How the Modern Homemaker takes out the trash...

I was taking the trash out yesterday when I stopped in my garage, looked at my pile of trash, and realized just out amazingly complicated taking the trash out is in my house. Let me walk you through a week in the life of a full trash bag.

1. Trash bag is full, but still remains in the can. The hubs and I continually push down on the full bag in an attempt to compact and use every available space in the bag. Inevitably we either a. rip a hole in the bag (Glad Force Flex, you are no match for me!) or b. we suffer through the God awful smell coming from the no longer closing lid. GAG!




2. After a gagging fit, the bag is removed from the can, set on the kitchen floor, and tied shut. Scooter then crawls over, puts her hands all over the bag, manages to find the open hole and grab a fist full of a. dirty diaper or b. raw meat. GAG!




3. Process is put on hold while whatever mess Scooter has gotten on her hands is wiped away, which is kinda like wrestling a greased up monkey.




4. The bag then makes the journey to the garage where it is set ON TOP of the the trash cans. Why? We will get to that in a minute. If the top of the trash cans are full, the bag is randomly thrown into the garage where it hits any number of unorganized items, knocking them over. Oh slitz!




5. Tuesday rolls around and the decision is made as to whether the hubs or I feel like taking the trash out. If we don't, then the bag hangs out for another week with it's other bag friends having martinis and making fun of the disorganized garage. If we do feel like taking the trash out, we move onto step six.




6. Our tractor is fired up and the bags are loaded into the front end loader. The tractor is backed out of the garage (yes, our tractor sits in the garage while our cars are parked outside) and makes the climb to the end of our 200 foot drive way (we.are.so.lazy.) Bag and all it's bag friends are dumped at the end of the driveway and the tractor is parked back into the garage.




7. The garbage fairies come and take our bag away to garbage land where they have a trash bag party.
   
   
   
   So why don't we use the cans? Because the hubs and I really can't handle processes longer than seven steps, and cans would mean we would have to add a seventh to bring the cans back into the garage, which just ain't happening. However, this process is an improvement over when I used to take our trash to my in-laws every week for pick up because the hubs and I were too cheap to pay for pickup ourselves.

Tap tap, is this thing on? Sorry for the lack of posts recently, life's been busier than a one legged man at a butt kicking contest.

So on with it. A few weeks ago I went to lunch with my dear friend Super Mommy. Scooter was with me being her usual cuteness self, casually stuffing a peanut butter sandwich in her mouth, when a lady comes up to bask in the aura of said cuteness. Then this woman said, quite possibly, one of the worst things you can ever say to a woman. She asked Super Mommy if she was the grandmother. OH NO SHE DI-IN'T! Ok, let me paint a little picture here. Yes, Super Mommy is older than me, but not by much and seriously looks about seven years younger then her real age. So we both laughed off the incident. Truthfully, I was still giggling on the way home, but also because I started thinking of all the things that have been said to me in the past that pissed me off and/or gave me a little chuckle. Here's a list...

1. You look like you're going to pop any minute! This one got so old during my pregnancy that at one point I said, "Yeah, all over your face." I know, so classy. This one goes right along with the "You must be carrying twins" gem.


2. Are you wearing that? Yeah hubs, I am. I'm bloated thanks to Aunt Flo and there's no way in hell I'm squeezing this fat ass into a pair of Spanx. If you tell me I'm pretty, you might climb your way out of the no nooky hole. Especially if you buy me a Hershey Bar.


3. Are you breastfeeding? Response: Sure am, want some? Inappropriateness breeds inappropriateness.


4. You look... different. Standard response from the hubs whenever I get my hair done. Joke's on you, I just spent $150.00 to look "different."


5. Here, let me demonstrate our product. I'm specifically talking about those annoying sales people at the mall hocking those nail buffing kits. First, don't touch me. Second, I'm pushing a toddler in a stroller. Do you really think I have time to do my nails? See, they're trimmed and clear of the poo I just got in them changing my toddler in the mall bathroom. That's about as close to a manicure as I'm getting lady.


6. Did you get me anything? Another gem from the hubs. Nope, I gave you 24 hours notice to put anything you wanted on the grocery list. Pepsi and chips means Pepsi and chips. It does not mean Pepsi, chips, Slim Jims, underwear, pork chops, Call of Duty, hot dogs, ice cream, Little Debbies, socks, motor oil, shotgun shells, deodorant, and those "watcha call it things you got me a few weeks ago that I really liked."

The Great Diaper Switch

Disclaimer: This letter is based on the "Dear Life Cereal" letter from Family Guy. Thank you Family Guy writers, there is no way I could ever be as funny as you.

