I Don't Need No Fucking Sleep!!

You would think that by 3 1/2 years of age, a child would be sleeping through the fucking night, but NO!  My little shithead son likes to get up at 2am every day just to fuck with his very pregnant mother and make her feel even more like ass than she would if all she had to contend with was looking like a bowling ball and being kicked in the ribs day and night.  To be fair, it's not E's fault that he's up in the middle of the night.  He has allergies.  So he can't fucking breathe and wakes up coughing his lungs out and blowing out enough snot to sink the damned Titanic. 

I guess I should be happy that I at least know what the fuck is wrong with my kid, but it's hard to happy when it took the doctors at the hospital here a fucking YEAR to listen to me.  I'm just his mother.  I'm the one who knows how many people come in the house with communicable diseases that he can pick up.  But what the fuck do I know?  Other than it is NOT normal for a two and three year old to be sick every fucking month and to be pouring so much mucus out of his nasal cavity that his normally hospital-shy parental unit condescends to make appointments to have him seen by a doctor, who is supposed to know their ass from a hole in the ground?  After a year of being told he had a cold (that's the longest fucking cold in history and the kid should probably be dead by now), I finally got to see a different doctor who said he has allergies.  Put him on Zyrtec.  Nose stops running like a sieve.  Kid sleeps.  Fantastic. 

Yeah, right.  The Zyrtec may do its job and stop the river of snot from flowing, but there is just one tiny issue.  Apparently, my little son is allergic to the allergy medicine!   How the fuck is that even possible?  I give him Zyrtec and he can suddenly breathe and therefore (to my great and abiding delight) sleep, but he gets a rash which he scratches incessantly so he has scabs all over his back and belly!  Nice. Seriously, if these are the brilliant doctors that are serving the active duty personnel and their families, I would hate to have to deal with the fucktards they must have serving the VA! 

 So we are yet again off to the fucking doctor to see how the hell they are going to take care of this, because I am no longer in the mood to deal with their blatant stupidity.  Please, piss off the pregnant lady.  If they thought I was a bitch before, they have NO idea what they are in for now that I am sleep-deprived and experiencing all the so-called joys of being pregnant.  Whoever said that pregnant women glow never had the pleasure of being around me whilst I was pregnant. . . If I glow, it's from sheer unadulterated rage. 

So on top of the non-sleeping little ass, I also get to deal with my husband who is a big ass.  There is a rotation going on right now, which means that all those days off that everyone supposedly gets he doesn't.  12-18 hour days every day.  He worked Memorial Day weekend, which was a four-day DONSA.  So when he's home, he's tired.  I get it.  I really fucking do, which is precisely WHY I sit up with the little man and let him sleep whenever he can, but damn it!  I wish he would figure out that being 20 pounds heavier than usual, getting kicked, and sitting up all night with a sick kid mean that I am fucking tired too!  "I'll stay up with E tonight.  I got some decent sleep and I'm feeling more awake today.  You go to bed early and rest," he says to me.  Um, being asleep on the couch at 9PM before the kid has even gone to bed is NOT staying up with E! 

Now I do have to confess that I did get to take a nap today.  This was after E got up at 0230 and was up and down until 0500.  I was up at 0730 to make sure all the teenagers that had invaded my house after prom last night got off to their respective homes in a timely fashion.  Finally got a nap after noon.  Two hours worth.  (Here's where I do a happy dance and announce how GRATEFUL I am to have such a loving husband that he will allow me to take a nap at all, considering that I sit at home all day and he WORKS.)  But then, after my two hours of blissful repose, the hubby feels the need to take a shower, slam closet doors, and leave the kids to scream and rant and rave and run around.  Guess I'm getting the fuck up.

So here I am at 2335 bitching about the lack of sleep I have been experiencing because I really have nothing better to do until his royal highness wakes up choking on mucus again which is becoming so regular I can almost set my clocks by his coughing fits.  I have about 20 minutes before round one begins in the booger battle royale, so I should shut the fuck up and get the barf bucket ready.  Oh joy. . .  

P.S.  With respect to my husband (who is typically not an ass, except when he basically lives at work), who really did in fact fall asleep on the couch before the kid had gone to bed, that very kid who had not been to bed in even now sleeping on the couch with his father.  So when the little fucker wakes up to cough and choke and puke, he'll be waking up daddy dearest.  Probably with a kick to the balls because he is asleep between my husband's legs.  Oops.  So I guess one way or another, the hubby will be staying true to his word and "staying up with E tonight."  Fuck you very much. 

