Awesome

I ate today. While that may seem a little obvious to all you readers out there that eat every day, for me it was amazing. I ate a full lunch, 3/4 of dinner, and then a late snack involving a cheesy chicken cilantro guacamole taco creation and some rice. I even made snow cones for Chicken and myself in the afternoon. I enjoyed something sweet! I have not eaten so much in one days in weeks, people. For someone that ranks the joy of eating just behind wonders of sleeping, the last two months have sucked my ass. But today, I ate. It was wonderful.

Guess what I did last night? I fucking slept. Yes, indeed I slept through the night and into the morning. I had a bizarre dream about Dude, though. He was running around with a human-sized shit hanging half out of his ass, which I pulled out with my bare hands and then attempted to smoosh it back in via his belly. It did not work (imagine my surprise) and I ended up having to bath him to get rid of the mess. I am guessing that the incident with Reina (TB's crazy-assed cat) and her attempting to WIPE HER ASS on the carpet like a dog had something to do with it. The moral of the story? Sleep is awesome, even when it involves poop dreams.

My daily schedule as of late had consisted of the following:

• Feel like shit
• Move from bed to couch
• Whine
• Make sure Chicken eats
• Feel like shit on the couch
• Blog about feeling like shit on the couch
  
• Examine my failings as a wife and mother
• Go to bed and fail to sleep worth a shit

However, today I fucking rocked the world. Chicken had a friend over in the morning, I took them to lunch, we met the friend's mother and 3 sisters at the library, we all went to the pool, I made snow cones, Chicken and I read together while eating snow cones. After all that I planted my ass on the couch, but I felt accomplished. Eating, sleeping, participating in life, how much fucking better can it get? Not much.

Actually, it can get better. I forgot one important thing: today I introduced Chicken to Piers Anthony. I had been searching my Swiss cheese brain for an author that Chicken would enjoy, without him feeling like I was stuffing The Classics down his throat. There is also the problem of Chicken finding an author he likes, reading all the books the author has written and then getting frustrated when he runs out of new books. Piers has been a prolific writer for more than forty years. Chicken will be busy for a long time. The best part is that Chicken is already entralled with the book and has stopped reading only long enough to share a funny pun with me. Go me!

Vacation, Now With More Poop

"I wish I could toss my own salad," says Chicken while we discuss Reina's recent brush with a cling-on and her subsequent cleaning of her balloon knot with her tongue. It is good to be home. I really missed the Chicken when he was vacationing without me.

Yesterday we visited a local grocery store in Visalia, California where the friendly cashier informed us that if Chicken needed to use the restroom, "She probably wants the key." Later in a truck stop just north of the grapevine, a friendly gentleman tells Chicken that he is using the wrong door as Chicken attempts to enter the men's room. Chicken ignores him and walks into the bathroom. Then the man says, "This is the men's room," and Chicken retorts, "I know. I can READ." Chicken is so pissed he is unable to fire off anything witty but really wants to scream, "Fuck you! I have a penis you stupid fucker." The man was so disconcerted that he chose to pee in a stall instead of at a urinal. Apparently longish hair on a boy in Central California is less common than in Southern California because we haven't had any gender issues in quite a while in our home area. Maybe we just got super lucky this weekend.

We were at Don Pedro Lake, about 40 miles north-ish of Merced, California this week. I had never heard of it but apparently it is the fifth largest lake in the state. It is a narrow lake with many fingers, and Chicken describes it as a llama on a unicycle with a bunny on its back and a satellite on its head. (??) Chicken tried wake boarding and tubing behind a speed boat, as well as swimming in the lake and hiking. He was in heaven. The houseboat had a water slide that began on the second story and ended right above the lake which Chicken used as much as possible. Watching Teddy Bear hit the water after coming full speed down the slide was hilarious. Too bad I realized that floating in the lake was the only way to get a good shot of the action. I'm not about to take a camera with me out into the water.

I avoided all the water activities except for the aforementioned floating. I was able to float on my tummy in a mesh floaty thing and I enjoyed the shit out of it. Teddy Bear and Chicken dug some some clay mud from the bottom of the lake and gave me a clay massage of some sort. Eventually I had to pull off my bathing suit bottom while in the water and get all of the small rocks out of it. It was not super comfortable, but I was thankful for the murky lake water. For a moment or two I worried about fishes snacking on my privates but then I figured it might be nice.

The last time I was on a houseboat I had some poop issues. I understand this comes as a total surprise to you. I was a wee bit nervous about this trip, and by Saturday morning I had not taken a single shit. Not even a tiny little bit. The last time I had been to the bathroom was the scrapbook store incident on Wednesday. I finally broke down and ventured into the bathroom shortly before we docked at the marina. Note to dear readers: check the status of the poop tank before taking a shit.

Fearing the worst I attempted to flush soon into the process. I was dismayed to see my little rabbit turds stubbornly refuse to exit the premises. Water was entering the bowl, but my friends were not about to exit without a fight. I pushed on the flush button some more and then some more and then I noticed a VERY BAD smell that did not smell like my ass. This is when I noticed a bit of murky water in the shower. In denial I kept flushing, determined to make the poops go away.

I did not want to tell my in-laws that I had taken a shit. I continued to flush until it became obvious to even me that the tank 'o poo was FULL and the liquid yuck that had been collecting for a fucking WEEK was backing up into the shower stall. Also, a few small stragglers were still in the bowl, floating and looking very merry for shit. My poop mocked me.

