Under the Influence

There will be no Chubby Chick update this week. I skipped the weigh in and I have a VERY valid excuse. Yesterday, I started my HOLY FUCKING EXPENSIVE time at the dentist’s office. As a reminder, I broke two teeth in January and they were deemed “unsalvageable.” I decided to go with permanent implants and just work one step at a time over years, to maximize my dental insurance benefits.

The only thing that bothered me about this dentist is that he declined the medication that would put me out for the procedure. He promised I would be ‘very comfortable’ and gave me a prescription for Valium for the night before and some for the morning of the procedure. I can drink beer like a champ, but medications knock me on my ass. I agreed to his plan. Boo highly recommended this guy after all. And Boo is the straightest shooter I know.

I took my medication on Wednesday night and the second dose Thursday morning. EN drove my loaded ass to the office and we were told again that the procedure(s) would take 2 ½ hours, but they blocked out four in case they ran into problems.

If you’ve ever met me, you KNOW I’m the gal that will cause problems and the appointment lasted the full four hours. There was an issue with the extractions-they shattered and had to be pulled out piece by piece. I was there so long that a potty break was required, Novocain shots were refreshed and I was given an oral painkiller during the procedure. I am hazy on the rundown of all that went on, but I believe that I had two teeth extracted, posts drilled into my jaw for implants and maybe bone and skin grafts and a whole lot of stitches. I’ll clarify everything on Thursday when I go for follow up.

Through it all, I listened to the dentist banter with his assistant and put in my two cents whenever I could. EN said that he could hear me laughing from the waiting room. Who laughs at a time like this?

We were given a care package which included a bunch (five) of prescriptions that we were told to have filled right away. Since I was still feeling pretty grand, we stopped at the Rite Aid in our town. We dropped off the prescriptions and walked around the store for a while.

I should mention here that I’m pretty frugal and only buy what I need. I don’t browse much, so this unexpected time in a store threw me for a loop. I was tanked and decided to SHOP. Some of our purchases included a birthday card for Sugar that we thought was cute because it has a dog that looks like one of ours in it. Mind you, we’ll forget where we put the card as her birthday isn't for a month and a half. I also perused the wine section and selected a bottle, because with all the medication I was getting, I’d SURELY need a bottle of wine. And really, who doesn't buy wine at Rite Aid? Then I came across these bad boys in the Easter aisle:

Yes, that’s right… an elephant and a frog that make noises and POOP Easter eggs. Could anything be funnier under the influence than pooping frogs and elephants? Then I remembered the lady in the dental office suggested ice cream, so I was off to check out the variety of ice cream. Oh look, it’s buy one, get one free. It sure as hell better have been because that ice cream was $6.50 per gallon.

Halfway through the ringing of our ginormous purchase I decided I had enough and demanded the car keys. I stumbled out to the car and waited for EN who quietly loaded our $100 purchase into the back of the car. Jesus.

By the time we got home, I was in severe pain so EN sorted out my prescriptions and doled them out to me like he was a doctor. It became quickly obvious that I couldn't take care of myself, let alone our girls, so he called in sick to work. Champion caretaker, y’all. He got me ice cream, made me soup and fed me medication at the appropriate times.

Today I’m still under the influence of some pretty good shit but I’m getting my sass back. I lectured the boy on how the mugs should be placed on the mug tree. He reciprocated by telling me exactly how the silverware should be placed in the dishwasher. I probably get even more indignant after ingesting codeine, so I said, “Are you lecturing ME?!” and he pointed to the mug rack and said, “Payback.” I attempted to make the point that the mug rack is aesthetically pleasing but the dishwasher doesn't fucking matter. Even the dogs rolled their eyes.

I’m still loaded to the gills and resemble a half a chipmunk. I can’t bear to look in my mouth but I can feel the stitches with my tongue. I consider myself lucky that for right now, I have the means to fix this issue and someday my mouth will look and feel so much better.

But I’m even more thankful to the guy that ran me around town yesterday, then today did endless errands to pick up books from the library and ingredients from the grocery store so I could make something that didn't need to be chewed… as an extra bonus he stopped at McDonald's both days and got me my beloved sweet tea. Granted today, he got himself REAL FOOD, which he feasted on before getting home. I SMELLED it on him

Payback for my sassiness, I’m sure. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

An Unorthodox Hairstyle

I need to preface this story to let all 22 readers know that I am NOT making fun of religion, or hairstyles worn by people that belong to specific religions. I am not overly religious by nature, but do respect those that have their beliefs as long as they aren't shoving their information down my throat. I am not poking fun at anyone, I merely am pointing out a similarity between something I saw at my own home and something that truly exists.

So no haterade, m’kay?

A few months back Sugar had a Winter Concert at her school. The timing was terrible as Spice had spent three days home sick from school. We decided that EN would call in sick to work so he could attend Sugar’s concert. Of course my heart was broken as I never miss such an event.

While I cooked dinner, Sugar went upstairs to ready herself for the concert. She’s 11 now and would like to be in charge of her hairstyle and attire. I reminded her that she had the required outfit (white shirt, black pants) ready to wear.

She was upstairs for a long time, then finally appeared as I finished dinner. She came into the kitchen holding her head really still, obviously afraid to move and ruin the hairstyle that she worked so hard on. EN and I just looked at each other and tried not to laugh. As gently as I could, I touched her hair and offered to pull some of it back. Wrong move, mama. The girl came unglued and snarled and jerked away from me, “What’s wrong with my hair?!” I tried to tell her that there was too much pulled to the front and she hissed at me and told me I had no idea what I was talking about.

