For those of you who are playing a long at home, this is what the past two months of my life have endured:

If you really don’t give a shit what’s been going on, then at least skip to the end because as traumatic as it was, it’s fuckin’ funny.

December:

Two weeks before Christmas, Mike lost his job

January:

We found out that my aunt (who’s really my second cousin) was suffering, once again, with a brain tumour and this time was terminal. She then passed away.

Mike went back to work, FINALLY! and that very same day a suspension coil broke, shredding the tire. Luckily Mike was safe and fine. The car? Fine – after about $600 worth of repairs. (Did I mention it was Mike’s first day back after being off for 6 MOTHER HUMPING WEEKS?)

At my aunt’s funeral, my brother and I decided it was time to start talking to our family again, after 10 years of following blindly we’ve jumped, feet first into resurrecting our relationships with our family, hoping that our relationship with our mother will remain intact.

February:

Shortly thereafter, my great-aunt’s dementia had increased significantly. She hadn’t been taking her meds and went to stay with family – whom I was just beginning to have a relationship with again. I drove back and forth daily to help my grandma care for her ailing sister-in-law.

Both kids have come down with the flu. It’s been a week and a half from HELL. Hudson doesn’t sleep at night – or during the day for that matter – and I am delirious with exhaustion most days.

Not to mention – I took Carter to the walk-in clinic because he seemed so sick. Wouldn’t you know that as soon as we see the doctor he’s tell her that he’s fine and he just wants to go home. The doctor agreed with him making me look like a freakin’ headcase of a hypochondriac.

** THIS IS WHERE YOU WANT TO START READING IF YOU’RE SKIPPING AHEAD! **

Hudson’s been having constipation issues from baby cereal. I stopped feeding him cereal for a while and then started again hoping that his system had matured a bit and that it would hold him off through the night.

Apparently his system’s still not all that mature because he got completely bunged up again. I gave him a glycerin suppository as I had done quite a few times before.

Yes, I’m getting to Teh Funny. Hold on!

So, I positioned him in front of me.

Bum towards me.

Know where this is going yet?

I inserted the suppository and tried to soothe him a little as I held it in place. Soon, I felt him begin to squirm and then some pressure, so I began to remove the tablet. Just as I did that, a HUGE turd flew from his arse and hit me in the chest.

I got shot with a piece of shit.

Literally.

I freaked a little, but was glad that poop came out and he would be a little more comfortable. So I began to insert it once more hoping that it would ease his pain and we could move past the Fligging Shit at Mommy incident.

But we were not moving past it.

No siree.

We were in the thick of it because this time ANOTHER turd shot me in the chest. This one of a softer consistency making it STICK TO MY SHIRT.

I screamed.

Hudson cried the blue-in-the-face-I’m-going-to-die cry.

I took off my shit shirt (luckily I was wearing a tank top underneath) and got him settled, and as I turned to grab more wipes he let out a little sigh and then proceeded to PISS ON ME.

I screamed.

Hudson cried the blue-in-the-face-I’m-going-to-die cry.

And it was only 9am.

So ya. It’s been a crappy couple months – pun intended, of course -  and this morning was the preverbial cherry on top.

Hopefully things can only go up from here, right?

Right?

OMG, they HAVE to get better from here. Please, let them get better from here.

How come when you’re dying to go to the washroom in peace, that’s when it all comes down the pipe?

Someone needs a drink; someone needs a new show put on; someone needs to be held; someone needs to know where their pants have gone; someone is hungry….

I long for the day when I can take a shit in peace.

9 467 077.79 minutes

That’s my countdown until Hudson is off to college.

18 years until I can shit and have only one person be asking where his pants are.

We were going through a phase where poop was scary and Carter just wouldn’t go in the toilet. He was consistently constipated, and I realize now not that he COULDN’T go – he WOULDN’T go. I had no idea how to deal with it accept feed him prunes, prune juice concoctions and hope that it just got to the point where he could no longer hold it in.

I never thought I would be so happy to see someone take a dump on the toilet. I was on the verge of jumping up and down, completely elated that there was FINALLY! poop in the toilet!

You’re wondering just how we got to this point, aren’t you?

