You guys want to hear something funny?

I'm on the PTA again this year.... WAIT! Stop laughing. That's not the funny part!

Long time readers may remember how I quit the PTA, almost 2 years ago now. But I've taken enough of a break that I think I can come back, with renewed (and actual) energy to get stuff done. The truth is that I used to be really active... I mean, like, question my sanity (moreso) active, which is a lot of fucking work but the benefit to that, for me anyway, is that I was on a first name basis with all the teachers and staff at the school. And I was thinking about that a week or so ago, and I realized that I missed that, because I love teachers. I really do, and I want to help them and the PTA is the way to do that. (Fuck the kids, though. No, I'm really serious, I'm not in this to help the kids.)

So, anyway, I realized that I missed being that connected to the staff, so I emailed the PTA President and told her I wanted to come back. The only position that was open that I was interested in was VP of Communications, which means exactly what it sounds. I communicate. I'm pretty good at that, I think. I mean, 3 years ago, the PTA then didn't have a VP of Communications, so I just did all the jobs that this person would have done, I just didn't have the title "VP of Communications," I had "That Crazy Lady Who Does Everything." So, it's no big deal.

Sidebar: I also have another title, though, which is VP of Special Education Affairs, which is a brand new position as of about 2 hours ago, because I'm tired of this PTA not representing SPED families, even in name only, and I asked the board to create the position for me. BOOYAH.

So, tonight I went to my first Exec Board meeting, and guess what my first task, as VP of Communications is?

No really, guess.

Go ahead.

I'll wait.







Did you guess? Well, I'll tell you. My first task as VP of Communications is to.... create a Twitter account for the PTA.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

I told hubs and he said "are you going to invite them to wineparty?"


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

---

Just makin' my purchases

The kids are at camp for the summer; they're both at the same camp this year (not like last year) and one of Child 2's friends is going with him. I've been driving the friend to and from camp every day; it's no big deal, I'm going there, anyway, it's easier for his mom to drop him at our house every morning and he lives close so I just bring him home in the afternoon. This fact will become important in a minute.

Wednesday was a busy work day for me; I had back to back clients all day and then I had to rush up the hill to pick up all the boys from camp. I finished my second client and realized that I had about 10 minutes to spare, so I decided to go to Trader Joe's to pick up some necessities.

So, I park and jump out, and I go into the store and don't even get a cart or a basket, because I'm going to be so quick. I grab my first two necessities: a bottle of vodka and a bottle of wine, and I head to the other side of the store to get the ham and the Mac & Cheese.

I'm on my way over when I hear a little voice say "Hi Jill!" and I look over and I see the little brother of Child 2's friend. The friend who is at camp with my kid right now. The friend who I'm about to go pick up in 10 minutes. And HEY! There's the friend's mom! Buying milk! And here I am... holding a bottle of vodka and a bottle of wine.... with no basket.

I literally stop in my tracks in mid-stride, and I'm sure I looked like a deer in the headlights. Like this, probably:

and I say very awkwardly "oh, hey! Yeah, um.... just, uh.... makin' my purchases! Heh heh heh." And she says something like "oh, have fun!" all the while we're both very much aware that I'm now on my way to pick her son up from camp. In my car. Not like I was going to drink any of it before I got there, but still.....

Awkward.

---

And no information was actually imparted

When I told hubs this story, his response, after laughing at me and face-palming, was the title of this post.

It was Sunday morning, it was early, I hadn't had any coffee or even gotten out of bed yet, and Child 2 randomly asks me "Mama, are you pregnant?"

I probably could have been offended by that, but I was pretty sure he didn't actually know what that means. So I said "No. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," he said. "But it's hard to explain." That means he had no idea.

I didn't realize how right he was, though, and suddenly I'm faced with having to explain something that's really hard to explain to a 6 year old. Sunday morning. Early. Before coffee.

And so I say "It's, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............ it's where babies come from. It's how you make new people. A baby grows in a Mama's tummy for 9 months and then it comes out and it's a baby."

Damn I'm good. I should win parenting awards. People should write books about me. Instructional manuals!

"Do you understand?" I asked, hoping this was the end of it.

"I think so," he said.

PHEW.

"But how do you know when it starts?" He asks.

Shit.

"It, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............ You, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.................. "

Shit.

.............. long pause ...........

uncomfortable laugh

.............. long pause ...........

"You go to your doctor and she tells you."

He looks confused. I pray for hubs to enter the room and save me. He doesn't.

