Posted in C-Haze, Children, Funny, Humor, Single Mom

Potty Training Under Threat of Mortal Punishment

My three year old is finally potty trained.

I’m so excited I just don’t even know what to do with myself!

Potty training has been a hell of an ordeal- quite possibly my biggest motherhood challenge to-date.

Frustratingly, my daughter got the hang of it and knew what a potty was, as well as its proper use pretty early- the problem lay in getting her to utilize it consistently.

The whole thing was a game for her. She’d wake up one day proclaiming, “Mommy, I am not your baby anymore” which meant she was going to go pee pee on the potty. She’d do a great job- for days at a time- and just when I was beginning to breathe that sigh of relief, and dare to hope I would never have to buy any more diapers, she’d change her mind.

Suddenly she’d announce, “I’m your baby now”… and promptly pee all over herself.


I’d throw my hands in the air, grit my teeth, clean up the mess and yank my child into yet another pair of pull-ups.

This had been going on for the better part of six months, and has been absolutely maddening. I’ve tried everything from positive reinforcement to desperately pleading with her, to all-out bribery. Once, I bought her a package of Dora the Explorer undies and told her that she cannot go pee pee on Dora- or else Dora will be very sad and cry. My daughter didn’t believe me, and set out to prove me wrong. After immediately peeing all over Dora, she looked at me and said, “See Mom? Dora’s not crying”.


I was becoming a bit unhinged over this, and at her most recent checkup begged her pediatrician for some guidance. There’s gotta be a pill or something they can prescribe to make a kid suddenly want to use the damn toilet, right?

Apparently not.

Further, I’m doubtful the woman has any children of her own.

After doing a horrible job of hiding her amusement at my child’s thriving manipulation skills, the doc’s advice was to merely be patient. She told me the worst thing I could do is rush my daughter or discipline her for having an accident.

“Children have their own priorities and she will decide in her own time whether or not she’s ready”.


Times are tough, and diapers are expensive. If she can manage to be a “big girl” for days at a time then she’s smart enough to do it consistently- and permanently.

I’m on a budget, dammit!

So last week I sat my daughter down and very calmly told her in no uncertain terms that effective immediately, she is now potty trained.


There may even have been a threat involved… but regardless, I am happy to report that she got the message loud and clear.

Now, several days later, my daughter has been in nothing but big-girl panties, and has had zero accidents.

She’s even managed to make it through the nights without any mishaps, and we have successfully maneuvered more than one trip outside of the home.

I must say I am quite satisfied with myself.

I do realize now that I’ve recorded my ordeal, etching it permanently in cyberspace, I’ve probably just jinxed myself.

Oh well. At least she’s headed to her dad’s house for the upcoming week…


Posted in C-Haze, Children, Funny, Humor, Music, Single Mom

The Myth of the 3D Glasses

I need to have a word with this Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana chick, as I have unwittingly had to dedicate the better part of my weekend to her.

The reason for my despair is the showing of Ms. Montana’s “Best of Both Worlds” concert in 3D on television tonight.

I, of course, have heard nothing over the past 24 hours other than my daughter’s incessant wailing- “We just have to go get the 3D glasses! We have to!”

Well I tried dammit.

I looked everywhere for those stupid glasses and have come to the conclusion that they do not exist. There is not a single store in the entire metropolitan area that still has them in stock, and no one in the city- or elsewhere, for that matter- has any more of the TV Guide issues that supposedly contained them either.

I heard a rumor that Wal-Mart had them… so I called the store closest to my house.

“Yes, I’m calling to see if you have any more of…”

The person on the other end of the line didn’t even let me finish my sentence.

“No m’am, we are out of Hannah Montana glasses”

“How the hell did you know what I was calling for? I didn’t even get a chance to tell you…” I was sort of surprised. Wal-Mart employs psychics now?

The lady just laughed at me, explaining that every single call she has taken over the last 48 hours has been an anxious parent in need of these elusive glasses. She happily informed me that no one has them, and that they sold out the first day they came in.