I left the bathroom to whisper to Teddy Bear about the problem, which quickly became Chicken announcing, "My mom's poop is backing up into the shower!" OMFG. Minutes later we docked, the shit tank was emptied and the problem was solved. We unloaded the boat, got in our respective vehicles and I wondered if I would ever be able to shit on a houseboat again.

---

I still need to work on the rest of the pictures, however I thought you might like to see a couple right now. The first is Chicken preparing a tostada on a flour tortilla. The amazing part is that the tortilla is slathered with refried beans. Chicken DOES NOT eat beans except for green beans. No beans will he eat EVER. But Friday night he decided to try them and he LOVED them.

The last picture is Chicken and Teddy Bear watching the sunset on the lake. I love my boys and I am so glad to be at home.

Notes From Sam

Two things I need to tell you all. One, there is a contest going on at Problem Girl. The prize is a gift card for a maternity store. If you're not interested in the gift card you can always ebay or use it to pick locks. To enter you need to leave a comment telling about a really shitty gift that you received. The comments are awesome. Especially mine. I need to win or I will be naked soon. In case you need a bad gift story to help you get into the groove, there is one posted here. This post also talks about baby stuff-you've been duly warned. If that doesn't bother you I really recommend you read it.

The other item of business is that I am finally going on vacation. I forgot to blog about it, but Chicken has been on a houseboat since Saturday with Teddy Bear's dad, step-mom, and sister. We were supposed to go as well, but as it is located seven hours north the air quality was too shitty for me to safely be there. Yay for fucked-off lungs! (There were 1400 fires in central/northern California at the time.) Now the air in the area is comparable to San Diego so off we go for a few days. While we are in the area we will be visiting Teddy Bear's mother to tell her about the bun in the oven. Wish me luck.

Lastly, there is a chance that drama will erupt in the general area of this blog. I haven't decided whether to talk about it at this point. I'd prefer to keep it out of the blogosphere but I don't have control over what other people chose to do.

Back Away From The Cervix

I finally went to the doctor today and had my first appointment. I can't tell you how much I missed having not only my hoo-ha invaded by metal, my cervix scraped with something that resembles a fucking RAKE and then a couple of fingers groping around. GAH! The doctor said that my ute feels at least as pregnant as I say I am, and maybe ahead a little bit. Considering the specifically timed nookie either she's a nutjob, the damn thing is ALREADY big like TB, or there is more than one occupant. I vote for nutjob because the other two options suck ass. I did wrangle a referral to the ultrasound place and later called and made an appointment for Friday. I will feel much better after seeing a heartbeat.

The pukey feeling is still much milder than it was, but the fatigue is brutal. The fibro pain is bad when I wake up (which is often), but not horrible during the day. It is managable. Tomorrow I am going to the Del Mar Fair (shut up I will never call it the San Diego Fair, that is bullshit). I am going with my mother, Chicken, and Jesus. Chicken's best friend's name is really Jesus. We call him the Son of God sometimes. We're a little immature. Jesus calls Chicken a derivative of his real name, but with a girly twist. They're an excellent match and have a shitload of fun together.

I'm nervous about spending the day wtih my mother. One, because it's my mother and that is a fucking chore in itself. Two, because my mom doesn't know that I'm knocked up and I REALLY don't want to tell her. I have no idea what her reaction will be, but based on previous conversations I am not counting on it being good. After I had Chicken my mom strongly recommneded that I get my tubes tied. What doctor is going to do that when I had one child at home and I was only 22?

Several times over the years she has either talked to me about the tubal OR getting a hysterectomy. The hysterectomy because I have crappy periods that tend to be painful. Not like endometriosis, just a little miserable. So take out my uterus, right? CRAZY. She got a hysterectomy when I was six months old. According to her it was because the doctor told her not to have any more children. According to my secret source, it was because she wanted to be damn sure never to have any more children. She didn't want anymore-when I was six months old. Can you imagine? No baggage here people!!

My mother loves Chicken, but she has issues. I know better than to expect her to be excited about this pregnancy but it always hurts a little when she reacts crappily. Some of you are probably asking, "Why do you want to tell her now?" The answer is that I am getting to the point where I am having trouble hiding it for long periods of time. My lower abdomen is all fat, my boobs are bigger and eating is a chore. The only reason that I am going tomorrow (instead of letting Chicken go without me) is that I have never been to the Del Mar Fair with him and next year I will hopefully have a sixth month old baby. Not a recipe for a day of fun with a fucking zillion people.

I loved the Del Mar Fair as a child. LOVED IT. I want to share the experience with my favoritist Chicken in the world. I hope that tomorrow is fun and I can tune out any negative energy spewing from my mother. Maybe she'll be hapy for me? HA HA HA.

Stoner Update

Dear Police Officer,

Driving around the area where adults are smoking pot with an underage girl a few times before approaching is probably NOT the best way to catch them in the act. In fact, I bet that those two young men saw you, grabbed the bong and the weed and left. (Oh they did? Super surprised!)

Searching the ninth grade girl, questioning her, (she lied? really? super surprised) and then leaving is also not effective. Way to go cop! Show my son that calling you to protect a minor is a fabulous idea. I am sure that next time he will rush to notify me of any and all illegal activities taking place in front of him.

Love and Kisses!

