Sweet Little Gingy Cat

Hello again!

So I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything for the blog.  The truth is, I’ve been dealing with some depression for some time now.  Long story short, I was taking medication for it and went off of it.  I was happy, newly married, and thought to myself, self…you’re doing great now.  You don’t need that shit.  It’s time to stop taking it.  So I stopped. I felt fine for a while but gradually everything went to shit.  The funny thing about depression is that there isn’t a whole lot of humor to be found in hiding under your covers most of the day from ‘people.’  Turns out it doesn’t matter how great your life is when there’s something wrong with the chemical balance in your brain.  Anyways, I’ve been to the doctor and got back onto a medication and am feeling much better now.  I’m telling you all about this not for sympathy, but because if there’s anyone reading this that is going through what I went through…telling yourself that there’s nothing wrong in your life and you just need to snap out of it, maybe this will spur you on to get some help.  Alright enough of this depressing shit…I thought this was supposed to be funny?!?  Well, here goes…

So I decided to devote this blog post to our beloved, sweet, cuddly little Gingy Cat.  Just kidding, she’s a little bitch but it’s cool…we all have our moments, right?

It was a cool day in the end of October when we found this poor little stray kitten.  I had called Nan to see what she was up to.  Apparently, someone was walking down our alley and found a cute little orange and white kitten.  She was lost, meowing around and followed a kid that was walking to school.  The kid stopped by Nan’s house at 7am, asking if it was her cat.  Since he had to go to school, she told him she would hang on to the cat and try to find out who she belonged to.  My ass.

When I called Nan around 7:45, she was patiently waiting for the city office to open so she could have Animal Control come pick the damn thing up.  I went next door to Nan’s to see this adorable little bitch and instantly fell in love.

I told Nan I wanted to keep her but there was no way in hell my husband was going to allow me to bring another animal into the house.  We already had 2 dogs, both of which are little bastards.  Nevertheless, I decided to send Lenny a picture of this adorable, well-mannered little kitten to see if there was any chance I could talk him into it.  At first he did say hell no, so I sent another picture.  Then he told me I was crazy, so I called him.  I gave it my best, “But she’s so dang cute and she’s well-behaved and she’s all alone and Nan is going to call animal control and they’re going to kill her and she’s just a little kitten and she looks like she’s been in a fight cause she’s got some little patches of fur missing and I’ll train her to use the litterbox and she’s free and I love her and…”  Lenny interrupted me and said that he didn’t care, if I really wanted the damn thing then why was I even asking him?  Haha!  Sucker!

So I brought her home and introduced her to the dogs.  They pretty much hated her from the beginning. Jackson and Harry, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.  I should have listened to you two little bastards.

But I didn’t.  So when the City Office opened, I called them and gave them her description and told them if someone called missing their kitten to give them my number and we would give her back.  I mean really, who wouldn’t miss this adorable little bundle of fur?

Three days passed and the answer to that question is: Whoever the fuck owned her before us.  They didn’t call. They didn’t miss her.  How could someone be so heartless, you ask?  I’ll tell you how: She’s a little bitch, that’s how.

So we got her a collar, a litter box, and got her all settled in to her new home.  As soon as we put the litter box down, she ran over to it and started doing her business.  Whaaaaat?!?  She’s already litter box trained!  Yeessss!

At this point, I’m thinking why the hell did no one call to get their kitten back?

So about a week later, I was brushing Aiden’s hair and pulled his curls back.  I noticed a small, round dry patch on his forehead. Son of a fucking bitch.  Ringworm.  And suddenly it all made sense.  This is why she was outside and also why no one called to claim her.  And she wasn’t in a fight.  Gingy instantly lost all cuteness.  She was officially a leper.

