Grumpy Naked Four Year Old

We all collectively sighed with relief that we had finally gotten through the "Three Year Old Potty Humor." (Don't worry, that is a post that will be coming VERY soon.) Our sweet bug was back, laughing, telling jokes, being kind and doling out hugs and kisses like they were candy. And then this week it happened....




The "Grumpy Naked Four Year Old Monster" invaded my sweet bug's body and refuses to leave. There is no rationalizing or discussion with the Grumpy Naked Four Year Old Monster, it screams, it hollers, it snarls, drools, and spits. It tells you that you have made it "very, very angry." It orders you to time out, demands food, snacks, and all other items "right now" that are not healthy. And when it is told no or it has to eat dinner first, it screams "do you hear me, I am talking to you." It refuses to listen and tells you as much "I'm not listening to you." It sits in time out screaming and hollering, demanding your immediate attention. It has an obsession with band aids, plain, no Strawberry Shortcake or Hello Kitty, plain. And if you do not supply the plain band aid in a timely manner, it screams and throws itself on the floor. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse...

It strips down naked and refuses to wear a shred of clothing, not even underwear. It screams "my socks are too itchy, my clothes are scratchy, my panties make my tummy hurt." What makes it even worse is the other day, the grumpy naked four year old monster answered the front door NAKED and yells "Hey Mom...the Colonel's at the door." I patiently had to explain to our neighbor that we were going through a no clothing phase and apologized profusely for the grumpy naked four year old who was demanding that it was going outside to play NAKED with the big girls next door. It was told that it would have to put some clothing on before it could go outside to play. The grumpy naked four year old monster, began screaming, drooling, and yelled "I don't like you." Thank goodness the Colonel has raised two children and has the been there done that attitude. I could see the headlines now:

"Social Worker with dump truck obsession allows four year daughter to play in the dirt NAKED."

Just what I need right now. We have been tolerating the grumpy naked four year old monster fairly well. We have kept calm and tried to reason with the "thing" that has taken over my sweet child's body. But after almost a week of this, tired and strung out, I had to call in for back up and support. I phoned my friend "H" who assures me that this is just a phase and that the grumpy naked four year old monster will eventually get tired and go away. "H" has a 5 year old son, so she has been through all this and helps me through. Thank God for "H," I don't know what I would do without her.

Today, the grumpy naked four year old monster informed me "I don't want to keep you anymore, you are the mommy of a 3 year old, and I need a four year old mommy." I called "H" again, she laughed and stated "don't worry, it will get easier when she hits 5." 5 I thought 5, I don't know if I am going to make it to 4 1/2. But "H" again reassured me that with a lot of patience, tolerance, and a great deal of ignoring, the grumpy naked four year monster will get tired and leave my sweet bug's body. Tonight I saw a glimmer of the bug just as she was settling down to go to sleep, she snuggled up to me and stated "Mommy, I love you, can I keep you." Ahhh, there is hope after all.

Six Degrees of Separation

There is a theory that everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Pretty wild theory when you think about it.

Approximately 13 years ago I was on what can only be described as a 2 year dating slump. Okay, since I am being honest, it was a desert. But the details of that are for another post. One Sunday morning I had dropped some information off to a friend's mother at her church. She and I briefly visited and she introduced me to several of her church friends. Shortly after that I left and did not give my visit with her or her church friends another thought.

About a week later my friend's mother called to tell me that one of the individuals she introduced me to, we will call him "Jake", thought I was "really cute" and wanted to ask me out. She asked how I felt about that, and considering that I had been wandering aimlessly in the desert for two years, I was quite excited. I gave her the go ahead to give him my phone number and waited for him to call (I told you, I had been in a desert, so don't judge me.)

Several days later, I had just walked into the house when the phone rang and it was Jake. Now, Jake is approximately 10 years older than me, no big deal, my father is 7 years older than my mother. But somehow, that had set in the back of my mind, that Jake was "older." As the conversation proceeded, Jake and I discussed our likes, our dislikes, you know, the typical initial conversation you have with an individual that you are getting to know. And it became abundantly clear that Jake was definitely "older." As the conversation continued, Jake asked me if I liked the Opera. At last, we have something in common, I replied "yes sir, I really enjoy going to the opera." Sir, did I just say SIR. Oh my gosh, I was mortified, I could not believe I had just called the man sir. I quickly tried to cover my tracks and apologized profusely giving the excuse that I had been talking to customers all day, saying sir and mam whenever I was asked a question. He laughed it off, but I think he was as embarrassed as I was. He quickly got off the phone after that stating that he would call me the next time he got tickets to the opera. He never called and I returned to the desert. Approximately six months later, I learned from my friend's mother that Jake was getting married...to an "older" woman. Good for him, I thought, at least she won't call him sir.

2 1/2 years later I began dating Military Man. Military Man often talked about his close friend and mentor Suzanne. He also talked about how Suzanne got married later in life and how much he admired her husband because he went through extensive allergy shots to develop a tolerance for Suzanne's many cats. Wow, admirable of the guy. He talked about how he wanted me to meet Suzanne and her husband, how I would really like them, they were "a real down to earth couple." But somehow, it never happened. 4 years later on our wedding day, Military Man finally got to introduce me to Suzanne, and her husband...Jake. That's right, Suzanne was the "older" woman that Jake married 6 months after I called him sir.

Now, my story could have ended there, but....