"We'll talk about it some more later," I say, officially putting an end to the torture.

That seemed to do the trick. I'll have hubs fill in some of the blanks.....

---

Autism, literally

There's nothing like living with an autistic child to make you keenly aware that a good deal of your speech is made up of expressions and colloquialisms that make no sense when you analyze them literally.

For those of you unaware, people with autism can be very literal with their use of language and can have trouble understanding these kinds of informal uses of language (examples below).

For those of you unaware, and really if you've been paying attention, none of you should be unaware... I have a tendency to talk first and think second. These things just come out of my mouth before I give myself a chance to think about whether or not Child 1 is going to know what the hell I'm talking about or not. As a result I find myself having to do a lot of explaining, which would be totally unnecessary if only I could pay attention to myself. It's kind of annoying.


Me: Don't worry, dude, I've got your back
Child 1: What are you going to do to my back?

Me: Okay, guys, let's hit it!
Child 1: Hit what? Are you going to hit me?

Me: I'm afraid so.
Child 1: What are you afraid of?

Me: I beg to differ
Child 1 makes this face:

---

"Wow, they're really drunk over at checkout."

This weekend was our PTA's Silent Auction. It's a fancy schmancy event where people are supposed to dress nice, drink wine and spend too much money in front of their kids' friends parents. It's actually quite successful, in that respect. I'm told we made $31K this year; this was the 3rd one we've done and we do better and better every year.

When the event started 3 years ago, I was very involved in the planning and the coordinating, but as the years have gone by, I've been doing much less for the PTA, in general. I got a little burned out. Sometimes I don't even bother showing up for these things. This time, though, I was informed by the committee "we've signed you up to help at checkout." They don't even ask, they just put my name down on the list of people who will help do math related things at the end of the night. It's okay, though, I would have volunteered, anyway.

The thing about this event, though, is that the alcohol flows freely all night long. The idea (the very very successful idea) is that people will get drunk and make bad bidding choices and then spend too much money. It's a really good idea. A $31,000 idea, actually. My only responsibility these days, as part of the planning and organizing, is to procure the catering permit that will make the free alcohol legal. You're not allowed to sell alcohol at PTA events, you see; you can only give it away if somebody has donated it. But you do need a catering permit from the Alcoholic Beverage Control office in order to not have the police come.

By the way, here's the display case inside the Oakland Alcoholic Beverage Control office:

Somebody should "pin" this picture....

So, the night is a fancy event, and there are bars with bartenders (PTA dads) handing out the free wine, and you stand in line and chat with the other parents while you wait for it to be your turn to get more wine, and it's all very lovely and etc. .... but this year they had something new: Vodka. Yeah, there was this giant vat of vodka (and sugar and lime juice and ice) with a spigot at the bottom, so there was no waiting in line to get your wine glass refilled, you could just go up to this thing and put your vodka into the little red plastic cup like we used to drink out of in college. And they just kept filling and filling and filling it....  (Don't worry, I had a designated driver)

So, the end of the night comes and it's time for people to collect their winnings and pay, and guess whose job it is to take their money and show them where to get their stuff? Yeah. That would be me. And so I end up at the checkout table processing $31,000 worth of credit card transactions.... really really fucking drunk. 

The thing about going out amongst people and doing your drinking, as opposed to staying in the safety of your house with your husband and the computer, is that you wake up the next day not entirely sure if you've made a fool out of yourself or not; which was, in fact, the case for me on Sunday morning. But then I remembered that I wasn't the only one with a red plastic cup that night... and then I remembered the mom of one of Child 2's friend grabbing my arm and whispering "don't tell my husband how drunk I am," and hubs, of course, reminded me that drunk or sober, I kind of always act the fool (he's absolutely right; it's all in the name of comedy) and all of this made me feel better about whateverthehell I had gotten up to the night before.

And then comes Monday morning, at school, when I encountered another mom, who was supposed to have been at the checkout table with me. Apparently she had been in the bathroom the whole time. "I think I'm still drunk," she said. I told her that I had been in no condition to be taking people's money at that point, and if somebody complains to her about having been overcharged, it was totally my fault. "Yeah," she says. "Somebody came up to us at the pickup table and said "Wow, they're really drunk over at checkout."

The night ended with me paying hundreds for the stuff I had drunkenly made bad bidding choices on and then leaving without actually picking up any of it. They tell me they have my gift certificates and I can get them any time. Gift certificates for what, exactly? I have NO idea....