Well, back in July while most of you were meeting cohorts in San Fransisco a small group of us met up in Niagara Falls for Blog Friends Fest. As I explained our potty training woes over dinner (yes, AWESOME dinner conversation!) Kitten Pie mentioned how she was able to train ‘pie to poop in the toilet.

I leaned into her, hoping not to miss one minute genius detail. If I had a pen and paper – they would have been in hand. Ready to soak in her brilliance I waited with baited breath.

“I just told ‘pie that her poop was going off to play with the other poops.” she said so nonchalantly. So much in fact, I thought she was trying to pull a fast one on me.

“Wha? Srsly? That’s it? And she just pooed?” I asked. Admittedly, I was a little deflated: how could it be THAT easy? Carter wasn’t going to go for that.

I blew it off thinking that ‘pie was just some fantastical toddler. How could that HONESTLY work? And went about the same ol’ boring begging that just wasn’t getting through. Carter? Not fantastical.

I resigned to the fact that he would be pooping in the toilet before college and that was something I could look forward to.

A little over two weeks ago I was at my wit’s end. I had run out of ideas. Smarties, stickers, begging, promises of cars and no curfew just weren’t cutting it with this kid.

I told him that he poops wanted to go play with the other poops.

(I admit, I even scoffed a little at the idea: why am I saying this? It’s SO not going to work.)

And now?

I must apologize you my sweet Kitten Pie.

It WORKED!

My kid craps on the TOILET!

And HOLY MOLY does he ever! I swear that thing was (and continues to be) the size of my arm!

My three year old has given my 30 year old some serious poop envy.

The first time Mike was in the washroom with Carter while he crapped (armed with the poop friends story) he came running out: “Sam! Sam! Holy shit! You gotta see this shit! It’s HUGE! I’ve never even had a shit that big!”

*sigh*

*BIG sigh*

To humour him, I took my time walking up to the bathroom. I could hear him coaxing Carter not to flush because this poop was a trophy poop. That I had to see it first!

At this point I was cursing the fertility gods for leaving me in a house full of boys.

As I walked into the bathroom both of them we standing on either side of the toilet, looking into the bowl with HUGE grins.

I peered into the bowl, definitely not expecting to see what I saw, because in that bowl was the HUGEST poop I’ve ever seen in my life.

A poop so large it had to be preserved in digital format.

Yup. Took a picture.

OH! The Shame!

Hey if she can do it, so can I!

(Hi Lotus, ya that was me sending you the weird google hits for poop in the kitchen. Cursed poop in the kitchen!)

:::

If I haven’t scared you off already be sure to check out the Being a Rookie (Mom) Ain’t So Bad challenge! See an activity that appeals to you, do it, post a picture then you’re entered to win FREE STUFF! Who doesn’t like FREE STUFF!

What are you doing in there?! She used to yell to me as I held up in the washroom.

I’m poopin’! I’d call back.

I could sit on the toilet for hours when I was younger. Not that I had anything better to do really, aside from homework or household chores and frankly sitting on the can still sounds better then washing dishes.

I used to make a big production out of my jaunts to the washroom. I’d bring my book and plop my butt down on the toilet, sitting there until my legs went numb from the circulation being cut off by my elbows resting on my thighs. I even went through a stage where I would make sure to have my ghetto blaster (ha! I still love that term – ghetto blaster) and my favourite Madonna tape to sing along to. (Like a Prayer, by far the best Madonna, EVAH!)

Getting comfortable on the toilet always seemed to pose a problem though, the seat: hard and uncomfortable and leaning back against the tank always felt unnatural for some reason. (Apprently they’re not made for lounging. Who knew?) I’d sit sideways so I could rest one elbow on the top of the tank using that hand for propping my book. Chapter after chapter I’d just sit there and read while I – well, you get the picture.

In hindsight, there were much more comfortable places to sit and read, but for some odd reason the toilet seemed to be where I’d find the most peace, with least distractions.

Of course now, I’d do anything for solitude I used have in the washroom. Now there’s things to do and children to care for making sitting on the throne, for the most part, nearly impossible.