I think the dumb glasses are a myth, and I’d bet a week’s salary at this point that it was all just a publicity stunt… an urban legend that will likely be debunked first thing Monday morning on snopes. Millions of parents all over the country will come to realize that they were the butt of the newest Disney joke.

My daughter’s watching this much-anticipated concert even as I type, and by the way she’s acting, you’d think this teen sensation is currently in my living room- in the flesh.

I am absolutely amazed at Disney’s ability to take a kid, slap a wig on her head, and somehow turn her into an entire industry.


I’m in the wrong damn line of work.

Posted in C-Haze, Children, Funny, Humor, Single Mom

The Slow Burn of the Economy and Footwear

Like just about everyone else, I am feeling the burn of the economy.

Being a single parent, I was never exactly rollin’ in the dough, but I’ve done alright. I have a decent job and no credit card debt. I’ve had to get creative- or what I thought at the time was creative- a time or two, but overall it hasn’t been too bad…

Until now.

Between the cost of gas, groceries and everything else, it’s safe to say I am broke. Extremely, pathetically broke. After paying $4 for a measly gallon of milk the other day, I honest to God thought I was going to vomit… and I won’t even talk about what I did the first time I paid close to $60 for a single tank of gas.

That’s why I experienced something dangerously close to blind panic when I realized both of my daughters need new shoes. The Baby’s were getting so small she could barely fit her little feet into them anymore, and The Diva’s toes were poking out of hers.


Normally a thing such as shoe shopping is not enough to make me burst into tears, but considering I have no money (did I mention I’m broke??), that’s exactly what happened. I was so distraught I actually had to have a friend of mine review my (bleak) budget with me and help me figure out how in the world I could fit two new pairs of shoes into it.

After crunching the numbers, my buddy gave me the bad news- I could afford exactly $30, including tax- on shoes.


I typically spend more than that on one pair of shoes for one child… this is now my total budget?


I didn’t think it could be done- I realize I have instantly dropped from middle-class to poor. Similar to suddenly dropping 10,000 feet in an airplane during turbulence, the feeling is not a good one. It can make a person like me physically ill.


Alright, enough of the pity party. Poor or not, I had no choice. The kids needed new shoes, and I had to buy them. Period. So off we went, in search of cheap-yet-sturdy-yet-socially-acceptable footwear… the sort of thing I didn’t believe actually existed.

It wasn’t easy, and it took some bargain hunting, but I am happy to report I was not only able to purchase two pairs of shoes for the little ones, but 6 pairs of socks as well, all for the bottom-barrel price of $27.66.

And yes, that includes tax.

While I’m certain no one who reads this will find themselves nearly as excited as I am, this is never the less a small victory in a very large, very expensive, very jacked up world… and I’m feeling pretty smug. So maybe I can survive this recession the uber-rich politicians keep trying to convince me is just part of my imagination after all.

Time will tell, I guess. Until then, baby’s got a new pair of shoes!

Posted in C-Haze, Children, News, Politics, Race, Religion, Single Mom

What’s So Wrong With Adam and Steve?

What in the world is a “traditional couple” anyway?

I found myself wondering about this today as I read an article in which John McCain was asked if children should only be adopted by “traditional couples”.

He, of course, answered in the affirmative.

Not surprisingly, he thinks it’s wrong that gay people are allowed to adopt.

That got me thinking…

Perhaps he’d rather see children adopted by this woman?

Judith Leeken fell into the category of “traditional”- at least by McCain’s definition. She was also just sentenced to 11 years in prison after pleading guilty to 11 counts- one count for each child- of adoption fraud in New York.

Seems Ms. Leeken adopted multiple children with various disabilities.

She, however, didn’t adopt these children out of love or compassion… she merely adopted them because they each came with a handsome monthly check from the state.

By the time the law caught up with her she had taken over a million dollars in state funding, though her children saw no benefit from that money. They were forced to sleep on a concrete floor in a room adjacent to the garage. They weren’t allowed to enter her home… and if they did, they suffered horrible consequences.