Several months ago, I was talking to Trasheka (more like harassing her) about working the election polls with the elderly. I asked Trasheka how she got roped into being a "pollster." Trasheka began telling me the story of her college recruiter who she had kept in contact with through the years. The recruiter lives in Trasheka's zip code and harassed her into working the election polls. Apparently, he is the head pollster who supervises all the other pollsters. She talked about how she harasses him constantly that it is his fault he got her to the current city where she now resides and if it had not been for him, she would be rich, married to an attorney, with 3.5 children.

Approximately 2 weeks later Military Man came home from work and tells me that he got a phone call from his old friend and mentor Suzanne. Suzanne was calling because her husband Jake was going through the list of all the new pollsters and their references and saw my name as a reference for Trasheka. That's right folks, Trasheka's college recruiter was none other than Jake. Are you starting to see a pattern here?

So, I guess the theory of six degrees of separation is true. We are all connected in some way shape or form. For a pretty wild theory, boy is it accurate. But more importantly, I still can't believe I called Jake "Sir" and according to Trasheka, neither can Jake.

The Ladies Room or A Lesson In Potty Etiquette

When you work in a building of 137 individuals and of those 137 only approximately 30 of them are men you can imagine what the ladies room is like, a constant buzz of activity. On our floor there are 80 workers and only 5 of them are men. Talk about being the minority. But I digress. You can only imagine what it is like to try and get into the Ladies Room after a meeting that last 3 1/2 hours (such as this morning).

Several months ago as I entered the bathroom stall I was faced with this…..





Now clearly, there is a problem when you have to have a reminder to the “ladies” using the restroom to wipe the seat after going to the bathroom. For Shame, for shame!!! Several months later I entered the bathroom stall to find this installed…..

Hallelujah!!! Finally I will not have to look at the sign that reminds me that there are some individuals that are well, how can I put this, lacking in proper potty etiquette. Unfortunately, apparently, some “ladies” are still not getting the hint.

You see, the sign is still there, and the evidence that individuals are not using the toilet seat covers was quite evident as not one but TWO toilet seats had been how shall I put this “sprinkled on.” And it wasn't a little sprinkle either. How much clearer can you get than to not only supply the covers, but also post a sign so you are facing it when you enter the stall. Am I the only one in the entire freeking building that doesn't like to sit on someone else's pee when I go to the bathroom?

So ladies, the moral of this post is...please be kind to your tooshies as well as the tooshies of others, be sweet and protect the toilet seat. People (ie me) will thank you.

Get To Know Military Man

Since today is Memorial Day, I thought it would be fitting to have a little question and answer session with Military Man, a former Marine and Gulf War Veteran.

Hi Honey, listen would you mind answering a few questions for me.
Ooookay, why?

Well, I thought it would be good for my three dedicated readers to get to know you better.
You aren't going to use any identifying information...you know how I feel about that?

No, no,no...just some simple questions.
Okay...fire when ready.

What is your favorite station on the t.v?
Military Channel

Favorite t.v. show?
Deadliest catch

Second favorite?
The Girls Next Door

Seriously.
Babe...it's educational.

Okay, moving on...What is your favorite meal that I cook?
I would have to say your Red Beans and Rice

Second Favorite?
Chicken and Dumplings

What is your philosophy on freaks?
Being a freak is a good thing.

My freak factor is dump truck driving and ice road truckers, what is your freak factor?
You.

What was the first thing you noticed when you met me?
Your B#$%@

Seriously, not my personality or my ummm good looks?
Babe, it's all part of the same package. First I noticed your B#$%@ and then I noticed your personality and good looks.

Alright, changing subjects, how long were you in the Marine Corps?
Just over ten years, I was getting out when we met.

Why did you join?
I knew I wasn't ready for college and had no direction in my life. When the recruiter said, join us and you will learn to shoot a gun and get dirty, I thought, well hell, where do I sign up.

Do you regret joining the Marines?
No, it gave me the direction and discipline I needed.

How many tattoos do you have dedicated to the Marine Corps?
Two

You fought in the first Gulf War, was your reserve unit called up or did you volunteer?
Both, I am the last male in my family, so I did not have to go, but I volunteered anyway.

Why?
I had finished boot camp and even though I had enrolled in college, I just wasn't into school. Plus, I was looking for a way to get away from the girl I was dating at the time and thought this would be a good way to break up with her.

Did it work?
Did what work?

Was it a good way to break up with her?
No, I kept dropping hints that I would be gone for a long time and it would be alright if she wanted to date other people. But she insisted on waiting for me.

How do you feel about fighting in the first Gulf War?
I feel fine about it. It was for a good reason and it's neat to think that I was a part of history. How many people can say that they were one of the first to liberate Kuwait. It's something I can share with our children and grandchildren.

Speaking of children, do you want to have more?
I would love to have another, but if we only have The Bug, I will be content.

Okay...would you like more now?
Haven't we already discussed this?

Honey...it's for the readers.
Okay, yes I would love to have another child right now, but I don't think it is fair to put all the responsibility on you while I am working on my MBA. Plus, we have the added expenses of sending The Bug to private school next year.

Okay...as long as your not closing the door on the subject.
No, I am not closing the door on the subject. How many more questions are you going to ask?

