The Universe is telling me that I am OLD

I have an umbilical hernia from my LGA (large for gestational age) second pregnancy. Recently, it has gotten bigger. Perhaps from me sticking my finger in there all the time. Maybe. I googled it yesterday because I am considering getting a repair done. Google tells me that adult umbilical hernias usually occurs in middle-aged obese multiparous women. Crap, Google. Why so mean?

Christmas is Just Around the Corner. And I am Freaking Out. So I make myself go shopping for the multiple of teenaged relatives who live in the city. I see that all the Young People are going into Abercrombie and Fitch. So I go in. And my ovaries immediately start shrinking and becoming decrepid. It's like I walked into the body of a 16 year old. The loud emo music, the nausea-inducing heavy cologne, the pubic-bearing larger than life photos on the walls, the metrosexual teen boys who ask me with a soft smile every 5 minutes, "is everything alright?" I alternate between rolling my eyes, gagging on the heavy musk in the air, gasping at the price of worn and torn sweatpants, and trying to keep my dowager hump from growing prematurely. I made it out with only a sweater, I couldn't take it anymore. The Youthfulness of the place totally kicked the Geriatric me out. When the hell did I become OLD? Crap, Life. Why so mean?

Half Empty Meets Half Full

Most days are so crammed with SO MANY THINGS that I become very small-minded. Aggravation over truly small things make or break my day: my office schedule is screwed up and overbooked, Meatball busted his chin and looks like Scarface, my mother-in-law has opened up yet another jar of peanut butter and now we have 3 barely used jars of peanut butter in the pantry (along with 2 half used Saran wraps, 2 half used aluminum foil wraps, 2 open bottles of vinegar, and I will have to stop now or start twitching again), and Husband has again left a damn flood on the bathroom floor because he just refuses to drip dry for 2 seconds before stepping out of the shower. But when I stop to consider my life. I am so grateful to be aggravated by those things.

When I was a teenager, I used to lie awake at night devising escape plans in case someone broke into the house at night. I would choreograph fight moves to defend and defeat random criminals who might hold my classroom hostage. Since becoming a mother, this fear of random terrorist activity has magnified. Now I have to karate-chop a knife weilding mad man in addition to holding a toddler and baby! That is a stressful scenario to plan. It's when I am rocking Meatball at night and he is cuddled perfectly in the crook of my neck that I become most anxious. Such sweet, innocent, defenseless children! And the world is full of bad people and freak accidents. Why in the world would I subject the little ones whom I love the most to these atrocities?! And why in the world would I even consider having a third? There would be NO WAY I could perform hand-to-hand combat with a terrorist cell while holding three children. A mother has to have limits.

As ridiculous as all those scenarios are, there are very real dangers in the world. We live in such fragile balance. There is no way to ensure a safe future. There are so many instances of previously peace states now in total chaos and in the throes of hellist war: Africa, the Middle East, South America, Asia. There are few places on this small globe that have peace. True peace. Isolationist United States is becoming less and less. Every country affects the other. Neighbors have turning against neighbors with shedding of blood time and time again. Nobody knows who will be the next target.

Contrary to what I have been writing, I do not walk around fearful, anxious, and ready to blast someone with pepper-spray. When my mind wanders to that troubling corner, I am able to shed some of that small-mindedness. Who the hell cares about a little scar on Meatball's face? I should be so luckly to afford 3 jars of peanut butter (and 2 Saran wraps, 2 aluminum foils...). My husband is alive and well and not held hostage in some Columbian rainforest, subject to torture at the hands of crazy radicals. He is only subject to torture by me. My annoying partner? Well, she can still shove it, but I don't have to let her ruin my day. It's good to be alive. It's even better to be healthy and be surrounded by healthy loved ones. Life is too short and fragile. The future is uncertain to take the fortunes of today for granted.

Instead of walking in fear, I walk with faith. I walk with joy. Every uneventful boring day is one to be cherished. This joy is deep in my heart. Sometime so deep that I don't show it. I act like a pissy whiney fool. I fail to be a witness. But most days, I come across something that does remind me of God's blessings and graciousness. And then I tell myself to shove it, and my spirit, and therefore my day, goes about much better.

People who know me in real life think I am a bit dramatic and paranoid because I do have a big mouth and can't help let out a few horrible situtations I conjure up. But I hope that I do not act as such. It's like a real live debate between the Old Self and the New In Christ. My commitment is for my New In Christ spirit prevail in all that I do. However, I still have passports for the entire family should we need to flee the country at a moment's notice.