Sam

---

Dear Mommy at the Park,

When a few concerned pre-teen children approach you and ask for your help, telling them that you are too afraid to do anything is not effective. I understand that you had your toddler with you, but you could have left and called the police. Hey! I bet you could have given a better description and more information than my 11-year old child. But, whatever. You don't mind taking your child to the park where men are getting a young teenager stoned, right?

Love and Kisses!

Sam

---

After the cop left, I picked up Chicken and his two friends (both girls) and took them for ice cream as a reward for trying to do the right thing. I hope they keep trying to do what is right and notify an adult when they need to protect their friends. By the way, the girl smoking pot is a former friend of the two girls, and she has been smoking pot since the end of sixth grade. Please don't wait until your children are already caught up in drugs before talking with them!! It is never too early to have an age appropriate discussion about sex and drugs.

Chicken ROX

My Chicken went to the park to hang out with some friends that I am a little unsure of at this point. I'll tell you more on that later. But today, I received a phone call from him that there was a 9th grade girl in the park with two twenty-something males and they were smoking pot together. Chicken and his friends were worried about the girl. One of his friends used to know the girl and they didn't know what to do. So Chicken called me for help. *swoon* My kid is awesome. We talked for a few minutes and then I asked him if he wanted me to call the cops. Chicken was relieved and replied, "Yes please!" I called the local police department and they are sending someone out right now.

I really don't care if consenting ADULTS smoke pot but I remember being a young girl hanging out with older guys and it is not a path I'd send anyone else down. Also- don't pass a bowl around where my 11-year old and his friends can watch. Okay? Go home and smoke out there. Or sit in your car. Leave the teener girls alone. If they want to smoke pot with their teener friends, so be it. But there is no reason to get little girls high. Well, there is a reason but in the grand ole state of California you have to be 18 to consent motherfucker.

Update, Now With Moar Pussy

(see previsou post if you are thinking to yourself, "what the fuck?")

TB called the doctor's office (because I chickened the fuck out) and spoke with the nurse. She poo pooed my concerns which I am sure only helps my not looking like a crazed pregnant woman, right? They couldn't get me in today and the nearest Urgent Care doesn't have the capability to do an ultrasound. I am NOT hanging out in the ER today. Do you want to know the really helpful comment that the nurse made to my husband? "Well, it is not that uncommon to see a reduction in symptoms during a heat wave when the hormonally crazed pregnant woman becomes a little dehydrated."

So don't worry! EXCEPT I would have no fucking idea if we are having a heat wave because I've been at home on my ass for days and it isn't hot in here. Also? We have plenty of liquids in the house because we're super awesome like that. Therefore, the super helpful nurse advice is a great big fucking non-example. SUPER.

Teddy Bear isn't worried because no bleeding = perfectly fine, right? Ha ha ha. Also, something of interest to those in the know...TB commented last night that the pregnancy book for guys that he is reading (which is a piece of shit in my opinion) doesn't have a section for helping your mate deal with miscarriage. Or anything about miscarriage. Really? Books ignoring miscarriage? NO?!?

So that's that. Oh wait! A funny for you. Chicken had a comment about Riverside County and Temecula that made me cackle. I need me some cackle, people.

"Temecula is the pussy of Riverside County. It's the only good part."

Names And Insufferable Cuteness

*pregnancy post warning for those visiting from NCLM*

My current last name starts with the letter S and for simplicities sake I'll just say that it is Smith. I specify current last name because I've had, oh let's see...FOUR freakin' last names in my lifetime. Currently my name looks like this: Sam, Maiden Name, Teddy Bear's last name. I replaced my former middle name with my maiden name due to my issues with losing my dad and blah blah baggage.

This is a typical, long-winded patented Sam way of starting a little story about names. When Teddy Bear was in his mommy's tummy, all ten plus fucking pounds of him, (don't even get me started on his family history of birthing HUGE babies) his parents wanted to name him something that started with an A, then an S, then his last name that we'll call Smith. Do you see the problem? Yeah, no one wants to have their initials spell ASS.

Unless, of course, you are a sixth-grade boy and your mother is pregnant and you have the opportunity to nickname the grain of rice residing in her stomach. I really wanted to use the reader suggestion of Egg on my blog, just to answer the question of what came first for once and all, but the Chicken's nickname kicks ass. No pun intended. He nicknamed it Adrienne Stephanie Smith.

He talks about Adrienne Stephanie a lot, anything to get the name in because sixth-graders are all about beating a fucking horse to death. I'm just immature enough to still be amused every time. Until today when I was on my ass in bed and he asked where my uterus currently was and then got close and TALKED to Adrienne Stephanie. He said he'd kiss "her" but she was too close to my parts at this point and GROSS. Which I totally agree with, but I was too busy trying my damndest not to cry to think about anything. It was so damn cute.

Lamest Drug Addict EVAR!

I never updated you guys/girls on my great quest to get my drug situation in line with the baby-making situation. How about a list?

Drugs In My Big Ole Drawer of Drugs:

• Vicodin*
• Darvocet*
• Xanax
• Elavil
• Imitrex
• Qvar*
• Albuterol*
• Flonase*
• Celexa
• Cymbalta*
• Tramadol
• Ultram
• Lunesta*
• Skelaxin (sp?--too lazy to walk into my bedroom to check on the spelling)
• ... I know I'll remember something else five minutes after I hit "publish" on this post

The ones marked with an asterisk are daily medications and have been (mostly) for the last year. The doctor I saw wanted me to go down to: Flonase (allergies), Qvar (asthma), Albuterol (asthma) and .... that's it. He also recommended that I go cold turkey and just suck it up through the withdrawal. Well that sounds all good and fine if you're BATSHIT crazy. I made up my own plan: Flonase, Qvar, Albuterol and 1/2 Celexa (20mg) with the intention of going down as low as I can on the celexa without making my family and my brain hate me (more). Celexa has more acceptable side effects than Cymbalta does, and I just happened to have a shitload of it in my drug drawer from when I switched off of it to try out Cymbalta.

