A Juni-ism I just have to Share

Yesterday afternoon Juni got a mad splinter in his heel. This thing was one for the record books. I'm sure it hurt. And of course it took 2 hours and a lot of bribery for him to let Jasen finally dig it out. Before Jasen removed the infamous splinter, Juni had a hard time hobbling around the house...

Mommy...I need a crotch.
A crotch? Really?
Yep. A crotch. (Juni then grabs is stick horse, turns in on its head, and begins using it as what we would call a crUtch.) See? I need crotches. I need lots of crotches, Mommy.

My sister was there picking up Evie. First thing out of her mouth? "Yep, Juni. So does your Daddy."

Zoo Boo: Fantastic and Craptastic, all wrapped into one

Last week Jasen said he wanted to take Juni to Disney World some day. After our outing at the Zoo Boo today, I'm beginning to think we may not be the Disney type of family. Here's why:

We waited to get into the parking lot for 20 minutes and bitched the entire time. What we didn't realize was that the parking lot was full. People were parking in the field and walking to the zoo. We're not a fan of crowds. Or lines. The day was not looking good.

We faced a 10-minute walk to the entrance gates. Within 30 seconds I stumbled into a hole and tweaked my back.. Lovely.

We waited in line to get tickets. More bitching. But Juni and Evie danced in circles the whole time.

We waited for the costume contest, and, you guessed it, more bitching. At this point Juni had grown tired of his tractor costume and decided to join the bitch-fest. We'd brought a wagon, thinking we could pull him in his costume. Nope. Juni didn't win the contest, started to cry, and I realized the judges couldn't even see him with the fat-ass standing in front of us.
I have a confession: I may have wanted to win the contest more than Juni. I'm an adult, I can see my faults. Ridiculous competitiveness is one of them. And I still believe Juni's costume totally rocked out more than the mailbox that won. Seriously...a mailbox?

We decided to see the zoo. With Juni in the wagon, and me toting an over sized Case International tractor costume made out of multiple cardboard boxes and four rolls of duct tape. Was it cumbersome? Absofrigginlutely. Was it light? Nope.

Juni spilled his juice in his wagon and sat in it. Lucky for us he really didn't care that his left butt cheek was soaked in red sugar water.

Jasen pulled Juni in the wagon most of the time. At one point, he turned around, began walking and made roadkill out of Evie, Juni's (almost) 2-year-old cousin. She wasn't hurt, so we all laughed. Of course Evie cried out of embarrassment. And Jasen grovelled to get back into her good graces.

Juni wanted to go on the train ride. Of course we had to wait 40 minutes. At this point Jasen was so over the situation that he hiked back to the car. And called 23 times wondering why it was taking us so long. After the 2 minute train ride, Juni and I headed to the front gates.

Of course Jasen couldn't pick us up in front, so we started walking. Less than 100 yards from the zoo, Juni announced he had to pee. Bad. I laughed. I couldn't help it. My feet were aching from my boots (part of my cowgirl costume), I had a headache, I was starving, and just generally whipped. We made it to the car and made an emergency stop at Wendy's.

We hit more traffic in Norfolk and, yep...more bitching. I decided I needed Skinny Dip frozen yogurt. But here's the thing about dressing up with your kid. If they decide to ditch their costume, you're left looking like an idiot dressed like a cowgirl with pigtails in her hair. Wonderful.

I got home, cut the grass and began renovations on Juni's costume. I basically had to cut the thing in half, take out some width and length, and use another roll of duct tape to put it back together. I actually liquid-nailed the wheels to the side. At this point I don't care how tired Juni gets tomorrow night. He's wearing the friggin costume. I don't care if I have to hog-tie the kid into his wagon and pull him myself up and down the streets. He's wearing the costume.

I realized we truly are not the Disney type of family when my sister Cece made an observation about my Redneck husband and I. She said we were fine apart. Laughing about the crowds and people not watching where they were walking. But once you put the two of us within spitting distance, we fed off of the other's frustration.

