Snakecapades and baby bumps

Snakecapades and baby bumps

Here’s proof of yesterday’s snakecapades:

Yikes! Eeeewww!!

Also, I took some pictures of my new little “baby” bump so you can understand what I mean when I say that as of three days ago none of my pants fit. I mean, REALLY. None of them fit except these one shorts that I have with elastic in them. Nice.

Hello God, am I pregnant? There had better be twins in there!!

Oh wait, I’m not pregnant (yet). I swear I weighed in the mid 120’s and wore a size 4 before all these hormones happened about 6 weeks ago. No joke. Now I wear elastic pants and I’ve got a mommy butt.

OH well, the price I’ve paid will be well worth it in the end I hope. I’ve got 12 follies waiting for me. They’re going to be retrieved on Tuesday and the Embryo transfer happens on Friday June 5. Yippee!

Holy Snakes- last teaching day!

Holy Snakes- last teaching day!

Around 10:00 am I went into the laundry closet to get my pills out. I lock my purse in there so the students can’t get to it. When I walk in I see what looks like a small snake in my purse.

Is that a small flicker of movement I see?

I walk out, take a breath and calmly ask the boys at the table in front of the closet if they are playing a prank on me. I mean, I have been moving stuff around to go to my new room and I may have left it unlock. Maybe.

“What are you talking about, Mrs. Tow?”

“The snake. Are you playing some kind of prank on me?”

“Mrs. Tow, is there a snake in there? I swear we aren’t playing any kind of prank, let me see.”

Ok, Victor. Go in there in and check. And if this is some kind of prank, so help me God…”

“Mrs. Tow, holy cow it’s real! It just moved!”

Yep. I have a real snake in my classroom. Oh, and it was in my purse, too. I feel like I’m going to pass out, vomit, or something. I HATE snakes!! I mean, my nightmares almost always have snakes in them. No joke!

Great way to end the school year!

**update**
The snake appears to have come in through the dryer vent which somehow got disconnected from the dryer. My students have basically emptied the closet and it’s not there anymore so we’re assuming it went back out the way it came. Also, apparently (according to a student of mine) the snake skin is still sticky so it must have just shed its skin. Hmmmok, so it hasn’t been in there for years. But, still. It was in my purse. EEeeeeecccckkkk!!

Hot Donuts, Now!

Hot Donuts, Now!

So, I stopped into Krispy Kreme to get some donuts for my homeroom class when I run into another teacher I know from a training class I’ve been in for the past 18 weeks.

He says “Hey, I’m here buying donuts to bribe my students with today. What are you doing here!”

Whoa. He read my mind.

“I’m bribing my students with donuts, too!”

And therein lies the nations obesity problem. The “Hot Donuts Now” sign!

Funny how I can still manage to rolf down two hot donuts even when I feel like I’m going to projectile vomit at any moment.

I’m cranky….SO WHAT!!!

I’m cranky….SO WHAT!!!

My last post may have been a little on the snippy side. Ooops

In other news:

~My favorite mom-in-law and I spoke today and apparently my baby angel medallion thingy has a name. It’s Baby Jesus! Baby Jesus himself is looking out for me and I couldn’t be more relieved. I figured my first sacrifice for my kids was going to be Heaven (read IVF = against my religion) but now there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve been tormented by our decision to go ahead with the IVF, but given the circumstances of our medical difficulties we did what was right for us right now. Maybe the Catholic Church doesn’t hate me after all, although there is still some penance in order. I need to go to confession…

~Tonight I went to a Threshers game with Rhiannon, Ty, and Nadia. Matt showed up a little later. In the meantime Nadia was talking about the awesome 70% off shoe sale at Dillard’s. She went this afternoon with another friend of ours from high school and apparently she had a very interesting shoe salesman. When he pointed out some shoes with bows on them, she declined and explained that she didn’t want to look like a hooker (to the friend). The salesman replies, “Oh, you’re cougar’s not for sale?”

What the heck is that supposed to mean? I asked if he was gay, and she said he seemed straight. Call me crazy but I think only the most flamboyant of gay men can get away with saying that. WRONG!!

~I made Rhiannon a really yummy fudge cake for her birthday (belated- it was May 1) and it’s calling my name. It’s sitting on my counter and it literally is screaming at me. It’s so good I may have a bite before I bring it over tomorrow!

~This morning on the radio my horoscope said I need to “stop complaining.” I won’t type on here what I really think about that but I’ll give you a hint: It rhymes with Yuck Foo.

~Finally, my personal favorite: I’ve been googling things like “ivf tips” and “ivf success tips,” etc. I found the most interesting excerpt from Fertility Plus.

“Don’t talk to your partner too much about his role. This may cause him extra anxiety during an already stressful time and the extra stress can aggravate the performance anxiety that men suffer on the day of retrieval.”

Um, what the hell??? Is this 1950? You’ve got to be kidding me…I’m sorry but I don’t think that the man’s only role here is his 5 minutes of fame in the spankatory. In real life a man and woman both do their part to make a baby “naturally.” I don’t have that luxury so I get to do all the work myself? I get the multiple shots a day and take like 7 pills a day, feel nauseous, bloat up like a pig, and gain 7 pounds in two days and I’m supposed to watch for his feelings so as not to give him anxiety.

Once again, my feelings rhyme with Yuck Foo. What do you think?

http://www.blogpoll.com/poll/view_Poll.php?type=java&poll_id=170228

The Peanut Butter Crisis

The Peanut Butter Crisis

As some of you know, I live with two men (my husband and my Brother-in-law). I wouldn’t say that I am anal about house cleaning and chores, but I have to admit that there are a few things that get on my nerves.

#1- Peanut butter left on utensils in the dishwasher.

The dishwasher does not clean peanut butter, people! Every time I open the dishwasher to unload I find a minimum of 2-3 items with dried-on peanut butter on it and it makes me want to scream while pulling my hair out. Do you feel my pain??

What should I do? I’ve already said something. Perhaps I will sew myself a pink cape with the black letters “SB” embroidered on it.

SB does not equal my cutesy nickname Matt gave me of “sugar bunches,” by the way (no making fun, it’s one of the few sweet things Matt does for me).

SB = Super Bitch.

That’s right. Little “Miss SB” is going to swoop down in her pink cape and take that utensil from you as you put it into MY dishwasher and I’m going to smack you in the butt with it until you learn to scrape it off before putting it back in there.

Ok, so maybe that won’t happen. I can’t fly. But, I can blog. Maybe these two anonymous men will read my (our) blog and scrape the damn peanut butter off tonight before putting their stuff in the dishwasher.

Love you.