Stuck Up

Recently we went to visit my parents for the weekend. Usually Little Ninja sleeps in the study, Husband sleeps on the couch (we won't go into that for now, but it's for the best. For me.) And I sleep on queen with Meatball on the floor next to me.

The first night Ninja was cooperative and slept willingly and happily in her "princess bed." However, the second night she refused and kept crawling into my bed. I didn't press the matter because we were leaving in the morning, and I was worn down. At first I thought she was asleep while getting Meatball and I ready for bed, but then an hour later I found her sleeping on my side of the bed, the side I needed to be on since Meatball was on the floor on that side.

I quietly tiptoed into the room and was going to gently nudge her over when she sat straight up, completely awake and said, "No Mommy, I don't want to sleep on that side. There is something dirty there!"

"What's dirty? You mean, on that side of the bed?" I asked

"Uh-huh. Look!" as she pointed to three small boogers lined neatly along the edge of the bed.

Horrifying. How could my mother fail so utterly in housekeeping and hospitality?! How could she let us sleep on such filthy sheets!

"I wonder where they came from?" I said in a digusted manner.

In an equally disgusted tone of voice she said, "From MY NOSE."

Sorry, but I just have to complain...

There are two things that drive me absolutely bonkers when dealing with doctors from other specialties. Numero uno: I HATE it when they TELL me what to do when they are REQUESTING a consult. Numero dos: I HATE it when they tell the PATIENT what they think I should do.

Why the hell consult me then? Just do the damn thing yourself, if you know so much.

I mainly get it from the ER. The fastest, best, easiest way to bring out the raging bitch in me is to say to me when I answer a page, "You need to come down and do surgery on this patient." I'll tell you EXACTLY what YOU need to do. It involves you eating your fecal words. And perhaps a satisfying kick in the perineum, or as the high class folk call it, 'taint. Seriously. I am the gynecologic specialist. I decide who I take to surgery. I am THE 'taint specialist, aren't I? That's why you called.

Here's a tutorial for all you ER doctors who aren't reading this blog on what to say to a physician you are consulting, "Hello Lu, this is Jose. I think I have a patient here with a ruptured ectopic. Will you please come and evaluate her?" I will be halfway to the hospital by the time you finished saying "ruptured ectopic." You do not have to order me to do surgery. Because, half of the time, you are wrong, and she's just on her period and having the motherload of all menstrual cramping (or she's just really wanting to take a pregnancy test but didn't have $10 and a ride to Walgreen, so she call an ambulance at 2am to bring her to the ER instead. Happens all the time. For reals.) And half of those times, you've already told the patient that I, the gyn specialist who as yet to even LAY EYES ON HER, will be taking her back for surgery. Arghhh.

I was recently double teamed. I answered a page, basically one of my general surgery colleagues was calling to inform me that I was to take a particular patient to surgery . OK, I thought. This weird. I and several of my partners had been following her and deemed her issue non-gynecologic. So, no, I will not be taking her to surgery. His argument was, another doctor and he have decided that this WAS a gyn issue, so I HAVE to take her to surgery. Silly me, I thought I was the specialist in this field. I suppose if two psychiatrists, one dermatologist, and Joe Smoe on the corner of 8th street SAY its gyn, then it MUST be. Hand me the scalpel!


My answer to him was No, I am not taking this poor woman for unneccesary gyn surgery. I almost laughed when he sputtered, So you aren't going to take her to the OR? What are you going to tell the patient?

I was thinking in my head, YOU go talk to the patient. You made the mess.

Of course, at the end of the day, all this is B.S. What really matters is the patient and her health. My partner did go and explain everything to the patient and offered to help in anyway. She offered a myriad of medical treatments for the possible diagnoses on the differential. She offered the patient that someone from our practice would be willing to participate in the operation as a consult, should surgery decide to operate. And general surgery did end up taking her to the OR, and surprise! surprise! there were no gyn abnormalities, just general surgerical issues.

So I win. I may look young and inexperienced. I maybe short. Very, very short. I am woman practicing medicine in a good ole boy's club. But ain't nobody's gonna bully me into practicing bad medicine. So SUCK IT, BOYS!

Why I Do Not Sleep Even Though I Desperately Need To

This is ridiculous.