Before I could stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I said, “That’s the hairstyle that male Orthodox Jews wear.” As we don’t have many of the Orthodox faith around these parts, she had no idea what I was talking about, so I googled a picture and showed her.

Picture lifted off the Internet. 

She laughed and denied the similarity and sat down to eat dinner. I tried again to offer assistance, which she declined. Then she got mad again and said, “My favorite one of my friends wears it like this all the time!! What would you say to her?” I told her I would ask her friend if she converted.

She’s my girl and started to see the humor in the situation but still wouldn't change things up. So I offered to play Adam Sandler’s “Hanukkah Song” as dinner music. I offered to change her name to Veronica like the girl in the song. At this point, EN was about to burst out laughing and left for a different part of the house.

She laughed about the song and we joked through dinner, but she steadfastly insisted that her hair looked wonderful. So she and EN left for the show with her mass of Orthodox curls.

A few minutes after the concert was due to start, EN texted and said, “Not sure what happened but her hair is fixed.” Before long they were back home and I asked what happened to her hair. She said that it didn't look right so her friends fixed it. Of course little Veronica never came right out and said that her mother was right!

Fast forward a few months and we laugh occasionally about that night. Sometimes we’ll even sing a line or two of Sandler’s song. If she’s cranky, she’ll tell me I’m not funny and I assure her that when she’s 22 she’ll look back on this and agree that the hairstyle didn't look quite right.

It was one of those parenting moments that left me confused. I knew that her hair looked awful, but I also knew that she loved it. I am always afraid that the middle schoolers will jump on her and laugh at her. I tried to protect her by using one of the few tools I have, a sense of humor.

Yet another instance that will keep me from being nominated for Mother of the Year.

xoxo

Ice Princess 

Chubby Chicks: Weeks 7, 8 and 9

I've not been good about updating for my weekly Weight Watchers meetings. I’m sure after my gain in week six you are all thinking I've been off gorging on potato chips and coconut cream pie. That has not been the case.

Week Seven, I took a few days off from work and couldn't bring myself to drag my lazy ass to a weigh in or meeting.

Week Eight, I was down 1.6 for a total loss of 9.6. Yes, people, this freakin’ close to ten pounds.

Week Nine is this week and we weighed in today. I am down another 1.2 for a total loss of 10.8. That’s right, I’m off to buy my SECOND Alex and Ani bracelet. I was going to spend time looking through their website to decide what I want, but I have so much more weight to lose that I’m SURE I’ll accumulate plenty of bangles.

So, nine weeks with a net loss of 10.8. It’s been hard as hell some days, but I’m feeling like it’s slow and steady, and something I’m more likely to stick with. I already notice a change if I cheat too much and have something delightfully battered and fried and served with a fattening dipping sauce. My belly votes no. So instead of overindulging, I feed the craving with something breaded and baked. I am fairly certain that I won’t end up being some nutty, crunchy, healthy eater all the time. I like food too much.

I don’t yet notice clothes fitting any differently, though I believe I felt a hip bone the other day. Could it be?

This morning I put on a new shirt. Nothing fancy, a “nice” sweatshirt really (with horizontal stripes-WTF was I thinking?). Spice came into the kitchen for her breakfast and said, “Oh Mama! You look SEXY!!”

I’ll take it. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

EN Hosts a Play Date

Yesterday the girls had the day off due to an election in our town. Back in the olden days when I was in school, we had to go anyway but now they call it a “Teacher Service Day” or something like that. Regardless, it was a day off for the little chicks, they weren't going to argue.

On Monday night I was chatting with another mother and she said that her twins would really like to come over and hang out with Sugar for a bit on Tuesday. I told her that I would be working but EN would be home. I couldn't imagine that EN would EVER go for having four girls run around the house under his watch, but he agreed to host them for a few hours.

I was stunned and used the situation to my advantage: please straighten the house before they arrive.

As is always the case when one has a play date and the other does not, we were worried about how Spice would behave. The age difference is pretty significant and most ‘cool’ tweenies don’t want much to do with a first grader who thinks burps are hilarious. EN and I texted back and forth about things he could do to keep her from annoying them.  I told him there was a simple cake mix in the cabinet and he said, “I’m not baking a fucking cake.”

My phone was completely quiet for a long time. And then this text, “We were all outside playing street hockey.” We all? Meaning him and Spice too? Why, yes. Apparently when the mother is not at home and there is company, we all find a way to get along. There was no crying, screaming or fighting and everyone, including THE FATHER, played together.

The next text, “Now we are on to English Muffin Pizzas.” I was starting to think that alien beings had taken over my family.

A little while later, the twins’ mom texted to let me know she had picked her girls up and said, “Awesome play date parent. Thank God he was home and not you. LOL” As it turned out, she arrived right after EN’s gourmet pizzas came out of the oven. Since the pizzas were so awesome, the girls asked if they could take some to go. Between bites on the way home, the girls raved about what a wonderful time they had with my people. 

Once I was out of work I talked to my own kids about this play date and these marvelous pizzas. They told me without even thinking twice, “Daddy was more fun and makes better pizzas than you do. Plus he made us lemonade.”

Are we kidding? I’ve been the primary parent for years as EN has almost always worked second shift. Now I’m getting voted off the island because he plays street hockey and makes better English Muffin Pizzas?

I host play dates and whip up dinners, desserts, snacks and lemonade in my sleep. EN hosts a play date ONCE and everyone’s ready to throw a parade for him?

Seriously??

While that parade is going on, I’ll be headed to Aruba for a little Mommy Vacation. No one will miss me until they need help finding their crap. 

xoxo

Ice Princess