What happens on the freeway, stays on the freeway?

I was an obnoxious kid. I can't say that I've overcome this particular trait entirely, unfortunately. I was the kid who did weird stuff to embarrass my mom at the grocery store. I did a lot of weird stuff by myself at the grocery store, actually. Exhibits A & B...

This was me about 8 years ago. This character was lovingly named Regina Phalange. I'd wear a hoodie and stick my friend's dummy head used for practicing hair cuts in the hood on top of my own dome. I can't tell you how many times my friends and I got booted from stores for rocking Regina. I once walked through Wal-Mart (you know, since this kind of stuff seems normal there) as Regina yelling "I'M BEAUTIFUL!" while my friend held my hand and led me along because, despite popular belief, I can't see a damn thing in there. I'd imagine my friend should have felt more embarrassment than I did, but usually whoever was with me was cool with it.

This is a really long introduction to the really short story I have to tell. So, yeah... I'm pretty obnoxious from time to time. Not as much now that I'm 29 as when I was younger, but the trait hasn't completely dissipated.

Earlier today, I had to run an errand about fifteen minutes from my home with my sister's company. We got on the freeway and started our journey. We're chatting about nothing in particular when we pull beside a school bus. I glance over as I'm driving due to a lot of movement out of my periphery. I then see what I'd guess is a nine or ten year old girl waving hysterically as she smiled at me with crazed eyes. Most adults would shake their head and ignore the kid... not me.

I matched her expression as best as I could, but I'm pretty sure mine was more maddening. I waved as though my life depended on it and my eyes got wider and my smile got crazier. Soon, this little girl not only stopped, but she looked confused and, dare I say, a little bit scared. I'm not sure if I taught this little girl a lesson or scarred her for life today, but either way... mission accomplished.

Freaking Telemundo

The title of this post might seem way more off-putting than it's actually intended to be. When I shake my fist at Telemundo, it's not for the reason you'd think.

We subscribe to Comcast for our cable and internet needs at our current location with the good old Air Force. We have way too many channels for our needs, but it's nice on nights when I just need to stay up late by myself to regain some of the sanity I've lost throughout the day. Honestly, if I could only subscribe to 15 of the fuhfillion channels we have, I'd be happy... but that's not how cable works.

In the amazing age of technology, Comcast has an iPhone app that connects your cable box directly to your phone and essentially turns your iPhone into a remote control. This seemed ingenious initially; especially considering I lose my remote fairly regularly, whereas I have my phone attached to me at all times.

Husband has this app on his phone too, but he's in Asia where his phone is essentially now just an iPod until he comes back home. You'd think that this wouldn't make a difference, right? WRONG. Husband can, in fact, change the channels on my TV here in the good old United States all the freaking way from Asia via wifi. His channel of choice? Telemundo. He'll do it most times if I'm video chatting with him while the TV is on in the background. He has, however, done it at random when we're not talking and when I least expect it.

Husband has been known to do some weird stuff in his sleep (although not as weird as me, but that's another story for another day). Yesterday, I had turned Adventure Time on for the kids so I could get some work done, but only left it on for a moment before I popped one of Cakes' favorite movies in. After the movie ended, I switched the TV back to cable and the channel was on Telemundo. FREAKING TELEMUNDO!!!! The best part? Husband was in Asia, sleeping. He doesn't remember doing it, but I'm certain he sleep telemundo'd me. If I could hi-yah him through the interwebs like he invaded my TV, it'd have been done by now. Believe it. In the mean time, a fist shake will have to suffice.

Holy. Crap.

Bean is terrified of the dark. We've only lived at our current residence since August, so I think he's still getting used to the fact that he not only has a new bedroom, but that he no longer shares it with Cakes like he did at our last house. He's actually asked for bunk beds several times because then Cakes can sleep with him again and keep him company. We'll only be here until next August, so I'm just hoping that he'll get to the point where it's not a big deal.

Since Husband left, Bean has found his way upstairs (his room is in the basement) and into my bed on several occasions when he's had a bad dream or heard a weird noise. He sleeps like a freaking crazy person, so I've grown accustomed to starting my nights out with a pillow laying vertically next to me so that if he does get in my bed, he only kicks the pillow instead of me. It's not ideal, but it's better than getting throat chopped by a little foot.