I am on call tonight. It's late. I am sick. I have a low grade temp, annoying cough, and phelgm is various colors of camouflage. I have a headache. My eyelids are soooooo heavy. My brain is confused. I know, Super Sexy.

But I refuse to go to bed.

It's a disease I was born with. I remember getting in so much trouble as a kid because me parents would find me sleeping secretly in the hallway with my head just peeking into the living room. I just KNEW there was something exciting ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Wait, just wait, it'll come! Mom and Dad don't REALLY just sit on the couch reading the paper. So I am just going to laying on this uncomfortable hard floor and keep my eye open and be rewarded when SOMETHING happens! And then I would fall asleep.

Now that I am thirty-two years old, I KNOW that nothing exciting is going to happen while I am asleep. But yet, I resist going to bed. My eyelids could feel like they are magnetized and my body could be aching to just lay on a soft, soft mattress, but NO. I MUST STAY AWAKE LEST SOMETHING EXCITING! AND WONDERFUL! HAPPEN WITHOUT ME!

Funny that I should marry someone just like me. I hate that about him.

I am going to sleep.

Precious Moments

When Meat Ball turned one year old, I was consumed with guilt. It seemed like I missed the first year of his life completely. Between working, trying to be a good wife, being a mother to a toddler, I realized that I lost the joy and privilege of savoring many of Meat Ball's milestones.

He is almost thirteen months now, and I have been playing catch up the past three weeks. He's an early sleeper, so usually he's so tired, I just throw him into bed and play with Ninja until it's her bedtime. Now I start the bedtime routine EARLY for the both of them so now I can spend a good 20-30 minutes cuddling and reading to Meat Ball before he's too sleepy.

And man, is he adorable!

My sister says that he looks like a precious moments kid. And he does. He has such sad emo eyes, a button nose, rosebud mouth. And three big rabbit teeth. And he is so sweet. I mean so sweet that your insides just melt and puddle around your toes and all you can do is drool and say, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... He will flirt with you, bat his lashes, he will hide in your shoulder, peek up shyly and offer the sweetest toothy smile and when you melt on the floor in response, he will duck his head down again to hide and peek up with just one big soulful eye to see if you saw that. And of course you saw that, but you are already a messy puddle on the floor and there is just no where to go. While you are holding him, he will grab your neck with his chubby hands and find the perfect, most comfortable fit for his big round head in the crook of your jaw and he will just hug you the sweetest, most heavenly hug for an amazing 10 seconds. He'll then look up at you, give you a wet kiss with a hearty "MMMMMMMMMM MAAAAAAHHHH" and hug your neck again.

Meat Ball loves water. If a substance is in liquid form, he's all over it. While take a bath, he like to dunk his face in the water. At first I thought he was losing his balance. But his butt is so big and stable, so I thought that was weird. I watched him very slowly and purposefully lean over, put his face in the water, and then come up sputtering and laughing his head off. He hears water running and he's there. I am pretty sure that he'll be a surfer like his father. And I'll squander away many years of my life worrying about him drowning or getting eaten by sharks. Now I am just reducing my lifespan by my panic attacks when I find him playing in the toilet. Especially since Ninja is a recent potty-trained graduate, but doesn't like the flushing part.

So I am going to be better about remembering Meat Ball. It is a well known fact that children grow up too soon. My wish is so do everything to slow down time. Not look forward to every naptime, bedtime so I can get stuff done. I am going to consciously treasure all the moments, good and bad, with my children. And try my best to record what I can. I can easily see me in twenty years angry at myself now for not making more of an effort to remember these precious moments.

Who am I?

I just got home from the hospital and its 4am. The reason I am not snuggled in my bed is because I got thinking about how I portray myself to others. There was a time, a loooooong time, when I really cared about how others perceived me. Mostly like a moron, I know, but the point is that it bothered me that many people thought I was a moron.

Now that I am where I am, I don't care. I really don't. But I wonder if I should. I think I am part 12 year old boy and it's trying really hard to come out. There is a new show on Discovery Health about three female OB/GYNs who trained together and now practice together in LA. I have watched a couple of the episodes and thought, "That's totally me!!! They stole me and my partners! We were them first!" Except not really. All of the them are articulate and put together. I am not. I can sound pretty smart if I really really try. The thing is, I AM pretty smart. But when I am relaxed and talking without thinking I sound like a 12 year old boy. From the hood.