Now, for the what the fuck?!? part... I went cold turkey off of the pain and sleep medications. Other than the trouble sleeping (it is part of the fibromyalgia) I haven't noticed any withdrawal. Now how many people end up in rehab after becoming addicted to painkillers? How the fuck is it possible for me to have a gazillion alcoholics in my family and the only thing I've managed to be addicted to in my life is smoking (cigarettes - three years next month smoke free!!). And don't think I haven't tried when I was young and dumb and full of ... yeah. I suppose I should feel lucky but really I feel like a druggie failure. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!! Maybe I'm developing an addiction to parenthesis. (Notice?)

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One last thing-there is a new icon on the sidebar for NaComLeavMo. The idea is that for a month you visit XX number of blogs on the participating list and leave XX comments, as well as respond to comments left on your blog. The point is to start/increase conversations on your blog, as opposed to the posting in a vacuum thing. It is also a good way to meet and greet other bloggers. Click on the picture for details about the month of commenting. If you don't know Stirrup Queen, she is the Jewish mother to the internet infertility world. Did you know that I have experience keeping a Kosher kitchen? Yes, I am talented. Remember the year I spent as a nanny for my good friend? Yep, she's Jewish and keeps Kosher so I learned the ropes. I rock.

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One last thing. I promise. Today I was out getting my eyebrows ripped off waxed and Chicken and his Little Friend found two dogs roaming the neighbor. By the time I got home they had called the owners and followed the dogs all over tarnation to keep them on the sidewalk and out of the street. I got them to hop in my car to keep them in one place until the owner showed up. She was SO happy to get her puppies back, she had been walking all over the neighborhood and park with a bag of lunch meat calling them (??). My Chicken is following in my footsteps with the saving animals thing. Good Chicken! Good Boy! Sit!

NIN

Currently, my taste in music and Chicken's coincide nicely. I appreciate this because it is something we can share AND I don't have to listen to fucked off music. Like Country. Or Rap. Ew. Today, on the way back from my weekly massage/chiro adjustment appointment a Nine Inch Nails song came on and Chicken and I struck up a conversation. I was talking about the latest internet release of the new album, the last NIN album that I purchased and whatnot. Chicken asked if that album was Pretty Hate Machine.

Sam: Uh? No. That album came out when I was a sophomore in high school. (Can you believe I remember that, with my Swiss cheese brain?)
Chicken: Wow. They're OLD.
Sam: ...
Chicken: ...
Sam: *blinks*
Chicken: oh. (in a very small voice) Sorry!

By the way, NIN has released their latest album for free on the web (you can find the link on their home page above). It will be available via vinyl or CD this summer. I was talking with TB about it and he was adamant about only having one copy downloaded for our house. That way he can download it and provide it to others via our server and it will cost Trent Reznor less to give to the masses. Isn't that sweet?

Snippets and Guitar Hero

Happy 1 year Wedding Anniversary to me and my Teddy Bear!

For our anniversary TB bought Chicken his own guitar hero guitar. He said that it was Chicken's gift for being his official stepson for a whole year, and for Chicken putting up with him. The guitar is a plug-in model, smaller and whiter than our original one. Chicken has named it "white boy" after the following stylings of Wild Cherry.


That's my kid.

His current player on Guitar Hero is the Grim Ripper. As he looked remarkably like the Grim Reaper I inquired as to the name. Chicken insists that it is the Grim Ripper. Why? "Because he rips," quoth the Chicken. Rock on my son. Rock on.*

Lastly, overheard in the Sam household this evening:

Teddy Bear: "Chicken come here!"
Chicken: "Yes, father of mine," in a sweet but scary little orphan boy about to murder us all in our sleep way.

*Yes that is ending a sentence in a preposition but I feel that the rule is waived when you are encouraging someone to rock on. It's a cool thing, you wouldn't get it.

Direct Quote

"People get out of the closet, it's getting full!"

~Chicken

And Another Thing...

I have a lot of things on my mind. Some good, some difficult, none indifferent. I apologize for the recent radio silence, sometimes I need to wrap my mind around things before I blog them for the world to read. There are a few topics that I don't feel ready to address, but they are bouncing around the empty space in my noggin and eventually will come out to play. First off, I have a little "business" to discuss. I am in the (lengthy) process of removing all facial pictures from my blog as well as direct references to the city that I call home. I am student teaching for eight weeks and feel that it is inappropriate for the parents of my kids to see my face AND my naked ass if they should find this blog. I felt I was left with the choice of censoring my blog (fuck no!) or removing my face. And Chicken's face. And Teddy Bear's face, etc.

When I am no longer in the classroom my face will (probably) reappear for your amusement/enjoyment. One might ask, "Well Sam, that is all good and well but what about your tattoos? Those tend to identify a person rather easily!" I'm glad you asked, gentle pretend reader. As you might guess, I do not wear clothing in the classroom that displays my tattoos. I do not talk about my tattoos with students or parents. I think I'm good. If you (not pretend gentle reader) feel that I have forgotten something important, just let me know!

