Spoiled Bits and Ice Cream

So I am probably about to offer too much information considering that people that read this are mostly people that know me, (like my in-laws and people that work with my husband (Hi Kathleen!). It’s probably not the greatest idea, but, ya know, I have no boundaries, so whatever.
So.

It’s been three weeks since my last Internet confession. I was remembering this in the shower this morning (best thinking done there!) and how high maintenance it is of me…

A couple of years ago my husband and I spent a whole day at a courthouse (custody, visitation, standard stuff re: my stepson- I’m not a raging criminal, I promise). When you are in that type of environment (the government kind), you tend to drink a lot of water. I don’t know why. It’s free? Nerves, maybe? Who knows.

I haven’t spent that much time in a courthouse. But at this particular one, the sandpaper toilet paper is brutal. Drinking all that water tends to cause frequent trips to the outhouse restroom, and by the afternoon, my “under carriage” was CHAFFED. CHAPPED. RAW. I was completely uncomfortable, and we still had to fly back home that day. Yeah, and airplane sandpaper isn’t much better. I began to resort to gentle “pats” with the paper rather than the actual “wiping” motion.

The confession: When I got home, I actually used my sons diaper cream to sooth my girly parts. It was horrible. It was then that I realized that my high maintenance bits were spoiled by Charmin’s cushion-y softness, and that I would rather dehydrate myself and drink nothing than experience raw vadge ever again.

So, I whined talked about this all with my sister, embellishing how dramatic the whole thing was.

Months later, we visited my sister’s house for the weekend. The first time I visited the bathroom, I noticed that she actually had a whole package of Charmin' set aside just for me! Isn’t that sweet?! She is a sandpaper offender herself (with a vadge of steel apparently) but out of respect for my spoiled parts, she splurged on cotton-y heaven for me. Now that is love…

Was that not enough boundary jumping for you? Here’s another one for you then.

Let me tell you about this picture:



This real, honest picture. It’s not well composed or anything, but it’s real because it was really taken at 7:30am this morning. This is what I ate for breakfast. I couldn’t stop myself. Let me tell you why.

I would really love to produce more offspring. My husband would really NOT love to produce any more offspring. Because I would really NOT love to be a single mother, I just recently started back up on those lovely ovulation suppressors commonly known as Satan tablets birth control pills.

Great. All’s fine and well in planned parenthood, right?

Sure.

Um, unless you count THREE WEEKS of menstruating FINE and WELL. [said in a spitting hissing voice]. I effing swear to all that is good and holy if I don’t stop craving Cold Stone for breakfast (and lunch) (and dinner), my ass will have more dimples than this. And then worrying about my husband wanting to “make babies” with me won’t.be.an.issue.

These hormones are also making me lie.

Exhibit A:

Grant: [munching on his oatmeal] “What are you eating Mom?”

Me: [Curses. My strategically placed crap in front of the container didn’t trick him into not noticing me]. “Nothing.”

Grant: [scrunches eyes together.] “But I saw you put something in your mouth.”

Me: [Who in the hell raised a smart mouthed kid? Not me.] “I’m eating oatmeal, sweetie.”

Grant: [Who in the hell does she think she’s kidding. She never eats breakfast. And certainly not oatmeal.] “Why are you eating oatmeal, Mommy?”

Me: [Double-you-tee-eff with the effing questions already!] “Because it’s good for you. Eat up. We’re late for school. Don’t make me spank you.”

(I’m kidding. I didn’t really say the “spank you” part. I just put that in there for funny-ness.)

It’s just not right. This ice cream thing. Oh, and the three week cycle crap. That’s not right either.