She’s a monster, and she has ruined the lives of 11 precious children.

In contrast we have David and Ralph– life partners in California.

Obviously they are gay.

David and Ralph chose to adopt three children- Summer, Brittany and Martin, all natural siblings.

The state had been having a tough time placing these beautiful little ones, as it isn’t easy to place three kids within the same home.

While certainly admitting that it would be a challenge, David and Ralph adopted all three… thus creating a wonderful and diverse family unit.

The children enjoy such activities as gymnastics, karate, swimming and soccer.

They have two parents that love them- and each other- unconditionally.

In short, they are thriving.

In this day in age, “traditional” is a word that is definitely up for interpretation, as it no longer exists- at least not in the “Leave it to Beaver” sense from 50-plus years ago.

Divorce rates hover around 60%… single parents are everywhere, as are multi-racial and extended families.

Step-parents are common- as are step-children- and families are now more diverse than they have been in the past.

Children need stability, consistency and love.

That’s all.

Families are more diverse than ever and the “traditional” set-up is becoming less and less the norm.

This is not a bad thing.

I’ll put my money on Ralph and David’s kids and their future success- as a couple and as a family unit- over Ms. Leeken’s abusive world any day.

Are all straight parents evil? Of course not.

I’m one of them, after all.

Gay parents aren’t evil either- at least not by virtue of their sexuality.

Personally speaking, I am a product of our foster system. I was a ward of the state for the first six years of my life and can atest- firsthand, no less- that simply because a family unit falls under the heading of “traditional” does not make them good or nurturing people.

Denying children a loving home- even if that home may be headed by two people of the same sex- is ridiculous.

Love is love, and children are children.

It’s simple, really.

Why not open our minds a little- and maybe take joy in seeing children thriving in loving environments, no matter what their parents’ sexual orientation.

People use the same argument today in denying gay couples the right to adopt as they used 40 years ago in denying children the chance to live in a multi-racial home.

“The children will be teased” is the prevailing thought.

So what?

Children are teased no matter what. I was teased because I’m bi-racial. Other classmates were teased for wearing glasses. Or being fat. Or being too thin. Or having freckles. Or wearing braces. The list is endless.

Kids all over the world are in desperate need of love and direction.

Two daddies- or two mommies- can provide for children just as well as a mommy and a daddy, or a mommy and a step-daddy, or a daddy and a step-mommy, or a single mom or a single dad.

At the end of our days, when we’re all waiting in line at the pearly gates… the last thing on God’s mind will be how we managed to acheive an orgasm while on earth.

He doesn’t give a damn whether we got off by ourselves… or whether we got off by being with a man or a woman.

He loves us no matter what.

He made us. He knows us. He understands us.

Anyone who can give unconditional acceptance to any of the millions of children who need it is cool with me.

Posted in C-Haze, Children, Funny, Humor, Memories, Nostalgia, Single Mom

Fireworks, Princess Shoes and Divas

I remember growing up in Charlotte, and every year on the 4th of July my parents would take us to this park downtown. It was a lot like what they have here in St. Louis, minus the river. The city would put on a helluva fireworks show, blasting them off of some high rise, all to the music provided by the Charlotte Pops.

We’d arrive early and have a picnic dinner spread out in the park on a blanket. While the grownups hung out and talked, waiting for the show to start, we’d all run around and play.

It was awesome.

Once I got married and had my oldest daughter, my then-husband and I tried to continue that tradition. By then we were in St. Louis, so we’d go to the riverfront, get a seat as close to the Arch as possible, and watch the show.

My daughter hated it.

She was just a baby, and then a toddler. The noise of the fireworks scared her to death, and she hated all the people around her- half of ’em drunk, in much too close a proximity to her.

After a couple years, we stopped going to see the fireworks. It was too much work, and we couldn’t enjoy the show without my daughter flippin’ out. She would put her little hands over her ears, squeeze her eyes shut and scream at the top of her lungs until it was over.