The thing is, the day wasn't that bad. Sure, we waited around. And sure, I could not have possible made a larger costume for Juni (as Jasen pointed out continuously the entire day). But all-in-all, Juni and Evie had a blast. They danced, smiled and played.
Jasen asked why anyone would enjoy something like the Zoo Boo. My answer was simple: Because their kids enjoyed it. And that's really what it's all about. The smiles on Juni's face. And hopefully, that's what we'll get tomorrow night. As long as he wears the friggin tractor costume, I'm all good.

My Finger-in-the-Cheesegrater Story

It's seven years ago. Jasen and I are newly married, and I'm still in that perfect wife mode. Our friend David was over for dinner, and they guys were in the garage drinking beer.
I decided to make a carrot cake. From scratch. I know. Ambitious. But keep in mind, this is before Juni.
The batter is made, the oven is preheated and it's time for the carrots. I pull out the oldschool cow bell-shaped contraption, and get to some serious carrot grating. Unfortunately, I tend to not pay complete attention while I'm cooking. Knives are constantly slipping and I'm always burning myself. On this particular night, it was my index finger versus the grater.
The wedding gift grater pulled my finger in so far that the skin literally became lodged in its razor-sharp holes. I was stunned. I couldn't get my finger out. Shards of thick, clear skin were peeking through the underside of the grater.
I ran to the garage door and told Jasen, completely calm, that my finger was stuck in the grater. And then I looked down to see the trail of blood and steady flow of bright red drops plopping on my newly mopped white kitchen floor. It was like a scene out of Dexter.
David pulled my finger out while Jasen help my arms steady. I made it to the bathroom before turning pasty white and dizzy. I remember running water over my finger and seeing the skin fall through the grater.
And then I tumbled to the floor. The next thing I remember is Jasen wrapping my finger and holding a cold cloth to my forehead. I have no idea who cleaned up the blood, but I'm pretty sure David cleaned the grater and finished the carrot cake.
It was a damn good cake, considering the circumstances. The grater met its final destination in the trash bin the next day. I am definitely not the type of person who can be left alone with sharp instruments.

Up at 4:45 am because of the Fire Alarm

I despise our smoke detectors. I realize they serve a very important purpose. Jasen's childhood home burned to the ground because its renters drank a case of beer and left the grill on while they made a run to 7-11. But despite their purpose, our smoke detectors drain 9v batteries, and only beep that ear-piecing ring signaling a dead or dying battery in the middle of the night. Of course I never remember to stock 9v batteries since the detectors are the only devices that use them, and we end up listening to the beep for half a day. I thought that was bad. Until yesterday morning.

The smoke detectors went off full force.At 4:45 a.m That's right. It was still dark outside. I woke up immediately, and gave Jasen a swift slap to the side to wake him up. The alarms screeched for about 30 seconds and then stopped. Huh. We still can't decide if it was one or all of the alarms, but at 4:45 a.m. it not only doesn't matter where that sound is coming from, but I also did not possess the consciousness to differentiate between such possible origins.
Both of us sat straight up in bed and began to climb out just as the alarms quieted. Curious. They beep once every 10 minutes when the battery is weak. And if there was a fire, you'd think they'd scream for more than a half-minute, considering the repercussions. After a few minutes of debating its source and reason, the alarms sounded again.
This time, Jasen popped out of bed and began to walk toward the bedroom door. They stopped again. Jasen, naked as a jaybird, now stands underneath the fire alarm, his hair standing straight on end, eyes bloodshot, and the sound of his stubby fingernails dragging across his hairy legs as he scratched himself irritating my ears like wet sandpaper to skin.
I couldn't help but laugh. It really was a sight. A sight to see, now that's debatable. But nonetheless a sight. Jasen peeked in Juni's bedroom and found him still sleeping soundly. He then tapped the guest bedroom doorknob (like they teach you in elementary school) to see if it was hot. I keep this door strategically closed because inside lays a massive disaster of crafts in progress.
The alarms keep going off every few minutes. Jasen pulls on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, trudges downstairs and checks every room and the outside perimeter of the house. There is definitely an absence of fire. I'm laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face when I point to the attic.
Jasen stomps outside to get the ladder, waking Juni into a terrified screaming fit. The only thing I could think to do for him was to cover his ears with my Hokies ear warmers to muffle the sound. He's now yelling "Daddy! Don't get burned in dat attic! Dem loud fings say there's a fire!"
So now Juni is wearing earmuffs and yelling about his Daddy burning in a fire, Jasen is flipping through the fire detector instruction manuals, and I'm asking if we should call the fire department. I realize there's no fire, but I also realize these alarms are hellbent on ruining my morning and I'm honestly out of options and ideas at this point.
And then the noise stops. Just like that. Crisis over. Charred remnants of house averted. The alarms blasted one more time at 8:45 a.m. and Jasen changed the batteries that afternoon. They've been silent ever since. But I still bought 16 9v batteries at Home Depot. Just in case.

