My “Where the eff have I been?” post, Part I – The D-Monster

Where have I been you ask?

Right here. All along. Just… Not HERE.

This summer has been… Challenging.

We spent much of the summer trying to get The D-Monster under control. We’ve still got a ways to go, but I am so proud of her. She is truly being compliant and working hard at maintaining a healthy blood sugar. The D-Monster however, is a bastard and Princess Punk is now experiencing lows on a daily basis. She was 38 during practice last week. TWICE. Like she tested and she was 38 and she had her 15 grams of carbohydrates and waited 15 minutes and tested again and she was STILL 38. At 38, she can barely walk, yet her coach still had to take her off the field because she kept playing. She’s proud about making Varsity and even more excited about starting, but she is continuing to try to impress her coach so he keeps playing her and as a result she plays through the nausea and shakiness that comes with the lows. So now I get to worry about her passing out or having a seizure or something because her sugar gets too low and she’s too hard-headed to stop playing. Fortunately, her coach is on the ball and noticed she wasn’t doing too well (she got pale and uncoordinated) but it took her another 15 minutes to get into the 80’s. She was okay by the time she got home. But then she had another low overnight. 54 this time and she couldn’t even get out of bed. Like, literally, unable to physically get up out of bed.

But… At least now that she is compliant with testing and covering her food, we have a better idea how much insulin she needs and when. Here is a kind of breakdown of what she has to deal with on any given day. I’ll start off simple.

  • Bg-Blood glucose. This is the number that reflects the number of milligrams per deciliter of sugar that is in her blood stream (and not getting into her cells where it’s needed). Our goal is anywhere from 70-120
  • Test– A Bg check. Princess Punk pricks her finger with a lancet and squeezes a tiny drop of blood onto a tiny little strip inserted into her meter. The meter will show a Bg reading within about 3 seconds. It also sends the reading to the pump via RF or something.
  • A1C– Hemoglobin A1C. A blood test that correlates to an approximately 3 month average of blood sugars. Non-diabetics are under 6. American Diabetes Association considers 7.5 fairly good control for a Type 1 Diabetic. Currently the Princess is hovering around 9.3.
  • Low– Bg below 70. Princess Punk has to stop whatever it is she is doing and have 15g of fast acting carbs. Juice or sugar tabs are preferable. Then she has to wait 15 minutes and test again. If she’s still below 70, she has to do it again (15g of carbs and 15 minutes to re-check)
  • High– Bg above 120. add insulin. See correction below.
  • Basal– A constant flow of fast-acting insulin
  • Bolus– An extra “boost” boost of insulin to administer when consuming carbs or when a Bg reads over the target range
  • The Pump– A nifty device that gives The Princess her basal and calculates and delivers boluses as well.
  • Infusion set– a little piece of plastic that is attached to a cannula that goes into Princess Punk’s skin (site). Usually an arm or leg. She doesn’t like using her stomach or butt. The little piece of plastic is attached to a (removable) piece of tubing that is attached to an insulin reservoir in her pump. That way she can remove the pump and tubing (showers, sports and swimming) without having to pull the site out of her flesh and redo it later. She’s supposed to change her site every other day. Not so much.
  • Ratio– the number of grams of carbs for each unit of insulin she takes. Because The D-Monster is an asshole, the amount of insulin she needs throughout the day varies. For example, her ratio first thing in the morning is around 5. Meaning that for every 5 grams of carbs she eats, she takes a unit of insulin. Her ratio at dinnertime is 6. We also have to make adjustments when she has her period and when she is playing soccer (or basketball in another month or so).
  • Correction– Complicated. a correction is what she needs when her blood sugar is too high. If she tests and gets a high, she will bolus 1 unit of insulin for every 12 mg/dl her Bg is over 120. Example… Princess Punk tests her sugar and gets a 220. That is 100 mg/dl of sugar in her blood that shouldn’t be there. So we take the 100 and divide by 12 and get… Crap. Math. Umm… 8.3333333333333. So she will do a bolus on her pump with 8.3 units of insulin in the hopes that her Bg will come down. Thank God for the pump. When she was on shots, we had to carry around a calculator to figure out how much insulin to give her. Not so fun when sitting in a restaurant in a tight booth trying to figure out how much to bolus for a heap of French fries and a strawberry lemonade combined with a Bg of 223, not to mention rounding it to the nearest half-unit. The pump can deliver in increments as small as 1/10 of a unit whereas shots go to a half unit and only if you have the right kind of delivery device (refillable pen vs. disposable pen vs. syringes). Oh and the needles present a problem too. Nothing like carrying a sharps container in your purse. Now she just presses a couple of buttons and she’s all set to eat.
  • Lantus– long-acting insulin. Normally if you have a pump, you just use your basal instead of the Lantus pen (kind of like an Epi-Pen but reusable). Princess Punk has to take off her pump (remove the tubing from the site) for several hours a day during sports. She can’t play or shower or swim with the pump on. Since she’s not getting her basal during that time period, her Bg was going through the roof during practices and games and whenever she went in the pool. To avoid this, we lowered her basal from the pump to a very small amount (basically just enough to keep the tubing from getting clogged) and then she takes a shot of Lantus before bed so her baseline is covered for a full 24 hours, regardless of whether she is wearing the pump or not. She still has to bolus on the pump for highs and for carbs.