Happy Anniversary to Me

I'm getting fucking old.  I cannot believe I've been married for 18 years, 16 of which have been as an Army wife.  And it's apparently difficult for other people to believe that a marriage, especially a military one, can survive so long.  I am constantly asked what the secret is. There's the usual crap--honesty, faithfulness and communication.  Yeah, yeah.  We do all that but that's not what really makes our marriage a good one.  So here it is, the great secret that I've been keeping to myself--first and foremost, my husband is my friend.  Secondly, you cannot sweat the small stuff--you know, like deployments and shitty pay and crap work schedule and stupid people.  That's it.  That's my secret. 

Here's a good example.  Upon my hubby first going active duty, his first unit is the Rakkasans.  Ranger standards (although most Rakks will tell you Rangers are pussies) and an inordinately ridiculous training schedule with field problems every couple of months.  We get to Campbell, get thrown into this unit, and I'm thinking "What the FUCK is going on?"  He gets paid next to nothing, works 12-15 hours days, and leaves for weeks on end every other month.  Talk about a rude wake up call as to what exactly military life is going to be like. 

But you get used to it.  You adapt.  You learn to treasure the little things, like DONSAs and tax returns.  But I think the biggest surprise for me was that I could manage on my own and that my marriage was actually better than it had been before the Army.  Somewhere along the line, in the midst of all the bullshit and insanity, I had learned a valuable but simple truth--absence does make the heart grow fonder, and by this I mean that about the time I was ready to kill the motherfucker that is my husband, he left and by the time he came back, I actually missed him. 

So when 9/11 happened and he came home from work just ecstatic that he was finally going to put all the weeks and months of training to use (or as he put it, "to go kill some motherfuckers"), I was ready.  Another nice long break from the bastard.  Nice!  And he gets paid extra while he's gone so this could be a REALLY good thing.  So 6 months later, he's in Afghanistan and I get to experience deployment and all the bullshit firsthand.  Six months of nail biting later, I had survived, the children were still alive, and the house wasn't falling down.  The hubby came home without a scratch.  And after six months, I was really glad to have him home.  (And not just for the sex, alothough that is nice.  For the comradery, friendship, adult conversation, help with the kids.  Stuff like that.  OK.  But mostly the sex.)

After a whopping 4 months at home, he's off to BNOC for two months (which I was not terribly happy about, because I wasn't tired of him yet) and they had to graduate him a few days early to deploy to Iraq for OIF-1.  36 hours at home from school, leaving a trail of TA-50, bitching when he can't find something, treating me like his personal valet, and then he's off to war and I'm on my own again.  You know what, after those 36 hours, I was really happy to see that fucker leave.  He got the standard Kate good-bye.  "Keep your head down, your ass tucked in, and I'll see you when you get home."  I was so proud of myself.  At no point did I tell him he was an asshole or a miserable son of a bitch like he deserved.  See, I can be nice.  Fucker.

Now preparatory to deployment, I had called all the wives in my hubby's squad to introduce myself and let them know that I was available should they need anything.  Advice, a friendly ear, help with a military issue, whatever.  So the boys leave and two days into deployment, I get a call from an hysterical wife.  She's not sick, no issues with the military side of things, no kid problems.  She called me because she was "lonely and didn't know what to do. . . "  Great.  A whiny fucking bitch. 

However, contrary to what this blog may reveal about my typical method of handling stress and situations that may arise, I can be diplomatic when absolutely necessary (just don't expect it very fucking often).  I calmed her down, gave her the chaplain's number, suggested she maybe volunteer or get a job to stay busy and keep her mind off of things, get a hobby, and to not worry because the Rakks are the best at what they do and the boys will be fine.  Go me.  She couldn't leave well enough alone, though.  She had to ask it. 

"How do you stay so calm?  Don't you miss your husband?"

And here's where the blunt, foul-mouthed, bitchy Kate reared her ugly head and laid it out for the blubbering, bawling bitch on the other end of the line. 

"Fuck NO, I don't miss him!  They've been gone 2 FUCKING days.  Really?  I'm glad the son of a bitch is out of my house.  I've spent the last two days cleaning up the aftermath of his packing spree and now all the TA-50 is contained and the fuck out my way.  My house is actually clean and I don't have to hear him bitching about getting left behind because he was stuck at that fucking school and it's bullshit he'll miss the invasion and how I'm useless and where's his shit or how he wants to get laid.  Fuck him!  He needed to leave or I would have killed him.  I'm glad he's gone.  I need a break.  Really?  Two days and you're ready to have a mental breakdown?  Call me in a month.  I might have decided by then that I don't hate his fucking guts or want him to die.  No, I take that back.  In a month he gets paid all that extra pay, so in a month I'm going to be doing a happy dance on the LES and I still won't give a fuck that he's gone.  In fact, if the Army is going to keep paying him that extra cash, at this stage of the game, I say they can just keep his happy ass over there!" 