We altered our tradition, instead barbecuing in the afternoon and then setting off our own fireworks that were store bought. I’d sit in the front yard with my daughter while my husband would light them one after another.

I must say- fire terrifies me- and always has. Year after year, I’d swallow my fears and pretend I didn’t have visions of body parts getting blown off. I’d paste a fake smile on my face, and watch my now-ex put on a show that was always full of sparks for our daughter.

Years later our family grew to include one more daughter- the baby of the bunch, and our tradition continued.

Eventually, we divorced.

Last year I had my ex come over  to do his fireworks thing for our girls. They had a great time, and I didn’t have to try and overcome my fire phobia. I was able to do what I always have in the past- pull up a chair and watch the show.

This year he went out of town and was therefore unavailable… I was stuck.

No way was I willing to purchase any of those flying death traps myself. Hell, when I say I’m terrified of fire(works) I mean it. I won’t even use a sparkler unless I’m drunk and don’t know any better… but I found myself unwilling to allow the birthday of our country to pass by with no celebration.

I decided it was time to revive our old tradition of heading downtown to watch the fireworks show.

My oldest daughter isn’t a baby anymore, and within a month of her 10th birthday, she feels that she is scared of nothing. When I told her where we were going, she didn’t even bat an eye… apparently she has no memory of the 4th of July drama from her youth. 

My youngest daughter in contrast, at 3, truly is fearless.

I told them it was time to get ready to go. I told them it was a special occassion… it’s the birthday of the USA afterall.

My oldest decided this was definitely something to get dressed up for (much like she dresses up for everything- even taking out the trash, it seems). She fastened on her fake hair- bought just yesterday from Walgreens, no less- stood in front of the mirror for about an hour and a half and finally decided she was ready to go. She looked very trendy- and old for her age.

My littlest one, not to be out-done, decided she needed to get diva-fied as well. She strapped on a huge sparkly plastic princess tiara, matching (and just as gaudy) clip-on earrings, a necklace, 2 rings and…

Her Princess shoes. These contraptions are pink, and the heels are about an inch high. They’re sandal-type things and are made of plastic. The strap that goes across the toe is clear and has glitter on it.

They clatter when she walks.

My daughters certainly are foreign creatures to me. I was wearing my signature jeans with a t-shirt and flip-flops. My hair was in a ponytail, I was wearing no make up (as usual), and of course had no fake hair. I don’t even have fake nails… and it’s doubtful I ever owned a tiara. Ever.

Where the heck did they inherit this girly-girl stuff?

I figured we left the house in plenty of time to find a decent spot to watch the show…  we headed out around 7:30, and the fireworks display was set to begin just after 9… we only live a few miles away from the river. 

I was horribly mistaken.

After driving around for half an hour trying to find a place to park (by this point I was ready to pay- any amount of money- for a decent spot), I had no choice but to pull into what I know was an illegal space a good 15 miles from the river (or that’s how far away it seemed anyhow). I’d have done better to walk from my little townhouse to the river… yea it would have taken a couple hours but really that’s how long I figured it would take to get from my rigged parking spot anyway.

Regardless, it took us a long time to get there from the car. A LONG time.

Part of this was sheer distance. The other, bigger part, was because of my youngest daughter.

Seems she had a little trouble walking in those princess shoes, but out of sheer determination (her mother’s stubbornness, I’m willing to bet), she would not be carried. She insisted on walking the whole way… it was frustrating to be sure… but I’m proud of my little trooper just the same. She also felt the need to stop all 30,000 spectators we came across to say hello and introduce herself.

Finally we found a spot and I gratefully plopped down on top of our blanket to watch.

The fireworks were beautiful. Stunning.

Neither of my girls cried or flinched during any part of the show.

They didn’t even cover their ears.

They were captivated- the water, the people, the gorgeous lights… all of it. They both went a little nuts, clapping and hooting during the finale. It was very sweet.