So I take Aiden to the doctor to get a prescription for the growing red circle on his fucking forehead.  (Like seriously?  It couldn’t have come up somewhere else?  Like anywhere else.)  Anyways, I call the doctor and tell them the cat story (minus the swear words, of course) and tell them that I’m sure it’s ringworm if they could just call in a script…nope.  They have to see him to make sure.  Goddammit. Ok, so we head to the doctor, sit in the waiting room for fucking ever and finally get into the exam room for him to check Aiden’s spot.  He looks him over and promptly gives me his scholarly opinion, “It looks like ringworm.”  No fucking way.  Ya, thanks doc.  Can I get the damn medicine now or what?  So he sends a prescription for this very special cream over to the pharmacy and we wait a couple hours and go pick it up.  (I say we because I made sure to take Aiden with me so they could see the ringworm on his forehead…what? I didn’t want them to think I had the ringworm…gross.)  We got home and I immediately open the paper baggie to see exactly what this miracle cream is called.  The tube reads: Antifungal Cream, for Athlete’s Foot.  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???  I could have picked this shit up at Walmart yesterday!  Goddammit I knew I should have Googled it before I called the doctor.  Since then, Google has been my best friend any time anyone in the family has any type of medical issue going on.  However, in my unprofessional opinion, everyone in my family has been dying of Cancer or Malaria at least once in the past 6 months.  Paging Dr. Google…not always a good idea.

So anyways we used the cream on Aiden and took Gingy to the vet.  They gave us some actual prescription medicine for her and told me to put her in an iodine bath to speed it up.  Have you ever tried to bathe a cat in iodine?  Me either.  I wasn’t doin that shit.  Turns out, we didn’t have to.  The pills we had to shove down her throat worked just fine.

After we got rid of the disease and Aiden looked normal again (as normal as possible when you’re doing ninja moves while walking down the street…) everything was going great with Gingy.  We had a small, yet expensive bout with Thiamine Deficiency but that’s another long story for another blog post.

As she grew, I decided we should have named her something other than Gingy.  Both of our dogs, Harry and Jackson, have human names.  Carol.  That’s a good name for a cat.  We’ll just let Gingy be her middle name.  Plus, it sounds better when she’s in trouble: “Carol!  Get off the damn table, Carol!” Or Carol, quit licking your balls!” Wait a second…

So one day, Aiden was sitting on the couch and looked over at Carol Gingy Main who was laying on the back of the other couch, looking out the window.  “Holy crap!” he says, “Dude, Evan!  I think Gingy’s growing balls!”  Sure enough, our stupid little girl cat was growing balls.  Well, fuck.  I’m not changing her name again.

So after many jokes and comments from our three boys about Carol’s little girl balls, we figured it was time to make an appointment at the vet to get her neutered.  After all, she masqueraded as a female for the first 4 months we had her, it was clear to me that she was a Trans-cat.  A girl cat trapped in a boy cat’s body, furry balls and all.  We left the decision up to her and she wanted to go ahead with the surgery, so we told her we would make the appointment and pay for her so she could be comfortable in her own skin.  (There’s no such thing as a free fucking cat by the way.)  So she had the surgery to remove her balls.  According to Aiden, the vet did a good job.  Her balls were gone.  He checked.

And in case you were wondering, no. We didn’t give a fuck which litterbox she used.

Thanks for reading!  I’ve missed this a lot and I plan to write regularly again so I hope you enjoy!

The Non-Existent Blog Post

Ok so I have been pretty busy this week and therefore do not have time to write a blog entry.  Between basketball practices, house cleaning, scout meetings and dealing with the bullshit that is being a parent, I just couldn’t possibly find the time.  ‘What bullshit is she talking about?’ you ask?  Where do I start…

Well, we ended off last week with the Boy Scout Chili Supper and Cake Auction on Saturday.  Evan and I made a killer KU cake.

The cake will be sold to benefit the Boy Scout trip they will be taking this summer.  Not exactly sure how I feel about that yet.  Sure, it’ll be great to do something fun with Evan and have a trip that we only have to pay for by doing different fund raisers, but then there’s the bus.  Riding on a bus for however long to wherever they decide we are going this year with a bunch of farting, loud mouthed excited boys is not exactly what I would call a vacation.  Vacations are when adults go somewhere and leave the kids behind so they can get wasted and not get up at the ass crack of dawn because the kids want the free yogurt, waffles and rubber eggs downstairs that they call a “free breakfast.”  I mean sure, its free to eat it, but an ER visit from choking on rubber eggs or going to the dentist because you broke a tooth on a rock hard bagel is not free…as it turns out.