Usually when Bean does come upstairs though, he is loud. He's a stomper and he stomps wherever he goes, but especially when he's tired. Plus his stomping usually includes a loud, whiny "Moooooom! I had bad dreeeeeeams!!!!". Last night, however, was different.

Around 5:30 this morning, The Wee started crying from his crib. He's slowly getting better about sleeping through the night, so this is about the time he wakes for a new diaper and a bottle. I usually lay there for a couple minutes trying to get the motivation to tend to him. This morning as I laid there trying to gain said motivation, I open my eyes only to see Bean wide-eyed and inches from my face, staring me down. I jumped out of my bed quicker than I think I have ever jumped out of it in my life. He scared the CRAP out of me. I stood there next to my bed for a second watching him as he continue to lay there silently staring at me. I was too stressed out to make sure he was breathing in that moment, so I ran to make The Wee's bottle.

As I'm making sure The Wee is taken care of, Bean starts chanting in a weird, monotone voice, "Five. Two. Seven. Five. Two. Seven." at which point I almost lost it. I literally thought, "I should stop watching American Horror Story because I'm fairly certain my son is now possessed.". I walk into my room slowly to see what he's doing. He's facing the clock as the time changes. He now starts chanting "Five. Two. Eight. Five. Two. Eight.". It was just the time! 

Holy. Crap. I don't know how he not only made it upstairs quietly, but climbed into bed without me noticing. Consider this the scariest morning I've had in a LONG time.

How to deal with a military family

I've noticed an odd trend lately and it compelled me to write an impromptu how to post. The trend I speak of is "civilians" not having a clue how to handle me or my family. I will say, however, that this is not true for everyone. There are a couple super rad chicks in my neighborhood that I don't have to censor myself around and that have brought me treats and/or company in my time of need. As for everyone else, this is for you.

Husband is gone for another 10 months. Is this hard? Yes. Is this frustrating? Yes. Do I want to talk about it every spare second of my day? No. This is the first time I've lived in a civilian-only neighborhood in six years. On a military base, I've found that most people not only know what you're going through, but some of them are going through it with you. They don't act as though this is the hardest thing you'll ever endure, they just ask if you need anything and you take turn watching each others kids so you can have a break. You have dinner together, your kids play together, you whine together on bad days and laugh your faces off on a good days.

Here, I've found that's so very different. People don't know what to say so they either don't say anything or they try to be empathetic which sometimes comes off very awkwardly. I can appreciate the effort, but I'd rather that they say "Hey, if you're not doing anything, (insert fun alternative to my intense boredom here)!" instead of "I don't know how you do it!" or "You poor thing!". My situation is one where I don't think about how I do it, I just do it. There's not much to it besides that. My kids still have to eat and bathe and go to school, so I make all that happen. While I appreciate the sympathy, I'd rather we go to lunch or get ice cream. The sympathy is actually, most days, counterproductive to my attitude.

I just want to make it clear that these people are GOOD people and I appreciate every single one of them regardless of how they react to me and my situation. I just want to make it known that you don't have to talk about it... treat me like you'd treat any other person you'd encounter. Just don't judge me when I cuss or mention my intense need to hi-yah one of my kids when they're being naughty.

Hide your kittens.

This evening has been one of those times where I want to punch a whole liter of kittens. Bean has been a mouthy punk and it's disappointing because I've gone out of my way to be extra gooey and reinforce him positively all day.

You see, ever since Husband left for Asia, Bean has had an intense separation anxiety. He has improved slightly over the last two months, but he has days where he just suddenly decides to stick it to the man (a.k.a. me). What's interesting is when he gets in these funks, he also refuses to talk to Husband.

This episode began when Bean arrived home from school. He came in the door and decided he didn't want to do homework. He missed school yesterday due to a stomach bug over the weekend, so we had to get on top of it to be sure to catch up since his teacher thinks he needs more homework than my 16 year old brother. As he's writing the numbers two and seven over and over, he looks at me and says "The jerkface kid at school told me to call my friends names, so I missed recess!" I told him it wasn't cool to call people names, especially if jerkfaces said it was. I also told him to stop calling the jerkface a jerkface and if I heard he was being naughty again, I'd wash the naughty words out of his mouth with soap.

This threw him into hysterics. I'm talking, he slammed a couple drawers and the pantry door. As calmly as I could, I told him to knock it off... "or else!". He then screamed in a high pitched, demonic voice, "I DO WHAT I WANT!". This initially created three reactions in me simultaneously. The first was, of course, kitten punching. The second was the urge to laugh. The third was, "Crap. I need to stop saying that out loud."