While Carter’s been potty training, I’ve spent more time in the washroom over the past three months then I had since I was young. I try and find comfort on the ledge of the tub or the floor while he sits practically spread eagle on the toilet. We talk, read books and laugh while we wait for him to pee. He’s become far more efficient these days, so much so that he climbs up on the bowl and is practically climbing down midstream because he remembers that he was mid-play with McQueen and company.

I’ve read and heard that the thought of pooping in the toilet can be frightening for a child – and if he’s not in a pull-up he’s not pooping, so he seems to fall right into the statistical realm of a regular toddler.

saturday morning, Mike and I decided to conserve water by having a shower together.

Don’t judge. Carter was adequately supervised by the television and the baby was asleep.

That was until I heard a shrill scream and he came running into the bathroom in tears screaming that his poo hurt him.

Yup. Constipated.

Awesome.

Off and on throughout the day he’s complained of stomach pains and how his poop can’t come out. It’s a horrible feeling when they suffer in pain like that and you can’t do anything about it, but we’ve managed to keep him drinking some prune juice and gave him a warm bath which yeilded only a teenie bit.

My first thoughts for looking for advice to deal with toddler constipation was my faithful twitters. I can’t believe I even live twittered a portion of my son’s struggles with shitting.

New low my friends. New low.

It seems the prune juice worked its magic because Sunday morning, at 3AM, Carter came creeping into our room reeking to high heavens. The smell, permeating the room let us know right away that everything was going to be alright.

And that, my friends, is my stereotypical mommyblogger post about my child’s shit.

Am. Awesome.

I’ve mentioned before that I dislike my cat.

[Just don't pay attention to the post since it was about my seventh post in the blogworld and sucks (more then these ones). M'Kay?]

Actually, dislike would be putting it mildly.

I fuckin’ hate that cat. HATE. HATE. HATE.

We’ve had a love-hate relationship from the day he came into my life – I think it’s progressed to a hate-hate over the past three years.

While in my second year of college I had a calico long haired kitten named Taija (tay – jah). She was the prefect cat: clean, comforting, happy and a pleasure to be around. When I moved into a new house of campus with some friends, it was an animal free home, but I kept her anyway. I just didn’t have it in my heart to give her away: since I’m one of those people who strongly believe that pets are not just throw aways when they become too much work or a hassle. My roommate obviously didn’t have the same feelings because she took my at to the shelter one day while I was at work.

That one that which happened to be my 19th birthday. Seriously. Pick a shitter day why don’t you?

Our relationship kinda went downhill from there and I ended up moving in with Mike a short while after.

Once in our new place, Mike gave me another cat as a Christmas gift – and though I don’t condone giving pets as gifts (because so many of those also end up in shelters once the novelty has worn off) – I was super excited.

I came home to find an empty box from a local pet store sitting on the stoop by the door.

I said hi, giving him a bit of a quizzical look: Mike looks up from his video game and states:

“Your present is in the bathroom behind the toilet.”

Nice.

(So he may not have much tact, but he has a big heart.)

A beautiful little grey, green-eyed tabby stared back at me from behind the tank. I slowly reached from him as I spoke softly and his haunches went up as he started to hiss.

And so our relationship was off to a fantastic start.

I one of those people who believe that a pet is for life. I have no intention of sending him packing, even though it has been suggested far too often by family and Mike. They seem to view animals as disposable when the going gets tough, and I just can’t bring myself to drop off an animal simply because he drives me up the wall.

From constantly throwing up wherever and whenever he sees fit to shitting and pissing on clothes and carpeting; he has to be one of the dirtiest animals I have ever seen. It’s pretty sad when I have to do a sweep of the house to search for any unwanted presents when we’re expecting guests. For a somewhat neat and obsessive person that I am, it makes me a fuckin‘ lunatic when I find these unwanted gifts. I go into this blind rage causing me to think of all the harmful and hateful things I could do to this animal: but it all fades in time and we’re back to just hating each other.

He’s been checked over by our vet yearly and, much to Mike’s chagrin, each time he’s been giving a clean bill of health. A very clean bill of health – like, we’ve been told to expect at least another 8 years of him.

