You’re shacked up where?

redcross

Hi ladies and gentlemen, it’s The Calibamamom, coming to you LIVE from…

a hospital bed!! 

It’s true. My colon got angry at me, decided I needed a vacation, and promptly made me sick. REALLY sick. So my travel agent  doctor booked me a nice room at a nearby hospital for a few days . Since my only connection to the outside world at the moment  is my laptop, and I’m hopped up on pain killers and antibiotics, I thought it might be fun to highlight some of the best things about being here. I mean, overall it sucks, but there are some advantages (wink, wink). Especially if you are a sleep-deprived, SAHM to 3 Beans, a dog, and 3 lizards. Oh, and wifey to The Man.

Here’s my Top 5….

1. Ass-baring, one size fits none, gowns.  Talk about a fashion statement!  They snap at the shoulders, and tie in the back. However, even if you connect all the ties and snaps in the right places, chances are your ass will still be hanging out. Which is convenient if your nurse happens to be a little moody. You can just roll over and tell her to kiss it! Oh, and don’t get me started on the weird little pictures/icons printed on the fabric. I mean where do they find this stuff?

2. People at my beck and call…with the push of a button. So far, all of my nurses have been awesome. Although it would be way cooler if they were all insanely gorgeous, male models who walked around in nothing but scrub pants. But I suspect that might slow the healing process. People would be having heart attacks and strokes left and right, in an effort to extend their stays. I might be inclined to fake a coma myself.

3. Jello. Red is the best flavor in my opinion, but here they alternate colors/flavors. So far I’ve had red, green and orange. Just waiting for the yellow, blue and purple to show up so I can give ’em a gold star for supporting The Rainbow. Oh, and they give you a free pass to have as much as you want, especially if you are on that marvelous ‘clear liquid’ diet (see photo below). If only they knew how to make the jello “electric”. Perhaps I should give them the recipe. That would be super fun, right?

Yummy, huh?

Yummy, huh?

4. IV pain meds every 3 hours…Woo-hoo!!! Need I say more? If you want to fly high, and be pain-free–or at least not give a shit that you are in pain–the hospital is THE place to be. Of course if you are like me, and allergic to all the really good stuff, it’s always fun to watch the doctor try to figure out what to give you. Every time I’ve been in the hospital could have been filmed as an episode of  ‘Mysteries in the ER’. True story.

5.  Rabbit-turd ice. You know what I’m talking about right? The ice that’s so fun to crunch, and is only available in hospitals and select fast food places like Sonic Burger (FYI…they sell it in bags). Give me a bucket of that ice, and I won’t bother you for hours. I once checked into buying one of those ice machines for my house, but it turns out they are pretty expensive. Who knew?

Anyway, I’m here for a few days, so this probably won’t be my last post from the M*A*S*H unit, so stay tuned!!

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On top of Forgiveness Mountain

Photo credit: HelloGiggles.com

Photo credit: HelloGiggles.com

Pretty bottles of poison, huh? Actually, I don’t know what the heck is in them, but given the nature of this post, and the quote I’m borrowing from HelloGiggles.com  I’m just gonna stick with the assumption they have poison in them. Besides, one of them has a skull on it, and another has a pentagram. That can’t be a good sign. So there.

“Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die.”

Honestly, that’s the best advice/reason I’ve ever seen about forgiveness, because grudges are toxic…even lethal…substances we carry around. They consume our insides and warp our sense of reality. And with 3 Beans and The Man to take care of, I’m already teetering on the verge of insanity most days anyway, so I’ll pass on the help. Thanks. Admittedly, I’ve fallen victim to grudge holding. Hell, I’ve dragged my family into it, and I’m not proud of that, to say the least. Sometimes being human really is an impossibly heavy cross to bear. 

Anyway, back to forgiveness.