Example: coming out of the a patient's room, I was holding a glass slide a heading towards the microscope to examine it. The charge nurse looked up and asked me what I was holding. Immediately I said, "Cooter Juice."

Whyyyyyy??????

Easily could have said, "ruling out rupture of membranes" or "checking for ferning" or something professional. But nooooooooooo. I said "Cooter Juice." And yes. With capital letters, like it was an official medical term.

I feel..... not bad at all. But, I know that I have shamed my family (by family, I mean husband who works in the same hospital)

I routinely go to work with no make up and in scrubs. On the one or two occasions that I see my husband at work, he always tells me I look a mess. He never goes to the hospital without dressing in at least business casuals, even on weekends or ungodly hours of the night.... just in case. I think that I have run to the office in my pajamas to grab paperwork.

Professionalism is important. As a doctor, I know how important it is for my patients to have confidence in my abilities. I will never show up to work in ripped jeans with a hot pink thong peeking out from my plumber's crack. I will never use dirty curse words in front of my patients. I will never consciously walk around with my fly open and boogers on my face. But I suppose I need to find a balance between the pimple faced adolescent and the specialty trained surgeon in me. So next time my answer to the charge nurse will be, "I am checking for presence of amniotic fluid in this Cooter Juice."

Blog Bog

Part of my dilemma with this blogging thing is that I really don't know what I am doing. Am I writing a personal journal for myself? Do I wish to have an audience? What is this blog about? Family? Parenting? My medical practice? Should I remain anonymous, or should I share this with my family and a few close friends?

The heck if I know.

So half the stuff I usually write in a personal journal, I don't write. Too painful, and too dramatic, and biased. Complain, bitch, moan, yuck. It's like the armpit of my thoughts. And more times than not I end up reading it and puking. Why would I risk revealing my self-absorbed stupidity on a blog?

I definately am not a great writer in that I do not have witty thoughts, comments, and observations about my life. However, I do like to write. Crap. Yes, I like to write crap. But dammit, it's MY crap. And I really want to remember a bit about my life now, while it is so crazy and hectic and I feel like I am one step from it all getting away from me. I am afraid that these days will slip away from me, as if it never happened. If I record anything on paper in a journal, I will lose it. Or Husband will throw it away. Perhaps this is an attempt to salvage a little part of who I am now and what my life is now.

I suppose I'll see where this takes me.

Potty Mouth

The following are frequent comments made by my three-year-old daughter during and after certain bodily functions:

"OMIGOD! That's a lot of poo-poo!"

"My poo-poo is squiggly today."

"I peeped! (as in past tense for pee)"

"Moooommmmy.... I'm dooooooonnnnnee. No wait! There's more coming out! Goooooooo awaaaaaay. Close the door!"

"Mommy, can you help me get it out?"

The Dilemma Part 2

Yeah, I suck. Big Time. My last entry shows how retarded I am. I do feel better after writing it, which I always do after journaling. I am just so glad that nobody reads this blog. What parent with small children wouldn't give their right eye for my in-laws? So what about Husband. To quote him whenever I complain to him about something, "Well at least I don't do drink, do drugs, gamble, and murder people."

True, true. The makings of the perfect husband.

So, we are actually on this trip, with the in-laws. It's really not bad. They are so easy that you feel like Hitler for ever NOT wanting them to come.

Sometimes I am just glad that I didn't marry myself.

Dilemma

So, for some reason, I always have my panties in a wad regarding my in-laws. Not that I have a problem with them. They are FANTASTIC. The problem regarding my in-laws is actually a problem I have with my husband.

Now, I have to remind myself that Husband is a wonderful person. He really is my heart. And he does have a big one. The problem is that he is forever a child in some aspects. In particular, is he child-like quality of not doing anything he doesn't want to do. That includes taking care of our children.

Is he a bad father? Not at all. He's a terrific one. However, he always is engrossed in one project or another and if I need him to watch the kids for awhile, he just won't. His parent live within walking distance, so it really isn't a big deal for his mom to drop by, but DAMN IT! He's the dad and this is my house, and sometimes I just don't want her to be there and I just WANT him to WANT to watch the kids!!!

Same thing with family vacations. I mean, the kids make going anywhere a drag by virtue of their infantile ways, someone is always wanting to nap or eat or cry etc etc..... But do the in-laws have to come EVERY TIME? The one time they did not come, Husband wanted to leave for home after 2 days. He is at home a lot, but NEVER without his mother there taking care of the kids. He does work from home, but really, he just doesn't MAKE THE EFFORT. He'll play with them, read to them, occasionally feed them and change them, but only when he FEELS like it. Anytime he doesn't, his mom is just minutes away. We see his parents daily, no hourly. Can I just have some space?! Can Husband just be happy about the daily grunginess of having kids?! I want to move away!!!!!!