Afterwards, the walk back to the car was murder. 24 hours later I’m still recouperating. My little one’s determination to walk was apparently only a one-way endeavor, and I had to carry her- uphill, while she was sleeping- the entire way back.

Both of the girls were asleep by the time I maneuvered the people and the traffic and managed to get us home.

Today my body hurts from carrying my daughter 27 miles… and walking uphill the whole way… but I gave them a memory they’ll never forget, from the long walk to the fireworks to their fake hair and plastic princess shoes.

That, I must say, is absolutely priceless.

Posted in C-Haze, Children, Funny, Humor, Single Mom

Farts, Humping and Stripper Shoes


Kids do and say the darnedest things, don’t they?

Yesterday as I was preparing dinner my three year old came over to me. She pulled me down so that my face was even with hers… I’m thinking I’m about to be told something very important.

“I farted. Jealous?”


This morning while dropping both my daughters off at daycare (it’s summer break, but momma’s still gotta work), one of the teachers complimented me on the brown shoes I was wearing.

She told me they’re cute…

Before I could thank her, The Diva (a.k.a. my oldest daughter) jumps into the conversation.

“Yeah, but that outfit would be so much cuter if she’d have worn her stripper shoes”.


I promptly, though blushingly told her that “stripper shoes” is not an appropriate term, especially for a nine year old.

She responded by saying, “Why? That’s what YOU call them”


From the mouths of babes, right?

So I’m at work, and my co-worker tells me she had to whup her son- he’s six- the other day.

He asked a girl if she would like to hump him.


Does he even know what humping is?!?!

Yep, sure does.

Upon learning that her son has propositioned a classmate, my co-worker is mortified.

She wonders, “How did my son learn this word? How can he possibly know what humping is?”

She fearfully asks him all the necessary questions…

Has anyone ever touched him in his privates? No.

Has anyone ever said anything sexual in nature to him? No.

Alright, at least it doesn’t look as if he needs counseling to heal from being molested by some deviant…

So how does he know what humping means?

He saw it on TV.

My co-worker’s brother, who watches the little boy while she’s at work during the day says he learned it “from the pedophile on Family Guy”.

Ok, I have to admit- when I heard that- I snickered some. I love that show!

My co-worker beat the child silly, and promptly put her brother on punishment.

Nevermind that he’s 42.

The next day, she instructed her son to tell his father what he had received a spanking for.

His response?

“I did something private”

Apparently he almost got another beating… not only does he know what humping is… but he knows it’s private and therefore inappropriate…

Now if that ain’t a man in the making, I don’t know what is!

Posted in C-Haze, Funny, Humor, Single Mom

Cops, Drug Paraphernalia, Dobbs and License Plates

Alright, so sometimes shit gets away from me, and I fall a little (ahem) behind on stuff that needs to get done.

For example, my plates expired in March.

Yeah, March. It’s June.

Why have I not been all over this?


Who knows. Just wasn’t worried about it, I guess.

Consequently, I’ve been driving on expired tags for the better part of 3 months now. The longer I was able to go without getting caught, the less I worried about renewing my plates, and the lower it went on the list of shit to get done.

Well, I got pulled over yesterday.


It was an ordeal, too. Ol’ Barney Fife was convinced I had weed paraphernalia in my vehicle. Even asked if it was ok to search it. I was pissed he’d even ask such a thing… but the reason is that about a year ago, one of my license plates got stolen… and it was used in some kinda drug deal or something. The plate became evidence in a trial, so I never got it back.

The problem is, every time I get pulled over now, we have to go through this, “M’am, do you have drugs in the vehicle?” nonense.

Annoying as hell.

Anyway, once we got that all worked out- and he realized I’m just a suburban chick from St. Charles on my way to work, Mr. Copper decided to give me a ticket for the expired tags. 

Shoot. Now I really do have to get my plates renewed. Stat.


