Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Bladder Busters and Life Lessons

Dang, it's been a minute since I've blogged. Y'all were probably (not) wondering what was going on and why I stopped. I'd rather eat a pinecone wrapped in fire ant-chovies than lie, so here's the scoop:  the $20 I made from my self-published book went to my head. 

Naw, that ain't true! It was only $18.36.

Life just started happening, and other things seemed to be more important. Feeding your rug-rats is no longer optional, and coffee hour with Kelly & Michael no longer qualifies as an internship. What can I say...things are complicated.

The past few months have brought a fair dose of changes, and with change comes knowledge. I graduated from college, not that it made me any smarter or dumber. In life's cookie jar, experiences are what allow you to nab the last Moon Pie when all the other kids are pilfering through the pantry. I may not be able to calculate the rectabular circumference mass of a Chilean aardvark, but I sure as hell know how to stretch a half-pound of Clara Belle into a 24-inch meatloaf. Book knowledge? Nope, that's life knowledge.

Just this past weekend, I figured out something that I'm pretty sure ain't even made it to Wikipedia yet. Ever been nervous and felt like there was a bulimic gopher in your guts?  Well, it turns out that when that ravenous rodent gnashes on your belly buffet, there's a positive correlation between the size of his butt and the pressure exerted on one's bladder.

I always pictured the graduation walk as a regal moment filled with accomplishment, a sense of finality, and a swell of pride. Y'all, it wasn't my pride that was swelling. I started having PTSD flashbacks to when I was pregnant with Emma. This trailer dwelling, baby poppin', human answering machine at the sonographer's office said to drink 40 ounces of water before coming in for the gender reveal.

Do you know how much 40 ounces of water is, when consumed at one time? Enough to plague Egypt with water toxicity.

40 ounces. The 40-day flood in the Bible. Coincidence? I think not. You can put all your eggs in one dream basket, but nothing compares to the urgency of a full bladder when doing the pee-pee dance in front of a thousand people.

The kids have been their usual selves lately:  lovable, funny, and as ornery as three-legged pitbulls at Casa de Vick.

The past few weeks, these parietal lobe puzzlers have had them at each other's throats.

  • Do carrots have riboflavin?
  • The color of their Poppa's truck (This one will usher in the Apocalypse.)
  • "Why won't (insert child) give me hugs and kisses? You butthole, I just want to love on you!"
  • "If I'd been born first, would there still be three of us?"
  • After watching 'Night at the Museum 3' with Robin Williams, one precious child asks, "Did he die before or after they made this movie?"
  • "Is butt wrench a bad word?"
  • "Valentine's Day is for loser babies wearing diapers. Mom, what if Darryl (Dixon) was the Valentine's baby and he shot real arrows?" (What if, indeed....)
  • "Mom, I thought you said the Super Bowl commercials were funny." (Sorry, honey. Let's go play in traffic together.)

And in honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to send a shout-out to a special someone....that pissed me off RIGHT QUICK AND IN A HURRY this morning. (No, not my husband or kids!)

So, to you, you knuckle-dragging, Slothra humping, hairball eating, nut shredding, sludge pudging, cognitively anemic, heap of soul vomit, bless your're an asshole.

To everybody else, have a blessed day. Hug your loved ones tight, and your enemies tighter....around the neck.

No comments:

Post a Comment