Monday I had the wonderful experience of hearing people talk about me, unaware I could hear, and they said very nice things. It was a fantastic way to start the week. I even posted it on Facebook, I thought it was so cool. It was followed up by many of my friends saying other nice things.
I honestly didn't post it to get comments (thank you for those of you who did say nice things), I simply wanted to share one of those "Wow" moments. I had been to the doctor's office and he told the new nurse, outside the door, how much he enjoyed when I came in because I was always so upbeat, funny and positive.
Here's the scoop folks...
I ain't always so nice.
Not even close.
And my kids, not perfect. Well, they are pretty spectacular- it's more my parenting, not great.
While I don't post too many negative comments on FB (but again, let me thank those of you who do air your dirty laundry online-- it's like watching a car accident- I can't look away), my life is not always sunny.
For instance, right now, I have a giant bandage on my stomach. I burned it. How?
I was making fish stock, of course!
Isn't that normal?
With my new, fabulous multi-cooker.
We had lobster tails and shrimp for dinner (don't be too impressed- they were the tiny, frozen ones, $4.50 each at Albertson's last week). I steamed them in the wonderful multicooker. With the leftover water I thought I would make stock. Fish stock is one of those things that I sometimes need. The recipes usually say "Use fish or chicken stock." You can't buy it. It really does make seafood dishes taste better.
ANYHOW, I threw in some celery, some onions, some carrots, some additional water, all the shells, some seasonings, let it cook for a few hours- smelled great. I THOUGHT I had let it cool enough to pour it through the colander.
Oops. My bad.
It hit one of the little lobster tails and circled back and landed on my stomach.
And burned the sh*t out of it.
It hurt a great deal.
I couldn't scream because I would have dropped the remaining stock and caused more damage. Oddly, I was concerned about breaking the crock.
It also smelled really good (the stock, not my burning flesh) and I didn't want to waste it.
So, a few minutes later, I sat down on the couch with the hubby who thought I was exaggerating, and said "I just burned the sh*t out of my stomach." He grunted or something.
I pulled up my shirt to see how bad it was, it was already blistering. This caused him concern. He suggested that I maybe go to the ER. I told I would slap some antibiotic ointment on it, a band aid and if it looked scarier the next day, I would do something else. I should also point out it was Friday. I only get sick on Friday's after 2 pm. Too late to see my real doctor and I'm not willing to risk going to whoever is at the quick care on a Friday night. Besides, I knew I was going to see the plastic surgeon soon and he would help me out.
Having a FB update "Just burned my fat gut making fish stock" seemed inappropriate.
The good part of it, if I had my old boobs, I probably would have fried my nips. Or, if I was thinner, I would have burned my hoohaw. Thank goodness my big fat gut was there to stop it!
This is why my surgeon was laughing.
I mean, seriously, who on earth gets second degree burns on their stomach making fish stock?
And then I tripped my daughter with the broken leg.
When she was about 2, she started this IRRITATING habit which we referred to as "noodle arm." We would be walking, holding hands, and she would drop like a rag doll to the floor, no notice or forewarning. She thought this was HYSTERICALLY funny.
It wasn't. It actually hurts and makes you trip.
So flash ahead three years, and for whatever reason, she decides to start lunging, no notice or forewarning, and go dead weight.
It is very annoying.
It is also very heavy when she has on a giant, walking cast.
Especially when it's unexpected.
You know that team building exercise when everyone catches someone falling backwards? Imagine that game, but the rest of the team has no idea when the person is falling. Say, perhaps, it's while they are out grocery shopping and Bill from Accounting just decides to fall backwards... that's what it was like.
So we were leaving The Red Velvet Cafe (awesome restaurant), I had on sweatpants (because I'm so glamorous), and I feel this heaving object come from behind and grab on to my waistband and start pulling my pants down.
I naturally yell and shove.
I shoved my daughter with the broken leg into a small table.
I swear, it was a kneejerk reaction.
But, of course, I'm pissed that she tried to pull down my pants. So I'm yelling at her as she falls into a chair.
I completely and totally suck.
My husband's expression was one of "My Wife Has Lost Her Marbles."
Keep in mind, for about 3 days, I had been dodging "Zoe bombs."
The couple at the table that she crashed into gave me that "You Are Going to Burn in Hell" look.
Ooops. Facebook status: "Took out my 5 year old daughter with a broken leg in public."
I swear, it really was an instinctive reaction. She was behind me. I didn't see her.
This is right up there when I accidentally kicked Skip when he was two. I was working at my computer and he snuck up and pinched my leg. I reactively kicked him, thinking it was a bug biting me.
Oops. Facebook status: "Thought my son was a bug, so I kicked him."
And I've stepped on my poor, old dog more than once. This week. And been less than comforting when I pick up his poop that he has a hard time controlling but really tries.
Facebook status: "I think I broke my partially paralyzed dogs back leg."
And my son Skip who is very smart is going through a Cliff Clavin phase. Wow. THAT's annoying. I've lost it more than once with him in the past 2 weeks.
Facebook status: "I'm going to b*tchslap my son if he doesn't stop yammering facts about robotics."
And my fabulously creative daughter interrupts almost non-stop these days with "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom... well great, now I forgot what I was going to say and it's all your fault."
Facebook status: "Will my daughter ever shut up?"
And she has also taken to saying "Oh my God!" which makes me completely nuts and I don't find remotely cute coming out of her mouth every 5 minutes at Target (blame it on the residual Catholic in me-- I just don't like messing with the Big Guy).
Facebook status: "My daughter is using the Lord's name in vain to express her love of shiny, pink shoes."
And Skip has been bugging us about where we hid his birthday gift so much that I'm about ready to ship the freaking thing back.
Facebook status: "Just shattered my son's new robotics kit with a sledgehammer."
And my husband and I are bickering about too many activities for my son who NEVER QUITS ANYTHING. A wonderful trait. I suppose.
Facebook status: "I hope my kids suck at (insert activity) so I don't have to keep driving them to practice/class."
And the list goes on. None an appropriate Facebook status update.
So this is me. Giant bandage on my stomach (by the way, the doctor said to put antibiotic ointment on it and keep it covered), ingrown chin hairs manifesting by the minute, frizzy hair out of control from the humidity, counting my stupid Weight Watchers points, and blogging in my sweats.
Don't you wish you were me?
But chances are, if you read this, it's probably because you are a lot like me.
This is my real life. Not always sitcom worthy. Often imperfect.
And I love it.
Facebook status: "I'm really very happy."