All I want for Christmas..........

The simplicity of children amazes me.  Sometimes.

I asked my 2 and 6 year old to write out a Christmas list for Santa.  My 6 year old can read & write for himself.  My 2 year old required some translation by me.  I asked her to tell me all the things she wanted Santa to bring her and I would write them down.

Here's what we ended up with.

The 6 year old:

1.  beyblade  (these stupid things are gonna drive me to O.D. on Xanax)
2.  legos
3.  Harry Potter  (not quite sure if he meant the actual character, or a book, a game...???)
4.  football
5.  candey  (his spelling, not mine)
6.  gum
7.  Papa Johns pizza  (again, this is open to interpretation:  just a pizza, or an actual franchise...???)
8.  popicheropeca book   (?????)
9.  a brother  (keep dreamin' kid.  no more kids are comin' out of this vagina)


The 2 year old (as dictated to me):

1.  Elmo  (this might be tricky)
2.  Tubby Tubby's  (to clarify:  'Teletubbies')
3.  Christmas  (easy enough)
4.  reindeer  (again, a tricky one, unless we move to Alaska)
5.  flowers
6.  hesha  (this is her nickname for her brother.  no idea why.  and he already happens to live here, so done and done)
7.  juice
8.  t.t. mouth (her name for a pacifier.....which she no longer uses)

**and that, folks, is pretty much the extent of her vocabulary.

Who's having an easy Christmas this year?!?  I don't even need to step foot in a Toys R Us!!!  Now, I'm keeping a copy of these lists, so when they are completely disappointed on Christmas morning, I have actual evidence of their requests.

BOO-YAH!

"Words of Wisdom" Wednesday....kinda

Okay, so I really can't stand when people blog/brag/Facebook about the fact that they've finally dropped that 30lbs of "baby" weight.....(and their baby is 6 months old).  My "baby" is 2 1/2 years old.  Shut.  Up.  I already have enough reasons to hate myself, and your glory is making me feel even worse about my own laziness.

There.  I said it.  Phew.

Why, you ask, am I so bitter??  Well, it's an ugly green monster people.  Jealousy.  (Save it.  I already know I'm a terrible person).  And if I'm being honest, I don't begrudge anybody happiness.  Or health.  I'm the reason I'm overweight (and, yes, technically, on the BMI scale, I am overweight.  It's a frightening concept)  I completely own that.

I snack when I'm stressed.  I snack when I'm bored.  I eat because I like food.

What I'm trying to learn is the difference between necessity and desire.

And I think I'm getting close!  I've lost 6 pounds in the last 5 weeks. Okay, so maybe that's not so great, but, I was able to button my jeans this morning without having to practice any oxygen deprivation techniques.  And if that's not a victory, I don't know what is.

I'm still able to enjoy coffee, wine, and all the things I normally like to eat.  I just do so in moderation (I know, it's an ugly word, but it had to be said).

I'm certainly not perfect.  I have encouraging days, and days I wanna say EFF it !!  But, I'm only human.  One day at a time.

I try to set myself up for success first thing in the morning.  It doesn't always end up that way, but I'm getting there.  Slowly.  I actually enjoy working out (*gulp*) because I know it's a means to an end.  The more calories I burn off, the more I can consume.  Get it?  I know, I'm like a genius or something (*wink wink*).

My intention is to let those of you out there who are struggling with the same thing (and I read your blogs.  I know who you are), it can be done.  Don't beat yourself up.  It's not going to happen overnight.

Or in my case, very fast, apparently.

Okay, now I'm depressed about it again.  Ugh.  Where's the wine.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME......

Remember when we used to get excited about our upcoming birthdays?  Especially the monumental ones (16, 18, 21).  And really, every birthday from 21 to 29, when we could drink legally and thought we were hot $hit and actual adults.  And we always had some fabulous plans with friends or family that involved us in a tiara and everyone serving us cheese & wine while throwing rose petals at our feet.  (Okay, maybe that was just me.....in a dream).


But after my 30th, when I got knocked up (my husband refers to that as the gift that keeps on giving), it's really gone downhill.

And, now, I am officially "COUGAR" status (I think).  Somewhere in between 35 and 40 (a girl never tells her real age).  Really, this is all I have left.  And I don't even look the part.

I had these delusions of grandeur last night that I would wake up to a clean house, a nanny feeding my children breakfast, a masseuse waiting for me, a personal assistant to attend to all my needs for the day.......listen, I qualified them as 'delusions'.