He’s limited his defecation to clothes that are tossed haphazardly on the basement floor – and their usually an article of Mike’s which really pisses him off. Simple solution: pick up your clothes, right? Well, not Mike. He feels that since it’s his house he should have the right to toss his clothes as he sees fit and not have to be concerned about the fact that they may acquire a certain odour or pile of poop left for ME to clean up.

That’s right. Me. I clean it up.

Otherwise the offending article will end up in the hamper with shit still clung to it.

Seriously.

[Sometimes I wonder: who's dirtier? The cat or the man?]

And! Everything just gets weirder when I’m pregnant.

Since I’ve been off work both the dog and cat have been clinging to me. Stalking me.

The dog just sits and stares at me. Stares constantly. Wants nothing, just stares.

And the cat? I wake in the middle of the night and he’s there, right beside me in bed, he follows me to the bathroom constantly under foot which makes me question his motives: is he just trying to be close to me, or trying to trip me since I’m in a blurry state of sleep and can’t see me feet?

I thin he’s trying to do me in while walking down the stairs, by weaving in and out around my feet.

Smug little bastard. REMEMBER WHO PROVIDES YOUR FOOD, HOUSING AND LITTER YOU LITTLE SHIT.

The tripping and weaving has turned into some kinda sick game leading me to the point where I have to actually kick him down the stairs prior to me trying to take a step. Now before you call the SPCA note that there are 5 steps – not a full flight – and he’s fat, so he’s well padded. He can take it.

Plus it gives me what little satisfaction I can get out of seeing him flop ass over tea kettle down those stairs until he reaches the bottom.

Glaring at me when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, I can just tell he’s plotting where to leave the next shit-filled gift of love.

Stupid furball.

If you’ve been following my Tweets this morning you’d see that I’ve been freaking over the loss of my 2GB flash drive. I admit that I haven’t been entirely careful with it considering it holds a bunch of valuable information for my work’s new websites – yes, WEBSITES. Stupid me hadn’t backed it up to a computer, just kept everything on the flash drive. The flash drive that has been MIA over the past week I’ve been avoiding my boss’ requests for visual updates. I may have even used the excuse that my toddler hid it on me because what good are children if you can’t implicate them for missing items. But being that it’s a new week and *should* of had the opportunity to find it over th weekend, I can no longer avoid his requests. Hence me – freaking the shit out.

Blurred by despair, I agreed giving a blow job should Mike be able to locate the flash drive (since he’s home for the day), and won’t you know, the bugger found the damn thing in less that 15 minutes.

Shit.

I don’t know that I can use the syphilis line again.

Got any ideas to get me out of this one?

Or do I just admit defeat and take on for the team?

[Changing topic - NOW]

I now LOVE San Pellegrino and even Perrier now too.

The reason I’m sharing is because I took pictures of the bottles that I really like. And how else can I prove to you that I am insane but blog about head and soda water at the same time?

See:

Nice, right?

Still fun?

Yeah, it’s a bottle of fuckin’ water you loon.

Not to mention, a couple of Criss Angel’s motorcycles:

He was away for Christmas holidays or avoiding The Crazy Canadian Stalker while we were there, but I did get to see his store, production office for Mindfreak, as well as some of his bikes and cars.

Not to mention, lose my bag full of lens and camera gear near his store!

That sucked.

But! Thanks to some great person, it was dropped off at Luxor security and I got it ALL back.

I like to think that Criss was looking out for me.

[blank stare]

Mike thinks I shouldn’t put off the fitting for my straight jacket any longer.

Quit nodding. I thought we were friends!

As promised, this weekend will be filled with memes and overdue awards since I’m having a hard enough time keeping you interested I figure: What the hell? What’s one more boring ass post where some people may get excited for linky love and others will bitch that they never win anything.

But before I go on, I must just point out that my slight OCD was gnawing at me since I didn’t have a header so I slapped that thing together in about 5 minutes. I have to say, I am rather pleased with myself. Of course, nothing would have been accomplished without my trusty can of Coke Zero which got me through.

And now, without further ado a due adoo delay! I was tagged by GHD from So, What Do You Do All Day? and it’s even from THIS month… I know there are more, trust me: I have posts to fill later.