I try to bring it up, about us actually raising our own children, but his argument is always that he works very hard to make money and he pays his parent in exorbitant amount of money to help us. So why shouldn't they help him when he needs help?

There is no way I can change his mind, and we always end up fighting because he gets angry and says I make him feel like a bad father. So it's just not worth bringing up all the time. But we may be going out of town today, and of course he asked ME if we should bring his parents. Of course he always asks, but there is only one correct answer. So I sigh, and say, SURE. He's all like, Yeah, that a great idea! The kids are just too hard to take care of by ourselves....

Arghhhhhh!

Now I am left with this bitter, yucky, feeling. Just not excited about going. I hate feeling this way. I'm just a big ole mean bitch. I should be grateful and happy. I am the luckiest person in the world. So why do I feel sad, misery, dejected, almost martyr-y, and generally Scrooge-ish? I don't want to take it out on this poor parents (who probably want for us to get away from them) or Husband (but I can't help it and then I make him mad/sad and we fight.)

Lord help me!

Stalker

Maybe it's because I am getting old, but I am becoming more and more engrossed in thinking about the past. It's been about 10 years since I last spoke to a particular friend, but I can't help but think about what he's up to.

This guy was a friend from highschool. I think he was in love with me. Actually, I know so, since he told me the week before he left for college. He made this grand gesture about not going and staying near by so we could get married in the near future and freaked me the hell out. Mind you, I was only 16 years old, and his parents were crazy Asian parents who pushed their kids academically to the point of nervous breakdowns. Plus, I knew he liked me, but he never made a move in the three years we were friends and two years we were practically inseparable. He just hinted, and hemmed and hawed and never was man enough to just freakin say it... until it was too late. His profession of love caught me off guard, and frankly, was off putting. And I wasn't too keen on his parents hunting me down like a dog for preventing their son from going to Ivy League to stay at a state school... to marry me. I would be INSANE to want inlaws like that. Soooo, I shot him down and off he went, far away to college.

He kept calling me at least once a week throughout college. I was quite impressed with his devotion and actually gave thought that perhaps one day we really would end up together. And then he screwed it up again. In his sophmore year, and my freshman year, he started to date an amazing girl. Unfortunately, sometimes really smart people are really messed up. This girl was a mess. I was happy that he moved on and started to like other girls, but was just a tad bit disappointed that he didn't pursue our relationship further. I guess I still wanted him to be a man. A reasonable man. I wanted him to really think of practical ways for us to be together. For example, say "I really like you, I want a long distance relationship." Not some crazy cockimamie plan like him dashing his college dreams and rushing into a teenaged marriage. Really, it was truly THAT simple. But I guess he was used to girls telling HIM that they liked him and wanted a relationship. Well, I am not that kind of girl. And once he indicated that he was interested in other girls, I just crossed him off my potential boyfriend list.

Anyways, as he pursued his psychotic love, we kept in touch with regular phone calls. Since we had been so close for so long, I really loved his friendship and was more comfortable with the relationship now that I knew it would be reciprocated on the same level. Before this, he was ALWAYS (I mean always, at least one phone call a week. For 2 years.) the one to call me. Now I called him with regularity as well. The next year I started dating my now husband and everything was hunky-dory. I really regarded him as one of my best friends.

A couple of years later, we were still great friends. I was still dating my now-husband and obviously very serious about him. The Friend had a couple more girlfriends in the mean time. I remember it was either on Valentine's Day, or near it, Friend decides to pull the same psychotic shit again! We were chatting on the phone, Husband (then boyfriend) had fallen asleep studying in my room. Husband was fine with my relationship with Friend and usually busied himself with studying (or sleeping) while I would chat with Friend on the phone for hours. We were discussing where Friend was interviewing for medical school this particular night, going over pros and cons, etc etc. He then busts out with this conversation: (I am paraphasing, obviously)

"I applied to your medical school, you know. I have an interview in a month."

"Oh really? Why? It's not all Ivy league and snotty like the others."

"Yeah, but I like the weather, and it's closer to home."