---

So, apparently I'm allergic to dogs.

So, I'm a Bookkeeper and I have 15 clients right now; and almost every single one of my clients has a dog. Whether I go to their home office to work, or their regular office, there's a dog pretty much everywhere I go. I'm cool with that, because I like dogs. They're not like cats; cats are assholes. Dogs are cool. They sit underneath the desk and lick my toes. I don't know why. Okay, dogs are also weird in addition to being cool.

Anyway, as far as I know I'm not allergic to dogs; I've never had a problem before. Until last week some time when I went to a new client, and she had this enormous, fuzzy, happy, licky, jumpy guy who immediately adored me, and I him. He kept jumping into my lap while we sat there talking and I couldn't help but hug him and love him and talk to him, instead of her. Okay, it might have been awkward. I don't know what breed he was, I asked, and she told me, and it wasn't anything I'd ever heard of before, but just so you know, he looked exactly like this:

After I left the two of them, I had about 45 minutes to go to Costco and then get to my next client. I was standing there looking at cheese when my eye started itching. I guess I rubbed it, I don't really remember, but before things got really bad I became acutely aware of the fact that I hadn't washed my hands since I had rubbed them all over Mr. Fuzzypants.

Things were getting itchier and itchier, and then they got leakier and leakier. I abandoned my cart full of 100 tons of meatballs, 19 pounds of nutmeg and a 2 gallon bottle of vodka and ran off to the bathroom to wash my hands before things got any worse.

I looked at myself in the mirror, though, and realized that it probably wasn't going to get much worse than this. One of my eyes was almost swollen shut and it looked like I was crying; but only out of the one eye. It was not pretty.

Oh good god, I have to go to my next client like this? I scoured the aisles looking for allergy eye drops, but there were none. I didn't want to take Benadryl because it would put me to sleep (moreso) and there would be no way I could function. I was pretty sure I had some allergy eye drops at home, so I very quickly finished up (which is practically impossible in Costco) and ran my ass home to find something before I ran out of time.

Unfortunately the only thing I could find was regular Visine, which did nothing for the swelling and the leaking but did take away all the redness! And off I went to my next client.....

---

I win at drunk baking

I love to cook. LOVE. IT. I particularly like to make elaborate and complicated things that require many steps. I also like to drink when I do these things. It's just more fun that way!

This weekend I got it into my head that I wanted to make Samoas; the Girl Scout cookie with coconut and chocolate. They're just cookies, right? How hard can that be? (Long time readers may now be remembering what has happened in the past when I have said "how hard can that be?" when baking was involved).

So, I went online and found a recipe. It turned out that there were many, many, MANY steps involved in this particular cookie process, but I like a challenge, so LET'S DO THIS!!!  I went off to the store to buy my ingredients, and while there I also picked up a bottle of $5 champagne, because... well... because it was $5. I have no standards, anyway. Plus it was only $5.

First I had to make the cookies. Then I had to make the caramel. Then I had to toast the coconut. Then I had to mix the coconut and the caramel. Then I had to melt the chocolate. Then I had to put the caramel coconut on the cookies. Then I had to put the chocolate on the cookies. The whole process took about 5 hours and an entire bottle of $5 champagne.

During the process, I posted a few pictures to Twitter, because I enjoy sharing my failures in picture form, and here are what some of my helpful twitter pals had to say about it:

Hubs also helped out with "So you decided to go with the poop theme, did you?"

When all was said and done, they may have looked weird, but they were fucking tasty. Who cares what something looks like, right?? It's what's inside that matters. Here's a picture I drew of Child 2's face after he had eaten one:

Seriously, how can you argue with results like that???????

Anyway here's what an actual Samoa cookie looks like:

.... And here's what MY cookies looked like:

---

Johnson's body care, take me away....

It was Tuesday morning and it was of those days.

You know those days.

My house was a gigantic fucking nightmare, there was crap everywhere, sometimes literally, it smelled like a goddamn litterbox and there were piles of laundry in random places and underwear seemingly everywhere. You know that Simpsons episode where Marge gets up in the morning and keeps finding underwear all over her house? And she walks through picking them up saying "underwear.... underwear.... more underwear...." and she finds them in the freezer and such? It was like that. (Actually, sometimes I feel like my entire life is like that scene. I've been trying to find a clip of that on YouTube and haven't been successful, but if you saw it, trust me, you would laugh.)

