Hot Dogs On Bread

Hot dogs on bread, we meet again. It's been a while since your thin bit of compressed crust got stuck behind my front teeth.

Lesson 85: being too cheap to buy your family hot dog buns = white trash

A week of Adam in charge of the financial reins, after my gallbladder surgery, combined with school shopping for the four older boys contributed to our small food fund. The school clothes weren't the problem, it was the shoes. I've never been a name brand kind of person, I wore whatever I thought looked good. Well, Adam has this tramatizing childhood memory involving a pair of Reebok Pumps. Anyone remember those? I do, and I thought they were hideous! Needless to say, Adam desperately wanted a pair, but his family didn't have a lot of money. He tells me, even though I think it's an exaggeration, that he was the only one in his class without them. He didn't get a pair until a year later when they were out of style, and they weren't even Reebok, they were a Kmart knock off. Tramatizing. After that, he vowed never to put his kids through the same kind of embarrassment.

Lesson 86: making personal promises because of Kmart special Reebok Pumps = white trash

Thank you Reebok, this hot dog on bread is for you!

Gallbladder and Adam's Glimpse of Permanent Vacation

My gallbladder has been bothering me since Jude was born, 4 years ago. It became quite a nuisance over the past few months. I constantly felt nausiated and lethagy kept me from getting anything done. After a HIDDA Scan, my doctor felt it necessary for me to get it removed. I couldn't wait to see it go.

My surgery was scheduled for last Monday. All details were worked out. Adam would take his weeks vacation to take care of me and the kids. I wouldn't be permitted to pick anything up over 5 pounds for a month. (Yeah, like that's gonna happen!)

I had to be at the hospital by 5:30 AM. Adam wasn't thrilled. He has never been a morning person, but he got his cup of coffee and bag of what I thought was full of things to keep his amuzement during the hours he'd have to wait while I went under the knife, and never complained.

While I waited in my room to be taken to surgery, Adam sat drinking his coffee. I watched him take his last swig. Knowing he would need more to carry him through, I said, "That guy said there was coffee in the waiting room."

Adam smiled, "Don't worry, I have it covered."

He threw his backpack up on the side table and unzipped it to reveal a whole airpot full of coffee. He pumped a steamy cup of brewed coffee into his cup then zipped it back up.

"Are you serious?" I chuckled.

I could tell Adam was very proud of himself, "I don't trust hospital coffee. It always sucks, and it's going to be a long day."

Lesson 82: bringing your own pot full of coffee, hidden in a backpack, to the hospital = white trash

They soon came and wisked me away to get prepped. During this time, the anaesthesiologist came to check me out and tell me what was going to happen. He told me I would have to take a few breaths in the gas mask.

"Oh no, not the mask." I joked. I recounted the story from when I got tubes put in my ears at age 6. My anaesthesiologist for that procedure happened to be my cousin. He put the mask on me and I started to cry. My cousin smiled and said, "That's right Jessie, go ahead and cry." What?! I felt betrayed and terrified. I told this story to lighten the mood, but they took it as I was going to be trouble.

"Are you closterphobic?" the one nurse asked, seeming quite concerned.

"No," I answered.

"Are you going to have a problem with the mask?" the anaesthesiologist questioned.

I rolled my eyes, "I doubt it. I am an adult now."

They obviously didn't believe me. As they pushed me down the hall, the one nurse said to the other, "Maybe you should give this one a shot of B12."

The other nurse smiled as he stuck stuff in my IV. Being suspicious I asked, "Hey, is that really B12 or is it something funny?"

"Let's just say I'm gonna look real good in a few seconds," the other guy told me.

Lesson 83: being drugged because you tried to be funny = white trash

Needless to say, I don't recall having to breath into the mask.

After the ordeal was over, Adam took me home and locked me in our room. I hardly remember anything from that day. I would wake up and hear the muffled sound of random crying or Adam yelling at kids then I would pass out again.