For the good news: Teddy Bear and I are going to try to get pregnant next cycle. You might recall that I put getting knocked up on my New Year's resolution list, however I did not discuss the prospect any further. Teddy Bear and I have been talking about it privately and I did not feel comfortable blabbing about it here before we had reached a decision. Which brings me to another thing...

I have always claimed that I do not let the my readership cause me to censor myself. Uh? Wrong! The baby discussion is a HUGE example of self-censorship. Here is a simple equation for you to ponder:

I am 34 years old.
+
I have been off the pill for 6+ months to allow my body to remember how a "normal" cycle works.
+
I have wanted to give Chicken a sibling for a VERY long time.
+
I am finally in a relationship where I feel comfortable saying, "I want a child with this man."
=
The loudest clanging of any biological clock that has ever clanged.

And yes, I understand that I am not the first or only woman to ever lose her collective shit about wanting a baby. However, I have not felt able to blog about it because I didn't want any real-life readers in TB's camp to give him shit/feel sorry for him/suggest heavy sedation for me. Therefore, I have kept most of the crazies bottled up except on those occasions when ovulation made me especially crazy and I bugged the shit out of TB. The logical side of my knew that I am in the middle of school (which ends December '08) and it would be stupid to have a baby now. But! Logic is irrelevant when one's eggs are screaming: "For fuck's sake FERTILIZE ME!!!"

Through careful calculation I arrived at May for the penis-in-vagina without condom date. If I manage to get preggers in the first two cycles I will be out of the first trimester barf-fest in time for the fall semester to start and deliver well past the last day of school. Because everyone knows all about the best laid plans and blah blah I'm not listening.

This all leads to a gentle warning: I will be blogging about Trying To Conceive (TTC). I will NOT discuss actual acts of conception in mind-boggling detail, however I might say casually that we are "trying" in the next five minutes so DON'T FUCKING CALL ME AND INTERRUPT!!! Also, Chicken and I discussed the whole thing (again not in detail-ew!) and he wants to know when we find out that we're pregnant. He's excited but knows that I've miscarried before so there is a goodly chance of a pregnancy not sticking the first or (insert number) time around.

I hope it works. I hope it "takes" the first time around. I hope we get a healthy baby. *crosses fingers* I can't wait to share the experience with my two favorite people, my Chicken and my Teddy Bear.

Post Script: I know that I'm the only one that pays any attention to my labels, but I have added two new ones. Who Am I? is for any post that I removed pictures due to privacy concerns. Baby should be pretty fucking obvious, but is also a warning to any readers that do not want to hear about baby shit.

Fried Chicken

*I am not really here, just passing through, nothing to see. Except for this itty, bitty post.*

Chicken missed a few of his spelling words during a pre-test on Monday. One of the amazing, newfangled, high tech ways that Chicken's Language Arts teacher helps her students to spell new words is to make them write each word in a sentence. Gee, that sounds like something I did in 6th grade. In 1940! (Just kidding! I'm not that old.) Chicken's goal in life is to write as few sentences as possible. The following two are his handiwork:

1. I have never seen a very religious pigeon in a reference book.

2. One of my favorite pastimes is to give under-privileged people preferable occurrences, such as a nice dinner.

Why write 7 sentences when you can get the job done in 2? I'm not advocating creating fucked-up sentences to cut corners, but I do enjoy the way he kludges the sentences together. I mean, who HAS seen a religious pigeon in a reference book lately? Not me!

Random Conversation

When we have company (rarely) the Teddy Bear and the Chicken tend to show off their stuff a bit. Eliza, sitting innocently on the couch eating her Greek salad was not prepared for the onslaught of nastiness this evening. Teddy Bear was instructing Chicken on what to pack for an overnight when the subject of condoms came up. Eliza choked, looked a bit ill, screamed "God-dammit y'all I am from the South," and Chicken deftly proclaimed that "His friend's mother, great-grandmother or three little sisters were not an option." Where I added that condoms were necessary for butt sex as well as the penis-in-vagina type.

Aaaaaaaaannnnnd! Here is my teaching moment:

"Chicken, you need condoms for butt sex as well as sex involving a vagina. Can you tell me why?"

"Because of STD's. And also because you don't want to get shit in your pee hole."

"It is called your urethra, young man," Teddy Bear intones. "If he takes sex ed in school he must use the proper names."

More Sex Ed

"So, we learned about wet dreams today," says Chicken upon arriving at home this glorious afternoon. "They are also called nocturnal....what is the other word? Like a car, oh yeah, emissions. Nocturnal emissions!" exclaims Chicken.

Sex Education

Today Chicken started his sex ed class at school. The boys (they separate the sexes) were provided with a box to put anonymous questions into and Chicken shared his question with me:

"How do you seduce a woman?"

Brain Is Done

I was wading through the Innernets last night when I clicked on a link unintentionally. Immediately I hit "Ctrl Z" in a futile attempt to undo my click. Duh!

Chicken caught me eating a Hershey's chocolate bar yesterday morning before school. He looked at the chocolate, at me guiltily shoving it in my mouth and said, "PMSing, huh?" Fucking kid always has to be right. Asshole.

For those of you wondering what my semester schedule looks like (please just humor me on this one, okay?) here it is in all its glory:

Weeks 1-8
Four days per week in college classroom (part of the day spent tutoring 4th graders)
One day per week in a second-grade class doing Observation and Participation (otherwise known as O&P)

Weeks 9-16
Five days a week in the same second-grade classroom doing Beginning Student Teaching.