So there was laundry and underwear everywhere.... and..... it was the little things. The little things that kept happening.... you know... little. fucking. things. For example, there was this plate of cat food in the middle of the floor in the kitchen that I kept stepping on; squishy cat food..... with my bare feet. And somebody had spilled a glass of water on the carpet, and I was apparently unable to walk across the room without stepping in said wet spot.... with my bare feet (at least it washed off the squishy cat food?) And the really long easel paper that Child 1 likes to spread out in the front room and draw BART tracks on had been attacked by cats the night before and, um... well, they did bad things to it. And I was trying to get everybody ready for school, but I couldn't even walk because there were cats constantly circling around my ankles (I call it "Constant Cat").

For some reason, Child 2 always manages to find some reason to melt down right before we're about to walk out the door. It never fails, in fact, I don't think we've had a single day this whole school year where he hasn't been crying about something as he gets in the car. I've tried many different ways to figure out how to make this not happen, but I guess he is determined to be crying as he walks out the door every fucking day; always making us late, of course. And Child 1 was in this weird trance, probably because his BART drawings had been fouled by cats the night before, so it was really hard to get the two of them to put their shoes on and get out the door. (Oh, and BY THE WAY, judgey fucking Berkeley parents? YES. I drive my kids the 6 fucking blocks to school every morning. That's right, I see you on your fucking bikes giving me the stink eye because you know how close I live and am still driving by you. My mornings are fucking hard enough and driving my kids instead of dragging them the 6 blocks to school makes my life just a teeny, tiny bit easer, so I'm going to fucking do it. I don't care what you think about me and I certainly don't care if it's bad for the planet. FUCK THE PLANET)

Here, I drew it for you:

The breaking point came when I was trying to microwave my breakfast, but the glass tray that turns the food around while it cooks simply refused to fit in into the little hole dealie that it goes into, which meant I couldn't heat up my food until that fucking thing got in there. I snapped and SCREAMED "GAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" and started banging the glass thingy against the bottom of the microwave. Poor hubs comes running out of the bedroom upstairs to say "oh my god are you okay??" and I was like this

SORRY HUBS!!

Okay, so I finally get the kids off to school and I head over to my client. I get there, and she's standing on the street with some police officers, because her studio has been broken into. Again. She runs an art studio for kids and for some reason people really like to break down her front door. I don't know why. She's really cool and was obviously very distraught, considering that pieces of wood and door hardware were literally halfway across the room. So I was like... seriously, Today? WTF is wrong with you?? Do you just have it in for everybody??? and I head into her office in the back to get my work done.

I sit down at her desk and am greeting by this:

... and I just started laughing my ass off, because..... seriously? Help me unwind and feel at ease? Do you think the lotion has that kind of power? Will it erase the shitty morning I just had? Will it melt all my stress away with its lavender and chamomile powers? I bet it smells GOOD, though.

It actually did smell good, and I happily moisturized my hands with it, and while it seemed to lack sufficient power to actually "melt" away my stress, I was allowed a lovely chuckle at its presumptuousness. So, thank you, Johnson's Body Care, you actually semi-succeeded with your lame marketing attempt, and you made my day just a little bit better.

---

I hope you all read my guest post yesterday, over at AutismWonderland. If not... FUCKING GO!!!!!

---

These are some things they don't tell you

Child 2 is going to be 7 in July; this means I haven't been pregnant for 6 1/2 years (see what I just did there? I know, you're blown away by my math skills, but it's okay. I am, literally, a professional, so don't try this at home, kids!) For those of you who have never been pregnant, although I'd be willing to bet that's only about 1% of you who are reading this, the body undergoes a number of "changes" during pregnancy, in addition to the obvious baby growing thing, and sometimes those changes can be rather creative, in that they have absolutely fucking nothing to do with growing a baby. Sure, you're expecting that your ass and your boobs will grow to alarming proportions, but Restless Leg Syndrome? WTF does that have to do with pregnancy?

The worst part, though is what they really don't tell you in those books about what you're supposed to be expecting during this glorious time is that a lot of this shit never goes away. Yes, that's right, that pregnancy induced Bells Palsy you acquired 10 years ago? That shit'll last a lifetime, it will.

6 1/2 years I haven't been pregnant now. 6 1/2 years and I'm still dealing with my stupid body's pregnancy "changes." Please. Let me tell you about them.....