The night continued with a bunch of his mouthy junk and a bunch of me trying to calm him in a way that helped him see that I understood why he was frustrated, but that it was still not okay that he was acting that way. Then Husband calls via FaceTime. Husband prefers that we turn off all the electronics in the joint when he calls because every single one of us has, at one time or another, gotten distracted and ignored what he was saying. So, as my phone rang, I turned off the show Bean was watching.

Bean throws himself on the ground, sticks his face in a pillow, screams and kicks his legs like a crazy person. I just ignored him and talked to Husband as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I told him after Cakes and I had gotten our chats in that if he didn't talk to his dad, I wouldn't turn the show on. He ran away and refused and then screamed in his demon voice again that I couldn't make him do anything and he wasn't scared of me. I promptly got off the phone with Husband and almost literally (but not literally) threw him in his bed. Once he was in his bed, he screamed, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!". Well, I'm not sure what exactly "it" is, but I don't care anymore tonight. I was glad that I got him in bed a half hour early so I could watch Cupcake Wars in peace.

The Jeep that kills dreams

This is Husband's Jeep. It is ginormous. The picture really doesn't do justice to the magnitude of giganticness it beholds. One of my best friends is on the small side (she comes to my shoulder and I'm 5'9"). She stood next to the Jeep after Husband purchased it and noticed that the bottom of the door was above her waist and said, "This thing is taller than my v****a!". So perhaps that can give you a visual. Maybe not the right one, though.

ANYWAY... This thing was made to rock crawl. It can climb rocky terrain with ease. I had my first experience as such just a few short days ago.

I have these kids that live across the street from me that, I've gotta be honest, I'm not a fan of. One of them is mean to Bean every single time they encounter, so I tend to avoid them at all costs and send Bean to other friends' houses when he's hankering to play. These kids also leave their crap everywhere. I've found random articles of clothes (socks and shirts being the most frequent), toys, a TV remote and their razor scooters in my yard more times than I can count. All I can say is that I'm thankful I'm only renting this joint until Husband returns from Asia, because if I had to endure this craziness any longer, I might spaz out.

Last Friday evening, I was due to meet a friend for dinner. We'd had plans for at least a month. My two little sisters were going to watch my dudes, but were also due at a family function elsewhere, so I let them take my Xterra where all the car seats are so that they could take the dudes with them. I don't drive the Jeep much. I start it every week so it won't die, but I think I've only driven it once to the gas station since husband deployed. So, this was going to be my first real drive in it since we left our last military base.

Back tracking, I go walking every weekday morning with one of my homies and our kids. After I put Cakes on his bus, I stuff Bean and The Wee into my old, crappy double stroller and we walk for an hour. This stroller sucks. It sucks bad. It squeaks and it always veers to the right even when you're trying to push it straight. I hate this stroller, but I couldn't afford to replace it, so meh... whatever. After each walk, I park this beast (fully assembled) behind the Jeep. This is where the story resumes.

In my hurry to get to dinner, I totally spaced that the stroller was behind the Jeep. I backed out with ease and I did feel as though I was running over something... but it only felt like something the size of a razor scooter. The very scooters that are left in my yard from time to time. As I recounted this story briefly on facebook, I mentioned that I was slightly happy with this because I am, from time to time, a horrible person. I should have gotten out and looked, but my smug attitude kept me rolling. It didn't feel like much at all.

As I leave my driveway and hit the stop sign at the end of my street, a neighbor stops me and points behind me saying, "Is that YOURS?!". I look behind me to see my still fully assembled, mangled double stroller dangling behind me. Yes, yes it is. I couldn't believe that I had not only run it over, but that I'd mistaken it for a freaking razor scooter! How is that even possible?! Well, I assure you, it is.

As you can see, it leans to the left now instead of the right. So much so, that the front right tire no longer touches the ground and it falls over whenever you try. I know it doesn't look as bad in pictures as it does when you try to actually PUSH this thing, but I assure you... it not longer works. Luckily for me, I was able to barter for a used double stroller that actually works even better than this one did before I ran it over.

Wake up call

Around 2 AM last night, Bean comes into my room screaming "WHY IS IT BROWN?!?!". I was super disoriented and had no idea what he was talking about or what time it was; I just knew I wanted him to knock it off so I could sleep. He stands at the foot of my bed ripping his shirt off and continues screaming his random question. After I get him quiet and calm enough, I've come to find that he has thrown up in his sleep.

