Life After Trauma

You just never know how strong you can be until tragedy strikes. A few Mondays ago, I learned about my own strength.

It all started when I woke up. The kids were downstairs with Andrew (the fact that I was alone and undisturbed should have been clue #1 that something was wrong.) ...anyways I sat there listening to my husband bang some pots and pans around and I cringed when I heard him slam the silverware drawer.

"Why isn't he at work? Why is he unloading the dishwasher? What day is it?" ...I had so many questions.

I casually got up and brushed my teeth. I took my time knowing that was all the alone time I'd get that day.
I went downstairs where I was met by my sweet husband-with beads of water dripping down his bald head.

"Why are you so sweaty? It's like 7am..?"

"Uh... I was trying to catch a spider but it ran under the couch..."

I glance over and see my kids running circles around the couch that is oddly placed in the middle of the living room.

"Omg. All this work for a spider? I'll get it."

"Well...umm ok..no..but.."

I interrupted him by grabbing a paper towel to go smash it. He stopped me and told me to just hold the end of the couch up while he threw a beach towel over it. A BEACH towel?? How big is this spider?  (Should have been clue #2)

"No wonder the spider ran from you! You can't throw a giant towel at it!"


**disclaimer: my manly husband has the ultimate case of Heebie Jeebies when it comes to spiders. They are his kryptonite. That's why I didn't find it odd that he was in such a predicament.**

Anywho, he talks me into holding the couch up while he "tries to catch it"...but at that moment I knew something was off. I'm not sure if it was the sweat dripping from his brow or my daughter chanting "Mickey Mouse! Mickey Mouse! Mickey Mouse!" In the corner. Something wasn't right.

I ask him again, "was it a large spider?"
And he broke. He told me he saw mouse poop by the slider door and when he looked up he saw a mouse dart across the floor under the couch.

WTF. WHAT. OMG. AREYOUKIDDINGME. ICANT. IMDEAD.

He was actually going to let me hold a couch up in mid-air, leaving me completely vulnerable to Mickey running up my pajama pants and biting my face off?!?! He literally must not love me at all. AND he was NOT unloading the dishwasher like I thought...he was looking for something to catch it with! UGH.

So I refused to hold the couch up, or go anywhere near it for that matter. The only obvious solution was to set it on fire.

After a little more debating (OK arguing, maybe a little crying), Andrew declares that he has done all he can do, and now it was time to call an exterminator while he went to work.

WAITAMINUTE. I'm NOT staying here alone, with a rogue mouse and 2 kids. Nope. Plus, the vermin had been in my kitchen and possibly my living room. God knows what it touched. We have to throw all of our belongings away. Immediately.

(Needless to say, Andrew didn't get to leave until everything was properly disposed of and proper mouse barricades and traps were set in place. He also had to convince me that the mouse got scared and ran back outside while we were tearing the house apart.)


Fast forward to the next day. There had been no more sightings of the mouse, but it left more poop for us. The thing was STILL in our house.  We were practically living in filth at this point. Omg.
We finally got an exterminator to come over. He may or may not have been greeted by a crazy, hysterical mom begging him to bring ALL the traps he could get his hands on.

Mr. Exterminator comes inside and I promptly show him the mouse poop. He takes a look and laughs.

**this is where things get fuzzy. I'm basing this off the info my 3 year old has given me since I'm pretty sure I blacked out.**

The guy looks at me and tells me, "oh...that's too big to be mouse poop. That's from a rat."  A RAT. AFREAKINGRAT!!!!!!!!

I could deal with the fact that there was a mouse somewhere. They seemed harmless enough in Cinderella. They even made her clothes. We could have possibly been friends one day. But not a rat. Rats live in the sewer and boss the Ninja Turtles around. Rats are in horror movies. Rats EAT PEOPLE. Or something like that. Rats are the worst of the worst and they are one of the only reasons to burn your house down. I can't have a rat in my house. I vacuum usually! There's nothing in my house it wants!

But alas, it was true. A nasty devil rat lurked somewhere in my once safe and peaceful house.

Mr. Exterminator set proper traps and poison, and gave me instructions on how to not let a rat-trap break your hand if you accidentally come in contact with it. Fabulous. We were all set. Now we wait.

