Up to my Eyeballs in WHAT??

You all are going to read about my crappy day. My literally crappy day. Yes, I know the word "literally" is typically inappropriately used...but read on and you will see that it was indeed literally crappy.

 At about two in the morning I wake up from blissful new comforter sleep to screaming from the children's room. 

I stumble out of bed half awake to find Little Dude upset, ticked, and wet in his bed. 

"I have been yelling for you forever and you just ignored me!" 

Ugh. Way to make me feel like the worst mom EVER. Maybe I was sleeping hard and dreaming about, oh I don't know, ANYTHING OTHER THAN CLEANING UP PEE! 

I asked him why he didn't just come and get me. 

He looked at me like I was the dumbest person on the planet. 

"Because I peed the bed. I can't walk like this."  DUH.

I helped him clean up, brought the laundry downstairs, scrubbed the mattress, and finally remade the bed. By this point I probably should have just cut my losses and got up for the morning. 

But as you all may or may not know...it doesn't matter if it's 2 hrs until it's time to wake up or 2 minutes. If it is before that alarm goes off I am rolling over and snoozing for any possible amount of time. Pretty sure I've reset the alarm for 30 seconds at least once in my life. 

So the alarm goes off at its normal time. I am not happy about it. But the show must go on. Since Little Dude is in the same boat as me (even worse because he was rudely awakened in a sea of piss) he is the king of crabs. 

Finally get both the kids off to school/daycare. Not without an argument over why I should pick all of the non-marshmallow pieces out of the Lucky Charms, mind you. 

Get myself ready and head to work. Once I get to work I have to pee. 8000 cups of coffee will do that to a girl. 

Open the door to the bathroom. 

Cue Jaws music, Psycho music, pretty much any horror movie music and you will get the point.

I walked into World War III.

Catastrophe in epic smelly proportions.

Whoever caused this aftermath needs to see a doctor STAT.

Toilet was clogged in ways I didn't know a toilet could be clogged.

I shut the door and ran out to the front office to yell out my findings. No one took credit for the present and no one seemed to want to help remedy or situation.

I had to get out of there. For one, it stunk. For two, I still had to pee out the nine billion cups of coffee I ingested prior to arriving at work.

I went to the gas station to relieve myself, and continued to dry heave at the reality that I was going to have to deal with the crap floating in the toilet.

When I arrived back at work, a co worker of mine was thankfully on board with helping me since she saw/heard my stomach's intolerance of this task.

We gear up for this mission. Gloved and plunger in hand we dive into the shit. Someone else's shit. So pissed at this point. Who the heck would just leave a toilet full of their bad decisions for someone else to take care of???

Several dry heaves, a run to Wal-Mart for a better plunger, a snake, masks (yes MASKS) and half a can of Glade air freshener we think we have the issue somewhat solved.

The afternoon rolls around and again the toilet floods. At this point we are happy it's of the number 1 variety not the number 2.

Screw it. Not dealing with it again. Dialing the maintenance man, who LAUGHS at our escapades.

Do you even UNDERSTAND that I will need to BURN these shoes??? 

I call it a day at work. Head out a little early because I have to pee again. Because I'm human and this no functioning facility business is ridiculous.

What do I find when I get home?

A guilty dog that wouldn't look me in the eye and garbage strewn across the living room.

I wade through the coffee grounds and air head wrappers to get to my couch. Sit down. Look at the disgusting mess.

I laughed. Because I didn't want to cry. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN.

After my slight breakdown I clean up the mess.

And now? I am drinking a beer.

Cheers to the shittiest day ever.

Cheers everyone. Cheers.

"The Best Things In Life Are Free"

Ok. This may be a rambling post, but I have to get this all out.

So here's the deal. My husband is about to get a significant raise in two months. We've known it was coming for the last couple of years.

Now it's almost here. Will we be "wealthy"? No. It's not anywhere near the realm of "The Elite" salaries. But it's enough to be comfortable. Which is all I care about. So many years of barely scraping by. Making poor financial decisions because we were young and inexperienced. Trying to figure out which bill we were going to skip for the month because we couldn't afford it. Getting a foreclosure letter during a maternity leave. (We thankfully were able to get ourselves out of that one.) You name it, we've been there. And we take full responsibility for putting ourselves there. But, we've always worked hard to provide what we can and thankfully we've always had family that has been there to help us out when we were in dire need. Our pride has always insisted on paying them back...whether it be from 6 months of savings or the next tax refund we paid them back sheepishly and graciously.  

I feel a little weird posting about money, because it seems like a taboo. It's definitely not something (or enough) to flaunt around. You just don't talk about it. 

