RanDumb: ROFL!

Decided that since I’m not feeling particularly inspired or creative today I’d share some stuff from other people that I found humorous and RanDumb this week.

Hopefully you too will find yourself ROFL, but I can pretty much guaran-freakin’-tee that these are 100% funnier than anything I coulda come up with.

Just one of those day, ya know?

But, before I introduce you to these, can I just tell you that I think I need an intervention.

Not for blogging, silly.

No, not for food.

OMG, not THAT either.

It’s just that I’m addicted to lists.

Have you not noticed?

I number everything: Ways to have successful birthday parties for preschoolers. How to know if you’re a Dumb Mom Blogger. How to survive the emergency room when your doctor is a d-bag with a toddler.

All numbered.

Oh well, guess it just works for me.

And, like some smart people who know smart people stuff always say, “Why fix what ain’t broken?”, or something like that.

On that note please enjoy: RanDumb: The ROFL Edition featuring people who are so much funnier than me it’s like almost not even funny.

1. Tosh.0. Despite the fact that Tosh is sometimes sexist, often racist, possibly homophobic, and always inappropriate, Tosh.0 is one of my all time favorite shows ever. If I need to laugh I just put on one of the 75 episodes of it that Dumb Dad has saved on the DVR. The fact that Dancing with The Stars didn’t record because the stupid things are hogging up all the free space ticks me off pretty bad and makes me wish explosive diarrhea on him. But, I have to admit that when I encounter gems like this, I come pretty close to forgiving him.

Tosh.0
Video Breakdown - Suicidal Door Diving
www.comedycentral.com
Web Redemption 2 Girls, 1 Cup Reaction Demi Moore Picture

2. LOL Cats. I don’t usually find cats humorous. Some times they’re creepy. Some times they’re gross. And, some times they’re borderline cute in that so-ugly-it’s-cute-way only cats and premature babies can pull off. But, funny, not so much. Except, this one time, when this really annoying girl from school came over and she picked up my cat, and it jabbed one of it’s evil, poison dipped claws into her chest. And she was all upset and like red over it. That was funny. And so is this…

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

3. But dogs. Dogs are like chimps, pretty much always funny.

4. See…

And you can save the comparisons to my kids. I already know.

5. The People of Wal-Mart. I’m starting to think that they are really more sad than they are funny, but still. I laugh. Just because sometimes laughing at inappropriate things is fun. And we all do it. Anyone who laughed at this scene in The Hangover can consider themselves guilty of that little pleasure. Anyway, back to Wal-Mart, be careful with the video if you’re at work or in front of your kids who you’d like to NOT grow up to be potty mouths, THERE ARE NAUGHTY WORDS LIKE F#CK AND SH$T AND BIOTCH in here. But, if you’re not bothered by cursing when necessary comical (and if you watched The Hangover I’m assuming you’re not) it’s funny and true and sad and scary and the exact reason why I don’t go to Wal-Mart's in towns that have a total population of less than like 50,000 people. Safety first.

Now. Run along and have a pleasant weekend, but not before you leave me a comment enter my HANDMADE CLUTCH GIVEAWAY that ends tonight.

And, as an added bonus if you tweet a link to this post (not the giveaway one, THIS one) I’ll hook you up with a free entry, just cuz I’m freakin’ rad like that.

Dr. Emergency: You’ve Been Warned

Affirmation: a declaration that something is true.

According to Wikipedia’s definition of affirmation, “it may also refer to a positive judgment: in logic, the union of the subject and predicate of a proposition” (whatever the crap that means).

Basically, when I think of the word affirmation I think of positivity, of acceptance, of confirmation that I am awesome right.

And, honestly, being right is all the affirmation I need.

This week’s Writer’s Workshop has asked us to share an the affirmation that makes us feel better.

For me, it’s not telling myself I’m beautiful or smart or thin daily that makes me stay the course.

I mean, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid and even myself can’t convince myself that any of those things are true.

For me the only thing that works is knowing that I’m right.

Confirmation that I am money is really the only thing that motivates me to keep going.

And, quite frankly, there is nothing greater than having the pleasure of knowing that I purchased the right garage door opener even when Dumb Dad said I couldn’t, or of being at practice on the right night even when Dumb Dad said I wasn’t, or even of knowing that #3 was a boy when Dumb Dad said he wasn’t gonna be.

But, it’s not just about being right where Dumb Dad is concerned (although it mostly is because I find little in life more pleasurable than being able to say “in yo face” to that man); it’s about being right where EVERYONE is concerned.

It’s sorta just my thing.

And, I appreciate it when other people have a similar need (unless the other person is Dumb Dad, because we both can’t always be right and being wrong all the time would get really frustrating for him). A need to do the right thing, make the right choice, reach the right diagnosis.

Apparently, not everyone is as committed to being right as I am.

Apparently, not being right is just as fulfilling to some as being right is to me.

Scary, but true.

So, if you read my blog (and you should, I mean, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Fine. I’d love for you to follow my blog, subscribe to my RSS feed, stalk me to the ends of the earth and back, show up at my door with money and gifts and tickets to Justin Timberlake concerts. How about a bribe gift? Fine. Go ahead and enter my handmade clutch giveaway from Julia Sherry Designs. Everyone can be bribed with handbags, right?!).

Like I was saying, if you read my blog, then you know that #3 required a visit to the ER this past Sunday.

Calm down.

He is fine. And, if you missed that post and you’d like to know what that was like you’re gonna have to read: Dumb Mom’s Guide to Surviving the Emergency Room ‘cause I’m not telling.

Back?

Kay. As I was saying he is mostly fine.

He still has some lingering little issues, but he is definitely on his way back to health and wellness.

Which is good.

I mean super natural good.

But, the fact that he is fine now does not mean that the misdiagnosis we received in the ER is entirely a moot point.

I am not one to cry foul, or file a complaint, or even make a big stink out of it.

But, I do give warnings.

And, if you are anyone other than my kids, I only give them once.

So Dr. Emergency (name changed to protect his identity), consider this your warning.

Thoughtful, selfless, amazing human that I am, I am NOT reporting this incident to your superiors. For your sake I will keep this between us, because if I know them (and, for the record, I sorta do), they would not be happy to learn about this incident, and you, Sir, would have some explaining to do.

So since my lack of initiative and free time to be tied up in hospital bureaucracy and evil spiritedness is limited, a letter should suffice.

And, yes, you may Thank Me Later.