Dear Luvs Diapers,

Where do you get off? Less bulk and absorbent? Who do you think you are? By now, you may have guessed I'm speaking ironically and have nothing but good things to say about what you do. Luvs Diapers, do not change a thing.

Signed,

The Modern Homemaker

Dictated but not read

Apparently two weeks ago the Army Corp of Engineers rerouted Niagara Falls into Scooter's diaper and didn't tell me. I found out when I got her up from her nap and noticed her crib had turned into a protected wetland. The egret flying down the hall should of been a clue as to what awaited me. So I went to Babies R Us. There was no way I was using the diapers I've pretty much used for the past year anymore. I won't say their name, but let's just say it rhymes with Schmuggies. So I'm walking toward the diaper aisle when I hear what sounds like a choir of angels. Suddenly from above I see the most beautiful golden light streaming down to a stack of purple boxes. There, in front of me, is 204 Luvs diapers for less than what I paid for 140 of Schmuggies. Hallelujah! When I left the store I must have looked like Lindsay Lohan stealing a necklace because I seriously thought I was getting away with something.

When I got home and schlapped one of these bad boys on Scooter, I started grabbing two of everything and loading the ark. There was no way these paper thin diapers were going to hold up to what Scooter had in store. Well, three hours later (because someone got side tracked with dinner, I know, bad mom) and a lot of moving and shaking on Scooter's end, her clothes were still dry. Plus she told me she likes the way they make her butt look. Not really, she's only one, has a vocabulary of three words, and doesn't even know she has a butt. So this household is officially converted, even though I still hate their creepy commercials.

Holy crap it's spring!

So somehow the change of seasons has snuck up on me once again. This might be due to the fact that I just got around to taking down my outside Christmas lights last weekend... oops. While I love to say goodbye to winter, I'm a bit unprepared for spring. I had big plans for this winter, and somehow none of them were accomplished because, and let's be honest here, my plans were the equivalent of ten pounds of poo, and my time was only a five pound bag. So spring, I'm officially pissed at you right now, and here's why.

1. You are officially the Charlie Sheen of all the seasons. One day you're seventy degrees and sunny and the next day you forget to drink your tiger blood and are twenty five below and icy. I refuse to bring my flip flops out until April because, seriously, if I did it before then you'd drop the mother of all snow bombs on me. Plus, I haven't painted my toes since mid-October and it's gonna take me until April to shape up those talons.


2. Spring signals the return of pollen. Now, I was blessed with the ultimate of all non-allergy genes. And while the hubs likes to think of himself as the perfect male specimen, he really got shafted when it comes to allergies. I mean, this guy can just think of a tree and start sneezing. So spring also signals the return of the "man allergies" which is kind of like the man cold, only it's accompanied by me constantly nagging him with the "Why don't you just go to the damn allergist?!"


3. I can no longer blame my super lame landscaping on the deadness of winter. Now I love to garden as much as the next guy, maybe more, but I have what's known as that-woman-can't-estimate-the-area-of-her-flower-bed disorder. Very very tragic and unfortunate, no cure either. It's not until I actually get outside and start to garden that I remember, "Crap, these things go all the way around the house and then some!" This is about the time that I blame Scooter for being fussy for why I couldn't get everything planted and mulched.


4. Finally, daylight savings time. I mean, who the hell thought up this little gem? And why the hell does it happen on the weekend? Everyone wouldn't be so pissed with it if it happened on a Friday at 4pm. And seriously, I didn't realize how many damn clocks were in my house until I had to turn them all forward. Ok, that's not true, most of them were never changed back in October.

So spring, there it is. I know you aren't all that bad, you're not as bad as that frigid bitch winter, I'll give you that. And you do bring some pretty great things along with you, like Cadbury Eggs. So for that, you'll get a pass.

My little shoplifter

Last week I decided to take Scooter to Macy's for a little shopping. She needed a first birthday and Easter dress, and really, I just needed to get out of the house. So away we went, I even took her big comfy stroller since this wasn't just going to be a one store shopping trip. Well, her big stroller can sometimes obstruct my view of her, especially when I'm distracted by all the cute spring outfits and trying to decide if $50.00 is too much to spend on one dress (it isn't by the way, not when it's the cutest Easter dress known to man). So, about fifteen minutes and seven new outfits later, I go to checkout. The lady rings me up and tells me my total. I turn to retrieve my wallet from one of the eighty seven bags required when taking a baby out only to see my sweet little Scooter with a stuffed duck in one hand and the price tag, ripped from the duck's ass, in the other, about to be inserted into her mouth. I grab the tag out of her hand, hand it to the sales lady, and say "Well, I guess we've bought this too."

Sigh, my sweet girl has turned into a little shoplifter. I must admit though, before we left I did take her through the purse department with a little glimmer of hope.

