I went to Nordstrom the other day looking for a pair of Crocs for my son. Now, I don’t normally shop at Nordstrom because I tend to leave feeling like I’m the crazy, unkempt woman with no makeup and unwashed children. But, the Crocs kiosk in the mall was having a sale which meant they were sold out of every color and size my son was interested in wearing.

When I first began blogging a few years ago I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would never censor my blog based on those that were reading it. I always wanted this to be my space and I never wanted the audience to influence that.

My mother-in-law doesn’t like when I use self-deprecating humor or point out my children’s misbehavior in my posts. Since my posts have been fairly serious for the past few weeks, this one is long overdue! Sorry, C!

I woke up in the middle of the night last night completely on fire.  As a reward for finishing all the laundry (yahoo!) I broke out in a horrible rash thanks to a new fabric softener.

Snuggle, my ass!

My hands were covered in welts the size of dimes and my thighs looked like I was having a severe allergic reaction or a delayed STD from my pre-married days.  As I searched the bathroom for some benedryl and cortisone cream I was forced to rush to the toilet in a mass effort to relieve the obvious revenge of something I ate the day before.

Timing is a bitch!

Once I figured it was safe to return to bed I attempted to wake up Hubby.

Are you asleep?  


Are you asleep?


HONEY! Are you asleep?

Obviously he couldn’t do much, but I needed a sympathetic audience at that point.  Plus, I couldn’t find the benedryl.

Being the loving husband he is, he found the baby benedryl and said here, chug this before immediately going back to sleep.

Thanks, Honey.  Really.

By this morning everything was worse.  I made an appointment at the doctor hoping they could do something.  As I attempted to wrangle the kids into the car so we could get to the doctor on time I had an experience.

A slow motion, bug-eyed experience.

For a single moment I relaxed just a bit.

And the result was me.  Shitting my pants.  In the garage.

Apparently revenge was not yet reached.

Mortified, I ran inside and changed, the whole time thinking Even my potty training 2 year old doesn’t shit her pants! The kids are shouting Mama, you’re walking funny! as I try to keep from, um, dripping on my way to the safety of the bathroom.  


We then hurried to the doctor where I was taken back rather quickly considering I looked like I had Hulk hands.  The doctor came in and examined my rash in all its numerous places (because yes, it’s spreading) and decided a steroid shot would do for today followed by a prescription for the next 6.

Okay.  I can handle a shot.

The nurse come back with the shot and informs me that my buttocks is the only place “strong enough” to take that much medicine.  All three of my kids jump out of their chairs and start cheering.

Cheering!

Mommy’s getting a shot in her booty! Cool!

They rush over to the table I’m asked to bend over and watch as the nurse administers the shot.  I hear one of them ask Can I help put the bandaid on!? As if it’s as cool as licking the spoon when baking.

The nurse lets them.

She’s lets my children put a bandaid on my ass as I bend over the table.  They’re laughing.  I’m trying to keep them from dying from humiliation while my ass is in the air only to turn around and notice the big, giant mirror on that was that has magnified my bare ass for all to see in its florescent light glory.  Charlotte starts making her anatomically correct pig toy dance around my ass and the older two are shouting Give her another one!  


I swear they’d sell me up the river if the price was right.  Or someone offered them sugar.

Besides they saw me shit my pants and flash my ass all before noon on a Wednesday.

I think my work here is done.

*On a side note this is my Six hundredth and sixty sixth post – 666 – isn’t that evil!*