Monday, February 6, 2017

My Series of Unfortunate Events

They say bad things come in threes. I hope that is true, cause that would mean I am done with bad luck for  while.

To start of the week I had a small mix up with an icy hot stick and my deodorant. Pain. Lots and lots of pain.

Me and my icy pits decided to start working on our taxes. I was thinking that this would finally be the year we get a decent return and not owe any silly fines from a six year old mistake. I entered all the info from my current job and saw our predicted refund amount was almost enough to pay off our biggest debt. I was ecstatic! I hadn't added Dean's yet info yet, but assumed he claimed the same as me. So, logically it was only going to go up even more. I kept dreaming of all the debt we could pay off and how much we could save towards a house (yes, I realize how adult that sounds). This high lasted until the next day when Dean handed me his W2.  I looked and noticed that he had paid less than a grand in federal taxes all year.  My heart sank as I nervously punched the numbers into Turbo Tax. My hopes and dreams of a debt free life vanished as I watched our expected return drop about seven-thousand dollars. Turns out, Dean somehow thought claiming 5 was the right thing to do. At least we didn't end up owing. Maybe next year we will actually be able to pay something off.

Later that week I managed to slice part of my finger off while using a mandolin in the kitchen. It wasn't as bad as it could be, but it was bad enough that Dean had to call out of work to take care of me. After about an hour and a half of applying pressure it was still bleeding.  At that point I called my friend who is an ED nurse and asked her if I should go to the hospital. We decided to wait another half hour. If it was still bleeding at that point, I would go to urgent care to have it cauterized. Thankfully, it stopped bleeding and I was fine. The most painful part of that entire experience was that I had just finished telling Dean how dangerous that thing is and to be very careful with it.

To top this all off, whatever nasty plague that has been circulating has hit the Gootee home fast and strong. I tried to go to work today and they sent me home. I've spent the whole weekend being sick and canceling plans. Paisley had croup last week and was the most miserable I have ever seen her. I know being sick isn't that bad in the grand scheme of things, but it really sucks when it forces you to miss two days of work. Dean brought me some Vicks vapor rub, but after the Icy-Hot incident, I am petrified of anything menthol.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Nap Time Nightmares

Paisley has decided that sleep is for chumps and she would much rather color all day than take a nap. I know I stopped taking a nap at a young age, but I was really hoping we could stretch it out with her. It would be fine if I could just put her in the crib and leave her for some quiet time. The problem is, when I do that, disaster strikes.  It's happened more than once now.  I put her down for a nap, she does not fall asleep, I go back in an hour and she has completely disrobed. There is poop all over her, her crib, her favorite blanket, and her doll. She must be related to Houdini some how, cause this girl can get out of any onesie, zippered pajamas, backward diaper combo there is.  On Saturday it was so bad that I threw up. On her. Yes, I threw up on my child. I stared a savings account for all the therapy she will need when she gets older.

I had this brilliant idea that I would push her bedtime back by a half hour. I would make sure she is not sleeping in too late so she would nap in the afternoon.  Well, that backfired.  Not only did she not nap, she was over tired and grumpy all day. When bedtime finally came, I cried literal tears of joy.

I've reached that point in motherhood I've heard about, but never really gave it much thought. That part where I am desperate to have a conversation about anything but Daniel Tiger or work. The part where I can say I need a break and not feel guilty about it.  I heard other mothers say these things but I guess I never fully listened cause it never crossed my mind until this week. let me just get this out there: I hear you all loud and clear now!

There may be some hope.  Dean sent me this picture today.  Of course, he could have just drugged her.  I am not fully convinced this happened naturally.

Monday, October 10, 2016

I Cried During the Presidential Debate

This is slightly embarrassing to admit, but I cried while watching the debate tonight.  Every four years people make the same complaints about having to choose "the lesser of two evils".  This year is the same complaint, but much more serious.  Say what you will about 3rd party nominees and write in votes.  The fact of the matter is that either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton will be the next President of the United States. That is why I cried.

I cannot stand Donald Trump.  I can not put into words how much I dislike this man.  I remember watching the very first episode of The Apprentice and thinking he was on a huge power trip.  My opinion of him didn't change when he started his campaign.  I cannot muster any respect for a man that speaks so poorly of other people.  I don't really need to go on, you know what I am talking about.