Since those things clearly didn't, and won't, happen, my plans for today are as follows (please contain your excitement and remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop):

1.  I began the day screaming at the neighbor for revving his mustang engine for 5 effing minutes, while my 2 year old, by the Grace of God, is still asleep

2.  I am currently tuning out my 6 year old who can't function unless he is in the same room as me.....talking nonstop about God knows what.  Today's opener:  "Happy Birthday mom.  Do you know the name for a female dog?  It starts with a B and ends with 'itch'.  I'm serious.  It's in the bible".  wtf?


3.  I have to clean the kitchen, empty & reload the dishwasher (refer to photograph), wash & fold laundry......because if I don't do it today, it'll still be there tomorrow......which is a holiday....which means both kids are home.  All day.  With me.

4.  I have to go to the gym and burn off 500 calories just so I can consume wine tonight.  And, yes, it will be the entire bottle.  I even splurged - $8!

5.  I'm going to pick up a birthday cake, for my family, because I can't eat it, because my ass already has it's own zip code.

6.  My husband says he'll be home "usual" time tonight, which is somewhere between 6:30 and 7.  Which means I'll be making dinner.  For my family. Because I'll be having lettuce.



Happy.  Friggin'.  Birthday.

Thank God it's Over

This photo was the highlight of our Halloween experience this year.

It was pouring rain.  And freezing cold (I'm from Southern California, so I'm allowed to qualify it as "freezing" if it's below 65).  Hubby was on his way home from work with pizza....until the highway became a parking lot due to idiots who don't know how to drive in the rain.

I had no back up plan for dinner.  I bundled and layered them up as much as I could, and still be able to get their costumes on.  We headed out in the rain, just the three of us, and ONE umbrella (the 2nd umbrella was in hubby's car, currently parked on the freeway.  With the pizza).

Since I'm such an awesome mom, I gave the umbrella to my 6 year old, to hold over himself and his sister.  I was soaking wet.  I dropped the camera.  The battery and memory card went flying into the street.  I had to leave whiny, complaining children on the sidewalk while I risked life and limb (okay, not really, it was on a residential street), to retrieve said memory card and battery.  While doing so, I dropped my cell phone.  In a puddle.

The kids are cold.  And hungry.  Nobody cares about trick-or-treating at this point.  I just wanna go home and stick a straw in a bottle of vodka.  My 2 year old decides she must be carried or there will be hell to pay.

At this point, I should've just turned around and walked back home (no one else was out anyway).  But, damnit, I was on a mission.  These kids were gonna get some freakin' candy even it it meant if we all ended up with frostbite at the end of the night!

We powered through.  They were troopers.  More people decided to brave the elements, so that gave us hope.  And motivation.  I had a couple of sympathy offers for a beer.  And a jello shot.  I stayed strong.

Hubby ended up finding us, in the dark, soaking wet & shaking.  I handed Little Girl over to him and waited for the feeling to return in my right arm.

I can safely report that we made it home.  Alive.  And with this to show for it.......

This crap is making me gain weight just by it's presence in my house, but, I'll be damned if my kids weren't gonna get to trick or treat on Halloween.

Take that mother nature!

**please stay tuned for future post entitled: How We All Got Pneumonia**

'Words of Wisdom' Monday

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

~ Mother Teresa

(cause you know I couldn't write anything that inspirational.  Mine would be a little more direct.  Something like this:  "EFF them all!!")

Something doesn't look quite right....

When it comes to baking, like in an actual kitchen, I don't pretend to channel my inner Martha Stewart (Chelsea Handler maybe.  Does she bake?)

Anyway, I was trying to find something new to do with my kids on a cold, windy day.  And believe me, there is no baking happening in this house unless grandma comes to visit.  Obviously.

I found a recipe online (thank you "jane1645") and followed it exactly.  

And this is the result.

WTF ??!!

It looks like globs of cellulite on a baking sheet. 

Seriously.  Where did I go wrong?!  Is this like a metaphor for my life?  I've got all the right ingredients, but I just don't know how to mix them together correctly?!

Great.  Now I've just made cookie-baking a completely depressing experience.

Top 10 Ways Being a Parent is like Being at a Frat Party

So, every once in a while, someone I know sends me something that makes me literally laugh so hard that I pee my pants (okay, so technically, that's not so hard these days).