Confused yet? Try this…

The other night, Princess Punk went to practice and came home around 5. Her site had gotten ripped out during a scrimmage so she had been unable to re-attach her pump and had to put in a new infusion set. She tested and was high at dinner so she did a correction along with the bolus for her meal. We must have miscalculated the carbs or the ratio because her Bg was 45. She looked a little gray and her hands were shaking. She had some juice, but 15 minutes later she was still low. She had some more juice and was finally in the 90’s. Then she took her Lantus at bedtime. Since we figured we had miscalculated at dinnertime, we dropped her Lantus down a few units so she wouldn’t have another low overnight. Of course, the next day she got her period and spent the whole day high with Bg averaging around 230. We gave her a temporary basal of 130% of normal to counteract the highs.

This is an example of why her A1C is still messed up even though now she’s compliant.

Got it?

Nah, we still don’t either.



Wow… Too Long…

So yes, it’s been a ridiculously long time. Like, ri-DONK-u-lous as my supervisor is apt to say.

And I am composing a “Where the eff have I been” post currently, but today, I first want to say…


16 years ago today I became a mom for the first time. I was 20. I was clueless. I was terrified. And here I was with this tiny little angry potato (seriously, that’s what she looked like… newborn babies are not generally cute) that I didn’t know what to do with and yet loved with every ounce of my being. She was red. And angry. And just as clueless as I was.

Princess Punk has had a lot of obstacles in her life. I never should have gotten pregnant in the first place. Wait… That came out weird. What I meant… I’ve had poly-cystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) since puberty. I got my period 4 times a year, if that. It’s why we went through fertility treatments to get The Peach. So for me to have an “oops” pregnancy at 19 was actually kind of a miracle. When The Zen Master and I went in for our consultation for the fertility study, the nurse who interviewed us was genuinely surprised that I already had a child. She said that the chances of me conceiving without help would have been ridiculously low. But she got here.

Then, she ended up in the hospital on day 5 with severe dehydration, failure to thrive and an enlarged heart because I listened to the Nazi lactation nurse and refused to give her a bottle. What neither of us knew is that, due to wicked hormonal imbalances (i.e. PCOS), my milk would never come in, despite every effort to the contrary. So my little Princess nearly starved to death (quite literally) before she’d ever really had a chance at life. She rebounded quickly on formula and I got to wear this ridiculous contraption taped to my chest so she could still nurse while actually getting formula. But she made it.

I was unmedicated, undermedicated or poorly medicated throughout the first 5 years of Princess Punk’s life. As a result I had 2 suicide attempts and ended up hospitalized 3 times. Princess Punk was placed in my parents’ custody for some time and we shared custody for several years. When they moved here to VT, I stayed in FL to finish college and she came here to live with them. The Sperm Donor rarely saw her and when he did, he denied she was his and was downright mean to her. I recall once, when she was an infant, sitting in her car seat, he put his face about 6″ away from hers and yelled, just to make her cry. Asshole. And I myself was not a great mother to her in the beginning. I’d drop her off with various people and go out and smoke pot and drink with “my boys” while I left her at her paternal grandmother’s house (Sperm Donor’s mom) or some other really inappropriate place. Or just leave her with my parents while I did my own thing.  She has had to deal with a lot of issues surrounding those formative years where I was kinda just a sucky mom. But she did it.