I spent the rest of the day searching the house for signs of the creature. At this point I was seeing things. I couldn't let my kids sit on the furniture because what if it was in the couch?  I couldn't let them sit on the floor, because what if it was down there waiting to attack? I couldn't let them eat, because what if they dropped a crumb and it attracted another rat? I couldn't let them sleep because WHAT IF IT WAS GOING TO EAT THEIR FACES OFF? The only 2 logical things to do where:

A.) sit and wait for it
B.) leave and never come back


...so we left. We ate lunch in the car in the driveway. We walked around target for like 3 hours. We went to the park.  But eventually we had to come back home. (Kids were complaining about wanting to sleep in their beds, blah blah) WHO COULD SLEEP DURING A CRISIS LIKE THIS??

After everyone settled down and went to sleep, I sat in my son's room and waited. I don't know what I was waiting for but I waited. Around 11 pm I went to my bedroom where my husband and daughter were sleeping. I was about to open the door when I heard scratching. I heard my dog pawing at the door to get out. But wait. The dog was in bed with my son. Did I really hear those noises? Or was I just so paranoid and sleep-deprived that I imagined it? I woke Andrew up and made him sit in the silence to listen for the scratching. He (once again) convinced me that I was imagining things and I was freaking myself out. I didn't believe him but whatever. I agreed to try sleep.

A couple hours go by and I'm FINALLY drifting off to sleep.

That's when it happened. Andrew shot out of bed, flipped on the light and yelled at me to wake up!

"I heard it! Then I saw it! It's in our ROOM!!!"

WTF. NO. VACATE! VACATE! CALL 911 CALL THE MARINES CALL THE FBI CALL THE NINJA TURTLES JUST DO SOMETHING!!!!

The disgusting rat was in our room and it ATE THE DAMN CARPET under the door trying to get out. It ate the carpet. Like just ate a big chunk of it. This thing was taking no prisoners and it would stop at NOTHING to ruin my life.

So instinctively, I grabbed all my clothes and my daughter and got the heck out of there. Andrew grabbed a trap from downstairs, put it under our bed and shut the door. We stuffed a towel under the door to try to keep it from getting out. (Who were we kidding, it ate our carpet, it could easily mow through a rolled-up towel!) But it's all we had. This was war and we had to use what we could.

So we waited. We prayed. I cried. We waited some more.

And at 5 am it happened. It took the bait and got snapped in the trap. We heard it go off and we knew. We knew the battle was over. Well, we hoped it was.

I quickly volunteered my brave-yet-reluctant husband to inspect the damage. He cautiously opened the door and I heard him go,"HOLY CRAP. IT'S DEAD. AND ITS HUUUUUUGE."

...I'm going to spare you the details. Mostly because I can't even type this without gagging and I get shivers down my spine when I think about its tail. It must have been 10 feet long. I LITERALLY CANT EVEN. The important part is that it was dead.


So as it turns out, rats like palm trees. Which we have a ton of.  They also like open doors and opportunities to ruin people's lives and it took FULL advantage. Thank you JESUS that it was an isolated incident. Thank you JESUS for rat traps and poison. Thank you JESUS for wine so I can suppress these memories. 

I wanted to save the rat carcass and hang it on the tree as a warning to any other predators that may or may not be lurking around our home. Nobody else liked my idea, though. So it was disposed of properly.

So, there's my story. It took 3 professional couch cleanings, a carpet cleaning, a new rug, 5 billion gallons of bleach, and 3 weeks of healing to be able to share this with you guys. I hope none of you ever experience the horror of a rat getting in your house, but IF you do... Please don't call me because I don't want NOTHIN to do with it. I'll give you the number to our exterminator.

Where Is My Six Pack?

Me. Everyday.

So once upon a time I used to just want to be skinny. Like really skinny.  And then I realized that looking like Nicole Richie in 2007 wasn't the bees-knees...it's all about being FIT. Or something like that. So now that I'm 27ish, I want to be fit. 

Let's be honest, I'll never have a 6 pack. (You can thank my daughter for being so huge that she stretched my stomach skin out so now I have enough to cover Montana. Do you need some stomach skin? I have some. I'll sell give it to you. And don't get me started on my cute little horseshoe tattoo on my hip that has now morphed into some sort of abstract representation of octopus tentacles. We'll save that for another blog.

**(Listen kids, you're parents are right. Wait to get tattoos until you're like 80. You'll be done growing and your skin will already be saggy. It won't make a difference.)

