The Vomit Van

My minivan smells like moldy vomit. I’m fairly certain it has something to do with our teenage nanny who used the smelly bucket of bolts for two weeks while my husband and I produced Top Affiliate Challenge.

For weeks I saw sippy cups disappear from our hotel room. I figured they were lost by a frazzled nanny as she wheeled our son through the zoo, the park, and the grocery store in his fire red stroller.

After reclaiming our sanity, our son, and my mini-van, I hunted for sippies finding only two. Where have all the others gone?

I believe there is a vortex underneath the passenger seat of the van from where a gas, not oxygen, currently emanates.

I am not woman enough to reach my hand under the seat and pull out whatever horrors lie beneath. I’ll freely admit that I am a giant chicken, a wimp, yes…even a girl.

Maybe I’ll take it to the Wal-Mart Auto Center and say “no I don’t need my tires rotated, just check underneath the passenger seat.” Should the mechanic be so bold as to investigate and come away from the van shaking his hand in the air and shrieking to the heavens I will know that it is time to sell my gas guzzling beast.

Even if I were to summon up the courage to investigate more closely I’m not sure that any amount of carpet cleaner or lye soap could remove the offending life form. As many will recall I encountered a similar “mystery fungus” behind my couch months ago which began to shriek and moan when sprayed with Windex.

So if nothing else, I’ll give Techie some nookie, arm him with a bottle of lemon scented pine sol and send him on a quest to discover and kill the source of the offending odor.

I fully expect to get any number of comments about how this makes my readers want to vomit. I do apologize, in fact, this is not the blog post that I intended it to be when I sat down to write. Tonight’s blog post was supposed to be about my renewed intent to get knocked up by my husband and a team of talented medical professionals. Alas, this post will stand as proof that I should indeed reproduce on account of my fine mothering and housekeeping skills.

For those who were barfing it may further offend and disgust you to know I wrote the entire post while sitting on the toilet!

The things I say…

Overheard in my presence this weekend:

She said she hated newborns.  What kind of person hates newborn babies?  What’s she going to do next? Sacrifice a puppy in front of me?

Who came up with lollipops?  Let’s stick a trachea sized ball of sugar on the end of a long stick and give it to little kids.  Who thought that would be a good idea?

Well I’ve never seen your kid move.  (muttered under my breath)

Then… I reached into his mouth and pulled out half of a rock hard overcooked hotdog that smelled like lighter fluid.

Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s frisbees

I have a low tolerance for stupid questions and nosy people.  I have no idea how I made it through dozens of college classes and neighborhood association meetings all brimming with nosy hand raising dumb question askers.

 As you can see this intolerance is not flattering on me.  It turns me into a mean sarcastic woman.  But mocking those who annoy me brings me great joy.  

S.O.S.

So Techie is out of town and I’m under duress.  For normal people a night and two full days away from their spouse is no biggie, and for some even a welcome break.  But I’m not normal.  I HATE when Techie is gone especially overnight.   I’m a nervous ninny by nature and my dear husband’s very presence calms me.  Further after a couple of long days without any other adult contact I’m in desperate need of decompressing with my best friend.   I started out with the intention of posting pictures of Chibby’s new room but the kid isn’t havin’ it today.  My big Daddy’s boy is irritated that Daddy isn’t here and running a bit low on sleep from a very early am trip the airport.  He also knows Mom is tired and stressed and is taking full advantage…maybe next time mom will go on the trip. — oh yeah!  That reminds me!I’m thrilled to say that I will be attending BlogHer ‘08 in San Francisco in July!  This is my first BlogHer conference and I’m very excited to be able to go and take my husband and son along.  BlogHer has on-site childcare for Chibby for a couple of days and Daddy will be attending some sessions with me.  I’ll also be running around recording audio for BlogHer.  I’m so glad that I can lend a hand.  Will you be at BlogHer?  Leave me a comment and we’ll have a Starbucks together in July!–back to the chaos…S.O.S

Inlaw perfection…

I’m afraid perfectionism has gotten the better of me so I won’t be posting pictures of Chibby’s new big boy camping/cabin/bear themed room yet.  I’m still waiting on a couple posters I won on ebay to arrive. I want everything to be just perfect so the cuteness will have to wait.  Until the UPS guy gets here I have plenty of distraction though. 

Picked last and peed on

When you were a kid the worst thing that could happen to you at school was to be the last kid picked for the team.  Grace being my middle name and al,l I was always picked dead last.  In fact i was often the odd man out….given a “special job” by the PE teacher.  In other words you suck and we don’t want the other kids to suffer so sit here.  

While I endured some teasing, I coveted that position, never getting sweaty and always enjoying a great view of the hot guys playing sports.  I saved my energies for more delicate tasks like dancing and singing in choir and quite frankly have never need those valuable kickball skills as an adult.  

iSpoiled

After a 5 year relationship, I divorced my wireless phone company. Like a bad husband, Sprint took me for granted and now we’re through. The last straw came last week when I took my phone to Sprint for repair and they shut me down.

Despite a years’ worth of payments for insurance they would not fix a crack in the screen because it wasn’t interfering the functionality of my crappy phone. I could have taken the phone outside and finished it off with my high heel, thus warranting a repair; instead I gave the high heel to my service plan.

A city mouse

I’ve just found out that we have mice in the wall between the living room and the front porch and have completely lost all ability to reason, concentrate, and hold my bladder.  Just the thought of the little suckers in my house scurrying around with their little claws and whiskers makes me want to shower over and over and keep my baby from playing on a the clean floor in the middle of the room. 

Stay at home mom: is it real work or really easy?

I stumbled across an innocent little blog post this morning about a stay-at-home mom bumper sticker on a minivan.  It was a nice little post from a working hubby who was showing some respect for the work that stay-at-home moms (& dads too) do.  The post it self was short and sweet, but the commentary left by “anonymous” thereafter was inflammatory to this stay at home mom in particular.   

The OCD fetus and her crap

I have a porch full of CRAP. It’s been here a week and I already like it less than my in-laws.  It’s making me angry and giving me a blinding headache.  I can’t sleep and I can’t concentrate because no matter where I am in the house I can see the peaks of the mountains of CRAP on my porch.  It’s making me want to kill my husband and pull out all my hair. 

I know—I need a prescription.  Though I can’t remember exactly I’m pretty sure that I probably spent most of my time as a fetus tidying up the womb and since my birth I’ve only perfected my OCD.