I recently sent a funny list of "Top 10 Things You Should Never Say to the Spouse of a Deployed Soldier" to a friend of mine whose husband is currently serving in Iraq (she has 3 children under the age of 10). 

This is how she returned the favor.  I wish I knew who wrote this.  Anybody out there wanna take credit??  Seriously.  I can make you famous.  Okay, maybe not famous.  But, at least, 4 people will read it on this blog.

Top 10 Ways That Being A Parent Is Like Being at a Frat Party... 

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub. 

9. There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner. 

8. It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function. 

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone's going to start banging on the door.

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA. 

5. You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink. 

4. There's definitely going to be a fight. 

3. You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested. 

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere. 

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

Go ahead people.  Pee your pants.

Work in Progress

Please forgive me, while I attempt to add Personal Blog Designer to my list of semi-talents.....(excuse me while I spit vodka out of my nose).

Things may be changing on this site periodically over the next few days (as it also acts as a therapeutic agent so I don't beat my children).  I'm honestly not trying to make you nauseous or give you whiplash.

Sorry.

I don't even like the color blue, so clearly I have no idea what the F@&K I'm doing.

Holy mounds of crap !!

There is not an adjective in the English language, that could possibly describe the amount of $hit I walked into this morning, when going to get Little Girl from her room.  We're talking - all over her, the blankets, the crib rails, the walls, underneath the mattress (no explanation for that one), and finally, 'dripped' onto the floor.

That's right.  Dripped.  Like a leaky faucet.

It smelled as if things transpired hours before I actually went to get her.  For a moment I felt really bad that she was probably rolling around in her own feces for a good part of the night.  That fluttering emotion quickly vanished as I felt more sorry for myself and what it would entail to get this horrific scene cleaned up.

I'll spare you the details, as I'm certain many of you have had a similar experience.  However, I'm quite sure most of you don't experience this at least once a week.  I guess I'm just glad it happened in the privacy of our own home, and not out in public (a normal occurrence for us).  Or at the gym, while she's in the childcare (again, a normal occurrence.  I'm actually surprised they haven't asked us not to come back yet).

I mean, I literally have to carry around 2 changes of clothes, 6 diapers and a box of wipes everywhere we go.  I never know when the "blow-outs" will occur (usually shopping at Kohl's is a good inducer of gastric flow for her).  It's been 2 1/2 years and it's frustrating as hell.

I constantly smell poo.....(usually it ends up being stuck under my finger nails).

I'm tired of hearing "she's not potty trained yet??"  
No, asshole, she's not!  I actually enjoy wiping shit off someone else's ass 9 times a day, so I'm thinking we'll start when she's off to 1st grade.

November 7th can not get here soon enough.  This is the date of her upper and lower endoscopy (a reschedule from earlier this month).  Although we'll have to wait several days for results from the procedure, I know exactly what it will show - that the Eosinophilia is invading her little tummy again (insert sad face).  And God willing, this will be the worst thing it shows.

At least this will put her back on a course of treatment, and even though the treatment itself comes with it's own set of side effects, she'll feel some sort of relief.

And, hopefully I'll get a break from cleaning up *shit-plosions* for a while.

Ugh.

**author's side note:  It's days like today when I feel I need to start Happy Hour-ing early.  However, I'm on Day #3 of healthy eating & no wine drinking, and I'm proud to say, I have not succumbed to any cheating**

Body Makeover: Day 45....

....I'm still fat.  Gym = 2; My ass = 0

I was gonna try and be all motivational or inspirational in this post, but, I can't.  My "inspirational quota" lasts all of about 48 hours.

My dear husband suggested to me that I might want to "cut back the calories" in order to lose weight.  What he really meant was "give up wine".

In my rational mind, I know he's right.  But I don't pride myself on being rational.  So, I headed off to the local GNC store and purchased the largest tub of Weight Loss/Protein Powder Chalk Shake I could find.  For a bunch of tasteless dust, it's actually not so bad.  I mix it with vodka milk, instead of water.  And add a banana.  It's got a bunch of vitamins and crap in it, so I figure it's gotta be healthy.

Like today....I had coffee, 2 eggs, went to the gym for 2 hours, then had a salad for lunch (and did not coat it in ranch dressing).  I used actual vegetables.  (I know, I'm even scaring myself here).

So, here's my question.  I'm basically skipping a meal (for all intents and purposes), so will a glass of wine..or three...hurt?  What if I put in an extra 20 minutes of cardio at the gym every day?