So I get in to work this morning, and diligently- first thing- called Dobbs because they’re right down the street from my job, and scheduled my inspection and emissions testing for this afternoon. Then I hopped online and paid my personal property tax… I was on a roll!

I started to think that this is pretty easy afterall and maybe I was a teeny bit stupid for having waited so long to begin with.

I asked my friend to follow me to the car place so I could drop my vehicle off, and she can give me a ride back. I had the appointment scheduled and everything, so off we go.

Why can’t anything be simple?

See, when we got to Dobbs, no one knew who I was. Said they didn’t have anything scheduled for me today, and certainly were not expecting a 2006 Chrysler Sebring…

Well what happened then?

I was adamant.

“I TALKED TO TOM!! Where is he?? He’s the guy who scheduled this thing!!”

“M’am”, I was told, “There is no Tom here”.


Shit. Am I hallucinating again? Did I or did I not just call these people and make an appointment?


I’m almost sure I did… 

That’s when they tell me… “I think there’s a guy named Tom at the other Dobbs, at the other end of Olive”.

I’m at the wrong Dobbs.

Who knew there are 2 of them on the street I work on?

That should be outlawed. Having 2 of the exact same establishments on the same damn street is just plain greedy. 

Not to mention very confusing.

How the hell was I supposed to know where I was calling? I just looked in the phone book, saw the street name (so what if I paid no attention whatsoever to the address itself) and called.

“Well ok- so I made the appointment at the wrong flippin’ place. So what? I’m here now. Can’t you just be a dear and squeeze me in real quick? Please?”

Yeah- that’s me actually begging.

They were unsympathetic to my plight (jerks) and sent me off to the correct Dobbs.


What started as a quick little break from work to drop my car off is turning into an hour-long scavenger hunt. I hate scavenger hunts to begin with.

That other stupid Dobbs may technically be on the same street as this one, but lord help me it was far enough away.

This nightmare took so long, I had to call my boss to explain why I had been AWOL from the office for such an extended period…

She laughed at me.

In response, I wished her many years of unsuccessful plate-renewals. That’ll teach her.

I finally found the right stupid place and managed to drop my car off. The guy wanted to know what my license plate number was, when I was standing at the counter waiting for them put me in the computer.

I didn’t respond.

I guess he could tell by the look on my face that it’d been a bad morning cuz he didn’t ask again. He just said, “You know what, I’ll skip that part for now… I can always go get your plate number later”.

Yeah. Do that.

I have never been shy about the fact that when it comes time to handle certain things- lightbulbs, tires, oil changes- and now state inspections/emissions/plate-renewals…

I hate being single.

However make no mistake. Once my car passes that inspection and I don’t have to worry about tags again for 2 more years… I will once again be a happily single chick… until a lightbulb goes out or I need another oil change, that is.

Posted in C-Haze, Dating, Funny, Humor, Relationships, Single Mom

Doctors, Blue Eyes and Divorce

Visits to the doctor have the potential to be embarrassing enough as it is.

This visit, however, was the visit from hell.

So I’m waiting on that stupid bed/table thingy they make you sit on, with nothing on but that dumb hospital gown… feeling exposed, and more than a little ridiculous.

The doctor comes in… he’s some Indian guy with blue eyes. Who ever heard of such a thing?! Blue eyes? That can’t be natural.

He’s viewing my chart, sees that I’ve had a touch of the depression lately, and that I may have gained a pound or two recently. 

He starts looking me up and down…

“So, looks like you’ve both gained a few pounds and gotten divorced in the past year, huh?”

I nod in the affirmative… the last 18 months have been rough… so maybe I ate a few too many french fries to get through it.

Sue me.

The doctor says to me, “I just don’t understand. Not only should you be happy to have gotten rid of your hubby- not depressed- but you should have lost weight- not gained it! You’re on the market now!”

Woah. I think he’s serious.

I hate him.

I ponder, can I actually kick him in the shin and get away with it?

Probably not.