Only a few more. Do you miss not being a part of the current battle that is happening in Iraq?
Yes and no. Yes, I miss not being a part of history and the action that comes along with it. But this is a different war than the first one and you don't know who the enemy is. Plus, I have other responsibilities. In the first gulf war I was a 19 year old kid with no real responsibilities and I was ready to go fight. Now, I have you and The Bug. I could not imagine leaving the two of you for an extended period of time.

Aaww, Honey, that's so sweet.
Are we done yet?

Okay, one more question. Boxers or Briefs?
You have got to be kidding me!

It's for the readers.
I'm going outside now.

We Interrupt Our Regular Post For This Very Important Announcement

Ice Road Truckers is coming, Ice Road Truckers is coming, Ice Road Truckers IS COMING!!!

About a year ago Military Man, knowing my fascination with dump trucks, introduced me to a whole new career choice...Ice Road Trucking.

Ice Road Trucking is right up there with Deadliest Catch. It is one of the most dangerous jobs a person can choose. But if you choose to take the risk and drive a truck over an ice road, you can earn $40,000 in three months!!! Can you imagine, earning your salary in three months and then taking the rest of the year off!!! Okay...I don't know how much you people make, but I am a social worker and we don't make jack squat.

This became my new obsession, right up there with the dump trucks, redneck weddings, and the FLDS. And I watched the show religiously. I actually cried when the season ended. Okay, didn't really cry or shed a tear, but after the season ended, I felt like there was something missing in my life. Military Man says I'm a freak and I have issues. He's probably right. But I am convinced there is a little freak in all of us. And let's face it...we all have issues. Come on, admit it, you know you do.

The idea of driving over Black Ice (black ice - good, white ice - bad) while it's 30 degrees below zero outside is something that I will probably never do. Keep in mind, I live in the deep south where 60 degrees is but ass cold. But there is nothing wrong with dreaming. And who knows, maybe one day, as I get behind the wheel of my vehicle, this is what I will see...

The Ice Road....it's calling me!!!

Military Man Is Going Green!

Yes…you heard me. Sunday evening Military Man walked into the kitchen and announced that effective immediately, we were going green. Huh???? Military Man going green? My Military Man??? Mr. 5 to 6 plastic water bottles a day? Mr. drive to the Piggly Wiggly when it is less than a 10 minute walk? Mr. waste food he cooks for the week…a lot?

Several months ago, inspired by my college roommate and her efforts to go green, I brought up the idea to Military Man. He looked at me, said “uh, huh”, and went back to watching t.v. Translation…he was not listening to word I said. So, I tried bringing it up again several weeks later, this time during dinner. He looked at me and said “that takes too much effort and can get expensive.” And let me tell you, Military Man is ALL about saving a dollar. I rolled my eyes and decided that I would do my part in going green. Which have included: slowly changing out the light bulbs as they need replacing, not driving my car on the weekend, buying organic and shopping at the farmer's market as much as I can, turning lights off in the rooms we are not in, unplugging appliances when we are not using them. You get the idea. The ironic thing is…Military Man didn’t even notice. Or if he did he did not bother to say anything about it.

So, you can imagine my surprise when he made the announcement that we were going green. I didn’t bother to tell him that I had been doing it for several months now (didn’t want to steal his thunder.) First thing he announced, “we were no longer going to be purchasing bottled water and we were moving to a Brita Water Pitcher.”


Next, we were going to start a compost pile. He stated “It would be nice to have some good organic fertilizer to use.”

Use in what….I’m not really sure. We don’t have a garden and we sure as heck don’t have a green thumb.

When I asked Military Man what else we would be doing, he stated that we were going to start small and gradually add to our list of going green. He didn’t want to do too much at once. I’ve decided that I won’t tell him what I have been doing, I will let him figure it out on his own. Then it will be his idea and boost his already inflated Military ego. I will keep you posted.

Having The Plague Can Be A Positive Thing.

Today I found that there was an advantage to having The Plague. I got out of lunch with the MIL. Which meant no marriage advice, no references on being an inadequate wife, no comments on my "drinking" problem. No mental preparation for what she might say. Instead, I had a rare moment of having the house to myself while Military Man and The Bug took the trek to Mississippi. Military Man was a little disgruntled, but said he understood. After all, I was in no mood for health advice. Which would of have happened and by the way before I forget to mention it, she smokes up to a pack of cigarettes a day or more (I lost count years ago.)

When Military Man and The Bug arrived home approximately 4 1/2 hours later, he looked peeved and The Bug reeked of stale cigarette smoke. "How was lunch with your mother?" I asked. "You're coming with me next time." he stated and walked into the house and out to the garage to start yard work. Translation, Military Man got a double wammy of the MIL advice on marriage and being a proper parent. I know that I shouldn't gloat that the I escaped the MIL, but I'm going to do it anyway.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up!!!

Several years ago a co-worker told the tale about attending his cousins wedding, where the bride, 7 months pregnant, arrived to the ceremony on the back of a motorcycle and the groomsman lit the alter candles with a bic lighter. I thought he was making it up, until...

Late one night as I was channel surfing I stumbled upon this:

Because I was curious, I began watching and OH MY GOSH, you can't make this stuff up my friends!!! It has since become one of my new addictions, along with reading smut books, and my increasing obsession of becoming a dump truck driver.

Where else will you find:

A pregnant maid of honor wearing black combat boots, beer cans hanging from the alter, the officiant wearing a state prison t-shirt and camouflage hat, and the confederate flag in the background

You will also find:

A wedding cake in the shape of a horseshoe. Please note the opened Coors light beer cans in the background...I think it gives it a nice touch.

