Turkey Burrito

It's about that time of year again. Time to throw out the left over turkey from Thanksgiving. Let me tell you, the garbage disposal is not ideal.

Murphy's Law in the Kern house was "What can go wrong will go wrong, in the middle of the night, when Dad's not home." So, of course, dad was out of town when mom had the grand idea to run half a left over turkey down the garbage disposal instead of just tossing it in the garbage can.

I may never know how exactly this happened - the physics still confuse me - but just before bed there was some kind of plumbing explosion in the laundry room. It looked like a turkey bomb went off. It was absolutely everywhere. There was turkey in the washing machine. There was turkey stuck to the walls. The carpet was soaked in what had become some kind of turkey sewer broth. Gag!

Uncle Todd to the rescue! As mom and I cleaned up what we could, Uncle Todd addressed the plumbing issues. And by clean up, I mean scrape turkey off the walls with a mop.  On his way out of the house Uncle Todd rolled up the turkey sewer broth soaked carpet and declared he was taking the Turkey Burrito to the curb. We were up so late cleaning up the mess that I missed school the next day. The absence note that I presented to my English teacher was one for the record books, I’m sure.

Too Much Watermellon

I know a little boy, who shall remain nameless, who pees the bed when he’s had too much watermelon. So when our friends brought their daughters to our house for a cookout I kept teasing them, “Don’t eat too much, you’ll pee the bed.”

I should have listened to my own advice. Apparently this rule applies to adults and children alike.

I woke up the next morning quite abruptly. As I bailed out of bed I said to Josh, “Don’t roll over.” So naturally he asked, “Why? Is Jackson in the bed?”

Nope. I was just being courteous enough to try and keep him out of the wet spot. I’m sure you’ve painted yourself quite the mental picture. But it’s not as bad as you think. It’s not like I had to lay down newspapers. Lets call it a squirt – or a dribble, maybe.

Between the watermelon and the very vivid dream I was having about sitting on the toilet, it was bound to happen. Not only was I sitting on the toilet in my dream, my hands were in warm water. So as you can see, this really was not my fault.

Nevertheless, take my advice. Don’t eat too much watermelon. 

Highway 6

One of the several reasons Josh should have dumped me when he had the chance occurred two summers ago on Highway 6. Wandering down the side of the highway late at night, drunk, sweaty, wet and bleeding he picked me up and took me home. Well, not without a quick stop at Aunt Vicky's on the way.

The day started out great! Free tickets to see a few of my favorite bands at Westfair and all access passes to the VIP tent with free beer and a private porta-potty was setting the day up for success. But you really have no idea how drunk you are when you're sweating balls and guzzling one cold beer after another.

Despite my intoxication I was courteous enough to be concerned about Josh getting stuck in the concert traffic when he came to pick me up. So I stuffed an extra beer in my purse and cracked open another for the road as I started hiking down the side of Highway 6 in the pitch dark. About 1/4 mile down the road I came across some rough terrain, slipped in the gravel and biffed it on the side of the road.  It must have been a while since I visited that private porta-potty because I spilled my beer and half my bladder when I hit the ground.

Just as I finished picking the gravel out of my knee Josh came to the rescue. I jumped in the car and sent him straight into the concert traffic I was trying to avoid. I needed to get to the closest toilet, Aunt Vicky's house, because I wasn't done peeing.

The next day we drove up and down Highway 6 more than once so I could show Josh the slope I slipped on that caused the whole accident. Never found it. Turns out that road is flat as a pancake; I was the only thing tilted that night.

Table Rock Lake Enema

It's exactly what it sounds like. The Table Rock Lake Enema was the result of a ski boat and a poorly designed inner tube.

The first tube we tried was called the Flying Saucer. We had to exchange it because it took Lucas for a ride like a kite. After becoming airborne and then landing upside down, he resurfaced with bloody elbows.

We traded the Flying Saucer in for a two-man tube. With inflatable seat cushions that weren't well secured, and one bump after another on the wake, it didn't take long before the water was rushing in the bottom of the tube and straight for our butt holes.

Just like the scene from Great Outdoors, my dad and I start yelling "Stop the boat!" Of course, mom can't hear us and keeps right on going. It's not easy keeping water from rushing up your bum at 20 miles per hour. There was only one thing left to do, bail out. We plugged our noses, counted to three and rolled off the side and into the lake. And that's why we call it the Table Rock Lake Enema.