In my fantasy world, this doctor is a big fat ugly cow… who’s divorced… and broke… with lots of bills to pay… and very depressed… and can’t seem to stop gaining weight.

Oh- and fuck the blue eyes.

Posted in C-Haze, Funny, Humor, Single Mom

Internet, Staple Guns, Quitting Smoking and UPS


I quit smoking. I did it 2 days ago, cold turkey.

No smoking

I’ve certainly had the expected cravings… and have even felt homicidal a time or two. In addition, I am overly emotional. Yesterday, when my oldest daughter gave me a hug and thanked me for buying her a new outfit, I promptly burst into tears.

Last night was the most exciting of all. I’m real jumpy since I quit smoking, and have a lot of what I can only describe as nervous energy.

I’ll explain.

I recently switched internet/cable providers. I went from broadband/cable to DSL/sattelite dish. The new company chose to send me a self-install kit to get my new internet service up and running. No installation fees!! Yay!

There were a few minor challenges from the start. First, UPS refused to deliver the equipment to my home, on account of my not being there, and therefore being unavailable to sign for the package… so I had to run out to the UPS office and get it myself. Next, since I’m switching to DSL, I had to figure out where my phone jacks are located. I should probably already know this, right? But I didn’t. I only had a cell phone until 2 days ago… I couldn’t have told you if I even had phone jacks, let alone where they were located. After my search, I realized I had another minor bump. The phone jack, the one that’s closest to my computer- which is in the living room- isn’t really that close at all- it’s in the kitchen. So in addition to having to grab the internet install kit, I needed to pick up a super-long phone cord. No big deal.

Except when you’ve just given up smoking, that is.

Regardless, I managed to pick the stuff up, and get my ultra-long phone cord with only the most minor of meltdowns.

Side note- to that nice UPS guy, I am so sorry for threatening to bust your clipboard over your head if you didn’t get off the phone with your pregnant wife and find my package NOW!!. To the people at that little corner store where I bought the phone cord, I truly apologize for my 3 year old squatting and pooping in aisle 5. I further apologize for tearfully trying to bribe you to take her- and keep her- forever. I was kidding, I swear.

Anyway, so I get home, open the package and pull out the install CD.

That’s when I realize my CD Rom drive is broken. For Christ’s sake!! What’s next?!?!

From my diagnostic poking around, I realize my youngest daughter has shoved rubber bands and a sales receipt in there. Damn thing is just plain broken.

How the hell do I run the install CD with no CD Rom drive?

Sigh. Off to Wal-Mart I go. My thought was to buy an external drive,  something small and cheap, that I can plug into my USB port. PERFECT plan. Except Wal-Mart didn’t have any external drives.

By this point, I am absolutely psychotic, and on a mission. My options are to either figure out how to get myself connected to the internet OR buy a pack of cigarettes with a vodka chaser. Since I’m not quite ready to admit defeat in the ciggy/vodka department, I instead decide that my only choice is to forge ahead with the internet. I WILL have internet tonight, dammit! So I buy an actual CD Rom Drive, only doing so after lecturing the Wal-Mart lady about how many potential customers her organization is losing by not providing external CD Rom drives.

 <—– THIS is what I had to buy!

Leaving the store I realize I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to install this thing. All I know is that without something to run that install CD on I’m not getting online. Besides, how hard can it be? There are instructions in the box!

Once home, I realize the directions are no help whatsoever. They use big words that only computer geeks would know… so I immediately threw them away. All they did was confuse me anyway.

Before long, I am sprawled out on the kitchen floor with my computer- in about 47 different pieces. I had managed to dismantle the entire damn thing, and I can tell you all I recognized on that floor was the CD Rom drive. Happy to have located it (WITHOUT those stinkin’ directions, I might add), I removed the old drive and put the new one in, careful to hook everything up exactly as it had been before I’d preformed surgery on it.

Holy Hannah, it worked!!