I woke up the next morning to Jovie and Stone crying. Adam slept next to me. I vaguely remember Adam bringing Stone in to feed him during the night, and getting up to wipe Jude's poopy bum. I shook him awake. "The kids are up."

Adam growled as he threw the blankets off him, "All I want is five minutes of undisturbed sleep!"

I smiled. How many times had those exact words spilled from my own lips? Adam hadn't even been on duty for a full 24 hours. Over the next few days I watched my husband transform into a haggard version of myself. The glazed over stare that usually looked back at me from the mirror loomed across Adam's handsome face, and phrases I spoke on a regular basis spewed from his mouth like he'd been saying them for years.

"What is wrong with you kids?!"

"I can't help everyone at the same time!"

"Can you not make a mess for like five minutes?! Is that too much to ask?!"

"Give me five freaking seconds!"

He did have a few new ones, like, "Jovie, you are five seconds away from adoption!" I thoroughly enjoyed that one.

He even treated me the way I treat him most of the time. I wanted to show him something online one day, like he often does, and he answered me with, "I can't right now, I have to get this laundry done." When I would ask him what was wrong, he'd say, "Nothing. I'm just tired."

The one bonus of him living my daily life was that he was the one wanting to go to bed at 11. He always gives me a hard time for passing out before midnight.

I overheard him on the phone, a few days ago, telling a co-worker he wanted to come back to work. He's used to being the boss, not being bossed around by children. By the end of the week he had nearly lost his mind. The last straw was having to change Jovie's bed 3 days in a row. She had decided she didn't want to wear a diaper at night any more and would rip it off and pee all over her blankets.

Lesson 84: duct taping your daughter's diaper on her body = white trash

Adam went back to work today. I'm sure he's reveling in the quiet. I am sad to not have him here. He really did take good care of me and supplied me with plenty of entertainment!

Sisters

Sister relationships are very special. I have four brothers, and only one sister. When I was younger, I always wanted a sister but had to wait 16 years to get one. At least I had my one brother, up until that point, who let me put him in a dress and do his makeup for a penny. Yes, I'm talking about you Clayte, you miser!

Lesson 79: loving money so much you let your older sister dress you up like a girl for some lame penny she found laying willy-nilly on the floor = a cross dressing Scrooge McDuck

Even though my sister, Veronica (I named her), didn't come until I was almost an adult, I still felt a close bond with her. We did everything together. Not exactly by choice, as I ended up being her live in nanny. It was a bit awkward when Adam and I would take her around town and outsiders assumed she was ours. We got so tired of explaining our situation, it got to the point people would say, "She's so cute. Is she yours?" Our reply would be a quick, "Yep" as we ran away. We weren't lying. We didn't just find her on the road somewhere. She definitely wasn't theirs.

When Ronnie was little I dressed her up and did her hair, kind of like having a live doll. Unfortunately, she was some sort of child prodigy, using big words and being able to spell at age 2. She had a bigger vocabulary than Clayte, who was 16 at this time, and everytime someone would say the word pizza it turned into a spelling bee. "Pizza, P-I-Z-Z-A, pizza". This kind of intelligence got me in trouble. She's the one who told on me when I got a tattoo.

Lesson 80: being narked out by a 2 year old = white trash

As she grew, the differences between us became more apparent. For starters, our looks are completely opposite. I'm a brunette with brown eyes. She's light haired with sparkly, bright blue eyes. I have oomp-loompa legs and a ridiculously long torso, and she has the longest legs I have ever seen with barely any middle. Oh, and my mom tells me she'll probably get boobs too. Hello?! Where is the justice in all this? Where are my gazelle legs? I could have at least gotten some pretty eyes. Nope, Beady-eyed-no-boobs here ready to go work in Charlie's Chocolate Factory.

Our looks aren't the only thing that are different. She's a talented ballerina. I dance, but I did more hip-hop. I guess you have to do what works for your legs. (I'm rolling my eyes right now.) Of course, it may not have anything to do with legs. She's a girly girl and very proper. I've always been more of a tomboy, and a lot more ghetto. (I get it honestly, you should see my booty!)