Anyways, so we helped with the chili supper and I didn’t die so I guess it went well.  Evan’s Dad (Rick) ended up buying our cake, but it didn’t win anything.  See, everyone who had a ticket got the chance to vote for their favorite cake and the winner got a prize.  (Not sure what it was but I’m sure it was fucking wonderful.)  Before the cake auction we invited Evan’s dad over to see his cake so that he would know which one to vote for so maybe he would have a chance at winning whatever ass kicking prize they were offering.  My mom, who we call Nan (and by ‘we’ I mean, anyone my brother or myself are friends with, along with our kids of course) bought a ticket but she decided to just go with the delivery option.  Lucky bitch.  I can’t wait till I’m a Grandma.  Anyways, that meant I had my ticket, Nan’s, and the other one that we had to buy because we didn’t sell enough tickets to go on the free bus trip with a bunch of boys that smell like dogs bathed in the sweat from dirty gym socks.  Evan’s cake was #6 so I put in all 3 tickets to vote for his cake.  I figured ok, that’s 3, plus Evan’s dad, his girlfriend, Aiden, and anyone else that Rick brings voting for Evan’s cake.

So I was serving drinks and in walks Rick, his girlfriend, his friend, and Aiden.  Yes!  There’s four more votes.  Aiden comes up to say hi and I told him to make sure to tell his Dad and everyone they came with to vote for #6.  He looked up at me with the biggest smile and says, “Ya, we already voted!  I voted for the cake with cars on it.  That one’s cool.”

The fuck???  “Dude.  Evan’s cake was the KU one.  Remember?  You kept eating the little candy beads we were trying to put on there…remember?”

“Ya…” he says, “but I liked the one with the cars on it.”

“Well fuuuuuck you, Aiden.”

Ok…that’s what I wanted to say.  But instead, through clenched teeth I said, “It’s ok, Aiden.  I’m just kidding with you.  You can vote for whichever cake you want.”  He smiled and turned around to get in line for chili.  Then I flipped him off and muttered “thanks for nothing, jerk...” under my breath.  It’s ok, though.  Nobody saw it.

Ya, Aiden’s definitely been on a fuckin roll this week.  A few days later I was standing up mixing a red beer and he looks over at me all innocent and asks, “Mom…are you gonna have a baby?”

“What??? No, Aiden.  I’m not going to have a baby.  Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, your stomach is getting really big, Mom.”

Now, even though he’s too young to understand that I had my tubes tied right after they cut him out of me, that didn’t stop me from jumping over the recliner and tackling that little fucker like a bowl of cheese dip.  I sat on him until he said, “Sorry, Mom.  You’re so skinny you could be a super model and you are prettier than any girl on the planet.”

“Awww…thank you, Aiden.  You’re so sweet.”

Ok, so that’s what I did in my head.  What I actually did was look him right in the eye and say, “Shut up, Aiden,” took a gulp of my red beer and went to the kitchen for a snack.  Kill em with fatness, that’s what I say.

Anyhow, it’s not my fault I’ve let myself go.  My husband tells me constantly that I’m beautiful and that I am in fact, NOT FAT.  He tells me that I’m prettier without makeup and that I shouldn’t wear it unless I really want to and it’s something that really makes me feel better about myself.  He tells me that he doesn’t care what I wear or what anyone else thinks because he thinks I’m gorgeous and that’s all that matters.  So to anyone who sees me lookin rough at the store or picking up my kids from school and wonders ‘what the fuck happened to her?’ …you can thank my husband for that.