Would it make a difference if I mentioned that we are on week THREE of track out, both kids are home 24/7 and decided today they would use the sidewalk chalk to paint themselves, the backyard, all of their toys and the hardwood floors??  Or that it's supposed to rain tomorrow so there goes all hope of throwing them out in the backyard for an hour (or 7)?  Or that my husband is gone the better part of 12 hours a day?

Oh, forget it.  Unless they come up with some Narcotic-Enhanced Water that you can get over the counter, wine's all I've got to keep my head above water.  At the moment.

I'm gonna go make myself a protein shake and chase it down with some chardonnay.

(Go ahead.  Cast your judgements.  Wouldn't be the first time).

Let Me Explain.......

So far, I absolutely ABHOR fall.  And normally, this is my favorite time of year.  The temperature cools down, the leaves start to turn shades of amber and orange, it's time for pumpkin lattes and spiced apple scented candles.

But in this household, I've learned to expect the worst, and be pleasantly surprised when IF shit doesn't hit the fan.  And, boy, the shit has hit the fan.......and the fan was on "HIGH" and spread the shit all over the room.

1.  My 6 year old breaks his arm.  He narrowly avoids needing to have surgery to set the bones back in place.  He still remains in a cast and will most likely require one until at least Thanksgiving  (wtf??!).  We've received the bill from the emergency room visit so far......goodbye savings account and college education fund.

2.  My 2 year old was scheduled for upper and lower endoscopies.  We've been through this before.  She has an auto-immune disorder that greatly affects her stomach (and by *greatly*, I mean chronic diarrhea.  And by *chronic* I mean multiple times a day).  It also causes her to pick up every germ in the free world (she battled Salmonella for 3 months this time last year).  So, as bad luck would have it, she came down with an upper respiratory infection, required antibiotics, thus cancelling out the scheduled procedure.  We now have to wait another 4 weeks, and pray that she will be healthy by the next appointment.  Things could be worse, I know.  But cleaning up shit explosions daily is not my idea of 'fun' - especially when it happens publicly.

3.  Our shower door literally fell off of it's hinges.....then the hinges followed.....while I was actually standing in the shower.  Now, our house is only 3 years old.  We've wanted to redo the master bath since day 35 of living here.  The builder did a crappy job of designing this particular bathroom, and because of this stupidity in design, I'm forced to clean mold from the shower several times a week (think *no ventilation*).  I think the bleach eroded the caulking enough that the door just gave up out.  The problem at this particular juncture, is that because our children are so effing hi-maintenance, there is NO room in the budget for home repairs.  My temporary solution was to hang a shower curtain up, which decreases the amount of mold build up for sure, because all the water now pools onto the floor!  (insert growl here)

4.  Our microwave broke (also 3 years old).  Thank you GE for making such a stellar product!  Oh, it can be fixed....for $175.  Or we can just buy a new one for $250.  Do you know how time consuming it is to warm everything on the damn stove?!?  Or reheat leftovers in the oven?!?  It's safe to say, I could never have been alive, or a mother, during the 1940's.  Or Prohibition.

5.  (I've saved the best worst for last here).  We had NO. INTERNET. for TWO. WHOLE. WEEKS!!  Yes, please take a moment to ponder this, reread the statement if you need to, and shed a tear,  or three.  I couldn't check Facebook, or email, OR vent on this blog.  It was my own personal horror movie!!!!!  (I should go all "positive outlook" here for a minute, and say - it did force allow me the time to actually interact with my kids all. day. long.)

Ugh.

So, for any of you who actually missed hearing my selfish, ego maniacal, here-to-make-you-feel-better-about-yourself rants, I'M BAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!

P.T.S.D.

.....from exercise.  And YES, I truly and firmly believe this is possible.  Maybe not in everyone's case, but certainly in mine.

Mostly because I'm out of shape, overweight and completely lack stamina.  I eat too much, drink too much and find new and creative ways to talk myself out of physical  labor  activity.

It's all right now, though.  Because after months of  promising sexual favors beseeching to my husband, he finally agreed to join a gym.  Since my body is allergic to any form of food or wine deprivation, I have consorted to working out.  Every day.  For 2 hours.

And you know it's time to get your ass back into shape, when your muffin top accidentally bumps the emergency stop button while "jogging" on the treadmill.  Oh yeah.  No joke.  Go ahead, laugh amongst yourselves.

