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Gee, Your House Smells… Damaged…

I need some opinions. I have difficulties thinking for myself so I’m reaching out to my readers (Mom, I’m talking about you).

So, like many others, I love air fresheners. I like the plug-in kind and the wax melting kind. I like candles and diffusers and oil burners, oh my! I will use them all in tandem to have a scent orgy going on in my house. I want you to walk in my front door and feel like you’ve been punched in the face with a cookie/apple-pie/lemon-mint/cucumber-melon fist. I’m promiscuous with my scents… there’s no smell I won’t try and if there’s a new way to disperse it throughout my home, sign me up.

I’ve tried lots but I have my favorites. I’m not going to name names, but I do have a brand that I use as my go-to guys for smelly stuff. I have a small-ish stockpile of their products in my basement. I buy new plug-in warmers pretty frequently since they come out with new, cuter ones each season that get me all wiggly with excitement. Anyway, I’m a little bit brand loyal.

Here’s the problem- I’ve had my suspicions about this brand’s plug-in oil warming products for a while now. There is a questionable/concerning oil-drippy spot on one of my kitchen outlets that seems like it was about three minutes away from an electrical fire…

I swear i have tried to clean this....

I swear i have tried to clean this….

But to be honest, I can’t remember what the offending brand was that did the damage to the wall/electrical plate. It could have been one of many; however, I’m starting to think that all of the damage is coming from one, singular brand.

But this is besides the point. This damage is water/oil under the bridge. The current issue began with a plug in warmer being unplugged and set into my son’s Bumbo seat and, unbeknownst to me, began decomposing the seat. I couldn’t tell you how long the plug in was in there, but I’d guess maybe a few hours? When I went to use the seat, I noticed the plug had sunk into the bottom of the chair and was melting the foam/plastic of the Bumbo–

Chemical reaction frownie face.

Chemical reaction frownie face.

The plug in left a distinctive, owl shaped spot in the seat which is now squishy and weird-feeling.

Confused and stupid, I set the offending plug on the table while trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. While I sleuthed, the plug ate a hole through the finish on the table top.

Owl faces blurred to protect the potentially innocent.

Owl faces blurred to protect the potentially innocent.

Here’s my issue– is this my fault?

I feel kind of like it is. I should have taken the utmost care with the plug-in. I should have known better than to just set it on an uneven surface and I should have shown an understanding that the damn thing would vomit corrosive oil all over my home, ruining everything it touched.

I should have known better.

However, I obviously didn’t. So I kind of feel like it’s NOT my fault.

So, that’s question number one- Is this my fault? Like, are there little warnings that I missed that say oil plug ins are never to be set down on things or can potentially leak, ruining your nice shit?

Question number two– If it’s NOT my fault, should I write a letter to the company?

My husband says, yes, definitely write them a letter, but for him to tell me not to would be saying this is my fault. He’s too afraid of me to say that to my face.

If I did write them a letter, I should have a resolution in mind. (At least that’s what my professional writing class told me.) What’s the resolution? Buy me a new table and a new baby seat because your stupid oil ruined my stupid shit? PLUS I have a ton of these plug ins in my basement. Should I return it all? How would I even go about returning it? I’m sure to lose money on that deal since some of the stuff has been clearanced since I bought it… I don’t know. I guess if I keep it and use it it might ruin other expensive things I own so maybe just returning it would be smarter? Plus I have to buy a new plug-in warmer now so I’d be spending more money and right now giving this company more money sounds like a shitty idea. And what should my tone be in the letter? Angry Bitcherella? Sweet, stupid bumpkin who don’t know better than to set stuff on other stuff? I feel like both of these things right now… Sometimes it’s just easier to shut the fuck up and forget about it.

Except there’s a weird spot on my good table.

And a weird, squishy hole in my kid’s chair.

And this company makes enough money on these products (hell, on ME) that they can afford to appease me as a customer. Plus, wouldn’t this be considered a design flaw? I’m not exactly nonobjective in writing this. I don’t want to admit this is entirely my fault… but I can’t think for myself and need someone else to tell me what to do.

Someone who’s not afraid of me.

Someone not my husband.

<sigh>

So give me advice.

And while you’re at it, tell my dog she’s pretty because she got a hair cut and she feels insecure about it.

Can I haz compleement?

Can I haz compleement?

We eagerly await your thoughts…

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5

Costco Wins My Heart

Costco, man. I have such a hard on for Costco. I mean, a place that provides a living wage, benefits and closes its doors on Thanksgiving so its employees don’t have to deal with the likes of me on holidays? AND they sell delicious products in HUGE sizes? BoooOOOooiiiIIIiiiiinnnnggggGGGG! Hard-on city.