Mama always told me, “Look for the good in people, even if you have to use a magnifying glass once in a while.” Pretty sage advice, I believe. She also taught me to be forgiving and compassionate, with the knowledge that nobody is perfect. Especially me. Despite the handful of times I mentioned previously…when I fell into the grudge trenches, grabbing those within my reach on the way down…I’ve always been generously forgiving. Sometimes to a fault. It also takes A LOT to make me angry enough to cut someone out of my life to the point of holding a grudge. And by a lot, I mean major betrayal, heaps of heartache, or life-altering actions….over an extended period. Usually. But I do have a breaking point, and it has happened. The good news is, as I’ve gathered life experience, resulting in more gray hair than I want, I’ve also developed a keener eye for people with agendas. Thus, resulting in a tighter circle full of loyal people whom I would trust with the lives of myself and family, rather than energy vampires who suck the life out of me or threaten to wreck what I’ve got going on. Must be true….wisdom comes with age, huh?

For the past few years, our little tribe has been on a seemingly never-ending hike over some very rough terrain. Let’s see…there has been betrayal by friends and/or trusted business associates, job related shake-ups, financial destruction/rebuilding, addiction and recovery, not one but two family moves, and the deaths of two beloved family pets. Clearly, our plates have overflowed with a variety of things. And that’s just the general Cliff Notes summary. Plenty of other less devastating, yet still significant hurdles have presented themselves along the way as well. But, in the spirit of my mama, and her wish to always focus on the good, and avoid shrouding the entire span of time in darkness, I will direct you to some positive times. Like thisthis and this. And this. OH… and this, of course. But, suffice to say, we’ve learned enough life lessons in the past 8 years to keep The Beans’ (along with their children & grands) karma cards free of a balance for quite a while. Just about the only things we haven’t had to endure are divorce and the terminal illness or loss of a family member. God-forbid any of those happen!! Seriously. I know The One in Charge thinks I’m a bad-ass already, as evidenced by the weight of what I’ve carried in the past. So I’d prefer not to be reminded again just yet. All good for now, and honestly…I could use a rest.

Did you hear that? (please say yes)

Fortunately, it seems that prayer has been heard, although I’m understandably hesitant to hold my breath, or sigh in relief just yet. I mean, you never know…right? However, I am happy to report….as we waded through the muddy water, and slid down slippery slopes into deep valleys at times…we also managed to simultaneously climb a mountain called FORGIVENESS. Mostly of those who betrayed us and of each other, but especially of ourselves. Oh and the view from atop, looking down at the distance we’ve traveled is a marvelous one indeed. The words “I FORGIVE YOU” have never felt so powerful and freeing as they do in my life today. I’ve said them before, but the sound of that phrase now is the equivalent of harp strings plucked by angels’ fingers. Oh, and the bottles of poison? They have been emptied, their contents replaced with the liquid of GRATITUDE. As the saying goes…“To err is human; to forgive is divine”. So so true. I’m proud of how much The Man and I have grown–as people–and the resilience we’ve had in the face of all sorts of things. The Beans will be stronger and smarter as the result of it, I hope.

And more appreciative.

And kinder.

But most of all, more….

FORGIVING.

 

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10 Things I Hate About 41

It’s no secret that I’m over 40. Although since I live in Los Angeles, and I’m married to The Man who’s married to The Industry, maybe I should have stopped aging at 30. Yeah, a nice even number. That’s a believable lie, right?  {crickets chirping} FINE. I can’t lie about it now. But I CAN tell you all the reasons why it sucks giant, hairy and sweaty donkey balls, now can’t I?!

The photo below shows me being a hot mess….literally. Holding a beer, my phone, and my wallet all in one hand, while using the other to shoo a bug out from under my niece’s wedding dress. Yes, that really happened. Anyway, this photo is relevant because it was during this particular plantation wedding weekend that I began to really start hating the downside of 40, and the approach of…FORTY-ONE. The look on my face says it all, doesn’t it?  Not sure if I laughed or cried next. Could have been either. Seriously.

She really had a bug under her dress!

She really had a bug under her dress!

Over the past 6 months, things have begun to CHAAAANGE. Normally  I’m delighted to welcome change with open arms. However, there are a few key players in my physiological make-up that were just fine the way they were….when I was 35, 30, 20 🙂 Which brings me to:  

10 Things I Hate About 41

 

1. I’m not 40 anymore.  Yes, I actually enjoyed being 40. Something about that milestone birthday is attractive. Just like turning 18, then 21, followed by 30, 35 and FORTY. It’s the last best milestone, I think. Now, I’m just 41.