And when the more "seasoned" women in your aerobics class are able to keep up, while you're silently praying for sudden death.

And when you lose all feeling in your extremities for hours after taking Body Combat.

(Just keepin' it real, people)

But the cherry on top of the ice cream is this.........I get to dump drop my children off at the childcare for TWO.  WHOLE.  HOURS!!!!  And they love it.  They look forward to going!  They motivate me even on the days I feel like if I exert myself in any way my hamstring muscles might actually detach from my femur.

It's a WINE/WINE........I mean a WIN/WIN.

(See where my head is at??)

Disturbia

I think the disclaimer on the bottle of little yellow pills should be changed to read:  “Warning: Do Not Consume Alcohol When Taking this Medication…….unless you have children, in which case, pill is only effective when taken with alcohol”

Can I get a Hallelujah and Amen??!

Four weeks ago, Little Man breaks his arm.  By jumping off the couch.  Not only does he break it, but completely displaces the bones.  As horrific of an experience as that was, I assumed that was the worst of it.  That after a month stuck in a full arm cast, things would be healed.  Mostly.

Yeah.  Not so much.

At his 4 week check up with the orthopedist, his arm looks like this……

And this was revealed after the traumatizing experience of having to hold him down on the table, while they “sawed” the cast off, while he screamed “mommy!! mommy!!!” over & over.  Convinced they were going to “saw” his arm completely off. 

I was shaking.  Sweating profusely.  My 2 year old was climbing up the back of my legs in fear for her own life after witnessing the torture her brother was enduring.

I had no words of comfort for him.  Or for her.  Only regret.  For not having taken a dose of Xanax before leaving the house.

The bone is still broken.  And shifting.  His arm remains swollen.  And bruised.  My nerves are shot.  My patience is gone.

Even though my limbs are physically intact, I spent the rest of the day feeling totally disturbed.  I feel helpless.  Useless.  Nervous.  Anxious.

Will his arm ever look normal??  Is he permanently deformed??

The doctor assures me that eventually things will heal.  But as his mother, I feel like I have to fix this.  Make it better.  Right.  Now.

And the bigger problem is, I know this is just the beginning.  Of a ‘mom’-life filled with worry, panic, frustration and tears.  Yeah, yeah, yeah….I know. It’s all balanced out with joy, happiness and laughter. blah, blah, blah.  But those are the easy moments.  These are the moments that SUCK!!!

"They" say whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.  My question is: How do you know it's not just killing you slowly???!!!

Ugh.

He Doesn't Pay Rent....

.....our new front porch "resident".  But, I'm still using him to my advantage.

Part of me really wants him gone because he is a ginormous freak of nature and it actually grosses me out to look at him (I've never really been a *nature-lover* type).  Although I'm sure some would find him a little fascinating.

But, I gotta admit, I really like to use him as leverage against the kids when they misbehave.  It's awesome!

"Do you want mommy to feed you to the spider??  No?  Well, then stop kicking the ball in the house"

*Disclaimer:  If you think this makes me a bad mother, you are correct.  However, I do much worse shit to my kids than threaten to feed them to an octopus/chihuahua/vampire bat/spider hybrid.  They were already screwed up (because of me), but for many other reasons *

Addendum: As of this morning, "Charlotte" (as my husband called him/her) has chosen to vacate his/her position on the front porch.  Probably on the hunt for a stray cat for breakfast.  
I guess I will need to come up with a new way to threaten my children inappropriately.  Drat!

I guess I'm not that funny

I went to have lunch with my 1^st grader at school yesterday.

I met another mother, sitting at the same table, who was visiting ONE of her FOUR children who attended the school.

She informed me that each of her four children were 13 months apart.

I asked her how she managed to remain sober.

** insert blank stare and cricket noises **

I guess my humor is just lost on some people.

If it ain't broke....oh wait, it is.

Saturday.  I'm at "work" (part-time job helping out friends of ours who own a local bakery, run their booth at the local farmers market.  By myself).

I'm about a half hour away from closing time. It's been a good morning.  Not too hot.  I'm making a mental list of things I'll need to stop and get at the grocery store for dinner.

My cell phone rings.  It's my husband.  He never calls me.  This is gonna be bad.

"Hello"


"He {Little Man} just broke his wrist!!!!!!"

Now, my husband is not a panicker.  By any means.  Sometimes it drives me crazy.