And then The D-Monster reared it’s massively ugly head. And since then she’s struggled with ignorance and illness and high blood sugar and low blood sugar and medical releases and being turned away from the local summer camp because “they didn’t have the capacity to care for a child with uncontrolled diabetes.” That one still pisses me off. She’s 100 times better with compliance since her surgery got canceled and she decided she finally is ready to stop letting the D-Monster control her life. She still struggles. But she gets it.

Princess Punk blew my mind from day one. She continues to do so every day, in both good ways and bad. She has grown to become an amazing young woman. She is intelligent, kind, talented, beautiful, strong and brave. Even a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes has not stopped her from doing well in school, playing on Varsity Soccer (yes, starting on varsity as a sophomore), being a caring friend, a loving big sister and an amazing daughter and granddaughter. She is a force of nature, unwavering and unstoppable in her achieving her dreams. I am SO proud of you babygirl, Happy Birthday!

Oh, and BTW Princess Punk…

I Love you Forever,

I Like you For Always,

Even When You’re All Grown Up,

My Baby You’ll Be.


Princess Punk and The D-Monster

Princess Punk was due for jaw surgery on June 17th. After 2 years of orthodontic preparation, 2 surgeons, multiple pre-op crap and a Facebook ticker counting down the days.

It’s been cancelled. Indefinitely.

Princess Punk’s HA1C is 9.4. The surgeon wants it below 7 for at least 6 months. In case you don’t remember, A1C is sort of a 3 month average of her blood sugars. 9.4 equates to about 275ish. 7 is around 150. She’s never been 7. Ever. Even when she was first diagnosed and the beta cells in her pancreas were still kicking out one last ditch effort to produce insulin, her A1C only got as low as 7.3.

2fea3b65779e84abda92bc3842589cd3Apparently, there is this fungal infection called mucormycosis that is particularly fond of patients with high blood sugar. Because of the nature of the surgery (i.e. cutting her jaw apart and putting it back together) there is an “astronomical” (this was the term used by the surgeon) risk of this fungus infecting the actual jaw bone itself. Once it’s  there, the only way to get rid of it, before it creeps into her brain, would be to remove the jaw.

So no surgery. The surgeon stated that, ethically, he could not put her under the knife with her A1C so high. Which I’m honestly thankful for. I just wish we could have gone through this sooner. Like before all the myriad of pre-op appointments and The Princess getting all excited about being able to eat corn on the cob and smile without feeling self-conscious about her underbite. She’s gorgeous. Period. But she is uncomfortable with the jaw thing.

Before you get all judgy about putting my cherished child through a potentially life-threatening surgery for cosmetic reasons, let me clarify that this surgery is medically necessary. Princess Punk has a 9mm gap between her top and bottom front teeth when she closes her mouth. She can’t bite into food. She eats pizza and ribs with a knife and fork. Her teeth meet in one spot in the back. Her entire chewing surface area is one tooth on either side. She’s getting headaches. And she’s going to end up with TMJ worse than mine if she doesn’t get this fixed. So this has to be done.

My strong, tough kid wept for 20 minutes in front of all of us. And then she said,

“Mom, can you help me fix it?”

Broke my fucking heart. But she finally gets it. She gets how important this shit is.

So we’re implementing a plan. A plan to kick The D-Monster’s ass so The Princess can get her sugar under control, not just for this surgery, but for the rest of her life.

Here’s the plan…

  • Low-carb- this is not going to fix the problem. But it will help the insulin resistance we seem to be coming up against because Ms. Punk has been eating way too much junk food. The more carbs and simple sugars she eats, the more insulin she needs. The more insulin she takes, the less effective it seems to be.
  • Vigilance- this is entirely under the control of The Princess herself. She has to measure every scrap of food or drink that enters her mouth and cover it with the appropriate amount of insulin. And she has to test at least 4 times a day, to make sure she’s not high and if she is, to cover the high with extra insulin. And record EVERYTHING. So we can make sure she is actually doing what she’s supposed to and so we can all know where her numbers are at.
  • Tech- She’s getting a new pump. With a continuous glucose monitor that checks her insulin 280 times in 24 hours. She’ll still have to test 4 times a day minimum, but she’ll be alerted of highs and lows a lot quicker. The new pump also has a transmitter that can upload her info directly to her (not yet purchased) iPhone. Yes, we’re getting her an iPhone. She needed a phone anyway and if this can help her keep track of everything, it’s worth the extra $20 a month.
  • Support- Weekly calls and monthly visits with the diabetes educator nurse at her endocrinologist’s office. She’ll help us adjust insulin levels and keep cheering us on when things get rough.