Mom Hair

As of 24 hours ago, I was one step away from wearing mom jeans. Since I found out I was pregnant in 2009, I slowly slipped into the mom style abyss. I'm not exactly a fashion and beauty connoisseur, but I put a fair amount of effort into my appearance when venturing into public. So, imagine my horror when I was viewing the family photo album with Scooter last weekend and, right before my eyes, I witnessed my progression into a complete and utter mess (not even a hot mess.) I mean, it was like an episode of What Not To Wear, but without the $5,000 consolation prize. Thinking back, I can honestly remember key points when I just stopped caring. Around three months pregnant, I stopped getting my hair done. Around seven months pregnant, I stopped wearing makeup. Then after Scooter was born, I pretty much stopped wearing jeans, non-sports bras, and any shirt that was not a tee or hooded sweatshirt.

I swiftly scheduled an appointment with my stylist. I was also motivated by the fact that the hubs wouldn't give me a direct answer when I asked if my appearance had been a little lacking. I mean, this is the guy who's idea of beauty is using shampoo instead of bar soap. So, two hours in the salon and a lot of gossip later, my hair no longer resembles an English Sheepdog. I've got my sexy bang and layers back and actually styled them this morning, even though I wasn't going anywhere. I've also taken the first steps to accomplishing my New Year's Resolution to get back in shape. Amazing what a little pampering a beauty can do!

Untold secrets of L&D

I know about 83 million people having babies in 2011, many of whom are first time parents. This combined with the fact that my little Scooter is a month shy of her first birthday got me reflecting on that fateful March day. Now, anyone who knows me will tell you I love being prepared. I mean prepared in a way that I have a basement stocked with canned food, I mapquest and GPS all directions, and layout my clothing the night before. Yeah, that kind of prepared. So naturally when I found out I was expecting I read all the books (I mean ALL the books), took all the classes, and spoke endlessly to my doctor about my pregnancy and delivery. Despite all this, nothing could really prepare me for the Labor & Delivery experience. So to all you to-be-parents out there, take note, here are the things no one will ever tell you.

1. Take your birth plan... and throw it out the window. I had a birth plan, it included natural labor progression, an epidural, and the wonderful moment of holding my daughter for the first time after she was born. In reality, I had to have a scheduled c-section, ended up having a terrible allergic reaction to the sedation and morphine, and didn't get to hold my daughter until five hours after she was born. But I wasn't upset, because the most important part of your birth plan is having the realistic expectation that it might not go quite as planned and remembering that in the end, the most important thing is that you and your baby are healthy. By the way, true story, the woman in the room next to me included handsome Greek gods feeding her grapes during her delivery in her birth plan. Don't know if it actually happened.
2. All modesty must be checked at the door. By the time you reach L&D, you will be so used to being poked and prodded after the last nine months worth of doctor's appointments that a group of nursing students staring at your lady bits will not bother you one bit. By the time I reached postpartum I wanted to get out of the hospital so bad that I agreed to let a nursing student remove my foley catheter (more on this in a bit) just so I could meet the mobility requirement for discharge.
3. You will get a foley catheter with all epidurals and spinals. In all reality, this was pretty great. I mean, I didn't even have to get out of bed to pee! So don't fear this, it might actually be the best part of delivery. You know, besides getting a baby out of the whole thing.
4. Your postpartum room will be busier than Grand Central Station, so don't expect to get any sleep. Nurses will be in and out all hours of the day and night. At one point I almost made my husband put up a "Do not disturb" sign. They'll be in to take vitals, make sure you're peeing, make sure you're eating, and make sure your baby is also doing all these things. The best part is when they come in to change your "dressing" and clean your lady bits. Oh yeah, that's right, you'll be surfing the crimson tsunami. Luckily, most nurses will let you take care of this part on your own. Also a word of advice, invest in overnight pads and granny panties. They'll be much more comfortable than the disposable undies and pads the size of Texas the hospital supplies.
5. Just because you're in the hospital doesn't mean you have to sport the oh so fashionable hospital gown. I felt so much better once I showered and changed into my own clothes. And your baby doesn't have to wear the weird kimono shirt things that do nothing but ride up their backs. Remember, this is your child, you can dress them any way you want. I recommend onsies with mitten hands, without your child will look like they just competed in a backroom cock fight.
6. Finally, here are some of the best parts of L&D: room service, overnight nursery stays (do not feel guilty about this!), free discharge gifts (i.e. diaper bags, formula, diapers, and wipes), and the cute little bundle of joy.

So, a parting word of advice. Go into the whole experience with a really good sense of humor. You have the next 18 years to worry, L&D is a piece of cake compared to that!