1. When I was preggo with Child 2 I developed "pregnancy induced carpal tunnel syndrome." Basically, for 6 months, the thumb on my left hand was completely numb. The whole time. On a good day. The rest of the time my thumb and index finger were tingling and painful. I would wake up in the night with my entire hand asleep, so I started wearing this fancy wrist brace at night. That was annoying, and I was having enough trouble sleeping what with the enormous fucking baby I was growing, so I eventually just said fuck it to the fancy wrist brace and suffered through it. I finally got the feeling back in my thumb about 3 months post partum, however about once a year since then, it will randomly come back for no reason that I can figure, last a month or so and then randomly go away for also no reason I can figure. I will also wake up in the middle of the night with my hand completely asleep. It's happening right now. I'm wearing the fancy wrist brace again. :(

2. It's to be expected that when you have an enormous growth pressing on your bladder and cervix from the inside, and then when you shove said growth out of your glory hole, you're going to pee a little bit at unwanted time. Unwanted meaning laughing, coughing, sneezing.... breathing. Times like that. What is NOT to be expected is that this shit is still happening 6 1/2 years later!!! I've trained myself very well to CROSS MY LEGS when I feel a sneeze or a cough coming on, but I'm not always able to. Like that time I sneezed while I was getting out of my car and I had to get back in my car, drive home and change my pants. :(

3. I'll put this one simply: Before children my feet were a size 9. After children my feet are a size 10.

4. When I was preggo with Child 1, I don't know exactly how it happened but at some point I turned wrong or something and this spot on my back totally seized up. It was horrible. I was so fucking front heavy, so it makes sense, but it made walking and sometimes talking pretty much impossible. I'd be standing there having a conversation and suddenly I wouldHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN get this horrible back spasmmmMMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMM and make these crazy sounds because it just hurt so fucking much. Luckily (?) I ended up on bedrest the last 5 weeks, and nothing will fix an aching back more than 5 weeks of lying on your left side, amiright??? Pregnancy #2 came and went with no back issues, and then about 3 years ago.... SEVEN years after it first happened... I was vacuuming... fucking vacuuming... and the exact same spot seized up producing the exact same resultsHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. I went to my doc and got some yummy pills because I didn't have the luxury of staying confined to my bed, and it eventually went away after about 2 weeks. The other night, though? I was filling up the bath for Child 2 and suddenly..... HHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN, thus inspiring this post. Good thing I still had some of those pills left over....

So, it's basically like this...

(I feel it's important to add at this point that I am currently full of muscle relaxers, not to mention covered in Ben Gay, so if it seems like this post came to a sudden end, um....... *drool* At least I thought ahead and drew those pictures for you earlier!! zzzzzzzzz)

---

Ikea. This is where I die.

It was Sunday morning and I was going to Ikea, because I had promised Child 1 I would get him a desk before the weekend was over.

I get dressed and get ready, except I decided to skip the shower. I figured it would be quick, in 'n out and all done, don't need to shower for that, right? Except, it had been 3 days since I had last showered and... I was pretty ripe. In hindsight? This was a bad choice.

Because, you see, it was not a quick in 'n out and all done.

School just started at Cal (UC Berkeley) last week, it was labor day weekend, and apparently every student and their mother (literally) had decided that Sunday morning was the best time to go and buy those lamps and computer desks for their new dorms and apartments.

Oh good god it was crowded. And hot. And I was fucking ripe. Did I mention I hadn't showered in 3 days? I had visible stink lines coming from the top of my head. And after a few days of not showering, my hair goes out in all different directions; far, far away from my head. I was not a pretty sight.

And what's that rule? There's a rule, I think, that says that when you go out in public without showering, and it's crowded and noisy and hot and you're sweaty and sticky and fucking miserable you will run into one person you know for each day that you haven't showered? I think that's the rule, right? I hadn't showered in 3 days so, naturally, I ran into 3 people that I knew.

It was awful. The more I walked through the crowds and listened to the in depth discussions about the width of the space between the bed and the window and whether or not this particular Lapkrik would fit in that space and hey, what do you think of the pink one? Should I get the pink one? the more I wanted to just flee that horrible, horrible place. But I had promised Child 1 a desk and I wasn't going to come home without one. Fuck the meatballs and daim bars and lightbulbs, just get me a goddamn desk and get me the hell out of here.... I wove through the strollers and the peppy sorority girls and their mothers and so many toddlers for some reason, I found my desk and I got the fuck out as fast as I could.

The next day, hubs actually took both kids and went back. He came home with not only daim bars, meatballs and lightbulbs, but also pillows and towels. You know what the difference was? He took a shower before he left.

Make a note.

---