The Dirtiest Phone Conversation Ever

From earlier today. He wonders why I hate talking on the phone so much:

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm grouchy."

"Why is that? Did you sleep poorly?"

"No. I slept like the dead. The pitter patter of the rain against the window lulls me asleep."

"Ah. So what's today's problem?"

"The pitter patter of the rain against the window. I don't mind a little rain. It was needed. I can just about hear the leaves unfurling on the trees."

"And this is a problem?"

"No. That's not the problem. Stay with me here. The problem is the fact it won't stop raining. I'm going to need Noah to build me a darn ark soon."

"Rain is good for the soul. And it washes away the dog poop on the lawn. That's important."

"Look at you, ever the optimist. You are forgetting one thing though."

"What's that?"

"Someone dug a hole to China to build a monster man cave and it is now my very own personal lake. Not to mention since my driveway has been destroyed my yard is half mud pit, half ocean."

"Oh. Well. That monster man cave will surely be worth a little mud."

"A little mud?"

"I think you just burst my eardrum with that screech. It's mud. It's not the end of the world."

"It is not a little mud. It's two dogs, four cats, two teens and a wheelchair worth of mud. ALL OVER MY FLOOR. All I'm doing is mopping. Mopping, mopping, mopping. I hate mopping."

"That sounds like a lot of mud."

I'm like Sisyphus. Only less giant boulder up a mountain and more mopping a never ending series of muddy tracks off the floor.

"It's so much mud. I think it would be easier to just live outside, in a card board box. Less mud."

"Why a cardboard box? Why not a tent? Or in one of the sheds?"

"Are you seriously trying to pick a fight right now? The mud is making me mad."

"I'm sorry about the mud. Soon it will stop raining, the mud will dry, the hole will be filled, the man cave will be finished and your life will be better."

"Whatever."

"Is there something else that is bothering you?"

"Yes. My internet connection is acting up. It took me 25 minutes to upload a picture to my blog and my email won't load, none of the blogs I like can be read and I can't believe I pay this much money for such a crappy connection. It's a travesty."

"Sounds dirty."

"Almost as dirty as the mud."

"Well there is a bright side you know."

"Really? And what would that be? Because from where I sit, I can't see one."

"With all that extra time you have waiting around for your internet connection to load you have plenty of time to mop the floors."

"If you were here right now, I'd totally toss you out into the mud."

"Ya, but you'd let me back in. And then you'd just have to spend more time mopping up after my muddy foot prints. It's a vicious circle really."

"I hate when you are right."

"It's a nice change of pace really."

"Whatever. I've gotta go. Those floors won't wipe themselves clean."

"That's my girl."

"I'm going to blow up your man cave one day."

"No you won't. It would make a mess. I'm not sure but it would likely involve mud."

"I really hate you."

"Have a good day sweetie."

They say the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over again while expecting a different result. Like expecting a dog to go outside in the rain and not have muddy paws on his way back in. If he could roll his eyes at me he would.

Getting To First Base

The note said the assembly started at 8:50 am. Past experience dictated I had a few extra minutes to spare because as hard as those elementary teachers try, getting five grades of children to neatly file into the gym in an orderly fashion makes herding a group of blind cats look easy.

I stopped off at the local gas station and refilled my coffee cup with what should be terrible coffee but isn't, (Van Houtte for the win!) and stopped to chat with the owner for a second.

"My son is receiving an award at the school assembly today!" I chirped brightly.

"Oh Frac? Good for him! What did he do?" the owner asked.

"Oh, not for Frac, for my other son, my youngest, Jumbster."

I could see the gears in his head spin as he tried hard to pull up the memory file of my youngest son. And there it was. I could see the exact moment he remembered who my youngest son was. That dark haired Native kid in the wheelchair who is always slumped over and drooling.

The look on his face transformed for a nanosecond but in that fraction of time I saw pity wash across his face, followed by shame for feeling it and then finally embarrassment for realizing I could see what he was thinking.

"Oh good good!" he smiled as he rang in my purchase. "What is he getting the award for?"

"Good question! I have no idea! I guess I'll find out when I get there!"

I walked out of the gas station sipping my coffee and feeling a little bit deflated. Sometimes it sucks that the world doesn't see how awesome Jumbster is as easily as they recognize it in others. I wish I could magically make everyone see what I see when I look at him.

Inside the gym, hundreds of children fidgeted about, several of them belonging to my family tree, each spotting me and waving "Auntie Auntie Auntie!" in the excited way a child does. My rock star moment happens whenever I walk into the elementary school and a niece or a nephew spots me. I grew ten inches that morning as I took my seat in the corner of the gym.

