CNMB Day 2

Yesterday when we left our heroine, she was sleepy and dealing with a scared chocolate lab.  The question still remains, did the blonde get a nap?  Did the former baby stay in his bed, or continue his Harry Houdini "Out of Bed" act?  

Yesterday, the blonde got lunch ready for the former baby.  She is determined that she will train this child, possibly a pickier eater than herself, to eat a peanut butter sandwich.  I mean come on, who doesn't like peanut butter??  Weirdo!

So far, the baby seems to survive on fruit, cheese and toast exclusively.  Being a non-mommy, the blonde figures she can get him to add a new food to his diet.  I mean, she was successful at getting him to eat funnel cake this weekend.  I'm sure his mother will add funnel cake to his regular meal rotation.  Score one for the non-mommy!

Anyway, nap time has been a real bear lately for the former baby.  Nighttime too, but nap time is all this non-mommy has to deal with.  The non-mommy feeds him his lunch, knowing that the nap time battle will begin soon.  How many times will the non-mommy have to return him to his bed?  What if he never sleeps?  What if he's crazy and then his night time routine is affected, and the former baby's parents fire the non-mommy from her job?  THE PRESSURE!

The former baby ate well, even eating a little bit of a peanut butter sandwich.  Then it was time for nap time.  Cue the music from "Jaws."

The non-mommy put the child in his bed.  She kissed him, wished him a nice nap and firmly told him that he may not get out of his bed.  He must stay in his bed.

She cracked the door.  She walked just out of sight, listening for the former baby to get up and do his shenanigans.

And then the skies parted, angels sang, and a miracle occurred.  The former baby went to sleep!!!  For the first time in, well, forever.

Only, the blonde isn't a mommy, remember?  So instead of rejoicing and going straight to sleep herself, she found herself riddled with anxiety.  What was that noise?  Is he up?  Is he really asleep?  Is he breathing?  Why did he fall asleep so fast???  She needs to know these things!!!!!

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, until the non-mommy heard the news of her friend giving birth.  She gave birth to a kid that was NINE POUNDS and ELEVEN OUNCES.  Now perhaps you have given birth to an even larger baby, and if so, the non-mommy salutes you.  But today the non-mommy was in the grocery store and saw a ten pound bag of potatoes and she imagined shoving that sack of potatoes through something so small...so...delicate.  She hasn't recovered from the horror yet.  Perhaps being a non-mommy is the way it should be.  Or, the non-mommy should take a cue from Angelina Jolie and adopt from all over the world.  I mean, adoption is expensive, but it doesn't cause third degree tears "down there."  Shudder.

So, today the non-mommy and the former baby went to the hospital to see this giant bag of potatoes...I mean the baby.  The mother of the sack of potatoes was rightfully very exhausted and in pain.  She was very emotional and crying, stressing about the baby not taking her breast and how much pain she is in, and that she can't do anything because she's in so much pain.  This conversation took place with the former baby on the non-mommy's hip, alternating between leaning WAY OVER to see the sack of potatoes laying in the bassinet, and crying anytime anyone laughs.  Don't ask me to explain it, I'm not a mother.

As we departed (quickly, I might add, because the non-mommy doesn't know how to handle these situations and she's happy with her girly parts in one piece and not being chewed on!) a group of nurses was oohing and ahhing over the former baby, exclaiming how darn cute he was.  They even noticed him going into the room and waited for him to come out just because he was so cute.  They talked to the former baby and instead of being his shy self, he spoke to them in his sing songy voice.  Then they complimented the non-mommy on her son, saying he looked just like his mommy.

Did the non-mommy correct them?  HECK NO!  She's happy to parade around pretending that adorable children are really hers!

Today, the non-mommy dreams that she'll feed the former baby a meal of all new foods and he'll eat it, be nourished and be satisfied.  Then, because his belly is fully of healthy, organic vegetables and a nice piece of steak, he'll immediately drop into his bed for a nap with no fight, only telling the non-mommy how wonderful she is and how much he loves her.  Then the non-mommy can take a nap herself, pondering as she drifts off to sleep, the purpose of all these baby proofing measures parents take to keep their children from opening doors.  He just opens the door anyway or breaks the locking strap.

Yes, the non-mommy can dream.

Because that will only happen in a dream world!

Confessions

Today begins our feature installment of "Confessions of a Non-Mommy Blogger."  In this harrowing tale, our resident blonde takes over daycare duties of one adorable nephew (age:  two) for two weeks as the nephew's normal caretaker, his grandmother, goes on a trip to Hawaii.  Join us as we take an interesting journey through quasi-motherhood.