Come to think of it, there are only two things that we share. One is the ridiculous size of our feet. We both have very long feet, with abnormally long toes. The second is our ability to put those disgusting things we walk on, right in our mouths. That's right, we both have a severe case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. We don't mean to be rude, it just comes out that way. Constantly.

I've come to accept my problem, and I have tried to work on it for years. Luckily, I've had years. Ronnie is only 14 and hasn't had much practice on restraint. So, when she was here for 3 weeks last month (along with my two youngest brothers who are 10 and 9) I had plenty of amusement as she unknowingly insulted me over and over and over again. (Ronnie, you better not be crying right now or I'll tell everyone how your 30 year old sister, who gave birth to 6 kids, kicked your butt at Just Dance.....oh wait, I just did......oh, snap!)

"You are going to fix this counter top, right?" she'd ask. Or, "Your garden really needs weeded." The best was when Jackie was over and out of nowhere she lovingly glanced over at me and said, "Jessie, one of these days I'm going to pick out an outfit for you, do your hair, and paint your nails."

I looked at her and chuckled, "Wow Ronnie, cold as ice."

My sister looked at me, confusion in her eyes, "What?"

Jackie chimed in, "You pretty much just told your sister she can't dress herself and her hair is hideous."

Lesson 81: needing to be dressed by a 14 year old because you obviously can't do it yourself = white trash

Sisters. I'm so very blessed to have one!

Love you Ronnie!!

House For Sale

In the market for a new home? Check out this stylish abode.

This small, two story, Ohio River view property is full of character.

Enjoy the tranquil sound of a babbling brook? This house is equipped with leaky gutters, that provides a soothing pitter patter as it destroys the porch below.

Are you a pack-rat looking to start anew? Then you'll love this home with an enormous dumpster occupying half the driveway and blocking the entry way to the back yard.

Have a green thumb? This garden needs your love, and while you work with the flowers, cool off in the shade of the trees growing in the gutters above.

After two straight weeks of gardening, relax on the modern front porch. Whimsical meets industrial on this porch full of Amish treasures, carpentry tools, and layer of wood chips.

The inside is a treasure chest full of surprises. Enjoy looking out this new door with fancy flourescent yellow spray insulation crammed between the slats of an exposed slat and plaster wall.

Give those over-worked feet a vacation on this plush wall-to-wall foam padding on top of plywood.

So, if you are the most desperate kind of individual, give White Trash Realty a call today!

Poptart

Lesson 78: Driving around town with a visible half eaten Poptart stuck to your bumper = white trash

Thanks Jovie for sharing your breakfast with Beaver County!

Letters of Complaint

Dear Washing Machine Draining Hose,

Please stay in the wash tub. Stop getting crazy and spewing water all over the place. This is the second time you've flooded my basement this week.

Dear Stone's Dresser,

Please remove yourself from the middle of my kitchen, and would you please take the pile of tools with you!

Dear Jude,

Please learn how to wipe your own bum. Wouldn't you like to have a birthday too?

Dear Stone,

Please learn to amuse yourself. I'm running out of material!

Dear Brain,

I'm sorry I abused you. I'm sorry I neglected you and subjected you to horrible visions of child feces and big purple dinosaurs. Can we please get back to the way we were when I knew my name and the day of the week?

Dear Mangy Disgusting Stray Cats,
Will you please stop peeing on all my belongings in my garage? The broken windows on my garage door, from a 1 year old with a baseball bat, and a brother-in-law with a horrible arm for throwing snowballs, are NOT cat doors.

Dear Pittsburgh Area Contractors,
Stop trying to rip off a charity that is trying to help us get our roof finished. Shame on you! Are there no decent people left in this area?!

Dear Adam,
Don't go and get a new career. You'd be doing the culinary world a great injustice if you leave it to be an insurance salesman. I know you're tired and you miss us, but we'll always be here when you get home. We love you and want you to use the wonderful gift God gave you. You don't just make food, you create art. :)

Dear Laundry,
Do you think you could fold yourself for once?