Dear Dr. Emergency,

First of all, let me share with you that #3 is on the mend. He is still not 100% back to tearing up the pavement with The Brothers, but he’s definitely on his way. So thank you. Sorta. Thank you for taking a moment (literally A MOMENT) to pop your head in and check on my little man. He’d had a rough go of it, we both had, and we were anxious and exhausted and frightened when we met. So, I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule (although, isn’t it the case that the ER is like almost always busy?) to spend a few seconds (literally, like less than 60) examining my burning-hot-with-fever baby. I’m sure there were numerous other people patiently awaiting your attentions (however the ones on either side of us weren’t examples of that) and, while I realize attending to patients in the ER is your job, still, I’d like you to know that appreciate it. Now, that being said let me share a little beef I have with you. My kid didn’t have an effing ear infection, dude. Seriously, unless that thing can be gone, without a trace, less than 12 hours post diagnosis, then you made a mistake. Or you just flat out lied. Our primary care doctor (aka Baby Doctor), in her attempt to not make you look like the pathetic, imbecile that you seem to be, provided this explanation, “Perhaps he was afraid, because the fever was so high? So he gave the antibiotic just in case?” Perhaps. Only here’s the thing, we don’t take antibiotics “just in case”. We take antibiotics “because we have to”. And, I understand that many people would be upset to wait in the ER for hours with a lethargic, irritable, exhausted baby only to go in the back and have them say, “It’s a virus. Take two Tylenol and call me in the morning,” we are not those people. I may be a Dumb Mom, but I’m not a dumb human (especially not in comparison to the mental giants assigned the bed next to us on this fateful trip). I understand how antibiotics work. I appreciate the distinction between viral infections and bacterial infections (and I don’t need you to call them “buggies” so I understand). I realize that medical science is not miracle working, and that sometimes you just don’t know (pisses me off, but I get it). So, in future, do us all a favor and don’t guess. Don’t give my child an antibiotic just to shut me up in case and think about spending more than half a minute in the room with us to make a diagnosis. I know time is money we really aren’t that important tight schedule busy night someone’s sicker you were under a great deal of pressure (but, that’s part of it, right? Working in the ER is a stressful job.). Which is why, this is between us. I’m not sending a copy of this to the president of the place. I’m not even going to share your name with the World Wide Web anyone. This is for you. As a warning. Because things are okay. But, should #3s whatever-he-has turn into the Bubonic Plague or some creepy mind altering infection that leaves him sterile or paralyzed or worse it will be on like Donkey Kong. I will find you and you will cry. There’s something to be afraid of, and you’ll need a lot more than a 10 day course of amoxicillin to throw me off. XOXO, Dumb (but not stupid) Mom

Okay readers, bring on the affirmations, in the form of comments if you please:)

And, feel free to link up your Thank Me Later posts as well!

Well, if the Linky thingy isn't working (because I can't see it, so maybe you can't either?) just leave your link in the comments and I'll add it when the bloody thing stops tripping.

Wordful Wednesday: So NOT Dumb Edition

I haven’t shared a list of So-No-Dumb stuff in ages.

You’ve missed it, I’m sure, so I’m bringing it back just to mix things up around here.

You know me, keeping it fresh, keeping it real, and keeping it so-not Dumb!

It’s a way of life people!

So-Not-Dumb Things Dumb Mom Loves (but only for like the moment, because Dumb Mom is a fickle, flighty thing and is easily distracted by shiny things; just because you aren’t dumb today, doesn’t mean you won’t be tomorrow!)

1. Spring. I L-O-V-E spring. The budding flowers, the thunderstorms, the soft sunlight. All of it. Except for the incessant pre-dawn chirping of the birds. And soccer practice. And mud. And wind. And maybe like one or two other things. But other than that, I totally love spring. Because even though the water at “the beach”* is still beyond too cold to get into (not that I do anyway, beach water gives me the willies) we can at least go there. And rub some sunshine on our faces. And after Snowpacalypse 2010, we could use a little sunshine.

2. Easter. I’m all for any holiday that features a mythical being. Christmas, Easter, and… Okay, so I guess it’s just Christmas and Easter, but whatever, I like both of those. Because they are fun for me the kids. Dumb Dad and I hide eggs (not the hard boiled kind because I’m anti egg coloring), and make a ridiculously elaborate map with clues and stuff to their baskets that is frustrating as crap takes them all day to find. And, we get dressed up, and go to Mimi and Papa’s for dinner, and like every three years or so we even go to church!** Good times. Best part though is that I get to shop for super cool stuff to put in their baskets. This is gonna make the cut this year thanks in part to my buddies at Dancing Bear Toys.

Looks like a BLAST, right?!

3. Bubbles.

But only when the weather is nice enough that they can play with them outside. Because bubbles and tiled flooring is a bloody-embarrassing-possibly-loss-of-consciousness accident waiting to happen for Dumb Mom. Plus they have the ability to make afternoons that start off like this…

turn out like this…

Magic.

4. Awesome doctors. Like Dr. Kidney who is hands down the best nephrologist in Maryland. I was gonna interview him and talk about screening for kidney disease and taking care of your kidneys and other boring mundane medical type junk you probably couldn't care less about stuff. But then I decided to not to (as The Dudes like to say) because pictures are way mo betta. So here he is, Dr. Kidney, my listen-to-me-and-you’ll-live-for-ever-kidney-care-specialist-extraordinaire…

I swear to you, if you live in my area, and you need a nephrologist he (and his partner) is hands down the best choice, and I would know.***

5. People who give me awards. Like Brea from Brea’s Befuddled Brain and Sarah at The Stroller Ballet (among a few others I’ve been remiss in mentioning) because they are sweet and they come here and read my RanDumbness and tell me I’m Lovely or Beautiful or whatever even though they know I’m not gonna answer the questions or follow the official award rules and regulations or even give them to anyone else. Not because I don’t intend to, just because I just don’t. So thank you. I do appreciate them. Swear I do.

6. Potty trained two year olds. Who are doing pretty stinking’ great at not having accidents. Except for that one time, at Joann's (sorry Joann’s patrons and employees, I was totally gonna go back and clean it up, but we had to change and then we had to, like, go, so um, yeah).

7. Organization. Thanks to the likes of the Closet Tailors who hooked up the Dumb Family pantry. I’m not able to provide any before pictures because I forgot to take some the sight was just too hideous to share, but the afters are pretty much speak for themselves, see…

I ask that you ignore the duct taped basket prominently displayed in this photograph and instead, focus on the awesomeness of the shelving instead.

8. Cake Foot. Because if you have enough cake to throw it on the floor and dance in it, you must have access to a whole butt load of cake, which in my book, is SO very not dumb.

9. Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel Soundtrack.****

It is not gonna make your ears bleed (okay, maybe it will, but not a lot, and only on like one or two songs) and it allows you to capture videos of your kids doing the Stanky Leg their best moves. You gotta love how for reals #1 is in this video, as if he’s really doing something!

10. Made up descriptive words and phrases. Like “super-natural good”. A term coined by #2 meaning, so good you can’t stand it. As in, “Mom, deez cookies are super natural good.” Or, “super-natural-blah-blah-blah good”. Also coined by #2 and used to express something even better. If something is “super-natural-blah-blah-blah good” it is so good it makes you senseless. Literally, you nearly lose your mind it’s so good. As in, “Mom you were da meanest mom earlier, but now since you wet (aka let) me pway my DS, you made me feel super-natural-blah-blah-blah good and dat’s why I wuv you.” Seriously doesn’t get better than that!

*It’s actually a strip of sand along the lake we live at. But, for all intents and purposes it’s a beach to The Dudes.

**In my defense, I’ve been working at the hospital for the past 4 years and, since I work every Sunday, and people are always sick, and the place never closes, and sometimes I feel like a POW when I’m there I pretty much always work on Easter, making church a near impossibility for this Dumb Family.

***See above to clearly understand that I have intimate knowledge about all of the doctors in my area so if you have a nasty case of hemorrhoids need a recommendation, I’m your girl!

****Dumb Mom Admits it’s Free: Standard disclaimer in case it’s not obvious. As with previous posts, a copy of the Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel was provided to me for my use free of charge. Additionally, I will receive monetary compensation (aka cash, cold, hard cash) for my participation in this project through the WB WOM team.

Guide to Surviving the Emergency Room

Welcome to another addition of Mom Tip Tuesday.

