Happy Birthday!

Today is my husband's birthday. I won't tell you which one, just to say that he is well over 30. Actually, he is over 40, but we won't talk about that. Anyway, we don't celebrate big here, but we do celebrate well.

I picked up some steaks, steak fries, a cake, chips, corn on the cob, salad fixings, and the makings for some killer banana splits. We fired up the grill and cooked away. When we had all eaten our fill we cut the cake and poured down banana splits. Actually, I just had the ice cream and toppings because I don't like banana splits, but my husband does, which is why we had them.

Another thing we had that I don't like is sauteed mushrooms. I consider mushrooms to be fungus, which they are, and I don't eat fungus. I also don't eat mold, which is closely related to fungus. Most people would consider not eating mold to be normal, but they act like I'm demented for not eating fungus. Go figure. But, we had sauteed fungus for my husband since on one's birthday one should eat what one likes. At least I think so.

We had a couple of extra kids hanging around, not an unusual occurence, so I was concerned about the corn on the cob. I didn't buy enough for everyone, which was stupid of me because I should have known that neighbor kids have radar for good dinner nights. I skipped the corn and asked my husband if he minded skipping the corn too so there would be enough. Silly me. They didn't want corn. They wanted steak and french fries. The end result was that my husband got corn, so he was extra happy. Thankfully I bought enough steaks, thinking we could use the leftovers for another meal like steak fried rice or something. Leftovers? Did I say leftovers? I fed seven people tonight. What leftovers??

Oh Crap!

I can't believe I am going to write about this, but I am looking at it as a public service message. Perhaps someone else has gone through the same thing and will feel better knowing they have a comrade in arms, or in pants. Whatever. So here's the story.

The other night my husband and I went out to eat with some friends because we had just seen our oldest off to boot camp and I was depressed. My stomach had been in knots all day, due to the stress of losing my baby. Okay, so he's 18! He's still a baby to me. Anyway, after the meal we had to stop off at the grocery store to get some of the staples of life, (bread, milk, coffee).

While we were in the store I felt the unmistakable signs of impending diarrhea. I clamped my cheeks together to buy me enough time to get to the potty and feigned interest in the ice cream. As soon as I felt it was safe I shoved the items in my husband's arm's and raced off for the bathroom. Sadly, I didn't race fast enough. Yes, I crapped my pants.

I got to the bathroom and assessed the damage. It was bad. I was wearing brown pants, which was good, but there was a large wet spot all up the back. I tried to focus on the postive and was grateful I hadn't changed into a skirt. Then it would have splashed on the floor, which would have been really gross.

I cleaned up as best I could and looked in the mirror. It looked like I had peed my pants. Very obvious. What I needed to do was get the whole thing wet so you couldn't see the bad spot, but how? I couldn't very well stand at the sink in my crappy underwear rinsing out my pants, so I did the next best thing. I went into a stall and shoved my pants into the toilet, twisting them to get most of the water out. Gross, I know. Thankfully they were a thin polyester so they didn't really look wet, just darker.

I went back to my husband who shouted half way across the store, "What took you so long??" I couldn't very well tell him the truth so I just said quietly, "I had diarrhea." Ah, the murmurings of love! We paid and went out to the car, me sitting as close to the door as I could get. Thankfully it was a nice night so we drove with the windows down, otherwise the slight odor clinging to me would have given me away.

As soon as we got home I beelined to the bathroom, locking the door and lunging into the shower where I rinsed my clothes out and washed myself off twice. So there is my embarrassing story. I sincerely hope I am not the only person that has ever happened to.

Oh Crap!

I can't believe I am going to write about this, but I am looking at it as a public service message. Perhaps someone else has gone through the same thing and will feel better knowing they have a comrade in arms, or in pants. Whatever. So here's the story.

The other night my husband and I went out to eat with some friends because we had just seen our oldest off to boot camp and I was depressed. My stomach had been in knots all day, due to the stress of losing my baby. Okay, so he's 18! He's still a baby to me. Anyway, after the meal we had to stop off at the grocery store to get some of the staples of life, (bread, milk, coffee).

While we were in the store I felt the unmistakable signs of impending diarrhea. I clamped my cheeks together to buy me enough time to get to the potty and feigned interest in the ice cream. As soon as I felt it was safe I shoved the items in my husband's arm's and raced off for the bathroom. Sadly, I didn't race fast enough. Yes, I crapped my pants.

I got to the bathroom and assessed the damage. It was bad. I was wearing brown pants, which was good, but there was a large wet spot all up the back. I tried to focus on the postive and was grateful I hadn't changed into a skirt. Then it would have splashed on the floor, which would have been really gross.

I cleaned up as best I could and looked in the mirror. It looked like I had peed my pants. Very obvious. What I needed to do was get the whole thing wet so you couldn't see the bad spot, but how? I couldn't very well stand at the sink in my crappy underwear rinsing out my pants, so I did the next best thing. I went into a stall and shoved my pants into the toilet, twisting them to get most of the water out. Gross, I know. Thankfully they were a thin polyester so they didn't really look wet, just darker.

I went back to my husband who shouted half way across the store, "What took you so long??" I couldn't very well tell him the truth so I just said quietly, "I had diarrhea." Ah, the murmurings of love! We paid and went out to the car, me sitting as close to the door as I could get. Thankfully it was a nice night so we drove with the windows down, otherwise the slight odor clinging to me would have given me away.

As soon as we got home I beelined to the bathroom, locking the door and lunging into the shower where I rinsed my clothes out and washed myself off twice. So there is my embarrassing story. I sincerely hope I am not the only person that has ever happened to.

In a Funk

I'm feeling a little blue lately because my baby is leaving me. Of course, he is an 18 year old baby, but he's still my baby. He has chosen to go into the Navy and he leaves on the 5th of this month. So now I have to imagine big, bad people being mean to my sweet, innocent darling. Sob! I don't know how I am going to handle two months of boot camp. I may have to storm the gates if they are too mean.

I have two other "babies" at home with me, but one is entering college and the other is entering high school. I guess in a way they are all leaving me. I know this is what I have worked towards all these years, launching my child into adulthood and responsibility, but it all seemed much easier when it was all theoretical. The reality sucks.

So, if you are the praying kind you can pray for me and my baby, that we will both survive being apart. Somehow I think he is going to handle it a lot better than I am though.

In a Funk

I'm feeling a little blue lately because my baby is leaving me. Of course, he is an 18 year old baby, but he's still my baby. He has chosen to go into the Navy and he leaves on the 5th of this month. So now I have to imagine big, bad people being mean to my sweet, innocent darling. Sob! I don't know how I am going to handle two months of boot camp. I may have to storm the gates if they are too mean.

I have two other "babies" at home with me, but one is entering college and the other is entering high school. I guess in a way they are all leaving me. I know this is what I have worked towards all these years, launching my child into adulthood and responsibility, but it all seemed much easier when it was all theoretical. The reality sucks.

So, if you are the praying kind you can pray for me and my baby, that we will both survive being apart. Somehow I think he is going to handle it a lot better than I am though.