HalfAsstic.com

Who’s the happy birthday girl?! H is!

And who, amongst us, hasn’t had one? (Please understand that if you cannot even begin to “get” where I am coming from, I really don’t want to hear how you resent being subjected to poop stories…)

Ever heard anyone say they have had a shitty day? I bet you have and I also bet you have immediately pictured them running late for work or getting chewed out by a boss or customer or them spilling coffee on their clean white shirt. But, did it ever occur to you that they might mean shitty day? There are those of us who are not in the septic tank business that deal with a good deal of it. Shit, that is. Some people are paid to deal with it, as in hospital orderlies, and some of us just get stuck with it. Sometimes there is a lot of it. Henrietta has a Miralax habit that borders on addiction. She cannot do a poo without it. And if the stars are not aligned exactly right she may be gonna be plugged up even with it. She doesn’t usually go too long like this and isn’t too terribly uncomfortable. But, after not going for three days, Katy bar the door. We are trucking back and forth to the bedpan over and over, with false alarms. She is working fervently at it and will not stay in bed to do it. So I am stuck hauling her in and out of the wheelchair and bed over and over and picking her lower half up over and over and am out of breath all day. There is always an implied urgency with this whole operation that suggests that there will be a shit explosion if I don’t hurry fast enough. Though, to be fair, there has been. Well, virtually.

The other day John came in and we were doing all the running back and forth and he began to feel badly for me and wanted to know if he could do anything. This was toward the end of the waiting period and close to payload time. I was flustered and tired and I whipped open the door to H’s bedroom and shouted down the hall for him and asked him to come and get the bedpan and empty it. Now understand that no one on earth is as squeamish as John. He started down the hall towards me and stopped abruptly and looked horrified and said, “It smells like shit in the hall!” At this point I was walking toward him with the bedpan and I said, “If you don’t take this from me right now, I WILL dump it over your head.”. I think he realized I meant business and he pulled his tee shirt up over his nose, grabbed the bedpan and ran for the bathroom.

I got flowers the next day.

I am 44 years old and I’ve got a freakin cavity. ( No. Not between my ears, Dad.) I have one in my mouth and it is starting to hurt. I have called my dentist and after much searching for my chart and determining that they have never heard of me because it has been OVER SEVEN YEARS since I was last in, I made an appointment. I am a bad, bad patient. I can’t believe it has been that long since I was to the dentist. My kids records were there and up to date. Even John’s was current. Well, to be totally fair, his was current because he had to go have a root canal because he didn’t go in when his cavity first started hurting. Boy, I am! I am THERE, BABY! No siree, no root canal for me! Just fill that bad boy!

Yes. I am all a dither with excitement. Next week, Wednesday to be exact. I am getting drilled. And not in a good way.

Today, H is 86 years old. I know I’ve been saying she is 86 for the past couple of weeks, but hey, when you’re this old what’s a few days?

She is going through a depression thing lately and if I didn’t recognize it because I suffered with it some in the past myself, I would swear she is just being melodramatic. Bless her heart, John and I brought a little potted plant into her room this afternoon and gave it to her and she started crying. EVERYTHING sets her off. Good. Bad. Indifferent. It doesn’t matter. She will bawl if you give her half a chance.

Yep. Depression.

Here’s what really sucks. Tomorrow is her wedding anniversary with deceased husband, Marcos. 58 years.

Oh, yeah. Tomorrow will be particularly sunny around here. *sigh*

Whatever! LOL
I read a comment on New Duck, yesterday that said that Moo was tagging her. Well, as of Monday morning, anyway. She did. It sounded like a fairly open ended tag, so what the hell. I will enjoy any readership and input from anyone who feels like it!
Here’s the drill:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Random, very. (Oh and I forgot and did 10, so consider the last 4 a…bonus?)

1. I am the mother of two, (2) teenage girls, a 17 and 18 year old, and I attempt to operate them daily without a helmet.

2. I am the full time caregiver for my 86 year old mother-in-law, who is bedridden/wheelchair bound.

3. I have found that one of the worst experiences in life is dumping a bedpan of shit and pee in the potty and having the… water? splash back up and sprinkle your face in a fashion that would be somewhat refreshing under totally different circumstances.

4. I have a distinctive case of toenail fungus on the 4th toe on my left foot.

5. I LOVE to read. Favorite author of the moment is Janet Evanovitch. She is hilarious.

6. Have to be one of the WORST spellers on the face of the earth. Thank you God for spell check!

7. My husband, John, is the love of my life and a the biggest, proud-of-it, tightwad I have ever known.

8. My idea of a perfect day is to spend the whole day with my husband and two girls out of the house somewhere and have nobody argue. THE WHOLE DAY. This has never happened. But, I have faith.

9. One of my best friends resides in Italy and I miss her. (Hi Susan!)

10. My mom said to say that she is wonderful and loving and, most important, ALWAYS RIGHT. (Happy Mom?)

Check out these blogs!

The New Girl

Silly Me

Candy’s Corner

Fussy

I’ve Come Undone

Speak Into the Mike

I wish I knew how to “do” stained glass. You know, cutting, and leading and all that. Make a huge lovely framed piece for my bathroom window.
I think I am going to have to add this to my list of “When I grow up…” Oh, I really think I should!

For months this has been the perpetual state of my dining room table, I mean ALL THE TIME. Kessa is living larger than life in here and it always looks like a drunken librarian threw up all over my table and then exploded, leaving book guts all over the place, including the floor against the wall.

Oh stop. You know it could happen.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


No. I’m not talking about some strange new sex toy. It is thundering outside right now and Kissy is in my lap as I type this. She is terrified of thunder and shakes ridiculously hard every time it rains. She will now be called Kissy-the-sissy, cause, hey, it is fitting AND it sounds melodious. Should have started doing this a long time ago.

Keelan slept on the couch last night as she had a guest over to spend the night and this particular little girl is a tad vicious in her sleep, hitting, kicking, verbal insults, whatever. No, she is a sweet girl, just a hairy sleeper. Keelan was still asleep when her sister appeared. Kes had been upstairs watching a movie with Gilbert, her boyfriend, and she just came running downstairs and leaned over Keelan and said in a loud, penetrating voice, “SISTER! GILBERT WAS GOING TO COME DOWN HERE AND WAKE YOU UP, BUT I TOLD HIM ‘NO!’”. Keelan just kind of moaned and pulled the pillow over her head.

Kes then raced back upstairs to continue her movie, which had been paused for her informative message.

Kes has been nominated for the Semper Donates Award! I am so proud of her! Yeah, I know. I didn’t either, but the paper she brought home explains… She is being recognized for being a senior who has demonstrated service and commitment to their school and community that makes them exemplars of excellence. It goes on to say that it is one of the highest awards bestowed upon a student at Dickinson High. Semper Donates is a Latin term that means “always giving”. But, like myself, I am sure you speak fluent Latin and knew that. Just in case- it is pronounced, doe-not-a’s, not donate. Cause, hey, anyone can forget a little of the favorite language they love to jabber all day long.