The $1600 Duck

My husband owns the reputation of driving incredibly slow. I'm sure that's partly due to his vehicle - an F450 dual-wheeled, diesel, extended cab, flatbed truck. It's basically a tow truck with a full backseat. Doesn't get much slower than that. But it's also due to the fact that my husband is a tight-ass. He doesn't want to spend his money on anything intangible. Which I tend to agree with.
Jasen rarely gets speeding tickets, and I don't think he's ever had an accident. I, on the other hand, have dings along my car and have racked up a few tickets through the years.
But the $1600 hunting ticket my husband and brother-in-law both received a few years back wipes the slate clean. Even at two speeding tickets a year, It'll take me a good 5 years until he can bitch. And that's not happening any time soon, especially considering the $200 I just paid for him speeding back to work last month.

Jasen insists on keeping a gun cabinet filled wit shotguns in the living room. I hardly remember it's there anymore. Neither do I think about the gun propped next to our bed. Jasen rarely shoots anything. He began to think twice about hunting after he shot a raccoon in our barn, and then noticed her babies. He came into the house that night with tears in his eyes. He'll shoot an aggressive snake or annoying bird periodically, but beyond that he's relatively docile. And I am simply not a gun person. They scare the hell out of me. And I'm fairly certain that if I ever did decide to shoot a snake on my own I'd end up with one less toe.
For whatever reason, he and my sister's husband decided to go bird hunting last fall. Of course neither of them thought to actually buy a hunting license. Or the federal bird stamps. Or the lead-free bullets. Or check to make sure their guns were up to code.
He and Jamie drove to a friend's farm and proceeded "to shoot at everything that flew by," as Jasen explained. They killed a few ducks, two geese, and then realized the game warden truck at the end of the dirt path near Jasen's truck. Not good.
My brother-in-law took his spanking like a man. My redneck husband, on the other hand, apparently chucked his gun in the ditch and turned around. This did not please the game warden. Again, not good.
It's important at this point to explain my impression of some game wardens. They think they're badass. They're like animal control, with guns. Barney Fife would be proud.
This particular game warden decided to smack my husband with every charge he could render. Hunting without a license. Hunting without a federal duck stamp. No plug in the gun (Jasen decided to take that out for some reason), and using lead shot. Brilliant.
In addition to the charges, the game warden decided to subpoena Jasen to court. In Richmond. On a weekday. All because he chucked his gun in the ditch, and I'm sure used some choice words to describe his impression of Mr. Fife.
Jasen missed the class on temper control, so it was up to me to get him out of the court appearance. I'd rather pay the fine than pay the bail. I called the Virginia Department of Hunting and Fishing to get the whole story. The warden wrote in his report that Jasen ran from police.
Ummm...yeah. Again, something else important to note. My husband does not run. Under any circumstances. I've seen him walk through a hurricane, walk to the house when I was in labor, and walk to me when I got my finger stuck in the cheese grater.
I explained this to the prosecutor. I also explained that my husband and brother-in-law do not possess the best judgement when together. And that he probably did give the game warden lip. And that I would punish his crime with more vigor than any judge in Richmond.
The prosecutor agreed. He signed off and allowed me to pay the fines without Jasen appearing in court.
The $1600 ticket is well worth the price. Unless I find myself in a high-speed chase with the police, it's pretty unlikely I will ever rack up enough moving violations to compete with the 45 minute hunting trip.
The ticket makes for a wonderful ace in my pocket. And with a husband like Jasen, that's priceless. And just in case you're wondering...no, we did not have duck or goose for dinner. The game warden, I'm assuming, did. I hope he chipped his tooth on a nice leaded shot.