Yes, you got that right. A full semester of graduate-level courses in eight weeks. At least I have two weeks off for Spring Break between weeks 9 and 10, and then the WHOLE SUMMER OFF before doing it all over again. The only difference is that the Beginning Student Teaching is replaced by Advanced Student Teaching. And then, sometime in December of 2008 I will be done. Until I get another hare-brained idea and go back to school again.

Eat Mor Chicken

Chicken has the Migo phone from Verizon Wireless and really wants to upgrade to a "big boy" phone. I won't bore you with all the lame details of the fucking clusterfuck that had to take place to make this happen, so let's just say that Teddy Bear had to battle with Verizon about making the upgrade. At one point Teddy Bear strode out to the garage and his voice began to take on the "don't fuck with me tone" that we all know and love. Chicken said:

"When Teddy Bear goes into his man cave, the guy on the other line does not come out."

True that, motherfucker.


*Picture from Blogography.com*

Pecker

Chicken is at the table working on his homework and Teddy Bear stands up and starts to take off his belt. Chicken ignores him, because for some reason in this house we just haven't gotten into that whole beating thing. Next year, I promise! So Teddy Bear says ominously, "There is a reason I'm taking my belt off." Chicken replies, "Yeah, you wanna do hot stuff with my mommy and with your belt on your pecker is all smooshed."

Now, do you correct him because:

• Teddy Bear's pecker is not strapped down by his belt
• Chicken said "pecker"
• Chicken apparently thinks that we're going to head off to the bedroom in the middle of math homework to get our nasty on...

Yeah, I have no clue. I'm tired but holding up mostly and I'd be posting a bit more often if my friends weren't falling the fuck apart left and right. Yes, you should feel guilty. Now feel my boob. Ahhh... much better.

Quote of The Day

It's okay to cuss at video games. They are not alive and they are not insulted.

~Chicken

*Updated: After hearing a rather ribald comedy skit on Sirius radio Chicken mused out loud: "Wouldn't it be cool if women could put bullets and gunpowder up their clams and then use it to shoot people?"

I swear there was a reason he was thinking about all this nonsense. The comedian was talking about men in the military saying "Yay to pussy and gunpowder, something, something" and Chicken was wondering what the lone female on the Navy ship would have to say about THAT and then decided that she should use the pussy and the gunpowder together to KICK ASS all over those rude sexist men that should really know better plus they are probably pussies, anyway. Anyone still wondering if Chicken is really my kid?

*Update #2: Remember that damned kid that was failing two classes earlier this semester and lying, cheating and stealing? Or at least lying about homework? Well today he wanted me to teach him how to calculate his GPA to determine whether he is going to get "honors" this semester. Yep, he's at a 3.4 right now, and 3.0 qualifies him for middle school "honors" the little know-it-all shit.

Guess What?! I'm Back Home!

Chicken has problems with writing and sixth grade is forcing us to do something about it. I have met with his Language Arts teacher and her advice is "He just needs to learn how to do it, you can't graduate from high school without passing the writing exam." So helpful, that one. Because my ultimate goal for my child is to be able to write competently enough to pass a California high school written exam. The pinnacle of achievement there, huh? Chicken describes her as "mediocre" at best.

This teacher, let's call her Mrs. Pelson, okay? Great, I'm glad we're on the same page. Mrs. Pelson understands that Chicken has difficulties in the arena of writing and we (as his parents) are actively pursuing this to get him the help he needs. So when Chicken writes an answer in class that is very short and to the point and Mrs. Pelson holds it up and announces that "someone is a minimalist" in a hurtful manner I get a little bent out of shape. Chicken came home really upset that day and there is going to be some shit flying around the Chicken school fairly soon. What I didn't know was how much my kid's balls have dropped in the last month.

Chicken was assigned to write an essay on The Phantom Tollbooth by Mrs. Pelson, and received 50/50 points on the paper. The title? "Not A Minimalist" Ha ha ha ha. I love that kid. I have included the essay below as an example of what he can do when he is able to get the words in his brain down on paper. I bolded a few sentences that made me chuckle. Chicken really is my kid.

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The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Jester is both a book and a movie. It is a very unique book in the way that Milo, the main character, Tock, and other people in the plot help to convey the main idea; you will never amount to anything without a proper education. If you are one of those people who thinks that the book is always better than the movie, I would normally say, "It depends." In this case the book is 100 percent better. Now this is really saying something because the book itself makes me want to hide under my bed; the movie makes me wish that people had still been half-evolved chimps in the 1970's. Even those idiotic primates could have done it better. Sadly, it is very true.

Gladly the book is different from the movie. For example, Milo doesn't meet Officer Shrift until he reaches Dictionopolis. In addition, Tock's clock is clearly visible, not obscured by layers of fat. Another difference is that the Valley of Sound is only featured in the book. The book also doesn't make me feel a sudden urge to shove my head down a toilet bowl.

The movie was also different like how they never mention a character by the name of RAUW. One more thing is that the video has a cheesy theme song. The book, just like every other one, does not. Milo also has a friend that he talks to shortly before going to Wisdom. The original story doesn't feature that poor little boy.