And let's not forget the wedding attire:

That's right...the bride and groom wearing camouflage. It must have been a hunting theme. (This seems to be a reoccurring theme in this show.)

But we can't forget:

The bride who could not find her teeth on her wedding day.

And:

The groom who gave his bride a hot pink short range rifle so she could go squirrel hunting with him.

Like I said, you can't make this stuff up. In addition, you will experience the thrill of brides driving in the demolition derby and mud bugging (in case you are wondering, that is driving your truck with the mack daddy wheels through the mud) in their wedding gowns. As well as the groom and his friends shooting bottle rockets at each other and calling it a "bachelor party."

Next weekend CMT will be airing "My Big Redneck Weekend" with back to back episodes of "My Big Redneck Wedding." If you have never watched it before, I suggest you take a moment and watch an episode. Let me know what you think.

The 18 lb. Fat A@$ Cat From H$%&

You've met The Semp, now it's time to meet Scout otherwise known as the 18 lb fat ass cat from hell.

"Are you talking about me?"

Scout was the product of Military Man's misguided notion that our other cat Reeb needed a companion. Which is not the case because my beloved cat Reeb, is fine on her own. As long as she has a clean litter box and food, she keeps to herself and doesn't bother anyone. There is only one problem, because Reeb pretty much keeps to herself, Military Man and I have to do random Reeb sitings every few days to make sure that she is still alive.

"Excuse me, did I ask you to come looking for me?"

Reeb is 13 years old and has a little bit of an attitude. She is also a water snob and in her old age demands that the water bowl be dumped and replenished after the dogs have quenched their thirst. She refuses to drink after them. Her favorite hiding spots include our junk room and in the lining of our box spring.

But here is the other problem with Military Man's notion that Reeb and Scout would be good companions, Scout does not realize that she is a cat. No, the 18 lb fat ass cat from hell thinks that she is a dog.

"Can I help you with something?"

Military Man got Scout around the same time that he got The Semp. So they have grown up together. Which may explain their penchant for constantly getting into trouble. So, whenever the dogs bark, the fat ass cat from hell meows. When the dogs chase a ball, the fat ass cat from hell chases the ball. I'm telling you people, she honestly thinks that she is a dog.

Scout earned her name as the 18 lb fat ass cat from hell because she weighs 18 lbs and she is B-A-D. As a kitten I had to have her declawed because she was destroying my furniture. I never had to do that with my other cat. But Scout was different. She would wait until she was just out of my reaching distance and starting sharpening her claws. She would also wait around corners and attack my legs as I walked by, claws and all.

When Scout runs she sounds like a heard of elephants running up and down the stairs (her favorite past time.) Scout also believes that the house is her personally lounge space and she has rights to every single piece of furniture, table, counter top, chair, rug, bed (you get the picture.) She is so smart she has figured out how to open the gate at the top of the stairs and then tortures Military Man and I by running up and down the stairs all night long. I'm telling you it sounds like a stampede. We had to put a lock on the gate to prevent her from opening it.

But the fat ass cat from hell almost had her nine lives cut short approximately 6 months ago, when she decided to get revenge on me for giving her a bath and peed on my antique love seat in my living room. I'm telling you right now, that if I did not love animals so much and if The Bug did not have an attachment to her, I would probably have ended those nine lives right then and there. Instead I banished her upstairs and closer to the litter box. Military Man keeps counting the days to the end of her nine lives. Somehow I get the feeling that not going to be for a long, long time.

Response to Tuesday's post

Several days ago I posted my reflections on my job and the emotional toil it I have experienced as a result. Little did I expect the response that I received, and what a response it was!!!! I was called a liar, a kidnapper, and that I was having a pity party. It was alleged that social workers hide behind their license. It was also commented that we use our position to hold parents hostage. You are all entitled to your opinions. But before you begin passing judgement on me as social worker as yourself these questions:

What would you do if you learned that a 2 year old child and 6 month old sibling were living in a house where the parents manufactured crystal meth?

What would you do if you learned that a 6 year old child had been repeatedly raped and prostituted out by their father?

What would you do if you repeatedly offered drug treatment to parents who were addicted to crack cocaine, only to have them leave treatment within a week of entering the program?

What would you do if you learned that parents were leaving their children home alone for days sometimes a week at a time with no food, no running water, and no power and it was in the middle of winter?

What would you do if a mother who repeatedly refused to drug treatment gave birth to her fifth child and the child like the four older siblings tested positive for cocaine?

What would you do if you learned that your neighbor’s children were going house to house begging for food because there parents were passed out from drinking or getting high?

What would you do if saw a child who had been so severely beaten by their mother or father that they had permanent brain damage?

This is the world we live in and these are the children I am responsible for. And yes, unfortunately there are social workers out there who don’t do their jobs, who use their position to hold parents hostage, and no matter how hard a parent or relative tries to get their child back, the social worker finds a reason why they can not. But when I receive a case, I work that case and make every effort to reunify children with their parents. If efforts with the parents are unsuccessful, then I am turning to the relatives. And only when all efforts have failed, do I look to terminate parental rights. The burden of proof is on the social worker, not the parents. And if the social worker has not done their job, then you bet termination is not granted.