"Well, cool. I know you won't come here, but it'll totally be fun when you come to interview. You can stay with future-Husband, and I'll skip class and we'll hang out. It'll be so much fun!"

"Yeah, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. If I do come down to interview, then I am sure I will be accepted. If I go to your medical school, then I will expect that you and I will be together and planning marriage in the future. If you aren't willing to do that, then I don't want to spend the time and money for the interview."

WTF?!

OK, that's something he could say that if we had been dating this whole time. Or even if he had hinted that he loved me all these years. Or if he had the balls to speak up when I started dating Husband and gushed about him at every opportunity. But for him to say that to me while now-Husband laid innocently on the floor snoring, and me feeling icky and bad like I just cheated on him. A friendly conversation turned into a profession of life-long convenant. And for him to say it in a tone/manner suggesting that I OWED HIM AT LEAST AS MUCH. I repeat, WTF?!

So, I didn't shoot him down. I tore him a new one. I ranted, raved, fumed and said that he betrayed my friendship and that I didn't think he should ever call me again.

So he didn't. Six month went by and I never thought of it again until a particular sermon made me feel oh so so guilty. It was about making amends with people before becoming right with God. And Friend popped right into my little head. With distance, I felt VERY sheepish about my reaction, OVER reaction, really, of our conversation. Maybe I was guilty for liking him still little deep down. Maybe I was digusted by his cowardice again. But I realized that I sucked and treated him badly. Plus, I really missed his friendship, his advice and coolheaded take on life.

A couple of weeks later, I called him up to apologize and to repair our friendship. And, wow, I got what I deserved. He told me that the past six months were hard, but he was finally getting over me and had just started to like a sweet girl in his Christian fellowship. He agreed with what I said earlier, that we shouldn't ever talk again, because all I was, was his bad news.

Okay.

So that brings us to today. Why am I still obsessing about this thing? My life is so blessed. I know I married my soulmate (btw, my inlaws totally rock!) and I now know that God was watching out for me regarding Friend. I could see how easy we could have ended up with each other. He could have said one simple sentence in the course of a couple years, and I would have been his. In retrospect, that would have been a mistake. However what I do regret is how I was so mean and treated him poorly when his intentions were good. I gave in to my selfishness and let my mouth spew forth so much diarrhea that I can never fix it. I lost one fabulous friendship with a wonderful person because I couldn't keep my lid on. I think I obsess over it because I still miss him. He really was a huge part of my growing up. Kind of like my version of Winnie and Kevin on the Wonder Years.

We have mutual friends, but I hardly keep up with them. In passing one of them has said that any mention of me was still banned in his presence. I can't help but think that by losing his friendship, I have lost a couple more as well. Peripherally, I have gathered that he is doing really well. He has an adorable family and is a successful doctor. It makes me kind of sad to think that our kids will never play with each other and our spouses won't ever meet. He and his wife seem like the type of friends Husband and I would love to have. I suppose I have the means to contact him, but frankly, I don't want to be a stalker. I already am in my mind. God forbid he think I am one as well. I am sure that he hasn't given me a second thought in many years and he's someone who is generous and forgiving. But I have an uncomfortable feeling that I am now associated with all things bad and evil in his mind. And as forgiving as he maybe, it doesn't mean he wants anything to do with me. So what is the point? To make me feel better? If that is all, then contacting him would be selfish and stupid. So I haven't.

And since we are being brutally honest here, the other possibility is perhaps I still love him. Well, did I ever? I mean, I loved him as a friend. I had a huge crush on him in middle school. But no, I never loved him, at least not in the way I love my Husband. I think I was created to love, live with and torture my poor Husband. If I had married Friend, it would have been all wrong. His personality is not what I need in a husband. I would have gone mad and drove him to the nuthouse as well. Husband is a bit boorish sometimes, and v v willful, kind of like me. He will lay his damn heart down all over the place if that is what he believes. He chased me with a vengenance. He is that kind of leader that I crave in a lover and mate. Friend was too accommodating. He's all, I will love you if you want me to. Husband is like, I love you, damn it, whether you like it or not. Take it, leave it. Arrrrrgh!

So the point of this long-winded boring post is, I will NOT attempt to facebook friend him.

Potty Talk

I am overjoyed that my 3 year old daughter is finally starting to use the toilet consistently. But does she really have to yell,

"OH MY GOD! That's A LOT of POO POO!!"

every. single. time. In public restroom stalls. Where I am locked in with her. With many strangers around.