Dr's Orders

I love my psychiatrist. He gets me. He's a tall, fat, balding older man who has seen and heard everything, and nothing I say or think could ever surprise him. He literally yawns at least 10 times during out sessions. Which only last about 15 minutes.
During the last visit he asked about my marriage, and I mentioned that, like all couples married for more than 23 days the romance was a bit lacking. Our sex life is wonderful, our child is wonderful, our life is wonderful. But I said I'd like to be wooed every now and then. He laughed. And then he gave me advice:
Dr. Y "Well, every marriage is different. Men, in general, are not big into romance. They're visual. But, if you give him a bit more of what he wants, odds are he'll be more willing to give you what you need."
Me "Okay."
Dr. Y "Some couples have a night where one goes to the male strip bar, and the other goes to the tittie bar. (yes, my highly respected, expert-in-his-field doctor said tittie. I'm blushing just writing the word, and I'm sure my mom is, too). It's imperative to have boundaries, but that can spice things up a bit."
Me "Ummm. Yeah. that's not gonna happen. No way do I want my husband looking at perfect women and then coming home to me."
Dr. Y "Well, that kind of thing isn't for everyone. What about a trip together to that store, Banana Boat?"
Me "Ummm, yeah. I'm thinking you mean the Pink Banana? You've met my husband. He's a redneck, remember? Not really his kind of place."
Dr. Y "Understandable. What about spontaneity? Pop in a movie for the kid and invite him into the shower."
Me "Okay. That may actually be do-able. I'll give that one a try. Thanks for the advice. And can we never talk about tits again? I think my cheeks are going to catch fire."

So...tonight was the night. Juni was watching Tom and Jerry. I'm taking a shower, and Jasen pops his head in to see how long I was going to be.
Me "Not much longer. Wanna join me?" Jasen "Are you serious? Hell yeah!" It's not like this is the first co-shower we've taken. But since we've have a child, things change.
He tried to get out of his boots and pants so fast he almost fell on the bathroom floor and broke his nose. After what happened next, that may have been the better route. He gets in the shower, wets his hair, and then blows his nose. In his hands. You may need read that again. He BLEW HIS NOSE. IN HIS HANDS.
Let me make this perfectly clear. Jasen blowing his nose sounds like a goose being goosed. And showers echo. There are literally snot rockets flying through the air, landing on the tile. Dripping from his fingers. And I'm sure in my hair. And he's smiling. Proud and what his nose has produced, I'm sure.
I say "are you friggin kidding me? What the hell, man? This is supposed to be sexy! And you're friggin snotting on me? Seriously. If you ever do that again...I don't even know what I'll do. Vomit, probably."
He replies "But babe, that's what I do in the shower! I have to clean out both sides." "Yes, honey, I realize this. I have to scrape your buggers off of the tiles every morning. Thanks for that, by the way. But don't you think it's possible to break the routine for one night? I mean, seriously, honey. Snot in the shower? Really? I'm a woman. not a tissue."
Before I can finish my thought, he's emptying the other nostril. Snot rockets abound. I'm dumbfounded. And pissed. "Okay. Seriously, Jasen. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I was dried and dressed 39 seconds later. Spontaneity my ass.