He was now in Official Panic Mode.  Shit.

I had to ditch the booth, call my "boss" and take off like a bat out of hell in a car with the gas light on empty.

In my mind, I was envisioning my own broken wrist from a few years back.  Swelling.  Bruising.  Painful, but manageable.

At the local urgent care, they instructed him to go to another urgent care across town.  This message didn't get relayed to me until I pulled into the parking lot.  Gas light on empty.  Shit.

I can hear my baby screaming in the backseat.  I can hear the utter desperation in my husband's voice.  I am helpless.

We meet up at the walk in clinic the next town over.  Neither kid has shoes on.  They're both still in pajamas (it's almost 1 o'clock... P.M.)  And dear hubby forgot the diaper bag.  Men.  Awesome.

Hubby had wrapped the wrist in ice and a towel.  Good daddy.  We patiently wait for the doctor. 

When she removes the homemade 'wrap' to inspect the 'wrist', I nearly vomit.  And I've seen some pretty disgusting things in my old life as a veterinary nurse.  I can handle just about anything.  Really.

This was not the 'wrist' (although I can see where the confusion came in as his wrist was actually dangling, seemingly detached from his forearm).

Yeah.

After x-rays confirmed the OBVIOUS (Displaced radius/ulna fracture), we headed off to the actual EMERGENCY ROOM where we spent the next 8 hours.

He was x-rayed (again!), poked with needles, given an IV, and rendered unconscious so they could re-set the bones into place.  He's now in a full-arm cast, complete with a prescription of kiddie vicodin.

I felt this warranted me begging for some IV valium while at the hospital.  All I got were blank stares (so far CPS has not shown up at my front door, so I guess we're good)

Which brings me to my next mission in life:  Bars in hospitals.

Teachable Moments

I don't consider myself an overly-emotional person (I refer to it as "prone to psychotic outbursts").  I generally have something to say about every situation.  I don't normally get tongue-tied.

However, when my 6 year old comes home from school and asks why his new friend "Joe" has to wear a face mask all day because he has Leukemia (and his interpretation of this word took some time to decipher), well, folks, that's when I lose it.  I crumble.

It breaks my heart into pieces to not only know there are families who have to watch their young children fight horrible diseases, but to also know that my own children have to be exposed to this kind of shit so young.  

I watched a dear friend of mine in high school pass away due to Leukemia.  Literally.  I was standing right next to him, in his hospital room, when he took his last breath.  I stood by my mother's side for the last 2 weeks of her life.  I was standing right next to her, in her hospital room, when she took her last breath.

Those are images I will never  forget.  Ever.

The last thing I want to think about is anyone having to go through that, let alone my own babies.  And any situation like this just brings back unresolved emotional problems of my own (I could so  give Dr. Phil enough crap for two or four or eight shows).

However, I believe in complete honesty.  Little Man is an extremely sensitive, caring, young boy.  It would never occur to him to treat anyone any differently for any reason.  I didn't want to scare him, but I wanted to be totally truthful.

So.....I told Little Man that mommy needed some alone time (with a bottle of vodka) to collect my thoughts and be able to put them into words that he would understand.  Perhaps I was a tad bit too forthcoming (I'm definitely NO child psychologist)  And if there is a handbook out there on how to deal with these types of situations, somebody please send it to me!!!!!

(Until then....I'll happily accept pills and bottles of wine)

Ugh.  The tears.  Make them go away.

When it Rains, it Pours.

In my case, it's always a shit-storm.  There is no "grey" area.  The sun is shining one minute, the next minute a hurricane is ravaging the land.  And chasing me down.


Storm 1 (literally):  we were hit with a massive hail storm over Memorial Day weekend.  Being a California girl, it actually took me a few minutes to figure out what the hell was falling from the sky.  Fortunately, there was no bodily harm from this event, but our neighborhood was plummeted with baseball size hail, therefore causing some severe damage to siding, windows and roofs.

(Who the hell knew HAIL could actually fall out of the sky when it is 95 degrees outside?!  Does that even make sense??)

Yada, yada, yada............we have over $10,000 worth of damage, and only $7000 from our insurance company.  Last time I checked, our money tree was completely dead.  And shriveled up.  Now, I'm certainly no math genius, but it appears we are about $3000 in the hole.  Problem is, if we DON'T get the repairs done (per insurance company), they wash their hands of having to pay for any further damage to the property.  Whether it's 6 months from now, or 10 years.