After a few minor bumps (I guess I should also apologize to that kind tech support lady at AT&T. I truly did not mean it when I said I was going to climb through the phone and physically assault you, if you didn’t hurry up and get my internet to work- I mean really- people can’t climb through phones!), I was online and happy.

So what if I have a 9,000 foot phone cord dragging on the floor from my living room, past the bathroom and into the kitchen? That’s what I figured staple guns were for. Only when I happened to casually mention to my mother that I intended to staple the living daylights out of that phone cord to get it permanently affixed along the ceiling- and therefore NOT dragging across my floor- she told me that I was facing certain death. Seems she lacks the confidence that I can take a metal staple gun and manage to shoot metal staples into an electrical cord and live to tell about it. Either that, or she believes I will staple myself in the head on accident. Then, what will the children do?


So for now the cord is laying there on the floor (and it’s quite ugly, I might add). For the record, I do not believe I will electrocute myself if I carry out my original plan with the staple gun. I do, however think it is entirely possible that I will staple myself in the head. Either on purpose, or on accident, you decide. I figure that might push me over the edge and make me fall right off that wagon.

Here’s to the internet, and addictions. Sure does make life interesting when you have ’em both!


Posted in C-Haze, Children, Single Mom

Shaving and the HPV

So I took my oldest daughter to the doctor the other day for her check up. The verdict?

Puberty has begun.

I kind of figured that already… really, it’s pretty easy to tell when the child has a complete meltdown over such tortorous things as being required to do her homework before watching the newest episode of Hannah Montanah (“I HATE MY LIFE!!! NOBODY LOVES ME!!!”). I’ve also noticed the fact that she cannot do even the most minor of physical activities without immediately beginning to smell like a farm animal.

Yuck- the use of deodorant is one rite of passage that I had no problem allowing her to participate in.

Additionally, it seems she is very much aware that things are changing. She knows she’s growing up, and has decided she’s ready to start doing some stuff she was previously too young to care about. Most recently she’s been bugging me about wanting to start shaving her legs. Absolutely not!

She’s only 9!

If she was only 9 and a gorilla woman, I’d consider it. As it is, I’ve never noticed any hair on her legs, and told her so. Little miniscule amounts of peach-fuzz does not count. She pulls me down to the level of her legs and says, “I DO have hair! See?!?!”

Umm… nope. Still nothing. Well, maybe there is a li’l something… if I use a high-powered telescope, capable of viewing microscopic things like germs.

So off she goes, pouting. She tells me, “We’ll just see what the doctor has to say about this! I know SHE’LL tell you I’m ready!” I told her fine by me. Ask away!!

She says, “Really? I can ask the doctor about it?” to which I reply, “Of course- you can ask the doctor anything you want”. Now my daughter’s suspicious… “So, what if she says I’m ready… does that mean you’ll let me start shaving?”

Nope! I sure won’t!

She’s not happy, of course, but off we go to the doctor’s. After the doctor has finished checking my daughter from head to toe, she looks and me and says, “Do you have any questions?” I told her no, at which point my daughter says, “I do! Can you please tell my mom that I’m ready to start shaving?”

The doctor says, “But you’re nowhere near ready to shave!”

I didn’t want to laugh… I mean, she’s my little girl, and she’s sad right now. My daughter, crest-fallen, continues putting her clothes back on, getting ready to leave.

Then her doctor says it.

As she’s about to leave the room, the doc turns to me, and almost as an afterthought asks, “Have you considered giving your daughter the HPV vaccination?”

Say what?

This is the vaccination to prevent genital warts and Cervical Cancer. HPV can only be passed via sexual activity- most commonly intercourse. Did I mention my daughter is only 9?

How is it that she is “nowhere near ready to shave”, according to her doctor… and yet I have to consider whether to give her a shot to prevent a disease that can only be spread through sexual activity? This is the appropriate time for this? According to the doctor, yes. The vaccine is recommended for all girls, beginning at age 9. Wow. Sobering thought.

Just that quickly, puberty, and what it means for my daughter, isn’t so cute anymore.