Aiden got what was coming to him, though.  He and Camden were playing outside with the basketball  (Yes, I’m smiling as I type this.  Not because Aiden got hit in the fuckin face with a basketball soon after he told me I was a fat ass, but because…because…ok fine.  It’s because he got hit in the fuckin face with a basketball right after calling me a fatass.  Karma’s a bitch, son.  Deal with it.)  So anyways, they were outside for a while playing with the basketball and Aiden walks in crying with Camden.  “What happened?” I asked, holding back a smirk.

Camden shrugs his shoulders and says, “Oh…I uh…accidentally hit Aiden in the eye with the basketball.”  The fuck???  Ok, you might get hit in the eye with a golf ball or a ping pong ball or even a damn light saber… but a basketball?  No, dude.  You nailed him in the fuckin face, somewhere around the eye area maybe, but in the fuckin face all the same.  After mentally high fiving Camden and then consoling Aiden for a few minutes, he was good to go.  Fat jokes and all.

Aiden and Camden are both doing really well in school, though.  Evan on the other hand…not so much.  I’ve gotten used to him coming home and telling me about failed tests and worrying about math homework.  Which really sucks because the fucked up way they have to teach them to do math now makes about as much sense as smoking crack to lose weight. Sure, you’re probably gonna end up losing weight, but why not just do it the normal way so that you don’t end up a stupid fuckin weirdo that can’t add 2 + 2?  So anyways, he comes home the other day and tells me, “Mom, I had a test again today…” Wonderful.  “..aaaaaaannnnnnddddd I did bad on it.”

“Oh really?  How bad, Evan?”

“Kinda bad…” he says.

“Kinda bad?  How bad is kinda bad?  What did you get on it?”

“9.”

“9???  Wait…what do you mean 9?”

“Like…9.  I got a 9.”

“9 percent?  As in 9 out of 100?  9???  How does that even happen?”

Immediately he starts in with how he tried and he doesn’t understand it and no one would help him and he couldn’t remember any of it and he tried and he can’t help it and he was confused and he tried his best and he couldn’t have tried any harder and, and, and…

“OMG.  Whatever dude.  You need to study.  But not with me.  I have no fuckin idea how to do the shit they are asking you to do, in the fucked up way they are asking you to do it so you’re on your own.  Good luck with that.”

Ok so I didn’t say that either.  I just told him it would be ok and we would work on it at home some more.  And when I say ‘more’ I mean more than none.  Apparently none isn’t working out so well.  Who’da thunk?

Anyway, like I said, I really haven’t had time to write a blog entry this week but I’ll definitely hit ya with somethin super fuckin awesome next week!

Thanks for reading!  

MLK and The Eulogy...I know, just read it.

So it’s been a long few days since my first blog post.  My husband read it, which in hindsight may have been a mistake.  He has now made it his mission in life to not only leave every cabinet door open when he makes a sandwich, but to go into the kitchen for no apparent reason other than to open every door he can find and then just sit back down.  When confronted about it, he simply smiled and said, “Well, babe, I don’t want you to run out of material for your blog…”

FML.

On top of that, yesterday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  Wonderful.  There’s no school on MLK Day, which means all three of my boys were at home, wreaking havoc throughout the house.  Thanks a lot, Marty.  I found this cute little sign on Pinterest that I’m going to make if I ever finish picking up fucking orange peels and Small Deborah cake wrappers from around the living room.  (Yeah, I know most people call them Little Debbie’s. Tomato, Toemahhtoe.)

Sweet huh?

Anyways, speaking of Martin Luther King, Aiden comes home from school one day last week and I asked him how his day was.  He immediately presented a paper chain made from 3 strips of construction paper that had been looped together and said, “Look Mom! We made handcuffs for Martin Luther King!”  …While I’m super excited Aiden is actually offering up some details from his day, (because trying to fish for information from Aiden is like trying to make a project from Pinterest…It seems like it should work…other people do it all the time.  But then you try it, and it ends up being a big fat fucking fail.)…I’m not exactly sure that “handcuffs for Martin Luther King” is what his teacher was going for…

So I decided to push a little farther and ask him, “So what did MLK do, Aiden?  Why was what he did so important?”

“I don’t know.”

 …Riveting.