Do I think a parent's right should be terminated when they continue to use drugs, have positive drug screens, do not come to visits with their children, refuse all services offered, and then either don't show up for court or come to court high? What do you think? What would you do? What would you do when a child writes a letter to his parents begging them to stop using drugs because he does not like it when they are high? What do you do when a 7 year old can show you how to roll a joint because he learned how to smoke marijuana from his parents?

My post was simply addressing my sadness, anger, and frustration at life and circumstances that continue to prevent a particular mother that I worked closely with from being with her child. It a vicious cycle my friends that I see time and time again. As social workers we learn to empathize with our clients in order to meet them where they are. If you can’t relate to the feelings and emotions of a client, then you don’t need to be in social work. As I said in my previous post, I have cried with my clients and held their hands. Unfortunately, I am also held to time lines set by a federal law that states that any child that has been in care 15 out of the last 22 months must have permanency, whether it is reunification with their parents, placement with relatives, or adoption. These are time frames which our courts hold us to and often we are ordered by the courts to move forward with filing termination of parental rights even when we feel that it is not in the child’s best interest. I have gone toe to toe with big dogs who argue that we need to be terminating on more children and not acknowledge their attachment to their parents and relatives. And I get extremely frustrated when repeated budget cuts prevent us from providing the necessary services our families need for successful reunification.

This is the world I live and work in people. I can’t speak for other social workers or how CPS in another state handles cases. Do I feel that cases are handled poorly, yes. I can only speak for myself. If I seem cold and callous, then that’s your opinion. My previous post was not meant to be a pity party. But like I said earlier, before you start passing judgement on me, ask yourself the above questions and then go read the Adoption and Safe Families Act of 1997. And if you still don’t like what I have to say….then don’t read my blog!!!

Broken Down and Beat up Epilogue

Trip to the doctor: 2 hours leave from work

Prescription Drugs the cocky doctor is getting a kick back from: $65.00

Good night's sleep while Military Man stays up all night pissed off at the cost of $65.00 prescription drugs the cocky doctor is getting a kick back from: Priceless.

Broken Down and Beat Up

I am now entering day 7 of The Plague. I can't take it anymore. It has broken me down and beaten me up. After a week of sleeping 4 hours or less every night, I finally threw in the towel and called the doctor today. And let me say...I hate doctors. I think a part of it is because I have not found the doctor that I click with. Two years ago my doctor of over 35 years passed away, unexpectedly I might add, and I have yet to find one that I like. Military Man and I continued to see his partner for a while, until he got cocky and arrogant during an appointment with The Bug, made her cry and me cry and we never went back after that. So, since then we have been searching for the right doctor. You know, the doctor who knows that if you come in to see them you really are sick and not drug seeking.

Approximately 4 months ago, Military Man had a horrendous case of The Plague and went to see one of the doctor's at the practice we are currently visiting (almost like searching out the right church, you keep visiting until you find the one you like.) When Military Man has had the Plague before, our now deceased doctor would usually give him a prescription for Amoxicillin and Polytussin (which by the way is codeine based.) So, as Military Man began telling the doctor his symptoms, he instructed the doctor that that our past doctor gave him a amoxicillin and polytussin. The doctor refused to give him the polytussin. And then asked him "why are you pushing for a narcotic? I'm the doctor, I will be in the one who decides what prescription I write." Okay...the last thing you want to say is something like that to Military Man, he becomes almost impossible to deal with. So for the next 24 hours, all I heard was Military Man complaining how he needed the polytussin to sleep at night, that his throat was killing him, and he couldn't stop coughing. He began sounding like a drug user needing his fix. The next day Military Man calls me at work and informs me that he went to a doc in the box practice and got his prescription for polytussin.

Tomorrow I am scheduled to see the same doctor that refused to give Military Man a prescription for polytussin. Although I am not looking for a narcotic, Military Man coached me on what to say. "Play it up babe, make it sound worse than it really is or you want get what you are looking for." I hope I can get the decongestant, that really is all I want. Otherwise, I may end up like Military Man, seeking my drug fix at the first available doc in the box joint I can find. Let's pray it does not come to that.

Just Ask Betsy

Since I am now entering Day 5 of THE PLAGUE and my creative juices are simply not flowing nor is there anything crazy or interesting happening in the child welfare office I decided to use this time and answer some questions that you have either asked or are dying to know.

1. What's the deal with Doodie Boy?" Doodie Boy is Trasheka (aka LA Lady's) boyfriend. Approximately 1 year ago, I began sharing my trials and tribulations of potty training with Trasheka, who in turn would go home and share them with Doodie Boy. Doodie Boy enjoyed hearing stories of The Bug creating "Poo poo families" (her words, not mine.) And she made them quite often, big families, little families, sometimes, only one family member, sometimes, two or three family members. With the bug, instead of saying she had to go poo poo, she began informing Military Man and I that she "needed to go make a family." Doodie Boy found this quite humorous and every time he would call Trasheka at work and she happened to be in my office or talking to me, the first question he would ask was "are you talking about doo doo?" Hence the name Doodie Boy due to his fascination with all topics pertaining to doo doo. Plus, I have a picture of Doodie Boy standing in front of the "Doodie Calls" port-a-potty. And I will use it if necessary.