But, I have reasons for writing about it. You see, we have known about this raise for awhile and before it just seemed so distant. Now it's 8 weeks away. And I have to admit. I started a list. A long list of things I want done for the house.

 Furniture. Basement finished. Landscaping. Paint. Appliances. Wood Flooring. Central Air.

It's an expensive list. And of course the raise wouldn't be enough to cover all of those items in the near future...but it was something to hope for.

Then I started thinking bigger: Trips to Disney World. Surprising children at Christmas. Dang you, Disney World commercials!!

But then...I got embarrassed. I usually strive to not be super materialistic and this list is exactly that.

It's extravagant and full of "I Wants". 

We are a fully functioning family without all of those extras. My children share a room, but it works. We all share a bathroom...and it kind of works. The carpet is worn and shows WE definitely live here. We have hand me down furniture...which lets face it, you don't get as angry about chocolate syrup stains smeared on the arms of hand me downs as you would on something brand spankin' new. We go on vacations around our state, and the kids seem to have a great time.

My list that was originally created as "NEEDS" seems trivial.

I still "WANT" this stuff. But I don't need to kid myself into thinking I MUST do all of this in order  to prove something or feel like I'm successful. It's still...stuff.

I've toned it back a bit and we are focusing on putting enough money away slowly to finish our basement. That's all we are going to put on the list for now. It's something that we can all enjoy, and mostly our kids can have their own bedrooms.

This will be a convenience, an extra, a perk. Also an investment as it will add much needed equity. But I need to remind myself that it is not a "Need".

Truly, catching myself in this greediness reminded me to step back and count EVERY SINGLE BLESSING.

Because regardless of my financial status...I will always be rich. <---Cheesy, but true. 

No, Doctor. I FEEL FANTASTIC!

Well, I am a crappy blogger. It's been over a month since my last post...but sometimes life just happens. Life being moments where you have something really funny to write about, but instead you watch reruns of "The Nanny" and eat a whole tube of Girl Scout cookies and feel totally awesome about yourself...

I'm REALLY busy, okay?

Anyway, now that I got that self deprecating statement out of the way we can move on.

Here's the deal. I never understood when I had kids that I would joining the club of "ENDLESS EMBARRASSMENT."

Let me explain.

When I was younger, my mom would tell stories of all the horribly embarrassing things I would do to her. One that sticks out in my head was the story of my mom and I grocery shopping in the cereal aisle. When she put the Wheaties in the cart, I loudly exclaimed, "You need those so you can poop, right?"

Of course I always thought she was exaggerating her stories.

Like when we would go to the doctor's office after I had convinced her I was on my death bed. Only for her to explain my symptoms in a worried tone to the doctor, and me to respond by bouncing off the walls telling the doctor I feel "GREAT!"

No. Before I had kids...honestly I thought she was the master of embellishing stories.

Then...I became a member of the club.

From the moment those darlings are born, we as parents are destined to be embarrassed.

Starting with leaky breasts, stinky diapers in awkward locations, and your baby spitting up on someone dressed in a suit more expensive than your whole wardrobe. All of sudden...this shit gets real. No longer able to be a wallflower when you have an adorable, screaming, stinky bundle of joy.

I think with Sassy Girl being almost 8 and Little Dude being 5 years of age that I am at the early middle point of the embarrassment timeline.

A current log of recent moments I have been embarrassed by my little darlings:

Doctor/child thing I mentioned earlier? Oh yeah. Been there.
I swear she just had a fever of 104! YES, I see her running through the waiting room giggling. NO, I DO NOT HAVE MUNCHHAUSEN SYNDROME!

I teach Little Dude's Sunday School class. I told the class about the bowling ball that fell on my foot earlier that week and broke my toe. (Yes. THAT happened.) The little bugger told everyone I cried like a baby. Which I absolutely did not...much.

Trying on clothes in a dressing room. Loud eight year old voice: "MOM!!! I can see your BUTT! Get dressed, that's gross!" Great. Thanks.

Taking work calls at home. Or any calls, really. WE WILL MAKE IT SOUND LIKE A MURDER IS HAPPENING RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!

Talking to someone about an owie: "My daddy did it." What the little sweetie fails to mention, is that he went running like a bat outta hell towards his daddy who wasn't prepared to catch him, which resulted in a catastrophe. But...now we have a possible social services situation, I guess.

Oh. We think it's funny to ask the waitress to bring us BEER. What the waitress doesn't realize is they are asking for mother effing ROOT BEER. Don't judge me lady. I don't feed my kids Miller Light, okay?

Anyway, I could go on, but you get the point. Kids...are honest. They are honest and they don't mean to, but they embarrass the crap outta their parents.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.  Soon...I will be the one embarrassing THEM.