Soon the awards where parsed out, one for creativity, one for friendliness, another for improved penmanship. The girls won the coveted Cleanest Bathroom trophy and the boys booed hard at their loss. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the boys. Having lived with the testicled for years I know how hard it is for them to not pee all over the toilet seats. The contest seemed designed to ensure their failure.

I was only half paying attention, playing on my phone as the assembly went on. Part of me mourns the son that was robbed of his elementary experience whenever I am in that school and another part of me whispers that it is not too late to have another child. Look how cute they all are! You could be part of this for years to come!

My broken uterus is a total bitch whenever she's surrounded by other people's off spring.

And then it was the Jumbster's turn. His name was called and I watched as his aide undid his brakes. A tall boy in his class puffed up with pride as he pushed Jumby through the crowd and toward the front of the gym. The vice principal smiled down and read aloud the note his teacher had written. He handed Knox's award to his helper friend, gave my son a high five, shook his friend's hand and then both boys headed back to their spot in the gym beside their teacher.

Jumby grinned the entire time. His friend grinned bigger.

His award?

Was for being the best button pusher.

The best weather man.

The best carpet sitter.

The best jump rope turner.

It didn't really matter what it said on the award; as I watched the kids surround Jumby to give him high fives and ask if they could be the one to push him back to class I knew he had already won the best award.

He's included. By kids who see him and not the things he can't do.

Sure, to some adults who don't know my son he's just some Native kid who slumps in his wheelchair and foams at the mouth. But for those kids growing up alongside him, in his class, in his school, he's Foxy Knoxy, the kid who laughs the loudest and the hardest and makes them feel like a million dollars.

It won't always be like this, I know, but for these sweet short moments in time, I'll take it. I'll suck up this magic and enjoy the innocent acceptance these children offer my son and I'll pray like hell they will grow into adults who remember Jumby's sweet laugh and can see past a person's disabilities to see them for the people they are.

I leaned over and kissed my son as the kids in his class started putting their jackets on for recess and divvy into teams for a ball game. For a second I wondered if they would remember to include my son.

I shouldn't have wondered.

As I walked away I heard one of the kids tell Jumbster's aide that he can be the first base. Because that way he'll get to be on everyone's team and high five every player.

I left that morning hoping every kid in that school would get a chance to get to first base with my kid.

Parenting Jumby has made me the loosest mom on the block.

You totally want to get to first base don't you?

 

I'll Take My Tradition On the Rocks

My husband gave me an anniversary present last night when he came home. Even though we had agreed not to exchange any presents because after 15 years the only thing either of us really needs is enough money to pay for the monstrosity of a garage he started to build and a rubber room to stick the two of us for when we lose our minds while building the darn thing.

However, my husband has never been great at abiding by the rules and thus the giant smile he wore as he handed me a rather large heavy box.

I carefully opened up the card, expecting one of those flowery cards with a horribly sweet poem scrawled in flowing letters that always make me want to laugh and vomit at the same time that my husband seems to prefer buying me and was pleasantly surprised to see a cute image of a bear holding a net with hearts in it.

You're the catch of a lifetime! Happy Anniversary with love, it read.

Cute. Simple. Non-gag inducing. I approved.

But then, underneath, my husband had carefully written:

"You may be a great wife but I give the best head in this relationship!"

If I had been drinking anything, I'm pretty sure I'd have choked on it.

"Are you serious? For one, are you kidding me and secondly, what if the kids see this? We can't afford the therapy bills this card will cost us Boo!"

"Just open your present," he grinned.

So I did.

Apparently crystal is the traditional gift for 15 years of marriage. Crystal Head Vodka totally counts. 

He's right. He really does give the best head.

15 years of marriage and he finally gets me.

Maybe that two-headed duck I want isn't such an impossibility after all.

***

PLEASE NOTE THAT CRYSTAL HEAD VODKA IS NOT IN ANY WAY AFFLIATED WITH KAH TEQUILA; THEY ARE TWO SEPARATE (AND YET AWESOME) BRANDS. ALSO, I CAN SPEAK WITH AUTHORITY THAT CRYSTAL HEAD VODKA IS YUMMY FOR MY TUMMY BUT I'VE NOT TRIED THE KAH TEQUILA. YET. 

***

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who is a mother, has a mother or you know, is a mother lover. And if you are looking for some awesomely naughty and completely inappropriate things to probably never buy another human being let along your mother, may I encourage you to go read my latest post over at Hogwash From a Hoser? Because I wrote about some of the most delightfully bad gift ideas ever and ended up wanting at least half of them.

You may not be inspired but hopefully you will be amused. And possibly a little disgusted by humanity.

It's my mother's day gift to you all.

Cheers!