Saturday, November 23, 2013

Dead Mouse


The mouse is dead. For real. I know this because I almost stepped on its little dead mouse carcass in the middle of my kitchen. There was much cursing. Not scared so much as just startled. And then I made Dual come and give him a proper burial because I felt so bad about poisoning the disgusting little disease machine.

Moral of the story: If you come into my house and get your gross all over everything, I will poison your little mouse ass but I will be sorry because I am a lady.

Oh, my nose! Now I'll never be a teen model!

I broke the bloody hell out of my nose.

Like, literally bloody and broken. Technically I didn't break it. My damn dog did. Yep, that blessed Great Dane puppy is now a 60 pound Great Dane 5 month old. And she slammed her head right into my face. It was like getting hit with a board.

So, I just put my kids in bed and Dual was not home. He was about an hour away which was actually Ok with me because I had just about that much left of my book and it had quieted down in the house. I made the mistake of needing to pick something up off the floor. Just as I bent down, Isis decided to jump up to the bed. You can see where this is going...

If am traveling downward at X rate of speed and her enormous clunky skull is traveling upwards at approximately the speed of light, at what moment does my nose explode? Instantly. The answer is Instantly.

It was slow motion. I heard it before I felt it. The most sickening crunch sound. I did this mental inventory of all my parts. I wasn't sure I still had teeth so I checked with my tongue. Still had teeth. My glasses were in the floor and I quickly checked to see if they had broken in half because I like those frames dammit! Then I saw Marsha brady get hit with a football in this weird mental video. I checked Isis to see if she was Ok (her stupid self didn't even realized she'd hit me. she just went about her business). I realized I didn't have on a bra and probably would need one in a minute. Remember this is all happening in about 2 nanoseconds because then the blood came.

The blood ran and it ran and it ran. So my idiot self is just standing there cupping the blood that is pouring out of my cupped hands trying to figure out what to do next. My next thought was "oh god my nose fell off!". I tried to touch it and realized that it wasn't gone...it was just in the wrong place. So I was like a beautifully gory Picasso.

It still had only been 10 or 15 seconds and my next slow motion thought was "OH MY GOD they are going to have to push this thing back in place at the ER and it is going to hurt like a mother effer!!" I suppose I hadn't really registered the pain that was already happening.  I did have the good sense to grab a towel and soak up the blood still streaming from my crooked face. Then everything burst into one glorious screech of hurting from my face.

I somehow managed to call my husband and make some sort of words. He's all "you are screaming and crying and I can't understand you!" Whatever. Still he had an hour until he could get to me. I needed another towel since mine had started looking like a crime scene clean-up and I knew I needed ice.

Slow motion thought again. I need a towel for an ice pack. But I'm probably going to end up carrying the ice pack/towel into the ER. All I can find is a spiderman towel. I can't carry a spiderman towel ice pack into the ER! Because that would be silly. 

Fast forward an hour. I don't entirely know how I made it that whole hour with the shaking and almost puking and bleeding and general grossness of myself. But I did. We made it to the ER and finally they got me all drugged up.

But not enough. Apparently. But hold on I'll come back...

Side bar: When you go to the ER with a seriously bashed in face, they are required to presume the worst... So 3 people followed us to the room and casually tried to determine if my husband had smashed my face. That was fun. I suppose bribing your dog to crunch in your wife's nose would be the perfect crime.

Anyhow, it was bad broken. And the time came to push/pull/twist it back to a semi-normal shape. Dual had to hold my arms down. The Dr. was all "This will be quick. Just take a breath." Um, I don't have a nose right now, doc. Where is all this breathing going to come from? And then we played the worst game of "Got Your Nose" ever. This time the crunching sound was even louder. And I yelled Mother Fucker! at the top of my lungs. And then I told the Dr that I don't believe he personally is a mother fucker but what I meant was that it really hurt. He was not amused.

Fast forward again... It is going to take a surgical procedure thing to put all my bones back together in the right spot. In the meantime I am rocking a serious black eye and wicked cool cut on my nose. Monday morning I get the good sleepy time meds and then a super cool cast for a week.

I'll keep you posted. And there is going to be some serious internet dog shaming in my future.

Just cut that crap out when you realize what's happening.

I just made the most eye opening accidental discovery.

I legitimately clicked though a couple things and somehow accidently landed on my exes facebook at the part where it says "born". I discovered that in 2008 he created his profile after years of saying he didn't want anything to do with that because its a slippery slope. But here is the fun part... less than 3 years later we divorced. How is that relevant?

It only took one year to "reconnect" with an old friend from high school. It took approximately 2 years for them to begin having an affair. And less than one year after that...facebook, google chat, texting, and password protection enabled the destruction of a family. Are you comprehending this? Less than 3 years to undo a 15 year relationship.