Yes, there are things that they have in common. Not many, but a few. For example, Humbug told the Spelling Bee to spell "balderdash." In both stories they do mention my favorite character the Dodecahedron. A dodecahedron is a twelve-sided mathematical shape. Also, letters grow in orchards in Dictionopolis. This is unfortunately the end of this paper, because I feel that this paper already has enough commentary.

Fucking Chicken

I was talking to Teddy Bear on Gmail chat today and he said that Chicken's earthquake building was completed and sent to school today. Chicken's science class was doing a segment on earthquakes and the students had to attempt to create buildings that were earthquake proof. Chicken named his building:

"Yule Soone Dye"

My kid rocks.

Good Morning

It is a rainy day. Chicken got home rather late last night from his Yuletide/Christmas/Churchy Play practice so I didn't make him take a shower. This morning I didn't want Chicken to wash his hair because I am not blow-drying the kid's hair at 7am and he kind of sucks at the blow dryer thing. (I swear this is going somewhere) I recommended that he put his hair in a pony tail and use my sexy-assed shower cap. So, I ask him to take off his shirt so I could help with the shower cap usage. He refused. I asked again. He refused. I patiently explained that if he put the shower cap on and THEN took off his shirt his shower cap would come off with it. He fidgeted. OMG!!

"Chicken, do you have morning wood?"

"Yes, " he replied in the most embarrassed voice ever.

"OMG. How about I show you how to put the shower cap on, you go into the bathroom and take care of it all by yourself?"

"That sounds like a good idea, " he sees a suspicious gleam in my eye. "Oh no. You aren't going to blog this, are you?"

"Of course I am," I reply cheerily.

Santa Claus

Chicken and I were in The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf the other day when a holiday song started to play. It was "Santa Baby" sung by the Pussycat Dolls if my Googling fingers are correct. If you do not know the song, it is a rather suggestive song that sounds as if the Pussycat Dolls are greatly interested in sitting on Santa's lap and talking about what pops up. This fact was not lost on my eleven year-old, and an outraged tirade quickly spewed forth from his filthy, nasty lips:

"Oh. My. God. You do NOT fuck Santa. Santa is a nice old man that brings you presents. You are NOT supposed to FUCK him. He climbs down your chimney, not into your fucking vagina you stupid slut. Oh. My. God. No one fucks Santa. No one."

And yes, I tolerate occasional outbursts from the Chicken. Even ones that contains very bad words, because I firmly believe that words only hold the power that you give them. Also, his ass is totally grounded if he cusses around his grandparents, his teachers, church, etc. He must filter that mouth before he kisses his mother with it.

Anyway, doesn't he have a point there? Santa is jolly and bowl full of jelly in the songs that I remember as a child. Santa definitely does not have a penis. Or balls. Nope, not my Santa.

And furthermore, don't remind me that the song is a remake of a song that was originally aired well before my time. I don't care. Santa = nice. Santa (where's the symbol for not equal when you need it?) DOES NOT = horny pervert. Don't fuck up my Santa like that for goodness sake.

Why Is The Peacock Green?

Hi. I am drunk. Drunk and blogging and soon to hit the "Publish" button. So now is my time to type all the things that I would not be inclined to say sober. Or ever. Here is my list:

1. The NBC peacock logo thingy? It is green. All green. What the fuck is that about?
2. I have a new friend. Like, I actually talk to her on the phone friend. One of my in real life friends said "What the fuck? You are too sick to deal with the friends you have. Why would you go and make another friend?" To which I said, "She lives in another state. It requires not physical effort to be her friend." Unless, of course, you count the fact that I am flying to see her this summer be damned the costs.
3. Fuck. Stupid Teddy Bear interrupted my train of drunken thought and now I forgot what I was going to blog next. OH! I remember!
4. I found out tonight that my husband does not know how to type. I mean, he can type, and with the quickness, but not PROPERLY. He wanders across the keyboard like a drunken Sam. Me. Ha!
5. A friend of Teddy Bear's and his fiance (congrats!) are getting married. Duh, hence the fiance thing. Well, we have a problem. See, the friend is also friends with H3.2. Remember him? He is still nursing his wounds from the breakup of Summer 06 and cannot bear the thought of me or TB. And we are all invited. So, I decided that in the best interest of myself, that I should look DAMN FUCKING HOT at the wedding. Chicken and Teddy Bear thought that I should stuff my bra to look extra buxom. Ha!
6. My Chicken is failing his Advisement class. AKA homeroom. And Language Arts. He is actually failing just about every class when it comes to his homework grade. And he hid his report card for a month. Luckily (I think) he is super smart and with his test/classwork scores he averages out to a B or B+. But the lying? And hiding? My God I think I have a middle-schooler on my hands. And it is taking all the energy I have. Which is fabulous birth control. I am exhausted.
7. The Chicken. It requires two numbers because he is making me crazy. And I grounded the shit out of him. And he is making up every assignment regardless of the credit his teachers give him. I do not trust him anymore and I am so sad. Growing up sucks.
8. My arm is fucking killing me from holding it up to type and TB wants to watch Scrubs. I am having a horrible body week. I want a new body.
9. I don't appreciate TB enough. He is so kind and takes care of me and wonderful and loves me and I am grateful but I don't ACT grateful and I should. I think this whole "married three times" thing is working. The third time. I love my husband.
10. Yes, I totally love my husband. It should be its own number.

~Sam

Update

Although I'm still mostly stuck in the house due to poor air quality outside and the Chicken's school is canceled until at least Monday, the fire danger seems to have passed. Thank goodness! More posting when the sun rises.