A day especially designed to allow me to share what I know with all of you in my ever-changing-but-always-awesome series: “Dumb Mom’s Guide to the Child Centered Universe: helpful tips and tricks for moms with kids so smart they make her look sorta dumb”.

After another frightening eventful crack-head-attended visit to the emergency room this weekend to treat #3, owner of the highest fever ever, I figured I’d share my reluctantly acquired knowledge with all of the first time moms out there who have yet to experience their first trip to the ER with a bloody injured/feverish/hacking-up-a-bloody-lung/screaming-bloody-murder (and yes, pretty much every visit to the ER involves blood) infant or toddler.

So, enjoy today’s edition of Mom Tip Tuesday.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Visiting the Emergency Room with a Child*

1.  Stop.  Drop.  And Roll.  The first step in making a trip to the ER is deciding if you really need to be there.  Obviously, if you have your toddler in your left hand and his pinky finger in your right, the choice is obvious: saddle up and roll out, or better yet, call 911.  They know what to do with a pinky fingerless two year old and chances are good that, if you are screaming, crying, running, jumping, or shaking your fists at the sky, you do not.  Leave that sorta stuff to the professionals.  But, if your little person is coughing and feverish and not all cracked-lipped and gasping you may find yourself hemming an hawing about what to do.  Go to the ER and pay a $100 copay for them to tell you he has cold?  Or wait it out ‘til morning?  Tough choice.  And here is my advice: trust your instincts.  If this cold “feels different” then it probably is.  Better safe then febrile seizing.  Believe me on this people.  They may not be harmful long term, but they are effing S-C-A-R-Y like nobody’s business.  And I’m talking, screaming, crying, running, jumping, or shaking your fists at the sky, scary.

2.  Be Alert.  Now that you’ve arrived to the ER, you have to be alert at all times.  The ER is a pretty spooky place, friends.  I’m talking antibiotic resistant bacteria, crack-heads-on-the-loose, why-is-that-dude-naked-wrestling-the-cops spooky.  It’s pretty much just like a scene out of a really stereotypical movie featuring stereotypical characters.  Basically this means it’s just a microcosm of the entire US of A.  Actually, it seems a little more frequented by the dregs of society (as for some reason they tend to get into more emergency-room-requiring situations than your everyday citizen), but at some point in every person’s life he or she is going to need the services of an emergency room.  Therefore, on any given Sunday (we actually were there on a Sunday night), you are likely to find the awesome waiting impatiently with the less than awesome members of the community for the one thing we all need to get better: morphine valium Prozac? antibiotics.  Point is, shield your baby (you really never know when your stretcher could be violently pushed into the wall by the meth head they left totally unattended and highly agitated right next to yours), be prepared to fight (the insurance company, the seriously-is-now-the-right-time-for-a-bag-of-Combos complacent triage nurse, or the random line-jumping bystander), and bring you hand sanitizer (for obvious reasons).

3.  Bribe them.  Start with the triage nurses; they hold the key to the ER kingdom.  They are like the evil gatekeepers of the secret controlled substance promise land.  But don’t try to do it with cash (pretty sure it’s immoral if not illegal, plus you can’t afford them).  Instead do it with 1)a pleasant, all be it urgent, attitude, 2)accurate and honest information, and 3)just a little bit of acting.  Let me explain.  I work at the hospital (even spent a year in the ER) and there are a few behaviors that get you pushed to the back of the list.  I’m not saying anyone is gonna let you die because you are a nasty biotch, I’m just saying that the people who come in ranting, raving, falling on the floor, cursing, screaming, and acting like full blown fools generally don’t get taken seriously.  What they do get is treated like the psycho-raving-lunatics they are, and a security escort, in case they need to be “subdued”.  So, if you want to ensure that you and your child are seen promptly and taken seriously, get your facts straight and your emotions under control.  But, a little acting sick doesn’t hurt either.**

4.  Be a good historian.  Time matters when you are dealing with an emergency.  So, make note of the interventions you tried at home, and ensure that you accurately record the time you tried them.  It makes a difference when he had his last dose of Motrin.  And, it does matter if you gave him one or two teaspoons.  Additionally, you need to be honest and comprehensive when sharing your child’s medical history.  A fact that may seem insignificant to you, may be the key the doctor needs to accurately diagnose your little dude.  Remember, you are not a doctor (unless you are) and neither is Goggle.  Give them all of the information so they can get it right.  They still may not, but without the whole truth they don’t really stand a chance.

5.  Calm the hell down.  I can’t say that I listened to  much of what Papa used to tell me as a girl, but he did say two things that I try to always remember in an emergency situation: Pay attention and DON’T PANIC.  Panic helps no one.  It scares your kids.  It causes you to make mistakes.  It entirely prevents #4.  It makes you difficult to deal with.  And it could easily lead to your demise (or your child’s).  So just don’t do it.  Dumb Dad is a panicer.  He doesn’t want to be.  He’s trying to stop.  Lucky for him he has me to keep a level head while he is effing going nutso trying to control himself. 

Have a Mom Tip you’d like to share?

Be my guest and link it below!

P.S.  If you are wondering if the universe is literally trying to kill Dumb Mom rest assured that you are not alone.  I too am questioning exactly how long it will be before I lose the good fight as this week alone I suffered the most painful event since having a baby, a health insurance debacle, a nasty mud-butt-involved virus, and a trip to the ER for an undeniably ill 2 year old.  Go ahead, call me a super mom, I friggin’ deserve it!

*In case any of you are wondering, #3 is presently a-ok, but he was super-duper sick and feverish (104.3) Sunday with  an ear infection.  I.  Know.  Who knew ear infections could even make you have a fever that high?  And, he was a delirious-fever-talking mess.  He saw fairies or angels or something that had him speaking in tongues.  He had the rolling eyes and the twitchy legs and Dumb Mom and Dumb Dad and Pediatrician of the Day were all pretty freaked out

**Babies and young children are usually seen before older people with similar symptoms just because they are more vulnerable so, rest assured, that even if Mimi your mom comes in and goes all Lifeguard (aka crazy-lady-from-the-hood) on them, they will probably still help your kid in a timely manner.

Make New ifriends Monday: Stranger but no Danger

Welcome to another Kidney Month inspired post by a wonderful woman who gave her kidney up to save a stranger’s life.

I know that I am not that selfless.

Not for a stranger.

One of The Dudes, Dumb Dad, Mimi, Papa, Bruncle, even BFF, no doubt.

But a stranger?

No. I don;t think I could give my kidney to a stranger.

Well, I guess I probably would give up one of mine for a stranger seeing how they are on a slow march to being useless anyway, but you know, not if they were good.

I’d like to sit here and tell you all that I would; that I’m really that awesome of a human, but I’m pretty sure that I’m not.

I’m too much of a coward for anything like that.

I mean, I don’t even give blood for crying out loud!

The needles. And the pain. And the time. And, and, and stuff.

But, I do have one of those little sticky thingys on my driver’s license that says, “Should Dumb Mom get smashed by a bus, feel free to cut up what’s left of her and give it to the highest bidder, for cash. Cold. Hard. Do-you-want-this-colon-or-not? cash.”

That I can do.

This…

Not so much.

Contributed by Kidney Mama

I got a survey in the mail this week from the National Living Donor Assistance Center asking me about why I decided to donate a kidney last year.

It wasn’t a family obligation, and it wasn’t a matter of religious conviction. The choices on their survey that came closest were about moral obligation and the simple logic of living donors as a way to ease the kidney donation shortfall.