So, does that make me "with her"?  Well, you would think so.  As far as political parties and standings are concerned, she is who I naturally gravitate to.  (Disclaimer for my conservative evangelical friends: yes, I know she is pro-choice.  I do not base my vote on one issue.  And yes, I know you are worried about the second amendment, but this is not the time for that discussion).  I have lost count of the number of times I have taken the I Side With quiz.  I side with Hillary every time.  But I do not want to vote for her.  I keep trying to make excuses for her.  "Well, every politician is sleazy or does questionable things in their career.  At least she apologized.  She went to trial and they didn't indict her" and "yeah, she did defend a rapist who ended up getting next to nothing.  That just proves she is good at her job"  I keep saying these things to make myself feel better.  But it's not working anymore, that's why I cried.

This is the first election since I have become a mother.  Maybe that is why character and integrity are so much more important to me.  Or maybe it is just because I matured.  It's probably a bit of both.  Either way, it sure is making this a very difficult choice for me.  

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Birthday, Lipstick, Farts, Barf and Cornfields

I promised Michelle I would share this story this week.  Hopefully it will help her feel better about her hellish road trip with her car sick daughter.  

I don't have a photo for this story, so enjoy this picture of Paisley instead.
For my fourteenth birthday my mom brought me to the mall with my two best friends. We made the usual rounds to PacSun, Bath and Body Works, and Gadzooks before finishing up at Clair's with the very important purchase of a "Best Friends Forever" necklace set.  We walked back to meet my mom in order of our necklace words (I was best of course) and stopped at a Mexican restaurant for dinner.  I should have pick Italian.  

All three of us sat in the back seat and sang along with the Backstreet Boys for most of the trip home. We were most of the way there when my friend started to complain her stomach hurt.  Eventually, she let out a giant, loud, extremely smelly fart and felt better.  I was stuck in the middle seat, furthest from the window.  I was trapped.  I've always had a week stomach. Eventually, the stench got the best of me and I vomited all over myself.  I started crying as my mom pulled over, because who barfs on their birthday?!  My friends were laughing so hard they had to pee in the cornfield we had parked next to.  Someone wasn't paying attention on there way there and ended up stepping in some sort of poop,  The rest of the ride home was rather stinky.

The following Monday I got dressed for school wearing my new pants from PacSun.  It wasn't until after I got to school, that I noticed the reddish-brown lip stick I got somehow ended up all over the pack of my new pants in a very unfortunate spot. 

For my fifteenth birthday, I stayed home.  

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

I don't Have to Like It All to Love It


A few days ago I stumbled across this photo in my TimeHop app.  The caption I posted was "So this is how we are napping much for a productive Saturday". Paisley was all of 3 months old and I had been back to working 40 hours a week for a month.  I was the emotional equivalent of a jack-in-the-box, and the stress of balancing work life and mom life was getting to me. I didn't have to read the comments this time, I remembered them.  I remembered the guilt just as well.

Each "time passes so quickly", "you won't miss dirty dishes in 20 years", and "this is the most productive thing you can do" seemed like a twist of the knife.  I "liked" the comments  because I knew they meant well, but in all truthfulness, I hated them.  I wasn't putting the cleanliness of my house at a higher priority than my daughter, yet I felt that people thought I was.  I just wanted to do some dishes so we had clean glasses to drink out of, maybe even get a shower if I was lucky.

Here is some truth for you:  I do not enjoy all aspects of motherhood.  Because not all moments of motherhood are full of warm fuzzies and rainbows.  There are a lot of really crappy moments when it comes to parenting a child (I mean that both literally and figuratively).

Now, before you think I am a cold, heartless monster let me just say I believe motherhood is a wonderful gift.  I wholeheartedly agree that the days are long, but the years are short.  I am fully aware that there are plenty of women out there who would die to have a baby keeping them from house work (I was one of them).  Combine these feelings with a desire to get some work done and guilt sets in.

Something I have learned in my short time as a mother is that it is okay not to enjoy every moment.  I don't have to enjoy sleepless nights, dirty diapers, or meltdowns when I leave her in the nursery.  Quite frankly, those moments suck.  However, it is part of the package deal, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.  That package also includes the snuggles, the popsicle sharing, the crazy dancing, the coloring, the bath time giggles, and the way she says "uh-oh" after she passes gas in the grocery store.

