I’ve uploaded another vlog–Video Blog–on things that make me feel old. YeeHaw!
And yes, I just LOVE the thumbnail photo. NOT!!!!
I’ve uploaded another vlog–Video Blog–on things that make me feel old. YeeHaw!
And yes, I just LOVE the thumbnail photo. NOT!!!!
Happy New Year, Everyone!!!
For 2018 I have accepted the craziest challenge EVER by saying I’ll try out “video blogging”.
Below is my first installment. Watch it if you dare!
(Oh, but PLEASE be kind. LOL This is NOT my thing.)
By some miracle, my kids have managed to make it to the ripe old ages of ten and twelve without me being subjected to a sleepover.
Last night that streak ended…and so did my sanity.
For the last three years, my kids have “organized” sleepovers that have always managed to fall-through. Usually in the form that my child and the other children made all of these plans, but forgot one crucial component: forgot to ask their parents! Sometimes I was asked and the other mother wasn’t and sometimes it was the other way around. So, last week when I was asked if two Hooligans from a few blocks away could come stay the night the first night of Christmas break, I said, “Sure.” Never in my wildest dreams thinking it would happen.
Oh, I was wrong. IT happened.
Now, before I give you all the dirty details, I will openly admit that I know that overall this was VERY MILD compared to what some people endure, but for me and my first experience, I was ready to pull out my hair–not not just the grey ones.
Here’s a rundown of events:
5 pm–Hooligans arrive. I start making pizza.
5:20–Hooligan #1 poops something the size of a baby in our toilet. This hooligan will forevermore be referred to as Pooper.
5:25–Eddie informs me that Pooper is ticked because Henry and Hooligan 2 commented on the size of Pooper’s deposit. Pooper threatened to go home. (Sounds bad, but I would have been fine with that.) I talked to the boys about remembering we’ve all been constipated before. It’ll be OK, let it go. (Clearly this kid let one go.)
5:30–kids leave-relief floods me…
5:37–kids return with a TV… they take it upstairs to Eddie’s room…
5:45–pizza cut and served
5:50–kids take their pizza and several cans of pop upstairs. My jaw drops and steam starts spiraling out of my ears. My kids KNOW better than to take food upstairs. We eat at the table only. Taking a deep breath, I mentally dislodge the stick from my backside. This isn’t the end of the world. Besides, it might be better they eat upstairs where I don’t have to hear them belching and smacking their food. It’ll be OK. This just gives me the perfect excuse to make Eddie clean his room top to bottom tomorrow.
7–kids come ask if they can use the big TV in the living room. I surrender the remote and go make myself useful in the kitchen, then decide to go to my room.
8–they start rummaging through all of the DVDs in the closet with such great noise I’m sure our closet neighbor heard…and they aren’t that close. I peek my head out to see how bed the mess is and there is a trail of DVDs from the hall closet, across the living room, to the other hall, up the stairs and to Henry’s room. I swung open the door and declared, the DVD-brick road needs to be cleaned up NOW.
8-1:10–kids are up and down, up and down, up and down the stairs. They have decided to watch their DVDs upstairs but keep coming downstairs for more cans of pop… I can’t say for sure, but I think they each had on average five cans. Note to self: you didn’t hide them well enough, Rose!
1:10–I have had enough and I hear someone rooting around in the pantry. I get out of bed and put a stop to it. “But Mom, Pooper’s STARVING,” says Eddie. Gritting my teeth, I tell them, “I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning. It’s after 1 am. It’s time to be sleeping. No more food and no more pop. Go to bed.” I followed them upstairs and told all four of them it was time for bed. Do you think they went to bed? NO!!! They giggled, stomped, talked loud, thundered up and down the stairs until 4 am. At which point I went in there and about lost it. They’d all written all over each others faces with colored Shapries. I was horrified to find that Henry had a strong similarity to Satan. Telling them all in as calm of a voice as possible that it was time for them to GET SOME SLEEP then I went back to bed as if that was actually going to happen.
4:30–I hear what can only be the front door. I bolt out of bed and swing my door open in time to realize Pooper has decided he’s had enough of me being bossy–he’s going home. Oh and Hooligan 2 is going with him and since he brought his TV, Playstation, and enough clothes to stay for a week my kids are going to help him carry his crap home. I said no. It’s dark out there. Nobody leaves until the sun is up. Fortunately they didn’t argue. But decided they wanted to go jump on the trampoline…with flashlights. I quickly found a movie for them to watch on Netflix, parked them on the sofa with popcorn and told them not to get their butts up until the sun was up.