Before I considered donating my kidney to a stranger, I had always thought that if someone I loved needed a kidney, I would be tested. Once I learned how low-risk kidney donation surgery was, and that people live very well with just one kidney, I thought, “I could do that. I am healthy and unafraid, and I should do that!”

So I started on my quest. I found a living donor in my community and a few on the Internet and asked lots of questions. I asked one of them to help me find a recipient, because I really wanted to know the person so that I could be sure he or she would be able to make good use of it for a very long time.

I decided to get tested for a 45-year-old man who was active in his community, advocating for the poor and elderly. We talked on the phone just once before I found myself in a really interesting position.

We had gone to our respective doctors to get blood drawn so that his transplant center could perform the first round of compatibility testing. Interestingly, the transplant center called me to tell me we were compatible.

I said, “Did you tell Anthony? What did he say?”

“Oh, we can’t tell him. It’s your private medical information,” they said. “We can fax you a release, and then once you return it, we can tell him. Or you can tell him.”

I couldn’t pass up that opportunity. I looked in my cell phone for Anthony’s number and called him.

“I have news,” I said. “We match!”

Silence.

“So let’s do this,” I said, hoping to get him to say something.

Silence.

“Anthony, are you there?” I asked, thinking that maybe my cell phone had dropped the call.

“I’m here,” he said.

More silence.

“I hope you know … I think you know … I hope you know … I hope you know what this means to me,” he said.

I told him that although I couldn’t know what he was feeling, I was really excited about this adventure we were about to have.

And an adventure it was. I had more medical tests in the next several weeks than any person is entitled to have. Some made me laugh; some made me squeamish. I didn’t think that when they asked me to collect my urine for 24 hours, it would be a gallon and a half. Or that I’d have to keep it in my refrigerator.

At any rate, with the test results in hand, my doctor and I felt confident that I was in excellent health, and I felt very confident in my decision to donate.

Meanwhile, my friends objected strenuously to the whole idea, and everyone kept asking me if I was afraid. Truthfully, I never was. I felt certain that everything would go well, that somehow, my good intentions would create a positive outcome.

Good intentions got me nowhere with the transplant staff, however, who viewed a stranger donation as, well, strange. But they satisfied themselves that I was not crazy and was not being paid to give, either of which would have disqualified me under their rules. (My opinion: There is no bad reason to donate a kidney and save someone’s life.)

Clearing all the paperwork hurdles had brought Anthony and me closer, and by the time the surgery arrived, it was as though we were partners on a complicated project that was finally coming to fruition.

At 5:30 a.m. on Thursday, June 25, 2009, we met at the hospital to begin pre-surgical tests. We were both beaming. By 8 a.m., we were in the OR, and by 3 p.m., we’d each pestered enough nurses to learn that the other was doing great.

Anthony’s recovery began immediately. His surgeon told me my kidney was, um, producing before they’d finished closing the last incision. Something about a racehorse.

I visited Anthony as I was about to be discharged, and though it had been just over 24 hours since the surgery, he looked and felt 100% better.

He’s continued to improve over the six months or so since his transplant and has been able to travel to see family and friends for the first time in years. I have a clean bill of health, and only a few tiny scars.

I’m so glad I decided to be a living donor. I didn’t think I’d become an advocate for living donation, but the more I learn, the more important I realize it is.

For example, I didn’t know that less than 2% of kidneys from deceased donors are usable. If everyone in the country signed an organ donor card, thousands of Americans would still die each year waiting for a kidney.

A lot of people have told me I’m a hero, and it is well-meant. But “hero” distances everyone else from the act and gets them off the hook. What I did was simple and obvious and motivated by my belief that human beings are by their nature interdependent and responsible for each other’s well-being.

Though I couldn’t fix the world, I could do this one thing and make it a lot better for one person. I am forever better for having done it.

To learn more about living donors, visit my website, www.kidneymama.com.

Cent Saving Saturday: Heavenly Handmade Handbag

If you think you know me then you know how I feel about handbags.

You know that I am obsessed with smelling them and holding them close and rubbing them all over my naked body owning them.

You know that if I were John Mayer then handbags (never to be mistaken as pocketbooks or purses because those are what my grandmother carries) would be Jessica Simpson.

They are like cocaine for me people (not that I do now or ever have done cocaine, or crack, or smack, or crank, or gonja, or any other illegal substance of any sort; please recall that I am dumb, not stupid).

Anyway.

Some of you love shoes.

Or jeans.

Or little figurines.

Or Twinkies.

But, me, I love handbags. Handbagshandbagshandbagshandbags (spins in circle and throws them into air being careful to dodge the large, leather, heavy-bottomed ones to prevvent injury and possible loss of consiousness).

So, the fact that I discovered the most awesome Etsy seller EVER who hand makes these adorable, gorgeous, couture-inspired clutch bags should come as no surprise.

And, let me tell you people, they are Ca-UTE!

See?!

All trendy, and fashionable, and unique and stuff!

Do you even know anyone else with a bag this spectacular?

Okay, maybe you do, but still it’s not THIS spectacular bag.

Now, if you are anything like me you have set a standard in the awesome handbag department that your friends and frenimies alike expect you to live up to.

You are that chick whose bag gets noticed everywhere you go.

You can’t stop at the store or run into the gas station without the clerks and the other shoppers complimenting your bag and asking you where you purchased it (which you lie about right? Please tell me you don’t give up the secrets to ametures just because they ask nicely and attempt to bribe you with a compliment. You have to be stronger than that!).

Point is, people like us can’t just show up to playgroup/PTA/your co-op day with any old Target bag (although, I’ll admit, they do have some really cute ones for this summer, right?!).

No Old Navy number for us ladies.

We need something special.

Something unique.

Something spectacular.

Because people are looking to us to see what’s what on the handbag front.

We are awesome handbag role models; trendsetters, pioneers!

And, as we all know, with great power comes great responsibility.

So, lucky for you, I’m giving this one away!

Thanks to Julia Sherry Designs who is the genius behind these high-quality clutch bags, Dumb Mom (who would really just love to make up an alias and pick herself to win this little number) is offering you fellow handbag aficionados the opportunity to win this NYC subway inspired clutch.

All you have to do is be a follower of pBd on the blog and you are entered to win.

No other requirements.

Although if you want to follow me on Twitter and Facebook I’m not gonna get in your way. And, if you want to go check out Julia Sherry Designs and tell me which one of her bags you’d love to have you can do that too. Because, I know that if I could pick any one of her designs to bring home to Casa de Dummies wrapped in plastic to protect it from the warzone we call home it would be this one because it is Fab-O.

Ready to enter?

Just leave a comment telling me you’re a follower and that you’re entering to win by Friday, March 26, 2010 at midnight (my time, not yours, unless you also live in the Eastern Standard Time Zone and then it’s still my time, so there!).

Good luck!

*Must be a US resident to win.

RanDumb: Relief

Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to stop by and wish me a speedy recovery yesterday.

You should know that I have gotten some much needed relief in the form of a visit to Dr. Kidney. 

Seriously, that man is a witchdoctor and I love it.  In all fairness though, his intervention was not needed in this particular instance as my sculpted machine of a body worked through this on its own.  But still, he knew, just by looking at me (and my labs and my scans and stuff) what was wrong with me.  I love knowing that my medical professional’s medical degree is legit and that he’s not one of those weird dudes who set up a practice in a storage unit.  Whew!