Anyways, back to this "being fit" business. A little over a year ago I joined this amazing village called Stroller Strides. (Fit4Mom Corona HOLLA!!) And after I traumatized my children by falling on my butt and ripping my pants on my first day, I totally got into it. I made friends and got great workouts. It's great. Join. You won't regret it. I hated running (and I STILL do) but something about being passed up by a pregnant mom pushing a double stroller uphill really motivates you.

But its so hard. Some days I envision myself getting ripped, and other days I try to convince my 3 year old that he NEEDS a corn dog right now and we should go get some. Then I debate about how many corndogs I can order before he sells me out and tells the cashier that mommy is going to eat 4 "torn dogs" when we get home. Little brat.

Just GLORIOUS

Ugh. Until the day my six-pack arrives, I shall remain living in my yoga pants. Yoga pants are God's gift to moms...in case you didn't know. Why else would they feel so magical?

Bottom line is I HAVE to workout, I just loooooove food way too much not to. I'm also afraid my adoration for eating is genetic... my sweet (pleasantly plump) daughter loves to eat, too. When she knows it's mealtime she'll sit in her little chair and grunt and scream until her food is served. As soon as I put her plate in front of her, she claps. If for some reason her brother is taking too long to sit down and eat, she'll eat his too. It's survival of the fittest in this household!



If any of you are like me, I hope you have peace in knowing that you're not alone in your gluttonous desires. Let me know if you ever want to go on a run together...we can get corndogs after! ;)

Don't Be a Loser on Facebook

WHAT. A. WEIRD. DAY.

So my general rule of thumb is that people who argue with other people on social media (especially Facebook) are really dumb. Like, who argues with strangers? Who has that much time to waste?

...Well me, apparently. Let me tell you a story. Bear with me, it's long.  So there's this page/group that I (as well as many of my friends) are a part of on Facebook. It's a community page to keep the citizens informed on what is happening in our city. People post about a variety of things-good places to eat, bad places to eat, issues in the neighborhood, customer service experiences, etc... In fact, the page is called "What's Up Corona?!" ...Pretty self explanatory, AMIRIGHT? I've mostly been an observer. I read the posts, occasionally commenting on something interesting here and there. Until today. Holy Crap Today.

I had a rather annoying experience at the local Home Depot this afternoon. So I did what any other self-respecting and helpful person would do...I posted about it. I wanted my fellow Coronians to be spared the "minor" inconveniences I so woefully suffered. Here is what I said:

"Ran into Home Depot today to grab some paint samples and carpet cleaner. Upon entering the store an employee told me my daughter couldn't ride in the front of the basket, she had to be strapped in the seat. (Ok fine. They are looking out for my kids' safety)...then we head to the paint department where we are approached by a Solar Panel salesman who would NOT take "no" for an answer... After I told him several times we weren't interested. Next, we head to the cleaning supplies aisle where we are once again approached by a sales person who wanted to send someone out to test our water pressure. (When I declined she gave me attitude.) ...FINALLY we made it to the check out where we were asked 3 TIMES if we were paying with a Home Depot credit card and if we wanted to open an account. HOLY MOLY. I will seriously avoid going in there ever again as I despise being harassed. A quick trip turned into 45 minutes. (Which is a LIFETIME when you have 2 toddlers in tow!)"

As I hit, "share", I thought, "Look at me being so diligent and informative. Who doesn't like a little rant from time to time? It keeps us humble!" I set my phone down and decided to rest while my little one was napping.

Nope. Bad idea, Jamie. There was no resting to be had. I apparently just woke the most opinionated Judgy Mc.Judgerson that ever lived...

What was so bad about a simple little post about the hardware store? Everything. Everything in the entire world was wrong with it. Little did I know that I had just become the worst mother in the whole universe. THE. WHOLE. UNIVERSE.

I don't want to call this lady out on her comments, because that might be illegal or something. (But her name rhymes with Smelissa.)

So, Smelissa saw that I had a rough day...but she wanted to make it better. So she called me out. Her first comment on my post was about how I was lucky the lady told me to strap my kid in because I could be spending the rest of the day in the emergency room. Ok, I took it. She's right, I should count my blessings. Whatever.

But guys...Smelissa wasn't done. She had an article to back her point up. She posted it. Fantastic.

 Some words were said about her being dramatic and this ANGERED her. Things went from 0-10 in 5 minutes and the next thing I know I'm relying on sarcastic memes to slay this crazy lady's accusations. I'm sweating and laughing and filled with regret that I even posted the dumb status to begin with.