5:40 a.m. - Oh dear God, it cannot possibly be time to get up to take her to the airport.

5:43 a.m. - Hmm.  This house seems awfully dark.  I thought we had to leave by 6 a.m. to go to the airport?

[The blonde enters the dark master bedroom to find a peacefully slumbering mother.]

5:44 a.m. -  Mom.  Mom.  MOM.  MOOOOM.

[The slumbering mother jerks awake.]

5:45 a.m. -  Mom, it's 5:45 and we have to leave in 15 minutes.

[The oversleeper levitates out of her bed and flies to the restroom.  The blonde stumbles back to the living room, still in her pajamas, and plops on the couch.  She may not be fully awake, but she secretly LOVES not being the one oversleeping, for once.  It's a great sense of satisfaction to be the waker, not the wakee.  16 minutes later, the oversleeper makes it to the car and the blonde drops her off at the airport.  She then returns home.]

6:25 a.m. -  You know, being up this early isn't so bad!  I think I'll have a bowl of oats and blueberry cereal and read the news on my laptop!

7:00 a.m. -  I better take a shower.  The baby [editor's note:  FORMER baby] will be here soon.

7:05 a.m. - Oh crap, I have a massage tonight!  I better get out the machete and tame these wild beast legs.

[Following her shower, the blonde puts on a shirt from her uncle's tire shop and her most comfy yoga pants.  She then puts laundry in the washing machine.  The baby arrives.]

7:40 - Hello!  How are you?

7:45 - This is great!  I'm doing laundry and the baby is playing happily.  I totally want to be a stay at home mother!

[The blonde then plays cars with her nephew, making the appropriate crashing noises.  She then begins to feel tired.]

8:05 - Oh man.  I'm soooo tired.  Isn't it time for a nap yet?  Maybe this stay at home thing isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

[The blonde and the former baby then sing songs together and she then follows the former baby into a bedroom.]

8:20 - I'm so sleepy!  This bed looks so comfy.  I think I'll lay down.

8:20:30 - Ug!!  Who is this small creature on my back?

[The blonde then pretends to be a horsey, giving the child a ride.  Unfortunately, he likes this game and requests that she does it over and over, with a shrill cry of "AGAIN!!!"]

8:35 - OK, this horsey is tired, we have to stop.  Hey, let's go read a book!

[The former baby shrieks "NO!"  Then he begins to sing "Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow your hoooooorn!"]

8:45 a.m. - No, Former Baby, stop touching my laptop!  This thing was expensive!

Stay tuned to this channel to find out what happens in the afternoon.  Will the former baby nap well?  Will the blonde get to take a nap?  

*THIS JUST IN!  A thunderstorm has just blown in, and instead of a scared baby, the blonde now has to deal with a hugely fat, scared chocolate lab that keeps trying to crawl in her lap.  The excitement never stops!

Keeping me on my toes.

Now that the school year has simmered down, I'm doing a whole lot of nothing.  I have to say, it's just what the doctor ordered.  I'm going to the pool every day, I am going for a walk every day, I am reading like a mad woman, and I am spending tons of time with my cranky nephew.  You know, he's two, so there is a lot of drama.  Lots of flinging himself on the floor and generally being cantankerous.  He also, for some inexplicable reason, has taken to shouting a few words when he's REALLY angry.  I like to think that he's using these as swear words.  When he gets really angry, he SHRIEKS "Waffles!  Vacuum!"  Don't ask me to explain it.  I think I'm going to try it next time my boss really pisses me off.  Today, he tried to unplug the scanner and when I said he couldn't, he screamed "Waffles!  Vacuum!  Airplane!"  I think I got the "F" word on that one.

Remember the dreaded pedicure incident?  Well, get ready for Part Two.  Yesterday I wanted to redeem a gift certificate that I got for a pedicure.  It was time for the toesies to get a bit more attention.  I went to the shop, where I haven't been before, and they sent me a Vietnamese woman who spoke absolutely no English.  Well, she could say random words, but they didn't make sense.  Or I couldn't understand them.  Once I understood "You pick color?" that was the end of the conversation, in my mind.

She was slower than molasses.  Bless her heart, she was trying to talk to me.  But it was kind of like this.

NoEnglish:  You picture flashlight tickle hat mrmrmrmngh hong dong wong song chair?

AllEnglish (Me):  Umm

NoEnglish:  PhongCong radio sunglasses sidewalk fish?

AllEnglish (Me):  Uhhh...uh huh.

And then she uttered one word that froze my blood and kept me awake last night. 

NoEnglish:  Poptart tree songconghonglongdong fungus toe white theme park going mrmrmrmrnrnrmrnrn.