Anyway it’s done.  We can all move on and get back to normal around here at pBd.  Rest assured that while it was fun, my venture into shark infested waters politics and controversial topics is over.

It won’t be happening again any time soon.  Well, provided my health insurance company doesn’t attempt to have me killed again.  In which case, it’s on.

pBd is a carefree place for the happily dumb. 

We don’t care about religion, or race, or politics, or other super important stuff that gets people all pissed, here at pBd. 

All are welcome to enjoy Dumb Mom for the dummy that she is. 

Everyone is encouraged to laugh and enjoy the trials and tribulations Dumb Mom faces as she attempts to navigate life with three super human super geniuses who outsmart her on a daily basis (don’t you just love it when Dumb Mom talks in the third person?  It’s like a vicious cycle once it starts, because strangely she can’t stop).

And awards.  You can give Dumb Mom as many awards as you want.  See…Brea knows what’s up!

So long as you keep your expectations low.

Expect to laugh, expect to smile, expect to cry when you realize that you too are a dumb mom.

But, don’t expect to be enlightened (unless my ignorance serves as a break thru for you) or inspired (although it is my hope to be someone’s inspiration, someday) or informed, unless it has to do with hip, cool products for kids and moms. 

Or couture.  This Dumb Family LOVES couture.

We don’t get to buy a lot of it, but we would if we could and we (aka ME) don’t sacrifice when it comes to shoes and handbags.  Some things are just necessities.

Shoes, handbags, and health care reform, people, that’s what Dumb Mom is about.

And tips.  Mom Tips.  You know, the thing I do on Tuesdays, and encourage you to do as well?

Anyway here’s one: Care.com is hosting a FREE weekend starting today and running through Sunday (3/21).

Are you not familiar with Care.com?  Are you not in need of an awesome babysitter so that you can ignore your children with a clear conscious or a reliable pet sitter or a non-threatening-in-a-I-will-beat-you-if-you-mess-those-depends sorta way grandma sitter (yep they have those too!)?

I do.  Or I did.  And I used Care.com to find her.

At least look at it.  Just for this weekend, since it’s free, and I know how you all feel about free!

Anyway, how about a classic RanDumb post today?  You know, one about other people being dumb for the world to see?!

Enjoy!

Five Things You Should Be Relieved About Today

5.  That you are not the Hitler/Mussolini/Stalin Baby.  Seriously, it seems funny when you are sitting at home all bored and post-partum depressed, but when you take it on the road for the world to see you just seem mentally unstable and creepy.  Even if some other mentally unstable and creepy person pays you a whole butt load of cash for your mentally unstable and creepy manifestation of art, it doesn't make you appear any less mentally unstable or creepy, nor does it distract from the fact that one day your kid is gonna see it and know that she is the child of a mentally unstable and creepy person and, in fact, she could be one too.  But, I guess you can do a lot of mentally unstable and creepy crap and get away with it if you just call it art.

4.  That you may have tripped, or stumbled, or perhaps even fallen at a blogging conference in front of 85 Power Moms, but at least you didn’t do it on TV and burn up any hope you have of becoming the next Tony Perkins.  Who decided that wheels on chairs was a good idea?  They have lead to so many unnecessary accidents.

 

3.  To NOT be the balloon this dummy decided to shove himself in.  My favorite part is when he get’s inside and says something like, “Well, I’m inside, what now?”  I know.  How about GET A LIFE!  Or a wife.  Or a friggin’ job.  And then I felt bad, so just watch the video and promise me you won’t try to do this at home.  With your kid.

2.  Well, I was gonna say the mom this is being sung about, but then I remembered, YOU ARE!

1.  Anybody competing in Shell’s and Supah’s Dance Yer Bloggy Off, because thanks to my “situation” this week I was unable to school you on Cotton Eyed Joe.  You don’t even wanna know how lucky you are that my kimono was on the DL list this week.  Next week.  It will be brought.

Come back tomorrow for a fun Cent Saving Saturday weekend and don’t forget to head over to Kerry’s for our weekly The View Blab Fest.  It’s about sex and drugs in the form of Jessica Simpson and Sex Rehab.

Health Care Reform for This Dummy

Relive a day?

Yeah-no.

I don’t have any days I’d like another shot at, Mama Kat.

Because a)the days that suck are forgotten the EXACT moment they end, and b)as I’m arguably as close to perfect as you can get while still being human, I don’t make mistakes or have regrets EVER so yeah, I’m good.

Yeah-right.

Honestly, I can tell you way more about the days I DON’T want to relive, because they sorta stick out in my mind.

Like yesterday.

Because it sucked.

Badly.

Like, on a suckiness scale of 1 to 10, 10 being as sucky as a day can possibly be, I’ll say yesterday was a good strong 7.

Not the worst day ever, but so ridiculously far from the best it’s not even funny.

Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit funny (or I intend to make it seem that way), but still.

Here’s the bright side of this whole sucky-suck-day-from-sucking-Suckville, I learned something!

That’s right peeps, in the face of adversity and hardship, Dumb Mom got out her thinking cap and had herself a think.

And you know what I decided?

That health care reform is important, that’s what.

Now, I know that pBd is not the place to go for political debates, social consciousness, or discussions about morality, but you know what, today it’s gonna be.

Sorta (because you are not allowed to disagree with me or disprove my theories, I don’t like that so I’m forbidding it entirely).

Now that the ugly has come to call on Dumb Mom I’ve decided to get involved.

Well not involved, involved, more like involved-by-telling-you-my-story-because-I-want-to involved.

Because that’s what I do.

I don’t make posters (because I have the penmanship of a 5 year old), or join campaigns (unless they offer free babysitting!), or donate money (by I do donate my old shoes and handbags when I gorgeous new ones!), or go on exhausting freedom marches (holy walking Batman! These 4-inch-heeled boots weren't made for walkin').

I tell stories. About myself, because myself is awesomethat's pretty much all I know.

So how about I tell you one about how Dumb Mom came out of her self-centered cocoon of self centeredness and decided that there is a such thing as civic duty and social responsibility and, contrary to what she used to believe, it doesn’t start and end at that voting poll every four years in November?

Okay, so maybe sharing a story that I really just want to share because I’m peeved doesn’t actually qualify as performing my civic duty, but still, in the civic duty department it's all I got.

So, yeah…

Yesterday, actually three days ago, as I was chauffeuring #2 to school I felt something in my back.

A tickle. Not of the happy, fun sort.

It was the other sort.

The sort that tells you something may not be quite right. Not really time to panic, but definitely time to pay attention.

So I did, and it got worse, and then it got better, and then it got MUCH worse, and then I called my doctor, and then it got a little better, but then it got worse again, so I made an appointment, and I went in, and I peed in a cup, and they said they wanted me to have a CT pyelogram to check the old kidney and see if it was busted up.

And that is where the crap hit the fan.

Because that is when my health insurance had to get involved.

Now. Here are a few things you should know:

1. Dumb Dad is a professional. He doesn’t stand at one of those corners downtown and wait with a group of dudes for other groups of dudes to come along in pickup trucks and take him to a work site for a day. And, he doesn’t work for cash or get paid under the table or even with a 1099. Actually, he is an employee of our federal government so his job is W-2, 401K, 2 legit 2 quit.

2. Dumb Dad has been employed by his employer for a whole butt load of years. And, he’s in good standing at his job too. Not on probation or anything cooky like that.