Maybe not the best way to comfort a wife who is upset about deployment, but she DID ask and I cannot tell a lie (cough, cough).   Anyway, deployments are a good break for us and the first 2-3 months are a relief for both of us.  I don't have to put up with his assholery, and he gets away from my bitchiness.  Works well for us.  I'm not saying that deployment is fun in any manner, shape or form (because deployments fucking suck!) but you take what you can get and try to make the best of things. 

Anyway, that's my secret to a good and lasting marriage. I married my best friend and the Army keeps us in a state of fucking limbo that we've managed to convolute into something that helps us appreciate each other.   18 years and still going.  And now, thanks to 5 kids, I'm too expensive to get rid of, so the fucker is stuck with me now! 

And for my next trick. . .

So for two years we've been in Germany and for two years I've been calling or going into the volunteer office on post, leaving my name and number along with the hubby's unit, wanting to volunteer with the FRG.  Unfortunately for me, the FRG consists of an officer's wife who says she's the FRG leader and then does a whole fuck ton of NOTHING!!  But what the hell, it looks good on a resume to say you ran an FRG even if over the course of two years you made not one phone call, sent out no emails, introduced yourself to no one in the unit and helped absolutely no family figure out how the fuck to survive in Germany.  Needless to say, for the past two years, I have been waiting with bated breathe waiting for the phone to ring and an FRG to magically fly out of someone's ass and need my help.

And now, at long last, an FRG appears!!  It's a miracle!!  Well, fuck me sideways with a 2 x 4!  In the past week I have received three (count them 1-2-3) emails from the FRG/chain of command??  Two are the usual "here's some fun shit that's happening in the area" bullshit emails, but one of them was an invitation to an actual FRG event!!!!  Well, bestill my beating heart!  And thanks for fucking nothing, because I'm not going.  Why not?  After two years of wanting an FRG that actually did anything, why would I sit at home? 

Here's the long and the short of it.  The event is a coffee.  At 1030 on a school day.  In an actual cafe.  Not on poste.  In a German city.  With German people.  Who frown upon 3 year olds acting like asses and running around like hooligans.  But "kids are welcome."  Yeah, let me think about that. . . Um, NO and Hell NO!!  There is a perfectly nice coffee shop on poste with a play zone where the kids can can act like fucktards in a contained space while wives sit around and enjoy their coffee and chat.  So why are we not having it there?  Because that isn't classy enough for the officer's wife and she has no children at all and didn't bother to take those of us who do into consideration.    

And the best part is, she wants to plan a dinner--kids welcome.  Let me think really hard about this entire scenario.  Fuck you.  Fuck no.  And Fuck the FRG (or whatever you're calling this insanity.)

As an additional footnote, I will say that I did email back to express my "regret" at not being able to attend and precisely WHY I would not be able to attend (ie. the finger-pooper).  This was a week ago.  I have not received an email in reply, either to say "so sorry--maybe next time" or "what if we had it at the CAC?"  And before anyone jumps to any kind of crazy conclusion, I did not once in the course of composing said email use any of the following--

• bitch
• cunt
• whore
• dumbass
• fuck (or any variation thereof)
• cock
• ass
• shit
• shithead
• fucktard (which I do not consider a variant of fuck.  This is a noun.)

or

• the ever popular cumstain

And people wonder why I get frustrated with the FRG.  Not only is there a lack of forethought and activity, there is a complete and total lack of thoughtfulness and consideration for others.  So, yeah, the FRG so far earns a definite Fuck You!

My Fat Ass

Seeing as how I have been very remiss the past couple of years in maintaining and posting on my blog, it's time to get off my fat ass and fucking get to it.  So what has happened over the past two years?  Aside from moving to Germany, dealing with a husband who might as well be in fucking Afghanistan, contending with evil asshole teenagers, watching the seven year old grow and learn, and chasing the three year old (who has finally given up finger-pooping) and attempting to keep him from killing himself, not a fucking lot. . .  The latest and greatest news is that on July 12 we are expecting the imminent arrival of Thornburg baby #5!  What the fuck was I thinking?  Another baby?  God, just shoot me now.  I swear that if Germany had more lax gun laws, I'd be suck starting a pistol about now.  Needless to say, when I say that it was time to get off my "fat ass" and blog again, I quite frankly have an actual fat ass to get off of.  And that bitch had better bid a hasty retreat once I endure yet again the "joys" of childbirth.  Fuck.  