So, I am enjoying motherhood, at least the parts that are important.  And just because I would like my child to sleep in her crib instead of my arms doesn't mean I am not "soaking it in", it just means that I would like to wash some dishes (because I probably ran out of paper plates.)

Monday, June 20, 2016

The Time I Scared Dean With A Father's Day Card

Father's Day has always been an odd holiday for me.  When I found out that we would be having a girl, I was pretty excited to see the father daughter bond develop between Dean and Paisley that I was never able to really have. I am happy to say that they are think as thieves.  Paisley is a Daddy's girl through and through.  So naturally, I wanted to make his Father's days as special as I could.

I went to our local game store and picked a Magic Card (yes, he is a hard core geek) that has been on his wish list for a while.  Then I went over to Target to pick out some Father's Day cards while Paisley tested her lung compacity and my patience. Dean's was the easiest to select, a cute googly- eyed daddy monster being chased.  It said something along the lines of not being able to escape his little monster.

Father's day morning arrived much earlier than I would have liked.  Paisley has decided that 6 am is her new happy hour.  I straggled my way into the kitchen, muttered "happy birthday - I mean Father's day" to Dean and handed him my carefully selected card.   His reaction was not at all what I was expecting.  He read the card and just stood there with this puzzled look on his face.  Then he said "So... umm... what does this mean?".  Now I was confused, "What?!  What do you mean  - it means Happy Father's Day, what don't you get?".   Well, apparently, I picked out a card that was meant to be from more than one child.  Dean thought I was trying to tell him I was pregnant.  (I am not - let's not start rumors).  Once we cleared up that little misunderstanding we had a great day involving the playground and Pho.

And just in case I haven't made myself clear - we are not having another baby any time soon.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

When A Weeks Feels Like A Month

 As you can see, I finally settled on a blog title.  "Don't Call Me Kate" wasn't horrible, but it just felt very juvenile to me. Not to mention, I am pretty much over my distaste for people calling me Kate. (As long as you know me well. If I met you 5 min ago and you call me Kate I will dislike you.) At one point this week, I found myself uttering the words "My Life's a Sitcom"  and I call it my light bulb moment.  So here we are.

My crazy week started last Thursday when Paisley got a bit of a fever.  I wasn't overly concerned until Friday night when instead of sleeping she would just cry in pain.  So, we took her to the walk in hours at the doctors on Saturday morning where she tested positive for Strep.  We had to skip a birthday party we were invited to and spend the weekend locked indoors with a cranky kid. 

Monday morning I discovered that Paisley has inherited her dad's Penicillin allergy.  I brought her back to the doctors office and freaked out about Scarlet Fever just to be told that it really was an allergy and my kid is not dying even if it sounds like it.  Monday also happens to be the one day a week that we need a sitter.  Our Sitter is an ED nurse. So I know she can completely handle a sick kid.  Paisley had pretty much the worse meltdown of her life when I tried to leave.  I am a genius and had to go back after I left and she settled because I left my wallet in the diaper bag.  Of course this caused another meltdown.  We paid the sitter a little extra that day.

Tuesday seemed to go as expected until the evening when I turned a little ghetto.  Living in the city has a lot of advantages, but sometimes it's a problem.  Like when there is some idiot screaming profanities outside your window at 11:30 pm and wakes you sick sleeping child.  I won't go into a lot of details, but I was marching down the street after someone at midnight in my PJ's.  Hell hath no fury like a mother with a woken child.  Or something like that.

We made it through Wednesday and Thursday with only a head knocking incident ( I was convinced she had a concussion, but apparently I overreact).  Friday came and I was feeling like I finally shook the week's curse.  Paisley had her 15 month check up scheduled and I had to work.  I no sooner get to the office and turn my computer on when Dean calls me.  He had locked him self out and needed to bring Paisley to her appointment.  Thankfully my office is less than 2 miles from home, so I was able to get home and back in a matter of minutes.   As if that wasn't enough, Dean texts me about 20 minutes later to inform me that someone rear-ended him so hard that he hit the car in front of him.  Every one and thing is fine.  The Air bags didn't even deploy, so it wasn't serious.  It was just one more slap in the face from this crazy week.  

Bring it Monday.  You've got nothing on me!