My husband takes me on dates to Costco. It’s the place that makes me love him again. I caught him throwing a massive bag of Brookside chocolates into the cart even though I told him we absolutely, positively MUST NOT BUY THEM because I am addicted to them and will devour them non-stop until they are all gone. They’re my equivalent to what a coke whore would do if someone dropped a pillowcase of A-1 Bolivian Marching Powder in their lap and told them to have at it.*

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Real Estate, Real Stress

We are getting ready to put our house on the market and an unpleasant side effect is that I now hate everyone. The realtor is coming this week to take photos to put on the website so I’ve been busting balls to get the place looking less like a flop house and more like something someone would want to buy instead of shoot up in. You don’t realize how filthy your family is until your home is about to be judged by everyone on the internet. I now realize that my kids all have fingerprints and my husband wears shoes and the dogs have hair and I wear clothes. These are the reasons I hate. And I am almost ready to punch the dog… because he is licking his pecker like he doesn’t have a care in the world and I can SEE the hair being magnetically pulled from his body and statically clung to the couch behind him . Everyone must contribute to making this house look its best… even the dogs.

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Ghosts Be Scary, Yo

We are getting ready to put our house on the market so we can purchase our “forever home” so I’ve been doing a lot of online searches for houses. I really love the old brick farmhouses. I watch Rehab Addict on HGTV like it’s porn. I fantasize about my family living in a great big old house in the country and I have a garden and my goat, Goaty O. So I have been spending a lot of time on Realtor.com looking for this fantasy house. 4 bedrooms, 2+ baths on at least an acre. Oh, and, of course, no ghosts.

Here’s the conundrum: I LOVE old houses and antiques but I hate thinking about the people who used to own them. I know that if I even think about those people, their spirits will immediately arrive at my house to tell me their problems, the greatest of which is being dead. My feelings on ghosts are pretty close to my feelings on kids– if they’re not mine, keep them the fuck away from me.

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Post-Easter Run Down and Apology to Jesus

It was that time of year again, Friends. The celebration of Jesus’s resurrection! The day that Jesus rose from the dead and went house to house to hide eggs throughout the homes of all that supported him in the year 30 Savior Elections. While only 11 people voted, he still won because, well.. you know, zombies…

Honestly, guys, I didn’t think of Jesus all day and I feel like a total dick. For reals.

How did I get through an entire Christian holiday without thinking of Christ even ONCE? Even when I’m bowling I think of Baby Jesus (I promise, Baby Jesus, if you let me pickup the spare, I’ll go to church on Sunday). I mean, I think of Jesus even when I’m drunk out of my mind! But yesterday, on probably the most important Jesus holiday, I didn’t think of him even once.

I can’t believe that I am a person who is that detached from her religion. I didn’t bring up the reason for the day at all with my kids. Bad Catholic. Bad.

It started off with not going to church, which is normal; however, I didn’t experience that typical Catholic guilt for not going. It’s pretty much tradition to NOT go but with not going comes a comforting guilt that reminds me that I’m a sinner and any love I get from God is certainly undeserved. I had no guilt. Fatigue, yes, since my kids were up at 7am because some lunatic rabbit had hidden chicken eggs all over my house. Not sure what that bunny’s beef is with chickens but I make it a point to stay on any rabbit’s good side. You’d think after the first few years, the chicken would be like, “Ok, Mr. Bunny, you got me again! Very funny! Now help me find my damn kids…” But after having her babies hidden year after year for so long, that chicken’s gotta be like, “Oh, EFF you, Rabbit. The joke’s old already…I’m not bothering finding those kids… I’ll just go to bed and make more. Screw you! Dick!”

That’s a funny sentence. “Bunny’s beef with chicken. Hah!

Anyway, my kids went through the surprises in their Easter baskets (no Jesus in there). Then they found all of the eggs hidden around the house (no Jesus there either). Then we all got dressed and piled into the truck and… still not thinking of Jesus… we drove three hours to go to an Easter party to celebrate Jesus’s resurrection. We weren’t there to celebrate the nice weather (it was the most beautiful Easter day on record, I kid you not) or the piles of grilled meat we all enjoyed. We were there to celebrate Jesus but I am certain that if there was a simulacrum of a sad looking Jesus on one of the grilled chicken legs, no one saw it and his face was eaten off without a second though about it.

I mean, we prayed before the meal now that I think about it… I was there, I was holding hands with my kids as we prayed… but I didn’t really pray. I was thinking about whether I could eat quickly before whoever was holding the baby would want me to take him back. I wasn’t paying attention to the prayer.