Dear Life,

...........................................aw, forget it.

LORD HAVE MERCY!!!

I am one dirty diaper away from commiting myself to the looney bin! Adam has worked the past 11 days straight, and I'm not talking a normal 9-5, no, he's been leaving here around 9 and not returning until midnight! There have been days where he doesn't even lay eyes on Jovie because she's still sleeping when he leaves.

Why is he working so much, you ask? Well, let's see.....first he had an employee who got wasted then owned himself on a curb, resulting in having extreme brain bruising. His doctor won't release him back to work until next month. Then another one of his employees picked up a fun little heroin addiction, obviously terminating his position.

Lesson 74: learn to handle yourself in a professional manner!!!

Adam also lost his Sous chef, who was the only other salary paid employee, so Adam has to do all morning and afternoon parties by himself, but because they are terribly understaffed he also has to stay for dinner business.

Yes, Adam has it hard, but my life hasn't been a cake walk. (Even though Adam tells me I'm on a pemanent vacation.)

Lesson 75: DON'T EVER TELL YOUR STAY AT HOME WIFE, WITH 6 KIDS, THAT SHE'S ON A PERMANENT VACATION OR YOU WILL WIN AN ALL EXPENSES PAID TRIP TO THIS AWESOME GETAWAY!!

Did I mention that on the last day Adam had off, we started some home improvements? They're only part done. Stone's dresser has been in the middle of my kitchen, backwards, for the past two weeks. There's boxes of flooring and floor padding piled beside it. I can't get to my island. I can't set up my ironing board. I've bruised my hips trying to walk by this ridiculous heap.

Outside is embarrassing. There's chunks of plywood everywhere, and the yard needs trimmed (I mowed, but I'm terrified of our weed wacker. It's impossible to start, vibrates profusely making my arm fall off and spits out more smoke than the industrial park on the other side of the Ohio River.)

Lesson 76: having a weed whacker that is solely responsible for global warming = white trash

I can't even enjoy my front porch. My rocking chair is buried beneath planks of wood with nails sticking out! LORD HAVE MERCY! I think my brain is hemorrhaging.

As I've said before, my kids are extremely moody when they don't get to see their Dad. (after reading this blog, I'm sure you can see they aren't the only ones). There's been more whining and fighting than ever before. One night I went up to yell at the boys, who were determined NOT to go to bed, I opened the door and Jet started to cry, "I miss Daddy." As soon as he mentioned their father, Jagger started to cry too, "I need Daddy to come home."

"I know. I miss Daddy, too." I reassured them, trying not to cry myself.

Looking at Jude as he climbed the ladder up to his bed, I waited for him to break out in tears like his brothers. All that came from my child's mouth was, "Daddy has a peep like me."

Wow.....what a tender moment! Thanks Jude for keepin' it real.

I'm just tired. I'm used to having a few hours in the morning to do what I need to do. Now I don't even have that. I've done all my grocery shopping with the kids, gone to Walmart with all the kids, and I've even managed to take all the kids to the park alone (I was tired of being stuck in the house, and the kids needed a little pick-me-up). I look ridiculous when we're out. Stone has to be held all the time. If he's not, he's screaming his head off. I let him scream at home, but strangers in stores really frown on it. I found that if I put him in a sling he's completely happy, and I still have the use of both my arms. The only problem is I've been wearing him constantly. He's so heavy that when I lay down at night I still feel like I'm wearing the sling!

I wish Adam could have just one day off, he'd actually be able to sit down, and he could hold Stone. It's a win-win. That way he's relaxing and I can do chores without having to hold that 5 million lb. lump. No seriously, he's like a lump. The child doesn't hold any of his own weight. It's like Weekend at Bernies...baby style.

This too shall pass.....this too shall pass......

WHEN?!!!!! As of right now there's no end in sight! Even my dreams have had enough!

Lesson 77: Dreaming several consecutive nights in a row about the Time-out chair = one tired white trash lady