Here’s the problem…

The D-Monster doesn’t give a shit about plans.

Here’s how it went down yesterday-
Wake up- 241

Change site. Infected site. Okay, that explains the high. The insulin doesn’t particularly move well through infected tissue. She swore she just changed it, but since there was some (gag) pus there, I think she went a day or two longer than that.


Test again- 285. Shit. Breakfast. Bolus for high and food.

Two hours later- 415. WTF?!? Bolus again. Check for ketones (negative). Swear a lot.

An hour later- 358. Down but not much. Hurry up and wait.

9df09d48021cc029a97babba2fa91ca8Lunchtime- Bolus for the food and the still over 250 sugar. Check for ketones again.

2 hours later- 267. Are you fucking kidding me. Use the syringe this time.

Dinner- 212. Syringe again for the high and the food.

2 hours later- 248. Just… I just… Can we just… How can she still… Fuck.


Around 11- 177. One more bolus with the syringe. At 75% of normal because we’d rather not have a coma overnight.

Midnight- I’m still awake, eyeing the juice boxes on my dresser, ready to run in her room and resuscitate her because now she’s had TOO MUCH insulin.

This morning- 88. Fine. We’re using syringes for now. Maybe it’s the pump. She’s getting a new one in a few days. We’ll get the nurse on the phone tomorrow to prescribe some Lantus (long acting insulin) since her pump basal doesn’t seem to be working.




A break for once


How sad is it that I finally have a break, only because The Peach has the flu (or something flu-like)…

She sits here in the bed next to me, watching preschool songs on YouTube because she doesn’t actually want to do much else.

My Peach hasn’t gotten really sick since she was a baby. Even now, with this her temperature is only hovering around 100. The puking last night was epic unfortunately. Our downstairs toilet is currently sitting in the hall, waiting for the spackle to dry from the huge hole the plumbers had to cut into the wall. Only at that point will it be possible to put it back in and have more than one functioning bathroom. Not complaining. I know we have more than a lot of people. Just explaining why The Peach spent 20 minutes in the kitchen last night throwing up, first all over the floor, then into a bowl. After about 5 minutes, The Zen Master and I stood there, alternately patting her back and emptying out the bowl between each round of retching. After about 10 minutes, The Peach’s seemingly neverending puke became interspersed with profound weeping and pitiful requests to wipe her mouth, and ultimately, to take off her shirt. I mean seriously, who wants to throw up for 20 minutes. When she was all done, she stood in the kitchen, crying, while I rubbed her back and The Zen Master finished cleaning up the mess.

She then went upstairs with her daddy, reluctantly, as she wanted to stay with me. I was cooking dinner. Gross right? I promise, no puke in the mac n’ cheese.

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad...

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad…

After awhile, she insisted on coming downstairs to tell My Mom what happened. My Mom apparently has some killer headphones because she had not heard a bit of the disgusting cacophony that had transpired directly outside of her door.

“Mima. I pruked. I pruuuuked in the kitchen.”

“You what honey?



“She puked. In the kitchen. A lot.”


“I pruked all ober de fwoor. It was scawy. I don’t wike to pruke. I don’t hab a feber.” (She did have a fever, but was, for some reason, insisting that she didn’t)

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. (then to me) She looks like crap.”

Then I took her back to our room. And called out to work for the next day (that’d be today). My Mom is perfectly capable of caring for a sick child, but she has no car. If something were to happen, I’d rather there be access to a car so she could take The Peach to the doctor. Besides, I wanted to be home with her. Like I said, The Peach hasn’t been sick with more than a 100.4 fever for 24 hours since… ever.

snotShe’s a bit better. She had some toast this morning. She’s hungry, but it’s hard to tell a 3-year-old that you don’t want her to eat gogurt because she might puke and mommy really doesn’t want to clean up vomit with a strawberry smell from her bedsheets. Ew. Now I’m gonna barf. Plus she has this wet, croup-y sounding cough and is maintaining a low-grade fever. Plus she’s all… Not-Peach-Like. She’s quiet and cranky and all she wants to do is snuggle. Which is fine by me although it will probably lead to my own sickness in a few days. Joy. Oh, and the snot-faucet is on. But her nose hurts, so she is phenomenally resistant to The Snot Nazi. Every time I come near her with a tissue, it becomes a mini-wrestling match to see if I can actually wipe her nose before she flips her head away, leaving a trail of snot-slime on my arm, the blanket, her shirt or whatever else she might be in close proximity of. I’m pretty sure she got snot on Fairy Dog last night.