2. "What got you into Social Work?" I always knew that I wanted to work with children. Both my mother and my older sister are teachers. My grandmother was a school principle. The last place I wanted to be was in the classroom. I originally thought I wanted to be a licensed counselor. But after 9 months of working with Drug Addicted Teens, I quickly began losing my interest in counseling. Believe me, I never wanted to inflict harm or serious injury on anyone until I began working with attitudinal teenagers in withdrawal. A friend whom I met in graduate school encouraged me to apply for a position as a caseworker in child welfare. I was hired and knew almost immediately that this was where I was meant to be. Since I began working in child welfare, I have been offered jobs both at a domestic violence shelter and at a children's hospital. I turned both of them down. I guess you could say that I am a glutton for punishment. But I love what I do, and knowing that I have had a hand in making a difference in the life of a child makes all the stress and chaos that goes along with the job worthwhile.


3. "Why don't you put your picture or Military Man's picture on your blog?" Both Military Man and I have very high profile jobs. My job requires me on occasion to be interviewed by the news and I have been quoted in the newspaper. (Okay, I have only been interviewed once for the local news, but you never know, I could be asked again.) Due to Military Man's position, he has direct contact with politicians, judges, and state big wigs. Enough said.


4. "Why don't you put recent pictures of The Bug on your blog?" It's called pedophilia, my friends.


5. "Is T.W.B. married with kids?" Yes, T.W.B is married. As a matter of fact, he married the next girl he dated after me. I don't know if she was the "career wife" he was looking for. The last I heard, which was about 6 years ago, his wife was either about to have a baby or had just had a baby. I know that it was a girl and I believe my response was "let's just hope she takes after mother."


6. "How did you and military man meet?" We met in graduate school and I will leave it at that for now.


7. "Have you received your CDL license?" No, not yet. But I am keeping my options open.


8. "Are you ready for the 1st Annual Blogfest 2008?" Yes, Military Man is getting geared up for some male bonding time with Doodie Boy and he mentioned something about helping Doodie Boy wax his wood due to Doodie Boy's advancing age and recent acceptance in AARP. (By the way, Military Man was referring to Doodie Boy's deck in his backyard, get you minds out of the gutter people.) Also, please no boxed wine or you will be run over with a dump truck.

I hope you have enjoyed this brief question and answer session. I must now go and encourage my four year old child the importance of wearing clothing. Please feel free to leave any questions/comments you may have and when I am brain dead and the creative juices are simply not flowing, I will be happy to answer them for you.

Buckets, bubbles, balls, and Kleenex

What do 27 sand buckets, 27 bottles of bubbles, 27 balls, and one box of Kleenex equal...me putting together party favors for The Bug's 4th birthday party while blowing my nose and praying that the Plague will GO AWAY!!!

Never get to comfortable with your health people. It will come back to bite you in the A%&.

No Rest For The Weary

This past Sunday, Military Man, The Bug and I failed yet again to get up in time to make it to church. But let me just say, we had our reasons. I, if you recall, was suffering from a severe box wine hangover. The Bug went to bed extremely late and waking her up when she is not ready to be woken up is just not a wise thing to do. If you value your life, peace of mind and desire for a pleasant day, it is best to let her get her sleep.

And so since we were clearly not making it to church, Military Man decided to utilize that time to stain our deck. I also decided to utilize that time for some much needed R&R. The Bug was still in her morning phase of waking up and would be that way for the next hour (she clearly takes after me.) I knew that now was the best time for a long, hot, bubble bath. After instructing The Bug where I would be, I headed upstairs to the bathroom for some long awaited, anticipated, and much needed R&R.

Approximately 5 minutes after entering the bathroom, I heard:

Knock, knock, knock

The Bug: “Mommy, what are your doing?”
BOB.: “Mommy is trying to use the potty.”
The Bug: “Are you taking a bath?”
BOB: "No, Mommy is trying to use the potty."
The bug: "Oh, well, tell me when you get in the bathtub so I can come in."
BOB: "Okay."

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy, what are you doing?"
BOB: "Mommy is trying to use the potty."
The Bug: "Oh, are you tee teeing on the potty?"
BOB: "Yes, Mommy is tee teeing on the potty."
The Bug: "Oh, well, tell me when you get in the bathtub so I can come in. "
BOB: "Okay."

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy"
BOB: "Yes"
The Bug: "My Bedroom is really stinky."
BOB: "Why is your bedroom stinky. "
The Bug: "It smells like a stinky elephant, I’m going to spray my room with the elephant spray."
BOB: "Okay, not too much, use just a small amount."

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy, I sprayed my room. "
BOB: "You did?"
The Bug: "I gave it just one spray and now my room smells nice and clean. "
BOB: "Really"
The Bug: "Are you still on the potty?"
BOB: "No, Mommy is trying to have quiet time in the bathtub"
The Bug: "Oh, okay."

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy."
BOB: "Yeesss"
The Bug: "I am going to take quiet time in my room."
BOB: "I think that is a wonderful idea."
The Bug: "I am going to lay down on Daddy’s exercise mat. Is that okay?"
BOB: "Yes, that is okay. I think that is a great plan."
The Bug: "Okay, I am going to take quiet time now. "

30 seconds later…

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy, I finished taking quiet time."
BOB: "That was a short quiet time."
The Bug: "I took my quiet time on Daddy’s mat, wasn’t that a great idea?"
BOB: "Yes, that was great idea"
The Bug: "Mommy, what are you doing?"
BOB: "Mommy is trying to take quiet time."
The Bug: "Oh, okay, I am going to play in my bedroom now."