3. We have health insurance, which is paid for through Dumb Dad’s employer. It’s not through the state and we don’t get it for free. We pay. A lot. Of cash.

4. We have had the same insurance carrier for 8 years.

5. We effing hate them and are convinced that they are trying to kill us. Mostly just me, but sometimes the kids too (Dumb Dad has been to the doctor twice in the past 8 years both times for hurting his ankle; his pretty much immune to every germ known to man. Plus when kids get sick around here he encases himself in latex and only touches them if ABSOLUTELY-FRIGGIN' necessary).

My main beef is that I see no reason why the insurance company should be allowed to decide if or when or how I should get my medical care.

I get that they need to be notified and kept up to date on my health related goings ons.

But, do they really need to “approve” a visit to urgent care? If I have time to stand around and wait for a referral, maybe the situation ain’t all that urgent!

Just sayin’. That’s why I go to the doctor, right?

I mean, if it’s really just up to the insurance company why don’t I just cut out the middle man and go directly to them with my ailment and they can tell me what to do for it?

Would be a huge time saver for people like me who don't have time to be doubled over in pain, sweating like I stole something sick.

Seriously. Because today, when my MEDICAL DOCTOR suggested that I get a CT scan, know-it-all-insurance-company-from-Hell said, “Are you sure she needs that? Today? Really? She can’t wait until, say, Monday? Why? Is she dying? Like actually dying?" Because if not…?”

And then, I had to hurry up and find someone to watch The Dudes and get my tail straight over to the CT scanning place so that they could take it today because if not then I’d have to wait. For days. Until the insurance company decided that I really need it.

And that’s not the first time this has happened.

They’ve done it with chest x-rays and prescriptions and visits to specialists.

And, I realize that “The Obama Plan” is not going to address this specifically, but it is supposed to address another problem that keeps me locked to this bloody-effing-insurance-company-from-Hell: “the end of discrimination against people with pre-existing conditions”.

Because as you all know I have one.

And because of my pre-existing condition I’m unable to ditch the crap-company-that-is-trying-to-off-me for one that will give me more freedom and access.

Because despite the fact that I rarely ever have issues with my kidneys, and that I am otherwise as healthy as a horse, no one wants to take on this land mine of a body because apparently it's about to blow.

So I’m stuck.

And that sucks.

Because, contrary to what some believe about people who are in favor of health care reform, we aren’t unemployed, and we’re not illegal immigrants, and we take care of ourselves, and we pay our bills, and we contribute to society, and we aren’t trying to get something for nothing, and I don’t want you to get less, but still here I am, sitting in pain, sucking down Tylenol, waiting to see what my insurance company my doctor is going to do next to figure out why my left side hurts so badly I can hardly breathe.

So yeah. That’s my story.

And it made enjoying #2’s official birthday pretty friggin’ difficult.

But I did it, because I love him and I wanted his day to be special and I secretly hope that one day he will realize just how awesome of a mommy I was and he will thank me for it (with a house, or a car, or a cruise, old people like to cruise).

I’m not gonna hold my breath for that one, because serving KFC and a Hostess cupcake may have gotten the job done, but I doubt that it will be winning me any mommying awards.

Lucky for me his standards are pretty low and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

Better luck next year little man!

Link your Thank Me Later Thursday posts here, I will visit and leave lovely comments on each and every one of them (which is not even hard since only a few of you do it anyway!)

Wordful Wednesday. St. Patty’s Day Boy

5 years ago today #2 was snatched out of my belly. Literally, yanked and pulled and wrenched from my insides, c-section style.

I wore green socks. He cried a lot.

He’s been mildly disgruntled ever since.

And, while #2 is most definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my most challenging, intense, and aggressive child, he is also my most affectionate, personable, and downright funny one as well (although #3 is giving him a run for his money in the humor department).

Every day is a surprise with him; sometimes good, sometimes, not so much.

But I can’t imagine life without him.

He’s got middle child syndrome like a mofo which apparently means he’s supposed to be an attention seeking brat with an inferiority complex.

Great! Because he is and I freakin’ love every single one of his screaming-louder-so-they’ll-hear-me-bones (only FYI #2, you don’t really have to scream because I hear you. I’m just ignoring you right along with the rest of ‘em!).

He is unique in every since of the word, from his obsession with couture to his desire to be in the circus, actually to own a circus, in which he is the star.

For years he has been quite interested in the idea of marriage.

I’ve written about it before, because it concerns me.

Not a lot. But enough.

What’s more concerning though, is the fact that as of late he has developed quite an attraction towards the opposite sex.

He says it’s because they (and by they he means all girls and women) are so “attracted” to him. Oh, and because, “grils have nice wong hair”.

Hubby finds his interest in the opposite sex encouraging.

I find it creepy. But as long as he doesn't feel anyone up again, I’m trying not to make such a huge deal of it in hopes that his remarkably-early-girl-crazy phase is replaced by an obsession with something a little more reasonable, like Matchbox cars or action figures (but not WWE. I friggin’ hate that crap. Unless The Rock is making a comeback. Then, I’m down. Seriously, I would watch that man eat Jell-O he’s that hot).

But, in case this is just a sampling of what’s to come when he hits puberty, I’m taking it upon myself to find him a suitable mom-approved mate.

It’s the least I can do.

And from what I hear it works!

The whole arranged marriage thing.

Here’s a little tidbit you may not have known: India has a divorce rate of 1.1% compared to a much, much higher rate in the US. Pretty impressive, right?!

Some argue this fact is directly related to arranged marriages.

While rational Dumb Mom believes other, cultural factors are involved, slightly-irrational-unnaturally-possessive Dumb Mom says that arranged marriage is the wave of the future.

I’m betting that come 2035, when I’m ready for #2 to get hitched, all the cool kids will be doing it again. You know ‘cause trends come back. Especially the good ones. I mean, just look at stirrup pants. Bet you thought those were gone for good, but here they are all happily hooked under your foot and tucked securely into your shoe. Point is they made a come back because they were sorta awesome and the same thing is bound to happen with arranged marriages and I intend to be a pioneer.

Besides, I’m certain all of us will be much happier if I get to pick The Dudes’ wives as it’s really the only way to ensure that I get to maintain creative control of their lives.

Might as well start with the most eager of the bunch.

Name: Keeps it a Secret for the sake of intrigue. You can call him #2

DOB: 3/17/05

Birthplace: Somewhere in Maryland

Address: Casa de Dummies

Interests: grils (aka girls), giraffes, video games, debates (aka arguing with his mother over bedtime, showertime, dinnertime, and the like), fancy socks, dressing like a pimp snazzy, UFC (aka battling with his older brother), dirt, peeing outdoors, the color blue, the letter W, number 26, chicken nuggets, French Fries, shakin’ what his momma gave him, watching contrails, roller coasters, lollipops, leaf collecting, Simon Cowell, carnivals and the carnies that run them, cucumbers, Ben 10, discussing fight sequences, Nacho Libre, Mexican stuff, heroes of the super variety, chocolate milk, Miley Cyrus songs, attention, and anything that smells like cotton candy.

Doesn’t enjoy: long walks, crying babies, venomous snakes, little brothers, scary stories, being blamed for stuff, pizza, being ignored, loud sounds, bad drivers, raw milk (aka white milk), bad guys, waiting in line, just waiting, the color brown, hamburgers, the unknown, schedule changes, people who don’t follow through, people who don’t RSVP, doctor’s offices, sucky goody bags, being framed, shirts for Christmas, barf.