She called me a selfie-taker and accused me of taking pictures of my home cooked dinner. (I didn't even MAKE dinner last night, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!) And I appointed her as the Shopping-Cart-Police. She quoted Forest Gump or something. She even called me sad. I asked her how I could get her to shut up.  Things were going down. 'Bows were being thrown and I was getting ready to take off my virtual hoop earrings. Ain't NOBODY gonna question my MAMA BEAR parenting, you know? It was getting real.

And then, like angels sent straight from heaven, I suddenly had an army of other Bad Moms/Dads/Whoever blastin' Smelissa. We were witty, we were quick and we were relentless. But we kept it C-L-A-S-S-Y. We shut her down. (Ok well she may have just blocked me but same thing, right?)

(If anyone wants to borrow my gang of Bad Moms let me know. We shut haters down for a small fee.)

...The post now has 300+ comments. Whoa. Anywho. What is my point of this? I'm not really certain...but it's hard out there for a Mama...we gotta stick together!

***Got to give a shout out to my friends who so quickly ran to my aid in my time of trouble. You know who you are. And Mary, the admin homegirl, for not deleting my post and letting it blow up in all it's glory. You the real MVP!

Toddlers are the Worst.

Happy Saturday! What a great day to write a blog! My husband is home to watch the kids so now I can freely type without Gavin pushing me off the computer chair so he can watch Spider-man Videos and Elsa Hair Tutorials. Awesome.

It has come to my attention, more than ever, how ridiculous toddlers are. I have had conversations that I never thought would happen. Just the other day I had to play referee in a fight between my two kids. What about? Boogers. Gavin had struck gold and was so proud of the little green disgusting thing he found in his nose. (See below...see it? So proud.)

...Anyways, as he was admiring the fruits of his labor, his little sister snatched that booger right off his finger. (cue: MASS HYSTERIA) OMG IT WAS EPIC MELTDOWN TIME. 

Gavin: "Dat's MY BOOGER! I NEED THAT BOOGER! PUT IT BACK, BABYYYYY!!!"

Me: "It's OK, Gavin, you can get another one. It will be alright."

This entire time my daughter is running around with the prized booger in her hand. Every time Gavin approached her, Presley just took off...completely taunting him. There were tears and lots of yelling. (BTW, how is a mom supposed to intervene in a booger war? Like I wanted them to stop fighting but I really really didn't want to touch the booger. I've had my fair share of handling poop and other bodily fluids, but you have to draw the line somewhere, YA KNOW?)

So the Booger Battle of 2015 continued. Gavin chasing Presley. Presley laughing. Gavin crying. Finally he had her cornered. This was his moment. He might just get his booger back and win. 

THEN IT HAPPENED. It might have been in slow motion...it sure seemed like it. Gavin grabbed Presley's arm, he was inches away from reclaiming his prize. I saw it. I saw the look on her face. I knew what she was thinking. With a sly smile and a spark of crazy in her big blue eyes, she did it. She lunged for it and did it. She didn't even wince. She ATE HIS BOOGER. OMG. How can my sweet daughter be so disgusting? My gag reflex kicked in big time and my eyes started to water. (I mean, I've seen her slurp puddle water from the backyard, but our dog does that too so it's no biggie.) It's one thing to eat your OWN boogers, but someone else's? Lord help her. 

I don't know who is more scarred. Gavin who lost his booger? Or me who had to witness such a thing? All I know is whoever told me boys were gross lied to me. GIRLS are worse. 

Does this look like the face of someone that eats boogers?

Gah. This 16 month-old-Crazy-Lady is going to give me gray hair. 

How to Be The Most Annoying Mom at the Park

Hi again. Yeah, I know. As moms we are supposed to lift each other up, show each other grace, respect each other's parenting choices...blah blah blah.  

...But sometimes you just need to vent, you know? These are a collection of my observations and thoughts that I figured a lot of you probably could relate to...maybe. But, if this post offends you then it means that you are either:
a.) too sensitive
b.) one of these annoying moms that I'm talking about...so now that you're aware of it, you can change it. You're welcome.

With that said, here is my OFFICIAL Guide to Being The Most Annoying Mom at the Park. (In 8 different steps.)