Knock, Knock, Knock

BOB: "Yeessssss"
The Bug: "Mommy, can I come in, I have to use the potty. "
BOB: "Alright, come one in."
The Bug: "Hi Mommy, are you taking quiet time in the bathtub?"
BOB: "I’m trying to. "
The Bug: "Oh. Mommy, can you help me with my Snow White Dress."
BOB: "Do you want to take it off."
The Bug: "No, you need a toy Mommy. "
BOB: "No, thank you. Mommy would like to read for her quiet time."
The Bug: "No Mommy, you need a toy. You can play with my yellow duck, it is a lot of fun."
BOB: "Okay, I will play with it when I get through reading. Don't you need to go potty?"
The Bug: "I don’t have to go potty now. I am going to go play in my bedroom now."
BOB: "Okay, I think that is a great idea. Close the bathroom door behind you. "

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy, can I come in, I have to go tee tee."
BOB: "Yes, come on in."
The Bug: "Hi Mommy"
BOB: "Hi"
The Bug: "What are you doing? Mommy, you don’t have a toy."
BOB: "Mommy doesn’t want a toy right now, I really would like to read quietly."
The Bug: "But Mommy, you need a toy to play with. Here, you can play with my yellow duck, it’s lots of fun. It shoots water out of its mouth, see!"
BOB: "Alright, if I agree to play with your yellow duck will you let me have some quiet time and read my book".
The Bug: "Sure mommy, everybody needs quiet time."
BOB: "Okay, I will play with the yellow duck for one minute. "
The Bug: "See? Isn’t this fun? He squirts water out of his mouth. My yellow duck is so silly. I am going to my room now and play. "

Knock, Knock, Knock

The Bug: "Mommy can I come in?"
BOB: "Sure"
The Bug: "Mommy, what are you doing?"
BOB: "I’m bathing and then I am getting out of the bathtub. "
The Bug: "Oh, why are you getting out of the bathtub, are you finished with quiet time?"
BOB: "I would have to say so. "
The Bug: "Are you getting out of the bathtub now?"
BOB: "Yes"
The Bug: "Oh, well, then can I get in and have quiet time in a bubble bath."
BOB: "Go right ahead."

So 20 minutes after entering the bathroom for my long awaited, anticipated, and much needed R&R, I walked out of the bathroom as tired, weary, and brain dead as I was when I entered. While in the bathroom, I heard the splash of bubbly water, the squirt of water coming from a yellow duck,

and...

"AAhhhhh, this is the life."

SAVE LULU...SAVE LULU!!!

Disclaimer: At the time of this posting, Burned Out Betsy was enjoying some much need tub r&r. Therefore, she can not be held accountable for the contents of this post.

"Hey remember me.....The Semp."

"Well, first I got to say, that things been pretty slow around here for The Semp. But it's cool, I haven't given up on the ladies. Well, okay, there is one I given up on just across the state line. This foxy little number is named Lulu."

"Cute...isn't she? But let me tell you...the girl's got issues. She turned her nose up at me and wasn't even impressed when I showed her my famous trick."

"This move really impresses the ladies. Oh...where was I. While playing with my balls (tennis balls, what did you think I was talking about) I overheard Betsy say to Military Man that Lulu was recently placed in an institution for stabilization and evaluation. Group therapy, individual counseling, becoming one with her feelings. And now that she is ready for release, her owner Big Daddy told Drama Mama that she got to go. Now humans...that just ain't right. Every dog deserves a family. Even a dog with mental health issues. Okay, maybe some dogs need a family without small children, it's cool. "

"So I have decided to initiate the Find Lulu A New Home Fund Raiser. Collections are bein' taken over at Drama Mama's Blog. Crazy, oh I mean Lulu needs a family. And if you know a cute little pooch that likes children...let me know and I will pass the word along to Drama Mama."

Breakfast of Champions

No explanation needed

Hung over and feeling like H@*%&

Last night Military Man and I went to a Cinco de Mayo party. Yes...I know...you are probably asking yourself, "Why a Cinco de Mayo party on the 3rd of May?" I can't answer that question, I just know that Military Man informed me at 5 pm yesterday that we were attending a party and had to be there by 6:30 pm. Talk about last minute and trying to scramble to find a babysitter for The Bug. Thank the good lord that the grandparents did not have a wild weekend planned and were able to help me out.

We get to the party and our drinking options are beer (which I don't drink) or wine. I don't know why I was thinking Cinco de Mayo = Margarita's. But apparently I was the only one thinking that because there was none to be seen. Military Man, knowing that I drink wine, offered to get me a glass. He noticed that the host had several bottles, but they were unopened. He was quickly informed...oh, no the BOXED WINE is in the refrigerator.



Boxed wine. Who serves boxed wine at a party? Call me a party snob, but I have thrown enough to know you don't serve boxed wine at a party, especially the kind that only cost 3.95 at the grocery store. But since my choices were limited, I had to go with the boxed wine and had only two glasses.

Unfortunately, I woke up with a tremendous headache this morning. Granted, it may have helped if I had eaten more than 3 yeast rolls before we went to the party. But usually two glasses of wine will not affect me this way. Unless it is two glasses of boxed wine.