2. Phantom aches & pains—in my back, in my hip, in my big toe or my eyeballs—I could go on forever. Hello? My bones are old. I know. I know. But I really do not enjoy being reminded.

3. My hair is falling out For God’s sake, my hair was my best asset FOR YEARS, and now it’s thinning. I actually broke down and bought some of that ‘AGE DEFY’ shampoo and conditioner that I never even knew existed, until now. wtf…WTF?? I’ve always had great hair, like the Pantene girls. Now I am fully expecting to wake up one morning, rise from my bed, only to discover that all my hair is still lying on the pillow. Or worse, have it slip through my hands and down the drain while I’m washing it. I’m having HORROR HAIR FLASHES to accompany the other flashes (See #4)

4. One minute I’m freezing, the next I am burning up– Hot flashes my ass. These are like nuclear meltdowns, causing a chain reaction of unpleasant shit. Then, in seconds, I’m so cold my teeth are chattering, and I’m walking around wearing my bathrobe on top of my clothes. Even Mother Nature can’t keep up with the internal seasons I’ve got going on. Of course it doesn’t help when The Man says “You’re going through The Change“. Thanks, asshat. I’ll show you change. 

5. I’m thirsty all the time— I’ve never been one to consume a lot of liquids. Not a conscious choice, I just don’t get thirsty. Well shit fire, I am now apparently making up for all the years I forgot to drink. Just great.

6. Incontinence– To be fair, I’ve always had a somewhat weak bladder. I used to pee when I laughed in high school. Of course, childbirth times 3 made it much worse, and now….well…because of #5 above, I HAVE TO PEE CONSTANTLY. Go figure. Perhaps I can be a spokesmodel for Depends, just like Lisa Rinna. Whaddaya think?

7. Young people refer to me as “Mrs” or “ma’am”– Being from the South, I appreciate the reverence. But at the same time, it makes me want to punch the teenaged cashier at Von’s right in the face when she says “Here you go ma’am” as she hands my ID back after she cards me. Brighten my day by asking for my ID, and then burst the balloon by calling me ‘ma’am’. FINE. Be that way. You’ll be old one day.

8. My eyesight is getting worse–as if THAT were possible, right? I mean, I already have something stupid called Adie’s pupil–my right one is permanently blown–so it makes me look like Marilyn Manson, in bright light. Right one blown, left one pinpoint. Most of the time, if people actually look into my eyes and notice, they want to know what kind of cool psychedelic drugs I’ve dropped. It’s very entertaining. That problem aside, I can’t see shit now.

9. What short-term memory?–Sometimes, I feel like Dorie in Finding Nemo. I’ll walk through my house from one room to another, on a mission, and by the time I get there, I stand in the middle of the room wondering what the hell I’m doing there. On occasion, I’ve retraced my steps in an effort to jog my memory. Almost never works. So I guess it’s really true….I gave a 1/4 of my brain cells to each of my children. Thank God we stopped at 3. Otherwise, I’d be a vegetable. Oh, joy!

10. Sahara– This is what I have nicknamed my nether region, because of the dryness. Seriously, I am expecting The Man to saddle up on a camel the next time he wants to take a ride. All the while, I’m thinking “Hey…Eve…I hope that fruit was damn tasty!”

I just have one last thing to say. When I finally kick it, please bury me upside down, so Aunt Flow and her groupies, Bald and Blind, can kiss my tired, old, forgetful ass, will ya?

 

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If videos kill the radio star…then kids kill the porn star.