 

As far as #5 goes, everything looks good and the little man is healthy.   Yes, it's another boy.  Thank God for small favors.  If I am destined to have another kid, at least it's a boy.  The one girl I do have makes me insane.  What was my mom's saying about girls??  "Girls are bitches from the moment they are born."  Well, she has that one right.  V will be off to college in another year so I will be the only bitch in this house and that's the way I like it.  One bitch in the place is more than enough and I'm pretty fucking happy to be able to reclaim my status as the HBIC once she's gone.  (I love my daughter, but damn. . . ) 

 

With number 5 kicking the shit out of me, I've been lucky thus far to avoid the usual stupid questions that I was bombarded with when #4 was en route.  So before anyone has some stupid fucking question or comment to make, allow me to regale you with the facts.

 

1. Please do NOT congratulate me. If you pay any attention at all to my FB, you know that E (number 4, the finger-pooping, fearless, graceless disaster that he is) lives and breathes so if you must say something, wish me luck!!  I'm going to fucking need it!

 2. Yes, I know where babies come from. And I honestly thought we were done. I just have shit luck, because no, this was not planned. Apparently, for me, infrequency in fucking increases fertility.   Cases in point--number 3 arrived while the hubby was on the trail.  So that one random night where he wasn't falling asleep in his dinner plate after an 18 hour day dealing with stupid privates and hello!!  B arrives 9 months later.  Damn it.  Then OIF whatever-the-fuck-number-it-was, and all the wives are "We're going to try to have a baby when he gets home.  Are you going to have another one, Kate?" and I just had to open my fucking mouth and say "Fuck NO!!!"  So 14 months of no sex, he gets off the plane and I'm the first one in the company to get pregnant.  9 months to the day of his redeployment and here comes the fingerpooper!  Double fuck.  So now the hubby has a staff job, works 15-18 hours a day, 7 days a week and I end up pregnant again!  Hence my conclusion regarding frequency and fertility.

 

3. If you are really that concerned about whether or not we can afford ANOTHER ONE, I will happily accept donations. Big ones.  Especially since we will once again be forgoing WIC and the other assistance available.  Yes, maybe it's fucking stupid not to take what you can get from the government, but we've always managed without it and will continue to do so as long as possible and through however many kids we end up with.  Why?  Pride is part of.  Another part is that I take issue with some idiot doctor telling me what I can and cannot feed my child and that my kid is too fucking small or whatever.  So unless you are going to send me a big fat fucking check, let me fucking worry about it.  We may not be rich, but all the kids are still alive, OK?    

 4. No, we are not having any more. The hubby will be enduring the dreaded surgery to prevent anymore "oops"es. He is not particularly thrilled at the prospect of having his balls cut open, tubes ripped out and then cut burned and tied off, but I'm getting to old for this shit and his convalescence will be a hell of a lot shorter than mine would be.  Also, unless the doctor is going to fucking gut me (which they won't fucking do unless something is wrong and apparently not wanting more kids is NOT an actual ailment), I'm still going to bleed like a stuck pig every month, so really what's the fucking point??

 

5.  For all my childhood friends, no, I am not Amish.  Never have been.  Never will be.  I like electricity and cars and jeans and all the gadgets and gizmoes that are a part of Yankee life.  

 

6.  No, I will not be posting belly pics on FB or anywhere else and if you come near me with a camera before I have this baby, I will fucking gut you like a fish!!  I look like a bowling ball with arms and legs.  A walking stomach.  I hate that bullshit about how "beautiful" pregnant women are.  Give me a break.  I have boobs now, which I despise with passion I cannot properly express.  They are in the way and need to go the fuck away.  And let's not forget my giant distended belly that moves of its own accord and also gets in the way.  How children are born NOT covered head to toe in bruises is beyond me, because all my kids have been smacked by doors, furniture, and every other fucking thing within a 10 foot radius of my belly more times than I care to count well before they ever made their grand entrances.  

 

7.  The only drug present at the birth of this one will be the same as the others-pitosin.  Get the damn thing out of me NOW!!!!   An epidural is out of the question because there is no way in hell anyone is sticking a needle in me in a place where I cannot watch them do it.  And yes, it fucking hurts to give birth, but you get over it.  I'd rather go through 9 months of labor pains than be pregnant.  Other women may disagree, but being pregnant and kicked and punched and having someone squeezing your lungs and bladder and stomach for 9 months is 1000x worse than a few hours of pain.  Fuck you very much.  

 8. Yes, I am insane.  If I wasn't insane before kids, they drove me to it and I cannot be held legally responsible for my actions.