

“Normally we would send women home under these circumstances, however the snow is coming down pretty hard out there and I would be more concerned that you wouldn’t be able to make it back here safely. It’s a blizzard have you heard?”

Actually we hadn’t heard that we were getting a blizzard it hadn’t even occurred to us to check the weather. We are going to be garbage parents. Who doesn’t check the weather in January? My Goodness, we weren’t even aware of the snow until we saw it with our own eyes. I have been on bed rest. What have I been doing with my time? Mostly reading. I mean of course I was reading. I am always reading.

My husband was less concerned about his meeting as they set me all up with gauges and an IV and the monitor that kept track of my contractions. The nurse looked at me and asked “Are you in any pain?”

“No! I’m good!” that was at four in the morning. Around noon I was still trying to be brave and suck it up.

“Honey, your contractions are very strong and you have been going like this all day, are you sure you don’t want anything?” the nurse asks

“No, I think I am doing fine.”

The doctor comes in and orders Pitocin. Pitocin is a drug that the devil himself made to make childbirth more painful.

I was in labor until six in the evening and the doctor came in and announced that the baby was in distress and that we needed to get her out via a c-section. I had papers to sign while they shoved an enormous needle in my back.

My daughter was born at 6:05pm. It took five minutes from deciding to have a c-section and meeting my baby.

Turns out my husband did have a very important meeting that day. He was so right! He, to this day, feels regretful for handling that so poorly. I do too. I mean we were about to have a beautiful baby girl and we were acting like babies ourselves. By the time we left the hospital a week later our car was plowed in because we got feet of snow. My husband had to dig it out to go home. We got our baby home and all was wonderful.

moral of my story: When you are in labor or think you are in labor it is exciting and slightly terrifying. It is hard to keep your cool and to know what to do. I can only imagine it is far more so for your partner. Working together will make the experience go smoother. Also, my expectations were based on what I had seen on tv, that is not always going to be your experience. I had to appreciate that my husband was going through his own stuff. I’m older now, and obviously wiser, so I only bring it up when I want him to feel bad about it. *just kidding. I let it go. The most important thing is that I was right! *kidding again. The most important thing was that our baby girl was healthy, happy and loved!

Until next time 🙂