You know what? Sick kids are gross. I’m just waiting for The Zen Master to get it now.MjAxMy0yNjhiZWMyYjkzYjYxYzM3



Couldn’t help myself

Both of my children are fucking crazy.
Had to share.

Posted from my phone because I’m too lazy to get my laptop.



Been awhile hunh?

Didja miss me?

You know you did…

Soooo… Let me start by saying, the title to today’s post has absolutely nothing to do with any battery-powered “massagers” that I may or may not have stashed in my underwear drawer. In the back. Under the black and pink striped bra…

I digress.

Today’s post is actually about just how motherfucking busy I have been of late. Like a bee… Get it?

Work- Buzzz… Training new hires, managing my own workload and taking on a committee that I probably don’t have time for. Loving it though.

New house- Buzz buzzz… I adore my new house. Seriously. This is the first time I’ve felt like I’m home since I was a kid. This is my space, my family’s space and it’s home. That being said… There seems to be some kind of new issue/problem/repair/clusterfuck every day.

Thank you SO much Peppa Pig. ~sigh~

Thank you SO much Peppa Pig. ~sigh~

The paved driveway has more potholes that the dirt road to My Mom’s old house. That expense is going to have to wait. Right now we’re just kinda swerving (maybe pivoting? It’s a short driveway) around the deep ones in order to preserve the exhaust systems on the cars. The Peach thinks it’s fantastic and everytime it rains she has to go “jump in muddy puwdews?”

The pool that Princess Punk was so excited about? Well, the snow melted and we discovered that the previous owner (let’s just call her Frivolous Fanny… Heh… Fanny) had “neglected” to cover the pool over the winter and as a result the liner is shredded and needs to be replaced. As this is a major part of the backyard that would probably require $10,000 to remove and re-landscape and is actually a good investment should we ever decide to sell, we must replace it. That and the fact that Princess Punk’s bottom lip will hit the pavement if we don’t. So… New liner. A little expensive, but easy-peasy right? Wrong. Frivolous Fanny had a tendency to spend a lot of money on things. Top of the line everything. Ok… Top of the line things that she could brag about. God forbid she spend as much money on the electrical system in the house as the TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLAR ABOVE GROUND POOL. Yes. Seriously. Custom built, wood-sided, last forever (if you take care of it) above ground pool. So it needs a special liner. And a foam liner as well since the plastic liner can’t be directly against the wood or it will tear in a fairly short amount of time. And, since she didn’t cover it over the winter, the lining split a little bit. And then water got in-between the lining and the pool. And then it froze. And expanded. And blew out some of the packed-sand base and rocks surrounding the bottom on one side. So it’ll be expensive to fix. Like The Zen Master and I hitting our rather meager Scottrade retirement account (he was NOT happy) and My Mom hitting her rather meager IRA (she was NOT happy) expensive. And when I asked the guy who came to fix it (and left because it was going to take twice as long as he thought and he was already booked for another job that day) if it was worth it, he said, “You know, if this was a regular above-ground, I’d probably tell you don’t bother. But I was the one who actually installed this one and it’s definitely worth it to fix. And if you let it go like this, it’ll be truly ruined.” I need to remember to call him to see when he’s coming back. Princess Punk has her heart set on a pool party for her 8th grade graduation and it’ll take at least a week to warm up after it gets filled since the tap water is about 42 degrees.

Yes. That is my backyard. Jealous?

Yes. That is my backyard. Jealous?

We have a yard. Like a real yard, with gorgeous trees and a Big. Flat. Lawn. We have an acre of land total (which is a rarity since we’re actually in town) and I’m not sure how much of it is grass, but it’s… A lot. Definitely more than Princess Punk, The Zen Master and I combined could handle with our crappy little lawn mower that isn’t even running right now. Since we couldn’t manage any more one-time major chunks of pay-this-now-so-your-house-doesn’t-fall-to-shit, we went to Sears and got a 12 months, no interest, line of credit on a brand new little riding mower. With a bag. Because there is no friggin way I am raking up all those grass clippings. It’s actually pretty cool and if we can afford it someday, we can actually attach a snow-blower to it so we don’t have to pay to plow.

There are little things all over the house that keep… Fitzing. New word. Let’s see…

Fitz (‘fits) transitive verb – to break unexpectedly, causing a new homeowner stress and expense; generally referring to a small annoyance rather than a crushing financial blow.

