The time when I Laundry Vented

SOCKBALLS!!

Daily, I find myself in a situation in which the little voice in my head says to me, "Kara, you should blog about this". It also seems that at these moments I am elbow deep in diapers, bathwater, dishwater, laundry and you get it......the list just goes on. I swear to myself that I will remember, but then surprise surprise, I never EVER do. Many friends have referred to this as the Mommy "Condition" and I think it's just plain bad luck that when you reach your thirties (regardless of other circumstances) you loose your flippin' mind. So, my very last "Write this Down" moment was in the laundry room sorting none other than dirty clothes.

I love my husband and I must repeat this at least 3 times as I'm typing. He has told me that in other cultures that you can divorce your wife by simply saying 3 times outloud, "I divorce you.....I divorce you ......I divorce you" I don't believe it, but that is why when I say, "I love my husband" I feel I must say it 3 times to justify the BUT. And here, is the BUT. SOCKBALLS!! So I can deal with the occasional (who are we kidding this is constant too) inside out shirt. I can even handle the Whoops... Burt's Bees in the pocket of the pants thing, but the SOCKBALLS are where I draw the line. I bitch about little (maybe 25% of the crap that REALLY GETS ME), but I bitch about SOCKBALLS every time I encounter them. Why is it that my husband is incapable of removing his socks without inadvertently rolling them into a tight little wad. You know that that is not going to get clean in the washing machine and it sure as hell isn't going to dry in the dryer. You also know that we have no SOCKBALL fairy that comes in and loosens these tight little bundles in preparation for the wash. 


He tells me, "Let's sort the laundry into darks and lights right here in our closet so that you have less work to do on laundry day." Awe....such a sweet gesture. I'd like to say, "Since I am forced to go thru and empty all your pockets of Ammunition, Tootsie Pops (not even kidding), chapstick, keys (Xtera key fob) dog poop bags, chocolate, mints (never any actual MONEY) as well as pry open sockballs, remove belts, velcro patches, zip up and velcro loose pieces to prevent LAUNDRY BALL (Just picture the Indian Jones scene and me running down the hall from a giant mass of clothes velcroed together) I'll just sort thru it myself in the basement" But, as I said before, 25% of what actually really bugs me. So I say, "Great idea hun."


A great friend and fellow blogger emailed me today to suggest topics to help me find my niche.Still haven't found my niche. I think I am too big and crazy to fit in a niche. If you have suggestions, please comment. I'll keep working...K?

Pre-Naptime QUIZ

So, we're preparing, this afternoon, for a nap. As I'm changing little boy's diaper I am calling out body parts for him to find and point to on his own body.

Here's the list:

EYES

NOSE

EARS

MOUTH

TONGUE

TEETH

CHEEKS

CHIN

HEAD

HAIR

BELLY (BELLY BUTTON)

ARMS

FINGERS

HANDS

ELBOW

JUNK (He knows it is there.....we gotta call it something)

KNEES

FEET

TOES

AND YES, HE KNOWS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM!!

I fastened up the new diaper and pulled on his shorts. Just then,he wrinkles his cute little nose, points to the diaper and says, "POOP". Ughhh! So I guess the next step for my little smartypants is learning to use the potty. Pray for us!:)

The time some BASTARD stole our dumpster

I am looking at my journal. You know the handwritten account of my so called life. Well, there are a few things about that journal that depress the hell out of me. First, the title page bears the date 2009 which , whew has been LONG GONE for a while now. For those of you who don't know this about me, I am a journalist and up until about a year and a half ago I would journal nightly. I started doing it when I was about 19 or 20. So, I have like 18 volumes of journals. Highly entertaining stuff. Tonight I went in to my journal to make an entry only to find myself (Second depressing thing) sorting thru to do lists and my drafts of "life purpose" statements for my therapist. WHAT!?!?!? That is BORING crap. Kara B. would never allow her journal to become a NOTEBOOK.

My solution to that, type a blog entry. What will it be about? Oh, this is a fun one. The time I went to North Sioux City, SD for Christmas and some BASTARD stole my dumpster. So, long story short I'm about 26 weeks pregnant, in the middle of a hellacious colitis flare and flying home to SD for Christmas cuz Andy is in Iraq. Before I leave for Denver it's GARBAGE DAY the next day. I've got some stuff in there that's really raunch and if I don't set it out to be picked up my garage will surely overpower my poor little pregnant nauseous nose and there is no one but me to clean up those types of messes. Point taken. Get there. Love my Mom and Ron, but WORST FRIGGING CHRISTMAS HANDS DOWN. All the while wishing I was at home. Bed sucks and I miss my sleep number. Shitting my brains out with the colitis and just having a generally bad time with Ron's constant criticism. His observations and comments like, "You act like you're the only pregnant person that ever lived", just not really very helpful and encouraging. Ahhhhh, so I'm home again, home again jiggity jig.

I get home from my 7 or 8 day travels and find that my dumpster is no longer outside of my house. A few days pass and I'm finding that I have trash to put out........it never shows up. Okay and now it's the night before trash collection and the sweet little boy across the quad comes over to change the cat litter (I'm not supposed to b/c of the baby growing inside me) and so I have no where for him to dump it. I politely ask him to just take it on home with him and put it in his dumpster. Hmmmmm..... now that's not going to work forever. I mean we're going to be living here for at least another 6-8 months and I can't always be putting out my trash in the neighbor's cans. So, I call the trash service to ask if they had picked it up. NOPE. And a replacement......90 BUCKS!!!! Holy crap. Okay, that is not happening.

Everyday on my way home from work I'm checking out trash bins to see if one is ours. We had two distinct features. A piece of 550 cord on the back of the hinge and the mailbox numbers 4380 on both the front and side( or any residue in the spot they might have been removed). And now you're wishing I'd just move the story along already. I will. I looked DAILY for that friggin' can and even considered stealing the one outside the mailboxes area. Who'd really have known? Until one day about 2 months later (Yes, I was secretly sneaking out the night before collection and putting my trash in other people's dumpster for nearly 8 weeks. I just flat out refused to accept that it was gone. I was not paying $90 for a friggin' dumpster. )I was driving home when I see it. OUR FRIGGIN' Dumpster!! It'd just sitting outside the neighbors house with trash in it, just 3 houses down and across the way. What in the hell??!!?!!? The 550 cord and 4380 still intact. AMAZING. So, did they just think that maybe it was theirs?? AND HOW REALLY?? I simply got out of my car, wheeled it back in to my garage with the trash in it and from that point on I would meet the garbage guys on Thursday AM at the garage door to hand them my trash and then safely return my dumpster into the garage and close the door. I can't believe those f'ing people. Jerks! :)