I love all these things. Without social media I wouldn't keep in touch with friends or meet new friends. Without texting and chatting I wouldn't be able to stay in touch as easily with my family all over the country.

But it comes at a price.

I am married again and I love him. Which is exactly why I keep myself in check with this crap. Nobody accidently cheats and it never "just happens". I love him too much to hurt him like that. But more importantly, I love and respect myself. I love and respect my kids. I refuse to settle. When you find yourself falling into that trap, cut the shit and quit it. It's not worth it. It's easy, its fast, and hell it might even make you feel good for a while, but you are a damn grown-up. So just don't get sucked into it.

Just stay aware of yourself. You are the only one in charge of you. So, now you know.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The jankity ass peg


Most of the time I feel like I get up when I get knocked down. I take the hits and I get up and try to be the bigger person. I try to learn from the really crappy parts like sharing my kids with people I never wanted to share them with. I succeed and grow and take pride in that. I try to see positives and create opportunities and live life and accept the circumstances. I genuinely feel happy and I can see good in things and people (even those people) and fully enjoy life and living. I mostly think of myself as really strong. As someone who has been to hell and back and has survived and is still able to be optimistic and have something to offer.

And sometimes I just say “Fuck it” and I get angry and sad and cry about it.

One of these nights when I was in one of these moods, I was venting to my husband. Let me explain the ridiculous amounts of patience he has to be able to listen to me break down about my old life as frequently as he does. I know it isn’t fun for him to hear about my sadness and my hurt and my anger over the past events, but he listens and often he says some amazingly poignant things. The man is a saint. You know, if I believed in saints.

So my analogy was that I was so frustrated and so angry that I spent all my life as the square peg trying to fit into the round hole of my ex life. And I was hurt at how easily someone else seemed to fit into that round hole. I told him that I know I shouldn’t have been trying to fit into that round hole anyway but it still sucks so hard core. I told him that I know I have always been too stubborn to be anybody’s round peg  and I know I’m better off and stronger for it. Other people can be round pegs. Not me. I told him that I didn’t even want any part of fitting into it but it feels like failing because I couldn’t.

I told him that I don’t know how long it takes to recover from the emotional injury. How often am I allowed to fall apart? I don’t always do it, but how many times is too many? How do I pick myself up when I’m not even a square peg anymore? I feel like my square peg was smashed with a sledgehammer and now I’m not fit to belong anywhere.

“Now I’m just a fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg.”

“Well, the good news is that I was looking for exactly your size and shape of fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg. Your fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg will fit right here without you having to be anything that you aren’t. or anything you don’t want to be.”

And after that, I was able to get my shit together and be strong. Just like that. Be your own fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg. You will fit in just fine.  

Sometimes you go to school with poop in your hair. It happens.


Yesterday was our first day back to school! 2nd grade, 4th grade, and me back behind the piano and hanging around high school kids all day trying to remember not to curse or say inappropriate things. Yay! Excitement!

I quite literally couldn’t sleep the night before. That happens sometimes with us crazies. I was just awake. So finally at around 5 I decided to get up and go for my run….

            ****RECORD SCRATCH****  [Yes this is something I do now. I started with walking and then gradually got faster. I also can kick some ass with my muscles. So that’s happening now.]

…I had forgotten the difficulty of getting ready in the dark since Dual was still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up. I stumbled around for like 15 minutes before I finally collected everything I needed. And I set off on my regular neighborhood route. Because I started doing this running thing at the beginning of the summer when I wasn’t working, I usually went out after the sun came up but before it was freaky balls ass hot. So, when running in the dark I was able to get repeatedly startled by all of my neighbors who have automatic sensor outside lights. And I almost bit it about 6 times over the half way corroded speed bumps in our neighborhood. But all in all…good workout.

When I came in I noted that the dogs (Isis has already outgrown the crate and stays in the official dog room now) were being awfully quiet and in my mind I thought “well, Isis must be doing really well because she didn’t cry to go out last night. Good for her! I’ll let them sleep a little longer.” That was stupid.

After my shower, still in my towel, I decided to go ahead and let the dogs out really quickly. I could smell it before I could even see it. Shit. Everywhere. Big fat liquidy piles. One of the piles was actually in front of the door so when I swung it open I made a beautiful poop rainbow across the floor. And the river of pee was all around the piles. It was like an excrement moat protecting all the dogs in their cuddly blanket fort on the opposite side of the dog room. I had to step over the poop river and actually pick up the damn dogs and force them to wake up and go outside.