There were 1,000 plastic eggs littering the yard for the kids to find. 1,000. That’s a lot of effort, filling and placing all of those eggs. I didn’t hear anyone mention why they went through all that trouble. It was for the kids, for their enjoyment, of course. It was wonderful and the kids had so much fun gathering up all those eggs. But I missed an opportunity to remind my kids about gratitude. To show my kids why it’s important to thank both people and God.

It was a lovely day with lovely people. I enjoyed myself immensely.

But I didn’t think of Jesus once and that makes me sad.

We even stopped by my hometown to see my dad and sister. We drove by the beautiful, double-steepled church where my husband and I were married. The place my daughter used to call “Baby Jesus’s castle.”

Why didn’t I think of Jesus then? Why didn’t I bring up my Lord and Savior to my kids and talk about the resurrection and the meaning of Easter? Maybe it was because I was swooning from the celebrating. I was itchy from confetti from the hundreds of cascarones that were smashed over our heads, glitter and tiny papers migrating down our clothes, into our underwear and permeating our skin so we will find flecks of Easter confetti for months or even years.

Cascarones: empty eggshells filled with confetti, glitter, flour, etc and smashed over loved ones heads in celebration of... being Mexican? I don't know, it's a Hispanic thing, I think. Image: nystarcards.blogspot.com

Cascarones: empty eggshells filled with confetti, glitter, flour, etc and smashed over loved ones heads in celebration of… being Mexican? I don’t know, it’s a Hispanic thing, I think. Image: nystarcards.blogspot.com

I’m going to digress here a bit to say something about these cascarones. It is a yearly Easter tradition where empty eggshells are collected throughout the year, colored and then filled with confetti, glitter and, sometimes, flour. Everyone hates the flour ones.

Run before good luck gets ground into your head!

Run before good luck gets ground into your head!

The first time I experienced this, it was sort of bizarre and magical. There is tiny flecks of paper floating in the wind and people chasing after each other, crushing eggs in hair and down shirts. Its awesome and awful at the same time. You dread it but it’s still fun.

So. Much. Luck.

So. Much. Luck.

The tradition has nothing to do with Jesus. Having them smashed over your head is supposed to bring you good luck but it’s not, like, religious luck. It’s more like, “Good luck on keeping those scalp lacerations from getting infected!” (It can sometimes get a little frenzied, the egg smashing, and usually my head skin/hair hurts for a few days.)

After all that, still no Jesus.

Even on the ride home, when the baby is screaming his fool head off and I keep saying, “Good Lord!” I still do not actually think of the Lord. Even when I’m sitting in the huge mess my kids left in the back seat of the truck because the baby, even though he isn’t hungry, won’t calm down so I have to be back there to soothe him with my pinky. It’s the only thing he will use as a pacifier, my upside-down finger. Or my breast, but since my boob won’t reach him while he’s buckled in the car seat, he gets the pinky. I have one hand stretched out, nursing the baby with a finger, the other hand is stroking my 7 year old’s hair, who is sleeping with his head in my lap. I’m content. Actually, even though my feet are buried in about a foot of kid-garbage, I’m really stinking happy back there. I have both my boys, sleeping and happy. We got to enjoy the day with my daughter who usually is spending the holiday with her birth father and she, too, is sleeping peacefully in the front seat. My husband was kind enough to drive the entire way, almost six hours, even though he was suffering with a nasty head cold. I felt in love with my life and my family. I felt needed and loved back.

But I never thought of Jesus. I never thanked him for all that I have and all he sacrificed for me.

So I am doing that today. Thank you, Jesus, for giving me a life I’m not worthy of. I should have tried harder to remind my kids of the blessings you provide in our lives. Seriously, you rock.

Sorry I missed you yesterday, Lord. I promise to do better next year. I’ll even write your name on an egg with white crayon.

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The Pre-Pube…

No caption. She says so much already...

No caption. She says so much already…

Let me tell you about my favorite sound in the whole wide world. It goes like this, “MooooooooooOOOOOOOoooommmmmmm!” and it is hysterical.

It’s the sound my daughter makes whenever I am humiliating her beyond words. She can’t do anything to complain besides just kind of MOO my name at me. It’s freaking great.

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5

Me and My Little Ray of Shitshine

Today had such potential to be a good day. The sun is shining, it is above 50 degrees out there and I was ready to make a good day of it.

Gabe, however, had other plans…

It started out brilliantly. I woke up, had coffee and Gabe was being a real doll–not fussing, playing happily and just, in general, being a good baby. It felt like the perfect opportunity to go run some errands, and by running errands, I mean “go to Walmart,” as usual. Now, I’m not a ‘Mart fanatic. I’m a mother. I have limited time and resources. If I can make one trip, I better make it count. So, out of sanity-saving necessity, I go to the Mart. I hate the Mart, I do. But, shit, girllll, they got e’rthang!

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