5:55-ish, Eddie comes to knock on my door. Pooper called his mom and said he had her permission to walk home.
6:15–I walk out to find my boys and the one remaining Hooligan are passed out on the sofa.
9–kids wake up, Hooligan doesn’t like the cereal I have and decides to go home.
Sleepover OVER. And looking around at what could only be described as tornadic activity that has swept through my kitchen, dining room and living room there will NEVER be another sleepover again. My kids, however, don’t realize this because they’re already trying to plan another and I hate to say it, but that won’t be happening!
As I said, I know others have had it worse, so here’s my QUESTION: Please, oh, please, tell us all about your sleepover from hell. I really want to hear someone else’s experience. Misery loves company, you know.
One of my all-time favorite movies is The Sandlot. One of the best lines: “You’re killing me, Smalls”! I often find myself saying that to one of my boys. Last night, I said it to each of them.
Last night was their Christmas program (yes, they go to a public school and yes, the school called it that). We live about a mile from the school and along the way is a Dollar General, the only place within about 10 miles to buy food.
So, with those details in mind, here’s the story that transpired within less than the two minutes it takes to get from our house to the school.
As soon as we got in the car a funny smell wafted to my nose. *sniff, sniff* “What is that?”
“What’s what?” Henry, my youngest, asked.
“That smell?” I take another sniff and wrinkle my nose. Something does NOT smell right. “It smells weird, but I can’t place it.”
“Oh, it’s me,” cackled my twelve-year-old. “I put a dab of your pain relief cream on my hands.”
“Because I think it smells good,” he said.
“Seriously? Are you trying to tell me you want some cologne for Christmas?”
“No. I don’t want the girls all over me. I just like the way this smells.”
It smells like Menthol. That is NOT a good smell. Resisting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel, I muttered, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”
About this time, my youngest goes, “Mom, I need to bring food for the party tomorrow.”
Now I want to bang my head against the steering wheel for a different reason. I didn’t bring any money. Why? Honestly, it was simply because it was so warm out that I forgot my coat at home that had my cash and debit card. Spotting, the Dollar General up ahead, I reached one hand into the cup holder and pulled out my spare change, shook my head and said, “You’re killing me, too, Smalls.”
The lady in Dollar General giggled right along with me when I apologized to her for buying not just one, but two bags of cheese popcorn with an array of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Seriously, I love my kids–as is obvious by my humiliation of buying snacks with sticky change–but sometimes I swear they’re killing me! 😀 😀
QUESTION: What have YOU done for someone you love that you never imagined you’d do?
I won’t lie: I’m weird. Not just me and my fantastic personality, no it goes even further than that. I have had some weird illnesses.
I’ve had fifth’s disease, courtesy of my kids. Shingles from stress. PUPPS (pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy) when pregnant. Basically it’s your body being allergic to you being pregnant and you get a seriously nasty and unbelievably itchy rash that covers your belly. It’s also triggered by being a smaller woman and having your skin stretch at a quick rate (multiples can cause this, too). Statistically, 1/150 first time mothers will have some degree of this. Most times it’s just a little rash and goes way after a week or so. When mine was so bad I couldn’t hardly wear a shirt and lasted for the final seven weeks of my first pregnancy my oh-so-compassionate OB (sense the sarcasm???) told me, “Don’t worry. While it’s fairly common to have a small case of this for first-time moms, only about 1/10,000 women have it during their second pregnancy AND only 1/1,000,000 have this for both their first and second pregnancies.”
Well, guess what, I AM TRULY ONE IN A MILLION!
Yep, I got this little treat during my second pregnancy. Only it wasn’t for seven weeks, it was more than seven months! Almost my entire pregnancy. In fact, it was the biggest clue that I was pregnant.
So while I should never be surprised when I’m handed an odd diagnosis, when yesterday I’d finally dragged my aching, coughing, wheezing, near-death self into the doctor’s office I found myself at a loss for words when he said, “Ms. Gordon, I do declare you have walking pneumonia.”
“What?” I asked, silently adding the hell is that?
Turns out it’s another weird disease that’s kind of like pneumonia but isn’t quite as severe as your lungs aren’t full of fluid. Instead, the fluid seems to move around depending on your body’s position and you don’t seem to be getting better on your own. Truly, I don’t know exactly what he said, I was a little pre-occupied being immature and imagining a pair of fluid-oozing lungs walking up and down Main Street.
All I do know is, I have hacked up half a lung and my back is killing me. Oh and there are compassionate pharmacy techs at Wal-Mart! 🙂
Edited to add–I am only on day 2 of my antibiotic but already I feel like a new woman!!!