“Come on, Aiden…you said you learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. so what did your teacher tell you about him?  What’s something he did?”

“Well…he made some friends and then he went to jail.  See?” *Presents handcuffs again*

Ok.  That’s cute, but it’s wrong.  So we finish walking home (keep in mind, this conversation took place within our 2.5 minute walk home, right after leaving the building where he was taught all this important information…) and we go into the boys’ room where Evan has brought a friend home from school.  Ahh, here we go.  I’ll just have the two 5^th grade boys explain to the Kindergartener a little about what they know from their lessons on the great MLK.  Great teachable moment for everyone and Mom gets the satisfaction of facilitating the exchange.  This is gonna be a great parenting moment in 3…2…1…

Me: Alright boys, Aiden is a little confused about what Martin Luther King, Jr. did for this country.  What can you tell him about who MLK was and what he did?

Evan: Uuuuuhhhhh

Friend: Uuuhhhhhmmmm

Evan: Oh! He uhhhhh….well….

Evan and Friend: *Laughter*

Me: Ok, come on boys…what was MLK known for?  What did he stand for?

Friend:  Oh! Ya! He helped…like…well he helped…

Me: Yeeeesss…..helped who?

Friend:  I don’t know, he like…helped free the Mexicans or something…right?

Aiden:  Ya!!! Just like Spiderman!!!

Me:  The fuck???  No.  ***EEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHH**** That was a buzzer sound by the way*** Wrong.

Okay, so that’s not what I said.  That’s what I wanted to say.  What I said was, “……………………..” nothing.  I turned around and shut the door with my palm still stuck to my forehead.  Fail.

On a lighter note, my husband wrote a eulogy for me this weekend.  …Maybe I shouldn’t have started with that….Ok…second try…

So my husband and I were having a few drinks and I brought up an idea I saw on Pinterest earlier that day.  He loves my Pinterest ideas.  Anyways, what you do is write down a bunch of things about your spouse on different pieces of paper.  These should be nice things that are reasons why you want to marry this person.  On the wedding day, you put these things in a box and seal it.  It’s called a “First Fight Box.”  When you have your first fight, you open the box and read what your significant other wrote about you so that you can remember what it’s all about.

The first thing my husband said was, “Yeah, that sounds great.  I mean assuming that you aren’t normal and you haven’t had a fight at all until after you were already married.”  Ok whatever.  So it’s not perfect, but it’s kind of a cool idea, right?  So then he asks me, “Ok, so if we had done that, what would you have written about me?”

“Well,” I said, with my best bedroom eyes (keep in mind we have both had a few drinks…) “I would say that you are funny, caring, honest, you love all of our kids, you show me how much you love me every day, …”

“So I’m funny? That’s it?”

“Whatever, loser, that’s not what I said.”

“Well that’s all I heard…”

Ok, we’re getting off track and at this point I know it’s a bad idea but I ask anyway, “Fine then, what would you write about me?”

“Well, you’re pretty.  You have big boobs.  You have long legs.  I like your ears.”

Seriously?  What the fuck was I thinking telling him he was funny.  Ok, I’ll try something else.  If anyone knows how to fish for compliments, it’s me, and dammit, I’m gonna get one before this conversation is over.

“Ok.  How bout this.  What if I died?”  

Too extreme?  I don’t care.  I want my goddamn compliment.  “Seriously, babe, what if I died and you had to write a eulogy?  What would you say?”

“Well...”  he starts without batting an eye, which is a little disturbing but whatever… “It would probably go something like this… Bronwyn was a great person.  She was kind, giving, and she always tried to bring me up instead of pull me down, which is a really great quality in someone...”

At this point I’m on the edge of my seat thinking wow!  That’s 1…2…3 compliments…and he’s still going!  Yay me!

“Buuuuuutttt, that’s all over because she’s dead now.  Dessert wine is out. *drops mic*”

Whatever.  I’ll take what I can get.