Penis

I was hanging out over at Monkey's place and I read about this link. I thought to myself, "Self, this is a good teaching moment for the Chicken. We can talk about The Penis and The Foreskin! Chicken will be able to see that The Penis comes in all shapes and sizes! How fabulous!" When Chicken came home we went through the website and there are some things that happened/were said by my Chicken that I cannot even publish OMG. There was a blogable moment, however, when Chicken said, "Okay I get it! (In that impatient, please shut up now voice) What, did you think I was going to be racist about penises?" I guess he's not insecure, then, huh?

What The Bloody Hell?

My Teddy Bear just walked up to me and said, "I just crapped out 1.4 pounds of unhappiness," which is not exactly why I finally bought a bathroom scale today.

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Some time ago, Chicken and I were doing an overhaul of his room during a time when his room was upstairs and everything else was downstairs. I was sweaty, exhausted and in some serious pain. I asked Chicken to bring me my bottle of Vicodin and a glass of ice water, heavy on the ice. He brought back the Vicodin, sitting neatly on a glass full of ice and said, "Here's your Vicodin on the rocks, ma'am."

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I survived Chicken's birthday, and thank you for all the birthday comments and the birthday card. Jeremy sent Chicken an Ecard to my email address (samsstories@gmail.com) and I forwarded it to my boy. Without opening it first. Either I am totally trusting of Jeremy's noble intentions because he is a great guy or I am the worst mother ever. Either way, what doesn't kill him makes him stronger, right?

For the day of Chicken's birth we had a small party at the house with cake and ice cream. I wanted to do something simple that the grandparents could enjoy while not having a completely crazy overdone affair. Anyone can deal with six middle school boys for an hour, right? Ohmyfuckinggawd. How Redneck Diva did it ALL night I have no idea but the boys had so much fun there was blood involved. They were playing tag in the backyard and one boy ate the rose bush with his back. Ouch. I truly believe that having all the boys over for a slumber party would have been the death of me.

On Saturday one of Chicken's friends from San Diego came up and the four of us went to Magic Mountain aka King's Dominion for my East Coast/Midwest friends. The kids had a blast, and we made it through the day alive. Returning home, the two monsters played until we pulled them apart and sent one to the living room to sleep. Did I mention the friend is a girl? Yep, Chicken and his friend that is a girl had a sleepover. I slept in the living room in a sleeping bag as well, just to be prudent. Although Chicken doesn't like girls yet I'm not a total moron. Just a partial moron.

Cue the cats racing around the living room like the fucking possessed fucking freaks that they are. As I normally sleep in my bed (located in my bedroom, duh!) I have no idea if the cats always do this or just when I sleep on the floor in the middle of the living room. I fucking hated those cats. And then I shut them both in the master bedroom with Teddy Bear. HA!

So, I'm alive, Chicken is 11 and midterms are over at last. I shall begin posting more frequently. Maybe. I also have pictures from all the festivities and will try to post them in the next few days.

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Depending on the extent of the local fires, you may or may not see the news coverage in your area. At this point, I am far enough away from all of the fires in Southern California to be safe from actual flames, but not so far away that I am safe from the smoke. I am holed up inside with everything shut and the hepa filter thingy going full blast while sucking on my inhaler and hoping I don't end up in frickin' urgent care. Stupid smoke.

Chicken's Birthday

Okay people, listen the fuck up. Today is Chicken's 11th birthday and I fully expect MANY FRIGGIN' COMMENTS saying "Happy Birthday" and such. Got it? Now MOVE MUTHERFUCKERS!

New House

(picture removed)
Remember how I moved (September 1st) and you asked for pictures and I said "yes" and then I promptly forgot to post them? Sorry! Here is a snapshot that Chicken took of me the morning of the move. Yes, it's not the best picture of me or the house, but LOOK! house! whee!

The wall behind me that looks yellow IS yellow but not THAT yellow. If you know what I mean. Also, Jeremy commented about me posting on topics that don't really move people to chime in and talk about stuff. Any topics that I should babble about? More pictures, road trips, school, penises (peni?), the big ole hairy vagina I saw one day in the locker room at the gym? I'm having trouble thinking with all the damn writing I am doing for school. Gah, the writing about feelings and teaching and learners and curriculum and culture and diversity and bah.

OMFG. Teddy Bear just walked up to me after farting and he trailed the shit (not literal shit, just the smell of it, fresh and rotting. Can things be fresh and rotting at the same time?) and STINKS Oh Lordy STENCH, I'm dying here. Fuck (I just had to put one "fuck" in there for good measure).

Asshole

Chicken gets a lot of shit at school for the long hair + cutesy looks thing. I keep telling him to just grow a fucking beard for fucks sake but he won't listen. Damn kids. One of his schoolmates (a 7th-grader) calls him a girl. Chicken disagrees vehemently, so the 7th-grader retorts:

"Looks like a girl, talks like a girl, acts like a girl, so must be a girl!"

Chicken counters with:

"Looks like an asshole, talks like an asshole, acts like an asshole, so I guess that makes you an asshole, huh?"

The 7th-grader shuts the fuck up. Yeah, that's my boy.

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On another, more somber note...what the fuck is up with the comments, people? Or should I say, lack of comments? Because I feel like I'm playing with myself here, and if I'm playing with myself, why do I feel bad when I neglect you guys? I'm not sure what my point is, I'll post whether or not there are comments, but sometimes, a little love would be nice. Just a little.