1.) Don't acknowledge any of the other parents or children there. Your child is the only one on the playground that matters. If your kid wants to go down the slide but there are other children playing at the bottom, encourage him to slide down anyways. When he inevitably smashes into another child, let your brat know that he did nothing wrong. (Because, DUH! The other kids shouldn't have taken so long to move out of the way!)

2.) Don't respect anyone else's space. Somebody parked their stroller by the bench where you wanted to park yours? Tough cookies! Double park your big ass limo stroller and block 'em in.

3.) Never share. Never ever. Sharing is for weak minded people. A one year old toddles up and stares at your kid's goldfish crackers? Don't smile. Don't ask her mom if it's O.K if she has one. Just give her a dirty look and shoo her away. Because HOLY MOLY a giant bag of goldfish is like $2 and you just can't spare that kind of money.

4.) Make sure all the other parent's know that you're constantly teaching your kid new things...thus making your child the smartest at the park!
When he's climbing up the swing set make sure you loudly say, "That's RIGHT Johnny, you're climbing UP. Not DOWN, UP! You are going UP high just like an Alpine Ibex Goat! Can you spell Alpine?"  (Bonus points if you make fun of the kid next to him for not knowing his alphabet backwards.)

5.) Be on your cellphone. Never take your eyes off your cellphone. Not even if your kid is running towards the street. There are other diligent parents that are watching your child for you.

6.) Let your ginormous 11 year old rush the playground and rough house around all the toddlers trying to climb the stairs. Let their too-big-for-the-baby-playground-feet stomp ALL AROUND the tiny toddler fingers.

7.) Let your kid be a huge jerk. If an adorable blue-eyed 2.5 year old (who thinks he's Spiderman) approaches your child and wants to show him his spidey web, let your kid yell "GO AWAY!!!" in his face. (Just be cautious of Mama Bear near by, she might be 5 seconds away from smackin' your sweet angel.)

8.) Lastly, if the park is fenced in, DO NOT close the gate. NEVER. Leave it WIDE open for the other little ones to run out.


...That last one is my personal favorite ;) Cheers to the non-annoying parents! Let's have a playdate!

I don't know how to write a blog.

*Disclaimer: I am in no way a writer. I don't use big words and I heavily rely on spell-check. I'm fairly good at grammar, though...so I have that going on. And I don't even think I have the patience to proof read this, so #sorrynotsorry. I'm also basically computer-illiterate so it's kind of a miracle that I am even figuring this out.

Ok so here we go. This is the blog I was talked into starting. Where do I begin? What do I talk about? How do I make this thing all fancy and cute? Do I even have time to write this? No. Should I be stopping my kids from putting lotion all over our dog right now? Probably. Is this boring already? (Don't answer that.) My heart is beating really fast because I can hear that Sophia the First is about to be over which means my kids will soon be running in here to fight over the computer mouse. I'll keep this short-ish today.

So...maybe a little about me and how this all started.

1.  Champagne and Chicken Nuggets. Why?

 Because champagne, for obvious reasons...and chicken nuggets, 'cuz my kids love them and THEY JUST SO HAPPEN TO GO PERFECTLY WITH THE CHAMPS. Also, its a metaphor for my desire to be a fancy housewife but I have 2 toddlers that just ripped that dream from right under me. Champagne and Chicken Nuggets perfectly encapsulates my struggle between being fancy and wiping butts all day. SEEWHATIDIDTHERE? Cool.

2. Why do I think I am important enough that people would want to read what I have to say?

umm...I don't? I think as a young mom with 2 crazy (but freaking A-D-O-R-A-B-L-E) kids, people can identify with the silly shenanigans that are a part of our everyday life. Sometimes I am serious and sensitive, but sometimes I hate strongly dislike everyone and have a really hard time not showing it. I tend to say what I feel. Sometimes it bites me in the butt but sometimes it pays off. (I'd like to give a shout-out to my husband who OFTEN likes to remind me that not everyone appreciates my sarcasm as much as I think they do.)
 I believe in being transparent and honest. I believe in letting people know if I think they are crazy or not. (which BY THE WAY I am really good at discerning. I can't help it. I was raised in a family with a bunch of lunatics so I can easily spot one of my own.) And OMG I mean lunatics in a GOOD way so don't get offended, Mom.


I hope I answered all the imaginary questions I thought you might have. Feel free to let me know if I didn't.

...I'll just leave you with this picture of my 2.5 year old and my professional chalk rendition of Iron Man. Have a great day!