Still in just a towel and wet hair, I somehow decided I better clean it right then. So with my one free hand I’m scooping up poop by the massive fistful (with T.P. of course) and trying not to drop my towel in it with the other hand. The first huge handful of poop actually clogged up the toilet when I tried to flush it. So I ignored that and put the next 4 handfuls in the other toilet. Dual discovered the clogged toilet a couple hours later when he woke up. He was super happy about it. After the scooping, I did the soaking up with shop towels from Dual’s work. These towels are meant to clean up auto mechanic type greasy heavy-duty messes. And this dog piss was just dissolving them. I made several trips to the outside bin with the soaked rags while I was still holding onto my towel with one hand and my wet hair dangling everywhere because apparently the running and the not sleeping had made me too stupid to realize I should probably just get dressed really quick.  

Much floor scrubbing and Lysol later, I was pretty sure it was at least clean enough to be OK until after school and could be properly mopped. Finally I was able to wash my hands multiple times, and get into actual clothes and not keep holding up my towel with one hand.

The rest of the morning was fine. Everyone dressed. Everyone feed. Lunches made. Excited kids. Pictures in the front yard. Yadda yadda. Dropped them off and got them all settled and got in the car to head to my school.

I kept smelling the shit storm. I figured it was residual trauma and it was just burned into my nose. Once at school, I still kept thinking I smelled it. I started smelling my hands and my hair. I thought I smelled it but never could be sure. Finally I just decided it must have just been that bad and I can’t get rid of the idea of the stink.  I went through my whole day. I picked up the kids after school. We went home. We had a snack. We played outside.

Then Dual came home. He knew all about the horror of the poop event because I kinda had to tell him after he stumbled into the clogged toilet. Anyhow, he came home and gave me a hug. Yay! Husband hugs! But immediately he pulls back away from me…

“Ew! What is that!? Did you get some of that shit in your hair?”

So, yes. Apparently I was smelling it all day. Apparently I somehow transferred poop to wet hair. And it dried. And it stayed there all day. I spent my first day at school with dog poop in my hair.  

Friday, August 9, 2013

My name is Isis and I'm going to be bigger than you.

We have another dog. This brings our grand total of dogs to 4. And OCD me wouldn't have it any other way. I can't do an odd number of dogs. Or an odd number of kids. And besides...who can resist this face?! Her name is Isis and she is a Great Dane. Yes, I am aware that this is crazy. But that's kind of what I do. I collect mouths to feed.
2 days old. My daddy fell in love with me instantly. He's a big 'ol softie.

Then I got bigger. I am 2 months old here! And Shiner is 2 years old. Pete and Lexi decided not to have their picture made.

Then I got bigger...I gained about 3 pounds that week.

Dad LOVES this. He acts all like "Don't do that!" But then he's secretly all "this is great!"

And still I get bigger. Sometimes Shiner is all "Don't do that!" But I know he loves it.

We are totes besties.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

I do not like it in my house, I do not like this stupid mouse.


We have a damn mouse.

Most likely we have mice. But it’s hard to tell.

The mouse showed up when I was at the piano one day. That little rodent just took off right under my feet and ran under a cabinet. I didn’t freak out. Those sorts of things generally don’t bother me. But it is a little creepy and gross.

A few days later, me and Dual are in the kitchen and that damn thing shoots out from under our fridge and goes under the dishwasher. Damn it!! Still not that concerned, but entirely irritated at that little shit.

And so we arrive at a few weeks after that. All is quiet(ish) in the Doran house when a scream of horror movie caliber comes out of the girls’ room. I think one of them has probably shanked the other one so I got in there fast(ish). They are huddled on the bed as if the floor is the ocean and it’s Shark Week. It came out of their closet and went under the dresser this time. Now I’m trying to figure out how in the hell is this little thing getting all over the house. It is showing up everywhere.

This mouse is obviously getting to be quite at home with us and seems to know its way around pretty well. A few more days later and this time the screaming happens as all girls run from the room. Why? Because the damn mouse is just sitting on one of their beds. Granted, the beds don’t sit on frames because they kept shoving crap under there when it was time to clean their rooms so I took away the under bed option, but still…it was just kickin’ it on the damn bed.

So now I have freaked out children, and dogs too worthless to notice a mouse. I was also informed by my kids that mice are only disgusting unless they are pets. Because their cousins have pet mice but that is totally different because those are cute and don’t sleep in beds. OK. Whatever. I finally consent to traps but only if they are humane, no kill traps. After the squirrel fiasco I just wanted to get it out of the house.

Now this mouse is under the impression that it lives here apparently. We were sitting in our kitchen one morning, just minding our business when that damn mouse sort of strutted out from under the fridge and just walked under the dishwasher. I half expected it to stop and have coffee with us, or maybe I should apologize for waking him up so early.

 Dual finally overruled my no-kill traps and set up the real deal. So now we have basically just set up a nightly buffet for it. I think we have given up trying to kill it. Right now I’m just giving in and building him one of those fancy mouse holes like on Tom and Jerry. I’m kind of starting to respect the little guy.