QUESTION: Have you ever received an unusual diagnosis?
[WARNING: you might want to skip this post if you have a weak stomach–or at least wait until you aren’t eating.]
I love summer sausage. Nay, not love. I LOVE summer sausage.
Summer sausage, however, doesn’t love me…
Around this time of year, my local Sam’s Club will sell have a display full of about 300 logs with a label: “Yard ‘o Beef” slapped on the front. I cannot force myself to walk past the display without my mouth watering and my fingers itching to grab just one…OK two.
And so it was in October I came home from Sam’s with six feet of beef (these things are about as thick as the business-end of a baseball bat). It was all I could do to wait until I got all of my groceries put away before sawing into one. Then, I did a few more chores and I cut off a few more thin slices. I sat down on the computer to do emails and check book sales–grabbed a few more slices for the task. Dinner time came, I wasn’t so hungry so I cooked for my boys and just snacked on another couple of slices. Played a game with my kids and spent an hour of us all doing some clean up. When they went to bed, I decided to watch an episode of Switched at Birth (I just discovered this show and it’s really good). Anyway, I was feeling hungry now so…you can guess where this went, I grabbed that blasted summer sausage log, a knife and cutting board and headed for the living room.
By the time I was ready to head for bed, I realized that in the course of the afternoon, I’d devoured approximately half of that log! Yep, that’s about 18″ of a slab of densely packed beef.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved it as far back in the refrigerator as I could so I wouldn’t have a repeat performance the next day.
I soon found out, that step was unnecessary when an hour later I was awakened with the most painful stomachache I’d ever experienced. Followed by a taste in my mouth so foul my nose and eyes watered. I rolled over to get more comfortable and the situation intensified. Immediately, I shot up. I need to get to the bathroom! It wasn’t a far walk, but alas, the trip was made for naught. Nothing was budging either way. In fact, it just made me sicker. I slunk back to my bed and crawled in, another round of the noxious gasses filling my mouth. Blech. I laid on my side and a HUGE air bubbled filled my stomach. Groaning, I rolled back onto my back and in all of my infinite wisdom, I tried to push my stomach for relief. Nothing.
Sweat started t0 dot my hairline and my stomach roiled and burned with pain as what felt like a ball of broken shards of glass started to move in my intestine. I thought I was going to die.
The ball of broken glass only moved about three inches, then stopped. I clenched my eyes closed tight and repressed a groan, then flipped onto my stomach. Pressure! I need to put some serious pressure under my stomach. Let’s force this ball through! No such luck. Never in my life have I ever wanted to have gas, but at that moment, I’d definitely welcome it.
Gas! Perfect. Clutching my stomach and trying to blow out the nasty taste in my mouth as quickly as I could, I hobbled to the bathroom to see if I have any sort of GasX or PeptoBismol. No and no. Another eruption of nasty taste accompanied by bile surged up my throat and into my mouth. Instinctively, I clenched my belly and just knew 18″ of summer sausage was about to reappear. Nope. Not that fortunate. Nothing.
I glanced at he clock. It was barely past midnight which meant the Podunk dollar store about 1/2 a mile from me wouldn’t be open and my conscience wouldn’t let me drive to town to get the relief I sought while my kids slept. It was almost bad enough to consider waking them. Almost. Thoughts of having to hobble around Walmart at dark-thirty while clenching my stomach and groaning in pain kept me from going. What if someone thought I was on drugs and called the police on me?!
Another rush of pain shook my body and I flung my writhing, hot self up into the bed, waiting to die because surely this would be my last night on earth.
Obviously it wasn’t, but it went by slower than a UPS delivery when you know something’s coming. With each tick of the clock, I could almost hear “sausage, sausage, sausage, sausage, sausage”.
When morning finally came, I felt no better than I had hours earlier and had to take three breaks on my way up the stairs to wake up the boys. (A good old fashioned wake up call might have been a better idea.)
When at last I got them downstairs, fed, clothed and out the door to the bus stop, I flopped like a worm out to the car, climbed in my car and floored it to the dollar store.
“Pepto,” I croaked to the clerk when I walked in.
She blinked at me. “Pardon?”
“My stomach is about to explode,” I said through gritted teeth. “I need PeptoBismol.”