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…at least that’s what my mama always told me, and I’m the youngest of 7, so I guess she knew. 
But clearly this post is not about my mama. It’s about THIS mama, and the lack of ‘rolling in the hay’ my barn has seen since becoming one. Of course, it’s not because The Man isn’t ready, willing, and able at the drop of his pants a hat, which I’ve talked about here and here, but mostly as the result of that evil thing called postpartum, pre-menopausal, decreased libido. (I’m certain this is not a bona fide clinical term, but damn it sounds official, doesn’t it?) So, in essence, I take all the blame. But I bore all the children too, and well..things change. And I call bullshit on anyone who claims otherwise, because let’s face it…
As mothers, we just can’t please everyone. Go ahead, try it. I dare you…just for a day. Then get back to me and let me know how it worked out for you, after you awaken from the coma you’ll slip into as the result of the exhaustion it caused. 🙂
First of all, in my house, nine times out of ten, the one who is screaming the loudest gets the attention. Personally, I’ve noticed that The Man tries to avoid this type of outburst, and usually gets neglected as a result. Kind of his fault, but chalk one up for The Beans for always beating him to the chase in this department. Something about ear-splitting wails coming from a tiny human just kills the mood, even if I’ve promised myself , and him, that ‘tonight is definitely the night’. Admittedly, it does improve when they sleep through the night, but I should mention at this point, that our Butter Bean woke up no less than 3 times a night until she was 3 and a half years old. So Sweet Pea slept in the room with us for about a year. Not in the bed with us, mind you, but in a crib across the room. Obviously, the reason for this is they needed to share a room, and I didn’t want one to wake up the other, because a 3 am wake-up call at the hands of a toddler AND an infant is just a shit show. Sometimes literally. And quite the ‘coitus interruptus’ if we happened to be awake, getting busy. So that’s the effect the toddler years had on the sex life. For 3 consecutive terms. Just like prison.
Moving on.
We are now in the years when it shouldn’t be an issue. They are all school-aged. But it still is. Now we must worry about them walking in on us. Lock the door, you say? Tried it. Sweet Pea stood outside and gave her best impression of Stewie from ‘Family Guy’ when he is repeatedly saying ‘Mom, mom, mother, mommy, etc”. Try doing the deed through THAT. Besides, I’m convinced my daughters inherited my ability to pick locks, and that’s a problem. Oh, and not that I’m a ‘screamer’, but there is also the problem of making too much noise and US waking THEM up. What a conundrum, right? So what the fuck are we supposed to do? (no pun intended here)
Schedule sex? I’ve heard of this. Not for me. What I loved most about the months of dating, pre-baby (yes, I said months) was the spontaneity. You know, the freedom to start off with one of those seemingly innocent, yet deep, soul touching kisses that ends up with you and your mate up against a wall, or on the dining room table scrambling to tear each other’s clothes off? Penciling “it” in, just erases all the fun out of it in my opinion. But hey, to each his own.
Go to a hotel? Right. This costs money, and in this economy….with 3 Beans…it’s not happening. Plus, babysitters are scarce up in here. Unless someone wishes to volunteer to come and stay the weekend? And then I’m sure we’d spend the majority of the hotel stay catching up on sleep. Seriously.
Last but not least, the nails in the coffin of my sex drive are the biological changes that have begun to take hold of my body, causing the aforementioned postpartum, pre-menopausal, decreased libido. Nothing I can do about this either. As Dr.V told me 2 weeks ago“You are entering the 40’s. Things start to change.” Often, I just don’t feel sexy, despite constant affirmations from The Man, that I am, in fact, the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. When I look in the mirror, I see a face with tired skin, multiple blemishes and dark circles. The once perky boobs that so efficiently nursed The Beans are no longer standing at attention, and my dancer’s body…while not carrying extra weight….is just, well, soft. Oh…and don’t get me going on my gray roots. I realize I have earned every single silver hair on my head,  yet I really wish I wasn’t such an overachiever in that respect. And there are other things too…but that’s TMI. Google my made up terminology and see what you get in association with it 🙂
Maybe I should read “Fifty Shades of Grey” for inspiration. You think that will help? After all, the man in that book and The Man in my life do have the same name, or so I hear. Perhaps that ‘mommy porn’ will resurrect my inner porn star. At this point, it’s worth a shot, I believe. Especially when the alternative is praying my fire reignites once The Beans have flown the coop. When The Man and I are older than dirt.
Guess I need to go to the library, don’t I?

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