His idea of a good time: running down the street to catch the ice cream man, buying an overly sugary treat he doesn’t eat and jumping in puddles. Bring your rain boots even if it’s not raining, just because.

He’d like everyone to know that his dad loves him so much it makes him sing, they enjoy coloring together and he thinks he’d fight off a wolf for him. His baby screams so loudly he could win a screaming contest. Brother has great ideas and he protects him from bad stuff. And, his mom cries because she loves him so much. That is all.

When he grows up he will be a teacher, and a car fixer, and a fireman, and a farmer, oh, and also a ninja. And, as previously mentioned there will be a circus; he will be the star.

If interested in pursuing a union between your daughter and my son, please send photos and background info to seriously_are_you_effing_kidding_me_you_freak@gmail.com.

I hope he finds the perfect wife one day, but for now I just want him to keep being my slightly-disgruntled-but-a-blessing-all-the-same five year old baby.

Happy birthday, Pickle!

Mom Tip Tuesday. Birthday Parties for Preschoolers

First ever Mom Tip Tuesday so I thought I’d do it right and officially introduce you to Dumb Mom!

I used to write a blog/column/random gathering of meaningless words on the site of my local newspaper. It was called Maybe Mommy’s a Dummy (detect a theme yet?).

Part of that column was Dumb Mom’s Guide to the Universe.

Dumb Mom is an expert on nothing who knows pretty much everything.

She is outsmarted by her kids on a daily basis (hence the name) but she does it in cute shoes, with a friendly smile, and a ridiculously awesome handbag.

She may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s the best dressed.

Which is wasted by being inside of a shed.

Anyway.

She knows what she’s talking about for the most part so listen up and you will survive.

Motherhood never looked so easy, or cute, or fashionable.

You are welcome.

In light of upcoming events I’ve decided to make this week’s tip about birthdays for children.

Specifically, birthdays for a whole butt load of rowdy, hard to manage children who are not quite or just barely five.

Enjoy!

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Planning a Preschool Birthday Party

1. Face the facts. Fact one: you don’t really like other people’s kids. Fact two: even if you did like other people’s kids, you don’t like other people’s kids all at the same time. Fact three: you are crazy. It’s difficult to like children in groups because all of their unlikeable attributes are magnified. They are louder, and meaner, and more energetic than when you are with them alone. Plus, for whatever reason, when groups of kids get together some parents take that as the perfect opportunity to ignore their own horribly behaved difficult to be around even in small doses child. It’s like they assume the know it all mom whoever is in charge of the party is also in charge of their child. Get your mind right. It will suck, but you are crazy so in the end it will be worth it.

2. Buy booze. And drink it. Definitely before, if possible during, and immediately after the party. Just be sure to drink vodka or something else that won’t make you smell like a winery. You know how moms like to talk and before you know it you will be the Ms. Hannigan of the preschool.*

3. Bribery. Always works. Every situation. Believe me when I say this: money talks. Even louder than kids hopped up on sugar and life. This means that there are people who make their living hosting parties for hard to manage groups of children just like the one you have in mind. You can go to their special designed, brightly colored, kid-friendly place and they will make magic. You don’t have to make magic all alone. If you have cash you can hire people to make it for you. This is why I sell myself to anyone interested in buying work, for the necessities in life that people just shouldn’t be asked to live without.

4. Invite the whole class. I used to get all annoyed at this mandate some schools have in place. Before I had kids in school I was a huge get-used-to-exclusion-and-rejection-it’s-a-part-of-life kinda girl. But one of my children had the unfortunate experience of not being invited to the birthday party of his alleged best friend and then, he had to sit and listen while the confirmed best friends discussed the party in his presence. He was crushed. He had questions. And the only answer I could come up with was, “Well, Dude, some people suck and the fact that they do just makes us look more awesome.” Okay, I didn’t actually say that, but I totally wanted to. I still don’t think this is a necessary requirement for school aged children, but for preschoolers, in a classroom with only 10 children (only 4 of which were boys) would it have been so horrible to invite them all? Possibly I would have declined because the site of his mother made me ill, but still, my little dude would have been able to say that he was invited and couldn’t go because his mommy mysteriously came down with the shingles (or some other sudden, random, and completely faked ailment), as opposed to thinking, and feeling, and having everyone believe that he wasn’t invited because he wasn’t cool. Invite them all, the ones whose mommies are jerkwads probably won’t come anyway.

5. Say thanks. I know I skipped right over the actual party element, but that’s because I covered that in the first three tips: realize it’s hopeless, show up drunk, and pay some perky high school chick to do all the hard stuff. All that’s covered. It’s after the party that people tend to forget. You know, once you’re home and sobered up, and your hangover has worn off, and your kid has broken 65% of all of his new stuff. That’s the time that repeatedly gets neglected. And, I’d like to argue that next to having a banging cake, this is the most important element: the THANK YOU CARDS. Yes, your child needs to send them (or watch you send them) so that he understands that having a party and getting gifts is not compulsory. It is a benefit of mommy bribing people and having nosy friends who want to talk about her inability to make quality goody bags privilege. Every child doesn’t get them. Every person that came didn’t have to. And bringing gifts is optional (although just good etiquette). Learn to be thankful and people will love you, or at least pretend to.

Now, wish me luck at #2’s Super Sweet 5 Birthday Party we are hosting on Thursday (his actual birthday is tomorrow which explains the St. Patty's Day inspired header) Bounce-a-roo center in my hood. Should be a blast.

*Due to the bum kidneys I'm not a huge lush myself. I have my moments (which some of you have been lucky enough to witness first hand), but I'm not gonna be at the Oscars with my flask George Clooney style. The suggestion to drink is for those of you who turn to booze as an answer to your problems...you know who you are. Don't worry I don't judge.

Link up your favorite Mom Tip below and I’ll stop by for a look; I need all the tips I can get!

Make New ifriends Monday: Polycystic Kidney Dad

So kidney disease,

it pretty much sucks.

When I learned I had it,

I thought what the what?!

But I know now,

it’s much worse for others.

And, some people get it,

from their fathers or mothers.

Like my new ifriend Nate.

He has PKD.

He’s had a much rougher time than me.

But it seems right now,

he has reason to boast.

I’ll say no more, just read the man’s post!

Check out his kidney blog and his parenting one, Journey Through Parenthood (written mostly by his wife, Jenny it seems), too. Very authentic, poem worthy, and Dumb Mom approved.

Hey everyone! I guess I’m the second ifriend that Dumb Mom has decided to introduce you all to this March. And, in what may be a trend, I am both a male, and have a life-threatening kidney disease. She contacted me back in February and asked that I write up a quick something to "introduce myself" and perhaps even make you laugh (not that I’m that funny).

My name is Nathan. I am 32 years old and was diagnosed with Polycystic Kidney Disease when I was about 20 years old (during college). For those of you unfamiliar with kidney diseases, PKD is exactly what it sounds like: you have a bunch of cysts that grow on your kidneys. I’d do a good news / bad news story, but there’s not really a lot of good news. As PKD patients age, their good kidney cells are replaced with fluid-fill cysts. This increases the size of your kidneys, which should be about the size of your fist, and reduces your overall kidney function. PKD is a genetic disease, meaning that you get it from someone in your family line. According to the people that do studies, over 600,000 Americans and probably 12 or 13 million people around the world have PKD.