I can’t be sure, but I swear that clerk started giggling. I just followed her outstretched finger and with one hand groping along the racks to help keep me upright, I padded over to the far back corner of the store. Of course. I finally reached the back. My eyes raced across the rows of antacids, gas relief, laxatives. No Pepto or Mylanta. My eyes blurred with tears. No, this cannot be. It MUST be here. I looked again, this time using my finger to help my eyes stay on track. Finally, at the very bottom all by itself was one lonely, pink bottle. Grunting like a madwoman, I leaned so far forward I feared I might fall face first into the display (scarcely concerned about the laws of nature and that it would be this very minute that the glass bubble decided to exit–but secretly hoping it would just to relieve the pressure. Who cares if I’d be too embarrassed to ever shop there again. Relief was NEEDED.).
Making my way to the checkout, I noticed what I had in my hand was some cheap imitation. I didn’t care. it was pink and it was by the stomach relief items. That as good enough for me. I started pulling off the plastic that surrounded the cap and shoved it in my pocket. I got up to unoccupied counter and plunked my bottle on the belt. With a groan, I rang the bell, then twisted the cap off and in a move that would make my germaphobe mom shudder in disgust, I took the biggest key on my keyring and stabbed it through the foil seal on the bottle of knock-off Pepto. Vaguely aware that the cashier was now at the register and ready to scan my bottle of summer sausage antidote, I chugged about a third of that bottle.
Wiping the back of my hand across what I’m sure was a pink mustache dotting my upper lip in the most undignified way, I reached into my pocket and paid the lady, then muttered an apology, grabbed my bottle of serum and grunted back to the car.
Ten minutes later…
Everything was fine and I was contemplating breakfast (just no summer sausage).
And now, I have been cured. Just Sunday I was at Sam’s and walked past the display without having even a twinge of an urge to take one home. No, thank you!
QUESTION: What could you eat (or have already eaten) so much of you could make yourself sick? If you have overindulged, did it cure your hankering? Come on, let’s hear those stories!
For those of you who don’t know (or remember me :-p ) my name is Rose Gordon and once upon a time I wrote historical romance–mostly Regency-era.
Here’s a few visuals…
And when I wasn’t slaving away to write about unsuspecting fellows and their over-scandalous counterparts, I was on here blogging about nonsense like…
(The time I fell through the attic on Thanksgiving.)
(Crazy stuff I’ve found–and maybe bought…–at the fair or craft mall.)
I also shared on here about my failed attempts at crafts:
Held crazy votes:
Or shared stories about my kids:
(100 “signed by author” stickers, plus autograph for 100th day of school; and my kids fighting over a stuffed enema…)
So many of you supported me when I raised $10,000 for MS and looked like an idiot while doing it!
Let me share some seriously scandalous “swag” I’ve picked up at different conventions:
I had so much fun writing over 600 blog posts whether they were stories about the craziness in which I live, a man’s POV of my books, hosting contests and so much more. I have missed out on so much by not posting very consistently for the past three years. A fact I wish I could change–but some things aren’t things you post. Or at least not things *I* could ever post.
Many don’t know that about 3.5 years ago my world tilted on its axis when the happily-ever-after I believed I was living fell apart. I have gone through fire after fire since and in my own opinion, I think I’ve emerged a much different, and perhaps stronger person.
Am I ready to write romance novels again? No. Maybe one day, but not today.
Am I ready to start blogging about the craziness that I now face with boys who are 10 and 12 and have entered into their first year in public school? Oh, absolutely. (Funny sidetrack: on Halloween my kids left for the school bus 10 minutes earlier than they needed to. Why? Because they could and I was in the shower and couldn’t tell them, “Oh, hell no.” When I got out of the shower, I noticed I had received about 5 texts from my kids. “Mom, we’ve been down here for 5 minutes and haven’t seen a single bus. I don’t think they’re having school today. You know, Halloween is a holiday.” Oh, my poor kids who’ve always been in a church school or heaven help me homeschooled for an overwhelming year. I wrote back: “Wait for the bus. You left 10 minutes early. The bus doesn’t even get there until 7:40 and you usually leave at 7:30. Writing me at 7:25 to tell me you haven’t seen the bus and you think there’s no school in observance of Halloween will be posted to Facebook if you two argue when you get home tonight. 😀 Love ya!”)
So, if you’re up to following my blog to follow more about me and my shenanigans, my crazy parenting, unusual finds, ridiculous signs, craft fails, wild tales and other craziness where truth is stranger than fiction, than please stay tuned and subscribed. (After all, it IS called Rose Unscripted.)
If you followed my blog as a means to keep up with my writing progress and being informed of new books only, I will by no means be disappointed if you’d like to unsubscribe.
Again, I want to thank you all. Whether you’ve been a follower since I started blogging in Feb. 2011 or have subscribed recently, it doesn’t matter, I just appreciate that you’ve enjoyed my work enough to sign up!