Olive

Memorial Day weekend 2005 my Grandpa and I ventured down to Rhoden Auto to find me a car. I had driven one hoopty after another since I was 15. I finally had a Real Job so the next thing I needed to officially send me off into adult hood was a car payment.

Grandpa was somewhat of a car aficionado. He spent every Monday morning at the car lot telling dirty jokes and eating donuts with his buddies. So I couldn't think of anyone more suited to help me pick out a Brand New Car.

I had few requirements: good gas mileage, a CD player (yeah, there was no iPod then...) and a sun roof. I saw a pretty green one that met my high expectations. Grandpa and I drove it to my parents house that happened to be just across the street from the duplex I lived in. I got my dad's ecstatic seal of approval "Looks ok to me," and purchased my first Brand New Car.

Grandpa must have really known his stuff or I'm one lucky schmuck. My girl Olive just hit 88,888 miles and she's still going strong! Not bad for a pretty thing with a sun roof.

History Repeats Itself

It was a rainy Spring day about ten years ago when it happened. The event that changed the landscape of my ass forever. Leaving my second floor apartment wearing flip flops and carrying and entire semester worth of text books I ran down the slippery wood steps.

This wasn't just a fall. It was like a scene from a cartoon. I became airborne. I'm fairly certain that my feet came up over my head before I landed ass first on the steps and slid down toward the bottom.  My roommate, Kelli Watson, didn't even know where to begin. I knocked the wind out of myself and starting making caveman grunting sounds trying to breath again. She asked, "Should should I call an ambulance?"

By the time I drove the two hours home and straight to the doctors office my mom works for I was falling apart. The final score was two sprained ankles, a back spasm, pulled muscles and a dent in my ass. I fell so hard the edge of the steps actually rearranged the fat - permanently! I had no idea human flesh could turn black-purple-red and take on the consistency of applesauce.

Then last night, it happened again. Famous last words were "Josh, you carry Jackson and I will carry the drinks. I don't want you to fall down the steps." The last step was a silent killer. All Josh heard were the drinks exiting the cups, not even a thud. I laid in the grass on top of Diet Coke and rum trying to form words.

Ouch! Stupid wood stairs!

Rubber Ducky, You're The One

I've found a lot of strange things in my purse before; including silverware and socks. But three Rubber Ducks is by far the strangest. And I love it.

I've done strange and disgusting things in he last five weeks. Today I picked someone else's nose and wiped it on a bib. I've actually shouted through the house"Oh my God, come look at this diaper!" I've intentionally sniffed a baby's butt and stuck my finger inside just to check. And none of this bothers me. I actually think it's kind of funny.

I've spent the last five weeks being amused by hiccups, bathtub suds and taking pictures in cute outfits. I just hope the second five weeks don't go as fast as the first.

Got Milk?

God gave me big knockers. But for some reason he forgot to put build in the functionality needed for breastfeeding. I wish these tatas had come with some kind of warning label. You know, like the little sticker on a beach ball that says “This is not a flotation device.” Mine would say “For decoration only.”

I’m still trying. I was really set on the idea of breastfeeding Jackson. I even tried to get a personal refrigerator at work so my boob juice could be stored away from everyone’s lunch. I’m pretty sure this is no longer necessary. I mean really, who could be scared of a few teaspoons of breastmilk?

For now the mantra is “Try, try again.” I’ll keep giving it my best until I can’t look at another bowl of oatmeal and the girls just shrivel up and die. Just like the Birth Plan lesson I had to learn the hard way…not everything goes according to plan. On the plus side, Josh not having boobs is no longer a disadvantage at feeding time.

The Birth Plan?

After hearing about Beyonce’s Birth Plan I decided I too needed some kind of strategy for the arrival of our Lovebug. Although I did not require a special security force to be present, we did have somewhat of an idea how we wanted things to go.

As each week and appointment passed I thought it was a little strange that my doctor wasn’t asking me questions about my Birth Plan. Well, now I know why. For people like me there is no such thing as a Birth Plan. The plan is to just get the kid out in one piece by any means necessary.

My plan was to let nature take its course in a relaxing bubble tub. But I should have known when I was induced at 7am on Monday, March 19 that I was the only one who was aware of the Birth Plan. At 1pm when I still didn’t get things moving along on my own my doctor broke my water. That’s when everything changed. Oh, dear Lord, did those contractions hurt! I tried to hang in there. I really did. But after 12 hours of steady contractions, non-stop pacing, a constant heavy dose of Pitocin and dry heaves I broke down and went for the Epidural at 1am.