I am hosting a fraternity reunion party for Military Man and his "fraters" in three weeks. I have sent the list to my friend Racquel on the appropriate wine to purchase. I have specifically instructed her "NO BOXED WINE." Unfortunately, Racquel occasionally suffers from a disorder called "just don't get it." I may have to run over her with the dump truck that is parked down the street if she arrives with 5 boxes of red wine. Do you think I could get off with temporary insanity due to Post Traumatic Stress induced by boxed wine hang over? I will keep you posted.

T.W.B.

Today I received an email from my college roommate asking me what was my driving motivation to getting a Master's degree in social work. My MSW is my second master's degree. I received my first Master's Degree in 1997. I began thinking about what my driving motivation was to get my first degree and the more I thought about the more the road led to T.W.B.

I met T.W.B. in the fall of my freshman year. Every November my school which was at that time a woman's college (they went co-ed this year, but I'm not bitter, no really, not bitter at all) would host Tacky Party. Tacky Party requires the tackiest clothing you can find and as much alcohol as you can consume. Oh...there is also a band. Anyway, it was there that I noticed this one particular guy kept watching me. Everytime I turned around there he was. He finally came up, introduced himself, and asked me to dance. We spent most of the evening hanging out, dancing, drinking, and having a general good time. At the end of the dance we exchanged phone numbers, I also had my first encounter with a lesbian couple, but that is for another post. Our relationship progressed as any normal healthy "boring" relationship does. And my crush grew to affection. You know saying "love is blind." Well guess what, whoever came up with that statement was not lying. Because this is who I was dating...

That's right folks...I dated Booger. Okay, not really Booger, but T.W.B. was a close second. So, not only was I dating Booger, I was also dating a boy who would wear nothing, and I mean nothing, but...

yes, the tighty whitey. Pardon me a moment while I go throw up.

Okay, I'm back now. I honestly don't know what it was about that boring white underwear, but he was afraid to venture out, be daring, wear boxer shorts. He was content with his nasty, holey, thinned out, worn out, yellowed (I think I have to go throw up again, no, I'm alright) tighty whitey's. He became known among several of the girlfriends at the fraternity house as "Tighty Whitey Boy" or T.W.B.

For the next two and half years, you heard me, two and half years, T.W.B. and I dated. (I told you love is blind.) I became a pretty common fixture in the fraternity house. I established friendships with not only his fraternity brothers, but also the girlfriends.

In January 1992 T.W.B dropped a bombshell. He informed me that he had started experimenting with drugs.

Now me, being the prude I was and proud, had never touched anything harder than alcohol. I never had a desire to experiment with drugs. Maybe it was because I had parents that drove home in me that drugs were bad. Or maybe it was my inate sense to always do the right thing. But I really think my driving desire not to not experiment with drugs came from my experience caring for a little boy who was in his grandparents custody because he parents were heroine addicts. But despite all that, I continued dating T.W.B. because I had mistakenly convinced myself that this was just a phase and he would soon get tired of it.

Approximately one month later on Valentine's Day T.W.B dropped another bombshell. He broke up with me. But it was what he said that really got to me, "I figured out that I can't use drugs and date you. And frankly, drugs are more exciting than you are." Which was really ironic considering that from all reports, this is what he looked like when he was high.

Now, it was bad enough that I had just been dumped for drugs. But it was waht he did next that REALLY pissed me off. For the next 5 years, you heard me, 5 years, T.W.B. made it a point to tell everyone, all fraternity brothers, all girlfriends, anyone that knew me, that the real reason he "dumped me" was because I would never get into graduate school or have a career. I would never amount to anything more than a housewife and he wanted a career wife.

And then one night after college it happened, T.W.B. went too far. I was talking to a friend who also happened to be engaged to one of T.W.B.'s fraternity brothers. She informed me that at a recent fraternity reunion, she overheard T.W.B. talking to several people that I was "a flunky", "not smart enough to get into graduate school," and the most I would ever be was a housewife. Okay, I'll admit it, I spent more time focused on my social life in college than on my academics, who didn't. And my grades did suffer. But when you think about it, most of us either were in that boat or knew someone who was.

So the next day I began researching graduate programs and found one that interested me. I applied and was accepted. I threw myself into the program and two years later graduated with honors. So much for being a flunky, na, na, na. (Ironically that is also where I met Military Man, but that is a story for another day.)

In August 1997 I attended my friend's wedding and guess who was there, T.WB. As I began getting reacquainted with some of the fraternity brothers, I noticed that they were all shocked that I was not married and did not have children. They were even more surprised when they learned that I had a masters degree and a promising career. I learned that prior to my arrival, T.W.B. had once again been talking his smack about me. (Let it go why don't you!) But his fraternity brothers began taking great pleasure the entire weekend pointing out at every opportunity that I had a masters degree and a career. Plus that I was not married with children. Poetice Justice...I think so. T.W.B. pretty much avoided me the entire weekend. Chicken!!!

I still keep in touch with several of my friends who married the fraternity brothers. About a month ago, I received an email from Judy. Among the many things that she shared, she also told me that Mark was getting geared up for the Fraternity Reunion and wanted to know if I had received any additional degrees or did I still have my two master's degrees and a promising career in child welfare. It appears that T.W.B. was going to be at the reunion and several of the guys were looking forward to the opportunity to let him know how successful I am now.

I have moved on with my life and T.W.B. never enters my mind. But just knowing that the guys still look out for me....Ahh...Justice is sweet.