My particular type of the disease is Autosomal dominant (which means I inherited it from a parent). The other type is Autosomal recessive, and it’s actually worse. Most people (80%) with ARPKD (the second type) die as infants, and few live past age 10. With ADPKD (my type) you don’t typically develop symptoms until later in life (50+) and many patients may never require more than just adjustments of diet and exercise and maybe medications to control high blood pressure.

Not for me, readers! I woke up one night in college with a horrible pain in my back. It turns out that I had some kidney stones. The hospital (that I had to drive to by myself) said: "Sir, your kidney stones are small enough that you will pass them on your own. We will give you some pain medication to take home so it won’t hurt too much. Oh, and you should make an appointment with a nephrologist and talk to him about your kidneys." Yeah. So I went in, he said that I have Polycystic Kidney Disease, gave me a pamphlet, and sent me home.

I had one bout with kidney stones every year from 1998 to 2001 (not fun at all, let me tell you, like trying to pee out a pointy, sharp, point-sharp thing, and it feels HUGE). I finally got myself a real nephrologist in 2001 and they began to track my kidney function. I was told that I was at about 30%, and it kept going down every year I was tested. The doctor said I might be good for 10 or 20 years, and that I would not need dialysis until I dropped below 5%. He said that I could get on the transplant list once I was below 20% function, and that it would likely be years to come before I hit that.

If you are squeamish, you might want to skip the next paragraph and come back below this one. In late 2004, I was sick, sick, sick. I was peeing blood, vomiting, not eating, etc. I was sick from about November until May. I finally had to go to the hospital in an ambulance (expensive) and was found to be extremely dehydrated (duh, vomiting and not drinking anything) and had a VERY low blood count (yes, from losing all that blood in my urine). I wish the doctors had listened as I complained the previous six months or so. They put me on IV fluids and blood transfusion (or infusions, in my case). This would be good, except for a terrible kidney infection that led to my kidney swelling up to a whopping fifteen pounds and nearly 30 cm long. Yuck! I have a horrible picture, somewhere, but it’s not online, so you will have to ask me if you want to see it (for some reason).

Is everyone back now? Good! So, based on the info in the paragraph above, they had to remove my left kidney. It was NOT a good surgery, for me, and the recovery was very slow. I was in the hospital for a total of thirty days that summer (yuck). I had to start on dialysis in August of 2005, due to the sudden loss of half of my kidney function. By this time, I was now under 10% on kidney function. I had to do dialysis for 18 months, and that’s no fun at all. Fortunately, I received a kidney transplant (from a deceased donor) in January of 2007 and have been healthy since then.

My wife (who managed to stand by me through all of this) and I were told, unfortunately, that we would never have children. This was due to me, my disease, and several other issues I had. However, as a surprise, we had our daughter in December of 2009. Hannah is growing strong and is, of course, the smartest and cutest baby in the world (obviously). We won’t know if she has PKD until she is much older. We plan to have the doctors do routine check-ups on her without actually writing down "potential kidney disease" on any of her medical charts.

Dumb Mom asked me to link to a few of my favorite posts, but I’m not sure that I have any. If you want to read about how terrible dialysis is, or how many times one person can go to the emergency room in a year due to poor medical treatments, then there’s a lot of good posts. I’ve got several posts that are very popular on the search engines, such as the time I debated Restoril and Lunesta (http://nmccart.blogspot.com/2007/01/restoril-vs-lunesta-in-quest-for-sleep.html). I tried to tag most of my posts at least a little, so the blog is decently laid out. I don’t do photography, so there’s very little graphical interest on the site (all words, no pictures). I’m a computer guy, cut me a break.

So, as a father, I figured you all deserve at least one cute photo to say AWWW about:

And one of my wife and I with Hannah at Christmas:

Don't forget. Tomorrow is MOM TIP TUESDAY! Come back and link up your best mom tips (advice, recipes, craft ideas, DO-THIS-NOW-OR-SO-FRIGGIN-HELP-ME'S) . Not just because it'll be fun, but because I said so!

Cent Saving Saturday: Juicing

Chillax.

I’m not talking about Danny-Bonaduce-Jose-Canseco juicing.

Nor am I talking about that juicing for health business that literally makes me wanna gag tons of celebrities are into to make them look all skinny and perfect and stuff.

I’m just talking about going to the grocery store and picking up some Tropicana for the family.

Good old fashioned, pure and natural, squeezed from fresh fruit, preservative-less OJ (or one of their other flavors if OJ is not your thing).

Because not only is is delicious and all vitamin C-ey and stuff, but it’s also a great way for you and your family to save cash on other non-juice related products and activities.

Through Tropicana’s Juicy Rewards program you can earn points toward cool savings on things you love to do or want to buy.

I’m talking buy one get one free ticket deals, discounts at spas, money off clothing, shoes and other stuff.

They have discounts for EA Sports Active, Adidas, Coleman, and to the Kennedy Space Center. You know all stuff I personally wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole because, as you know, I don’t do exercise, outdoors or space unless it’s an official mandate from an authority figure (aka a doctor, a lawyer, a judge, a cop, or Mimi).

But, I’m all about getting discounts to take The Dudes to see a play or a puppet show. And, I can easily envision myself butt naked and greased up at the spa or hitting the high seas with Dumb Dad for a cruise on Norwegian Cruise Lines, all of which can be found in the Tropicana Rewards Center.

So you get money savings and no scurvy!

Can that even be beaten?!

And, it’s easy to earn the rewards. All you have to do is go buy a whole butt load of juice, sign up at the Juicy Rewards site, and then start searching for rewards in your area (or to be used at online retailers).

Easy peasy.

Especially if you’re like me and you have a house full of will-drink-whatever-you-bring-in-to-the-house-by-sundown little people which means that, in order to stave off the I’m-soooooooo-thirsties, you shop at Costco where you can get 10 gallons of the stuff for $5.98.

I came home with like 12 points just last Friday!

And the points are not just found on the OJ either. They can be found on all of the Tropicana products. So you can buy whatever it is your people like to drink already and earn discounts for other stuff you were planning to do already!

Can’t beat that with a bat!

But, know what you can beat with a bat?!

Your toddler’s intestines, that’s what!

Well, with a Fiber Gummies bat at least.

I can’t say the kid is “regular” but he's at least not done the whole Talkin’ Dirty After Dark business since last week. Fiber Gummies seem to be beating his psyche into submission and his sphincter is thanking me dearly for that.

Know who else should be thanking me…Jennifer from Momma Made It Look Easy because she too will soon be in possession of a regularly pooping child and there ain’t nothing dumb about that!

**Dumb Mom Disclaimer: Of course I have to inform you that I was paid in gift card for participating in this program as a Tropicana Juicy Insider. This is what they want me to say: "I wrote this review while participating in the Tropicana Juicy Insiders Ambassador program by Mom Central on behalf of Tropicana. I received 12 free Juicy Rewards points and a $50 Visa gift card to use in redemption of the points and to facilitate my review." I don’t like being told what to say so I will say this instead, “I got some free stuff and some cash, cold hard cash, in the form of a gift card to tell you all about something I like. Probably would have told you anyway, but chances are I might not have known about it if I hadn’t been approached to be a paid participant in the program. Of course then, neither would you. So, don’t let the fact that I got some money for telling you about the program’s existence weigh too heavily on how awesome the program is. Just think of me when you are enjoying your discounted hot rock massage, and remember it’s okay to thank me later!