Here are my Crazy 8’s:

8 things I’m passionate about:

1. Coke Zero
2. Designing
3. Celebrity gossip
4. Gossip in general
5. Photography
6. My down right hatred for vomit
7. Animal Cruelty
8. Um, guess I should mention something about the family here?

8 things I say often:

1. “Fuck Off”
2. “No, no ta-ta mommy please”
3. “When are you coming home?”
4. “No thank you Carter”
5. “Please don’t touch me”
6. “I’m not having sex”
7. “I think I have to barf”
8. “I just barfed”

8 books I’ve read recently:

1. Human Capitol
2. Under the Boardwalk
3. Fifteen Candles
4. Marley and Me
5. Little Black Book of Style
6. The DaVinci Code
7. Does Perez Hilton count?
8. What to Expect: The Toddler Years

8 things I want to do before I die:

1. Matthew McConaughey
2. Go to New Orleans
3. Meet my grandchildren
4. Go to Egypt
5. Drive a motorcycle
6. Go skydiving
7. Own a Austin Mini
8. A Pool Boy

8 songs I can listen to over and over again, and probably have:

1. Pearl Jam’s TEN album
2. Easy Like Sunday Morning – Lionel Richie
3. Sweet Emotion – Aerosmith
4. Welcome to the Jungle – G n’ R
5. Here for a Good Time – Trooper
6. Mr. Jones – Counting Crows
7. Shook Me All Night Long – AC/DC
8. Pour Some Sugar on Me – Def Leppard

8 things that attract me to my friends:

1. Have to make me laugh
2. Trusting
3. Are able to have a great time as well as just chill out sometimes
4. Reliable
5. Trustworthy
6. We can share gory details of just about anything, can’t be shy!
7. Like potty humour
8. Can act like a 12 year old boy sometimes

8 things I learned in the last year:

1. My husband I are drifting apart
2. I love being a parent to a toddler more then to an infant
3. I love to drive
4. Quit holding everything in
5. My life is in a rut and I am in need of some serious changes
6. Not all friendships are meant to last forever
7. If I don’t clean the house, there is no one else who will
8. It’s truly amazing how long one can last without doing laundry

Now, for the 8 people that I’ve decided to inflict this on:

1. Phat Phannie
2. Moosh in … Utah
3. I Can Fly, Just Not Up
4. Cheaper Than Therapy
5. Velveteen Mind
6. Mrs. Flinger (love you Les!! *smooch*)
7. Kellementology
8. LawyerMama

Fuck, that was painful.

Because Dude, I think I’ve killed my blog.

Erratic and inconsistent posting and nothing to talk about except vile and gut wrenching stories of morning sickness and explosive diarrhea will halt traffic like nothing else.

Not to mention the Pepto-Bismol pink layout that I’ve committed to for another few days, but still haven’t found something (or anything to replace it with), I freakin’ the fuck out! I’m gonna be pink forever!! I can’t stand even looking at my layout, I don’t blame you readers reader for not coming by. I don’t even look at it either. Gahhhh!! (Seriously, I may just download a free theme for the time being: until I get my ass in gear and my head outta the toilet.)

If you’re looking to deter people from coming to visit you follow these simple rules:

1. Talk about morning sickness repeatedly;

2. Share your gory bathroom tales incessantly;

3. Bitch and moan Whine and cry about how hard it is to be you at this very moment;

4. Post erratically and inconsistently and share nothing of value;

5. Try and convince people that you deserve pity;

6. Don’t visit people or comment on their sites, but dammit except MORE in return;

7. Whin, bitch and cry that your traffic is nearing an all time low, and expect that to be enough to get readers back;

8. Pepto-Bisol fuckin’ pink people. Make your layout so fuckin’ pink that you feel sick to your stomach just thinking about clicking over.

9. Leave the pink for an entire month even though you hate it, everyone else hates it and it’s just plain fuckin’ ugly.

10. Oh, and make your site slow as shit so even those that come here regularly are fed up with it’s slow ass loading and get sick of it. (To my defense I have been trying everything to fix how slow it is…)

I need another vacation.