Thanks again for reading and don’t forget about my Facebook Page if you haven’t liked it already! www.facebook.com/parentingwithprofanity

Introduction

If you're reading this, you know that I've decided to start writing a blog about parenting.  As the title states, there will be profanity.  If you're easily offended, you might as well stop reading now.  Fuck.  ...I warned you.  If that didn't offend you, please read on :)  We all know that we shouldn't swear at or even in front of our kids.  Having said that, we all fantasize about letting them have it once in a while.

I’ll start by introducing my family.  My husband Lenny is amazing.  He helps with the kids, makes me laugh, and has saved the kids’ lives on more than one occasion when I’m feeling extra psycho.  If I could just get him to close the kitchen cabinets once in a while, he’d be perfect.  I swear, he makes a sandwich and not only leaves everything out, but somehow manages to open every single cabinet door, along with the microwave, and leave them all open.  (Why the hell does he need the microwave to make a PB & J you ask?  I have no fucking clue.)  I walk into the kitchen and feel like I’m one of those people in a scary movie that turns around and magically every fucking door and drawer is just sitting wide open for no damn reason.

But, like I said, other than the fact that he has trouble understanding how doors work, he is the most amazing man I have ever met and I’m glad he’s around to save the lives of my children when I lose my shit.

My kids.  Between the 2 of us, Lenny and I have 3 boys.  Evan and Aiden are mine from a previous marriage and Camden is Lenny’s.  If you’re thinking of stealing their identity just know that none of their last names are the same as mine so in the voice of the creepy guy on the phone talking to Liam Neeson, I say to you, “Good Luck.”

Evan is 11 years old, going on 24.  He is the grouchiest of the 3, although Aiden is definitely catching up to him.  As any intelligent mother would do, I blame their Dad.  I’m never grouchy.  Anyways, Evan has Cystic Fibrosis which brings a lot of extra challenges into our household, but I am proud to say that he is doing very well, all things considered.  He hasn’t been hospitalized for almost 9 months, which is really good for a CFer.  His attitude, on the other hand, could definitely use some work.  If you follow this blog, I’m sure you’ll get to know him real well.

Camden is next on the age totem pole.  He is 8 years old and really into wrestling.  Not that fake Hulk Hogan shit either.  Real wrestling where they diet and spit to make weight.  Ya, you read that correctly.  I recently learned that they can lose some weight by spitting a lot right before a weigh-in.  As a result, I’m constantly washing spit down the drain at our house.  Oh no, not from Camden … Diets haven’t worked real well for me, on account of how much I love food…but I can spit like a mother fucker.

And last but not least, there’s Aiden.  The wig.  He has curly hair that I refuse to cut until he looks like Cousin It just stuck it’s finger into a light socket.  We call him ‘Big Wig’ and we know that he loves that nickname deep down, no matter how many times he tells us to stop calling him that.  He has more energy than I will ever have and plays the ‘I’m the baby’ card better than any child I have ever known.  Unless of course you call him a baby…then, it’s on.  Admittedly, I’ve been using the phrase, “He’s only 6…” since he was 3 so he comes by it honestly.

Speaking of honesty, don’t ever ask him how you look.  He WILL tell you.  The boy has no filter.

And then there’s me.  As you can probably tell, I’m a sarcastic self-proclaimed asshole and if you can’t take a joke, you probably won’t love me.  Anyways, I went to school and became an engineer but then decided that wasn’t for me.  Talk about racking up some student loans for nothing.  Jeesh.  I’m a member of the PTA, I go to church every Sunday, and use any spare time I have to do community service.  I’ve been to Africa 3 times to do what I can to help and I cry and donate at least $100 every time I hear Sarah McLachlan’s voice on an ASPCA commercial.

Just kidding.  I literally have never done any of those things.  Except for being an asshole.  Having said that, …….nope.  There’s nothing else.  I’m an asshole.

Thanks for reading!  I hope you had a good laugh and will read stories about my crazy family in the future!  Like my Facebook page at www.facebook.com/parentingwithprofanity so you don’t miss a post!  And if you enjoyed it, please feel free to share it! :)

…Unless I offended you…fuck.  Just checking.