The first thing I felt after the Epidural was hunger. After being in that much pain for so long I couldn’t believe that my stomach was the first one to speak up about the situation. But finally, Josh and I both got some rest.

At 5am on Tuesday I lost another battle with my Birth Plan. Jackson was taking an alternate route and was coming out via C-Section. Oh well, by that time I really didn’t care if he came out my nose. We were tired of waiting and just plain tired. At 6:27am on Tuesday, March 20 all 9 pounds and 2 ounces came out absolutely screaming! Best noise I’ve ever heard.

Several hours later Josh confessed that he was relieved when I finally accepted the drugs. I had bruised both of his hands and his feet hurt from walking and standing with me for over 12 hours. He just didn’t want to say anything because I might have had him thrown out of the room for being a panty-waist; considering what I was dealing with.

I've learned my lesson and will know better for next time. There is only one Birth Plan. Have the baby and live to tell about it. Mission accomplished.

Ready When You Are

Is it just me or has this been an abnormally long nine months? It probably doesn't help that I'm married to a guy who wants to open Christmas presents on Thanksgiving. The wait is absolutely killing him. More than once I've considered faking labor to see his reaction. I think his eyes would pop right out of his head with excitement.

Last weekend we went out to dinner as our "last chance" for date night before the baby comes. After knocking out half a pizza at Zio's I insisted that we hit up Amigo's for some Cinnamon Crispos for dessert. If it was going to be our last date night I was pulling out all the stops!

After dinner we took a romantic drive out west... Who am I kidding. Josh wanted to do a dry-run to the hospital to see how long it would take to get there. In case you were wondering, it's 22 minutes. But according to him it won't take nearly that long because he has no intention of stopping at all the red lights.

The room is ready. The car seat is installed. The tiny clothes are clean. So let's get this show on the road, Lovebug. We're ready when you are!

Oh My, Stary-Eyed Surprise

I think almost half of the car accidents in my life have happened in reverse. About three years ago I backed into a pole in the parking lot at work with such confidence that I rendered my car undrivable. So, I borrowed my mom's rust bucket Buick for the week while my car was in the shop.

At the time, Josh and I were planning our second date. We met at Bigg's in downtown Council Bluffs for a beverage and at the end of our date he was polite enough to walk me to the car. Even though I was just embarrassed enough of the Gold Bomber that I was wishing he wouldn't.

Right there, on Broadway, standing next to that damn Buick in front of some drunk bystanders, was our first kiss. Maybe the Buick helped - he probably felt sorry for me.

All I know is that I must have been one heck of a good kisser. Because after I left he walked to his car in the back parking lot and with stars in his eyes he backed straight into a parking meter. Coincidence? I think not.

I QUIT!

I have never before quit a job without giving the appropriate 2 weeks notice. Except that one time in high school when I quit Sears to go to a College World Series game. But that was high school, so it doesn't really count.

I left my boss, Jean, a lovely note this evening letting her know that Thursday will be my last day at H&R Block. It was my mistake for thinking that I would be able to work two jobs while pregnant and not loose my marbles at some point.

But I would never have quit without the influence of some of our finest customers. Tonight a guy called my baby a parasite. Why I didn't completely screw up his taxes is still beyond me. And last week some dirtball refused to file his taxes because he'd rather have the IRS keep his $222 refund than let it go toward the $17,000 he owed in child support.

Of course, I can't really pretend these two ass hats are the only reason I've thrown in the towel. My feet have reached a permanent stage of puffiness and almost everything makes me cry. Please don't think for one second that I'm complaining about being pregnant. That is certainly not the case. I am complaining about working =) If I could just figure out how to be pregnant at home all day life would be perfect!

Turkey's Done?

I've been pretty proud of my baby growing skills this whole time. I was never sick much and overall I have very few complaints. I think I'm doing a pretty good job hatching our egg. Maybe too good...

Because at my last appointment I learned that our Lovebug is already 5 pounds! I've never done this before so I'm not sure what constitutes normal at 30 weeks. But by my calculations and wild imagination I fear I may be giving birth to the world's biggest baby.

So, naturally the first thing I did when I got to work this morning was Google "World's Biggest Baby." And if I plan on breaking any records I have my work cut out for me. The winner came in at 19 pounds! No need for all the newborn clothes we have washed and ready if that happens.

So far there are no plans of moving my due date. For now let's just hope that the high-tech medical equipment is just a little off. I'd be perfectly happy with a healthy rolly-polley baby but we've got no plans to change his name to Andre the Giant.