The wall lights in the bathroom just completely fitzed.

 The wall lights in the bathroom completely fitzed. The mirror backsplash (Yes. Mirror.) behind the stove developed a 2-foot crack. The 3-season porch (that was supposed to be my special place) has undergone land development by ants as if it were Miami beachfront instead of a slate floor with too much loose mortar. The windows in the living room keep coming off their tracks. Some of the pipes in the basement are leaking. Again. The downstars bathroom sink isn’t draining properly. The doorknob on Princess Punk’s room gets stuck, both open and closed. The shelves in the door of the fridge are breaking off. One of the garage doors doesn’t always open. The other garage door never opens. There’s a light in the garage that we can’t find a switch for. Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s a squirrel living in the attic.

And we’d like to have a garage sale at some point this summer. Because combining 2 households that both already had to much stuff then adding on all the crap that Frivolous Fanny decided she didn’t want to bother moving makes for OBFM… That’d be One Big Fucking Mess.


Kids- BUZZBUZZZ BUZZITY-FUCKING-BUZZ… The Peach is a joy. And a total pain in my butt. She is absolutely friggin nuts and delights in doing really weird shit and then gets extremely pissed off when you call her on it.

“OUCH! GODDAMMIT, do NOT put your wooden blocks under the rug!”


And then she stomps over to my bedroom door, looks at me, slams it, and proceeds to kick at it until her fat little toe makes actual physical contact with the door. Then she cries woefully, sticks her foot in my face and says,

“Moooooommmmm… I hab a booboo… kissit.”

Princess Punk is… Well, she’s a teenager. We live in town now. Princess Punk walks to school. It takes her about 3 minutes to walk to soccer practice. Which is really nice because I can actually be cooking dinner instead of waiting for her to call me for a ride. Several of her friends live within a block or two of us. And we have this great back yard. And a pool table (yet another thing that Frivolous Fanny decided it was too much trouble to move). So our house has become… The Spot. More and more frequently, I find teenagers in my house when I get home from work. They’re just… There.  And while I’d much rather have them here where I know who she’s with and what she’s doing, it is still taking some getting used to. Not to mention, there are boys there now. Did you see the last post? One of the kids she knows lives 2 houses down and cuts through our backyard on his way home on a fairly regular basis. So he ends up stopping by occasionally to play video games and hang out. He managed to be “walking by” when The Princess and two of her girlfriends were playing around with a hose in the backyard. In their 2-piece suits. 20140525_142703

“Heeheehee OHMYGOD, don’t give him the hose! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Smart kid.

So basically, what I’m saying here is… Life is good. But TOTALLY chaotic. So I’m posting when I can, but I’m thinking it’s not going to be super frequently until things settle down a teeny bit. I do miss my blog, and I’m going to try and take a minute here and there to write (this post took me 4 days), but….



Please Don’t Eat the Daisies

Have you ever read “Please don’t eat the Daisies,” by Jean Kerr? Or seen the movie starring Doris Day? The title kinda says it all. It’s referencing all those things that you say as a parent that really should never have to be said. Here are a few of phrases recently heard in the NewLife household…

  • “Ohhh… Don’t lick the table.” (this phrase is frequently used with various substitutions of the last word… window, floor, dog, your sister’s foot…)
  • “Be careful the poop doesn’t roll onto the floor.”
  • “Um… Why are there biscuits in my purse?”
  • “No, you sit on the potty THEN pee.”
  • “Don’t play with your vagina in the kitchen please.”
  • “I said, Don’t diddle yourself in the kitchen!” (This was, at least, directed at the toddler and not anyone else in the household)
  • “Please get off of Fairy Dog, he is not a trampoline.”
  • “Could you wait till we’re inside to take your shoes off?”
  • “Ew! Don’t put the butt thermometer in your mouth!”
  • “Please don’t grab Mommy’s butt while she’s making bacon.” (Seriously)
  • “NO! If it’s in the garbage, it is not a toy.”
  • “No, it’s not a balloon, it’s bacon. Eat it.”
  • “Please don’t put syrup in your hair.”
  • “No you can’t take a nap on the bathroom floor.”
  • “No toes on the dinner table.”

Those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. It just seem that, a minimum of 5 times within a day, I find myself saying something that will completely halt my chatter (an amazement in itself) and cause me to think,

“Did I Seriously just say that out loud?”

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