I clean him up and then walk downstairs to evaluate the situation. I smelled it before I saw anything. I walk into his room to find that he did indeed vomit and it was indeed brown. It looked like a gallon of chunky chocolate soup had been spewed on his pillow, mattress and wall. Yes, the wall... which had dripped angrily on to the carpet. I lifted up his pillow to take the case off for washing to find that the entire left side of the pillow had absorbed and was dripping in puke. Awesome.

I took all the sheets off and left the pillow inside the massive mess and just threw it in the washing machine as quickly as I could since I was holding my breath in an effort not to puke myself. I then wiped the wall and carpet down with Lysol wipes and then sprayed it down with Lysol spray to be doubly sure that it was clean and hopefully no longer smelly.

After all was said and done, I washed my hands and went back to bed with Bean at my side (and a giant bowl at his). Then, an hour later, Bean gets up to pee. I sat up from my bed and glanced over at him in the master bath to witness him then both pee and puke at the same time. I'm going to have to say, I was impressed. His aim during both was nothing short of amazing. If there were awards for such a thing, he'd take first place. The rest of the day has been about the same. Let's hope tonight fares better.

To pee or not to pee

Tonight as I was bathing Cakes, my mind ran across something that it actually bumps into often at bath time. I have no idea if I'm just totally odd or if this is something a lot of parents think about. With Cakes having autism, he's not especially verbal. He has a handful of words he knows and uses, but the vast majority of what comes out of his mouth is screams (the majority being happy/excited) or gibberish. Because of this, a lot of  what should be easy tasks to the "typical" kid are not so for Cakes.

For example, he is four years old and is not potty trained. I think he grasps the dynamics of what it's all about, but I don't think he understand how to make his own body perform the function. This is not for lack of trying, however. Both his teachers and aides at school as well as his in-home therapist take him to the bathroom several times a day and have charts breaking down each step of the process. In his four years, though, he's only actually peed in the potty twice. Two nights ago... he peed in the bathtub right after I took him off the potty.

This lead me to wonder: how many times has Cakes (or any of my kids for that matter) peed in the tub without my knowledge and I totally bathed them in it? Have I done it? I mean, I know urine is sterile, but that is still unnerving to think about. Gross.

Well, here we are...

I have this problem where I'm an over-poster on facebook and I think that at least half my friends list has me hidden from their news feed. I needed a place to say what the heck it is I'm thinking about right now for people who may feel the same way. I'm going to have a plethora of subjects to (more than likely) complain about, but in one of those upbeat ways that will perhaps help people relate. Or you know... not. Either way, here it is in all it's glory. Hot, right? Right.

So, I may as well introduce myself and the folks I'll be speaking about frequently.  Me... I'm the Rachie. In reality, I really freaking hate it with a fiery passion when people I don't know and/or don't like call me Rachie. Consider it a privilege to refer to me in such a manner (because I'll probably tell you to stop otherwise). I'm an unconventional military wife of the LDS persuasion. I like to use substitute cuss words when I'm not actually cussing my face off. I'm a mom of three super cute dudes and I'm a little bit out of my mind. Some people think I'm funny. I find that that's only true when I'm not trying.

Husband. He's in the air force and he's rad as crap. Is crap rad? I don't know. Just know I love him a whole bunch and he melts my face. He's currently deployed until next fall somewhere in Asia. Where in Asia? Wouldn't you like to know.

Bean. He's my eldest child. He's in kindergarten and he is a character. He says some of the most random stuff that is almost always good for a laugh. He's got a temper, but when he's lovey, he loves hard. He makes me want to punch kittens a lot of days, but I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Cakes. He's the second dude of three. He has a super power as far as I'm concerned. Most people may disagree... society calls him autistic. I call him my hero. He has amazed and shocked me more than any one soul has.

The Wee. He's a mega chubby baby guy. He's wants to party like a grown man, I've come to find. He's all up in everyone's business and walking around like being a baby was so five minutes ago. People don't say that anymore; I'm bringing it back. I like to smooch his chunky cheeks and I'm excited to see what kind of crazy junk he'll come up with the bigger he gets.

My family is my life and I will fight to the death for them. Here I will be word vomiting as I see fit and if you feel like indulging in my nonsense... take a seat. Enjoy.