AllEnglish (Me):  WHAT?  Did you say fungus??

NoEnglish:  Muttermuttermuttermuttervietcongwearathong toe

AllEnglish (Me):  HELP ME!  I NEED A TRANSLATOR!  Did she just say I have a fungus?? 

But then, the broad still manages to grin, say things that make NO SENSE, and paint right over my toenail that she did or did not say had a fungus.  So, being the completely rational, non-obsessive person ever, I go home and mull this over quite a bit.  Now, this is the toe that the nail had been cracked and it's not a normal nail at this time.  So was she just making light conversation about the state of my toe?  Did she think the nail was weird because I had a fungus and it made my nail all funky?  Or was she saying I currently had a nail fungus?

At this point, I'm thinking, "Big deal, if it is a fungus, that's easy enough, right?  Who cares?"  Then.  I broke my cardinal rule.

Never Google medical conditions.  Ever.

According to the internet, you can get a nail fungus if you are old, have poor circulation, have an immune system disorder, or have DAMAGED YOUR NAIL.  Oh, and PS, nail polish is like the worst thing you can do if you have one (and my toenails haven't been not polished since like 8th grade).  Apparently nail fungus is really hard to kill and is an ongoing problem, even if your nail falls off.  Apparently, OTC drugs don't work, and the prescription drugs are liver murderers.  So now I have not only the possibility of a societal scarlet letter, but also, a life long condition that forces me to choose between my liver and my big toenail!  Keep in mind that I still have no idea what the lady said or meant.  But I've already diagnosed myself and have doomed my toe to a fiery eternity in Hell, when I can't even see my toenail.

I laid in bed last night, debating.  Do I take off my newly pedicured polish to see if I have a problem, and risk losing the money I just spent YESTERDAY, to see if my toe is rotting off?  Or, do I keep my toes looking pretty, all the while letting a FUNGUS GROW on me which is SICK, SICK, SICK.  And, what if I do have one and I just spread it to all my toes yesterday while soaking my feet?  And what if I go on a date this summer and I have no toenail polish on?  I wear sandals!  I can't wear snow boots on a date!

Yeah.  Not obsessive at all.

In the words of my nephew, "Oh, Waffle.  Vacuum!  My stupid airplane toe!!!"

A very stimulating day.

Today I found a play that some of my students had written.  It's titled "I Love Mary."


Andy:  Mary, I love you.

Mary:  I love you.

Andy:  Will you marry me?

Mary:  Yes.

Andy:  I love you.

THE END.

---

And now, for the best part of my day, hands down!  Ohhhhh hahahaha hands down.  When I tell you this story, you'll understand why I'm laughing at this.  I should also preface this story with the following:  I have a very crass sense of humor at times, and I'm maybe a 12 year old in a 30 year old body.  I also was a big fan of the dumb Austin Powers movies, so the jokes just roll right off of my tongue.

Today at recess, I was standing there wearing my sombrero (HELLO, it's CINCO DE MAYO!) and minding my own business when I noticed my coworker with an extremely red face, fumbling and waving his arms.  He had a little girl with him, and they were approaching me.  I look at the little girl and notice something in her hand.  No.  Surely not.  Is that what I think it is?  What is she holding?!?!

SHE WAS HOLDING A VIBRATOR.

My jaw drops as I look at this child brazenly walking around with a big vibrator in her hands.  The male teacher tells her to go take it inside and put it in her locker.  And then he comes to me and shrieks "What do I DO??"

I promptly responded "BWWWAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Oh my gosh.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  Hold on.  I'm getting serious now.  Hahahaha.  Ok.  I think you should maybe go tell the principal.  And see if her locker is buzzing when you go in."

Apparently the darling came up to the very shy male teacher and said "Look what I brought to school today!  It's a hand massager.  See?  When you turn the button on the bottom, it vibrates!"  The shy teacher, who seriously blushes like crazy if I say the word "bra" said that he looked at it and thought to himself "Please be a pencil holder.  Please be a pencil holder."  Then it began vibrating and his hopes were dashed.

So, the shy teacher went into the office where he, according to the secretary who had tears in her eyes she was laughing so hard, came in sputtering and stuttering, asking for the principal.  The principal wasn't available, so he asked for the assistant principal.  The assistant principal wasn't available, so the secretary asked him what was wrong.  He had to lean over (he's very tall) and tell this old lady about the vibrator.

The assistant principal had to call the girl into her office and confiscate the vibrator.  I would have LOVED to have been a fly on the wall for that one.  She told the girl that toys weren't allowed at school.  I really, really hope she wore gloves.  Then, she had to call the parents.  Can you IMAGINE the conversation?  Either way you look at it, it's not good.

Scenario 1:  Your child has not only found your vibrator, but has taken it to school and is playing with it, showing it off as a hand massager.

Scenario 2:  Your child has somehow managed to get their hands on someone else's vibrator, which is very alarming.

We had a faculty meeting after school and everyone was teasing the teacher about it.  Everyone.  Word travels fast when sex toys come to school.  Everyone kept walking up behind the male teacher going "Bzzzz."  Then the principal starts waving around a folder that had the last name "Wood" written on it.  Wood.  I busted up.  I was dying.  Then she talked about taking time to be alone and enjoy yourself.  Then she said that we needed to turn in any keys that are by the company Schlage (and of course, I thought "schlong").  Then she said we had to get down to the meat and potatoes.

Oh.

My face hurts.

The "perks" of being single.

I went for pedicures, sushi and drinks, and the movie "Date Night" with my friends last night.  It's hard to go out and do things like this with most of my friends because they all have kids.  This means they either have little money, have no sitter, or feel guilty going out.

It was the first pedicure of the season.  If I could afford them all the time, I would do them always.  They feel great, my feet look nice, and it's just a fun get away.  My whole life I've kind of struggled with ingrown toenails, and despite my best efforts, they sometimes hurt.  Last year I went to this nail place and they damaged my toenail.  On my big toe, there was a large bruise under the nail and it cracked my nail all the way across.  I've not gotten a pedicure since to try and grow it back out and let it heal.  So then last night, I go into the local Vietnamese shrine to have my toes done.  By the way, being as culturally sensitive as I am, I blurt out in the middle of my pedicure "Is something on fire?!"  And they are like "No, it incense you smelling."

So here's the breakdown of what happened.  Imagine all the conversations that are not with me in a thick, Vietnamese accent:

Torture Woman:  Oh, you have bad nail.  What happen to nail?

Me:  Another nail place damaged my toenail.

Torture Woman:  Oh you need to take care of ingrown toenail.  It bad where the nail damaged.  I dig out.

Me:  OK [Side note for the pedicure challenged - it's uncomfortable to have this done, but it's worth it because it really does make it feel better.]

Torture Woman starts to mess around with my nail.  I yelp, jerk my leg up, but bite my lip, determined to get this fixed.  She keeps working and working as gently as she can, but I can see things are not going well.

Torture Woman:  You nail is very damage.  It is really hard by part of the nail with the crack.  I have to get it.

Me:  ...Ok.  

I begin looking around at the cleanliness of this shop.  How much digging is she going to do, exactly?

Me:  I'm never going to OH DEAR GOD OW OW STOP OW OW OW!!!

Torture woman:  [Turns to her friend next to her]  Zhidawangli longvanzhan longduckdong

I translate this into:  This is a bad one.  I'm gonna need some back up.

Torture Woman's Cousin:  I help.  [She starts poking and prodding like crazy.  I have tears in my eyes.]

Meanwhile, my friends are texting one another about what is happening, because they can't say anything in front of the women, and I'm trying to pretend that my toe isn't killing me like a Mo-Fo.  Torture woman puts her hand out like a doctor doing surgery and Torture Woman puts some tool in her hand.  I think in Vietnamese she was saying "Scalpel."  Or maybe "Rib Spreader."

Torture Woman:  [Takes back over]  I sorry that hurt.

Me:  [Suddenly, I remember that Paula Abdul got a staf infection in her arm from a manicure, and all kinds of wild thoughts are racing through my mind.  I've just had major surgery in a dirty Vietnamese nail shop!  My toe begins to bleed.]  Um, am I going to get an infection?

Torture Woman:  No, you not get infection.  Put your foot back in water.

Me:  I'm not going to get an infection?

Torture Woman, who has apparently become an MD in the last 30 minutes:  No, you not get infection.  Put your foot in water.

Me:  You don't understand the year I've had.  I will get an infection.  And I will lose my toe.

Torture Woman:  Put your foot in water!

Me:  I'm sorry, I just can't.  I don't want to get an infection in there.

The pedicure concludes with a very nice looking BLEEDING TOE.  My entire evening was ruined as I had BLOOD TRICKLING OUT OF MY TOE, and also I was so freaking worried I was getting gangrene or something.  I'm pretty sure my toenail was beginning to smell a little bit like almonds.  At a very late hour, I arrived home only to find that I had no supplies to clean my rotting toe with.  So, it probably festered all night.  I think the toe will be gone at any time now.

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of "Will Non-Mommy Have to Chop her Big Toe Off?"