Rock.  Meet hard place.

Storm 2 (figuratively): Mother in Law visits.  Now, as I've mentioned in earlier posts, any deviation from my son’s normal routine, causes mass uproar in his 6 year old brain.  Delirious Fucktard Mode.  Grandma does no wrong.  Mommy is the evil villain.  Yelling, tears, tantrums and death threats take over.  It’s super fun.

As much as I love watching my children play and laugh with their grandmother (or aunt, or grandfather, etc.), I'm now forced to *de-sugarfy* and beat my children back into submission.

Storm 3 (also very literal): I'm outta Xanax.  My doctors office sends me this lovely "form" letter a few days ago stating that they will no longer be accepting our particular health insurance (love you Aetna!!!), therefore I am forced to find another doctor who will listen to my drama and deem me worthy of medication.  As opposed to a padded cell.

This could get ugly.  Real ugly.

On a positive note, I am learning to accept my fatness (for now), and am going to look at it as *appreciation for not living in a third world country with no access to food or wine*  (Thank you sweet baby Jesus).

Storm 4 (and this is mostly just whining & complaining and probably justifies me being punched in the face): In my determination to move my “office” (upstairs), into the newly painted and restored den (downstairs), I moved our computer too far away from the internet router (which happens to be at our neighbors house.  Yes, we bootleg).  Which means, my internet connection SUCKS and I’m only able to get on when it’s not feeling bipolar.  And the weather is perfect.  And the stars are aligned.  And the tide is low.  And the moon is in the First Quarter.

You get the idea.

photo credit goes to:  http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/Cycling%20in%20a%20storm_80011

Just call me Martha Heffer

So, the whole "giving up eating like I'm never gonna see food again" experiment.....has failed.  In fact, it didn't even begin.  Oh, I thought about it.  Strategized in my head how it would go.

But, here's what I've come to realize.......if you can survive motherhood while dieting, exercising and abstaining from alcohol....you are either a big fat liar, or a Saint.  Seriously.  That's like, biblical status kind of will power.

I just don't have it.  In order to stop shoving my face full of food, and detach the wine glass from my hand, I would need to be dead.  Or at least, heavily sedated and strapped down.

Instead, I've been throwing myself into remodeling projects around my house.  More "productive" things that I know I can actually accomplish.  Painting, organizing, cleaning, moving furniture, relocating things........much to the irritation of my husband.  Because even though the ADHD side of me loves doing projects of this nature, I still bitch and moan about it.  Especially when I get bruises like these, while trying to lift solid wood furniture: 

I know.........waaa, waaa, waaa.  Cry you a river.

As much as I'd LOVE to be showing you before and after pictures of me now looking like Heidi Klum.........so not gonna happen (if nothing else, I am a realist).  Instead, I'll show you pictures of my before and after low-budget HGTV projects: Home Edition!

If only because I need a little pat on the back about something productive I'm doing in my life (aside from keeping children alive, which, let's be honest, might just be pure luck)

Phase 1:  

The downstairs den, used to be the playroom.  Imagine dented walls, chipped paint, Lord-only-knows-what that-is-stained carpet.......

 

It is now the office/den/soon-to-be-guest quarters room.....

The hills are alive, with the sound of music........

I know you're all sitting on pins and needles here, but I'm going to save the next installment of "DIY: ADHD-disgusted-with-yourself-ready-to-jump-off-a-cliff  Therapy " for another post.

Hurry up and wait!

I love my kids.  I love going on vacation.

I do not love my kids while ON vacation.  And I do not love taking a vacation WITH my kids.

They go into what I like to call: DFM.  Delerious Fucktard Mode.

Seriously.  It's like they are inhabited by aliens who suddenly want to back-sass me, stay up all hours of the night, embarrass the hell out of me in public (worse than under normal circumstances, anyway), and bitch and complain about everything.

I love the idea of my 6 year old going to school.  I observe countdown the days until this treasured event takes place.

Then, as I walk him through the front doors, watch him walk down the hall on his way to his very first day of FIRST grade, I become a blubbering moron.

I miss him.  I worry about him.  I hope that he's making new friends.  Likes his teacher.  Eats all of his lunch.

I countdown await the moment he returns home again.  Ready to hear all about his day.

Until the first half hour sets in.  We're back to DFM state.  I'm anxiously anticipating the moment I can pop open that bottle of wine.

Will I ever be content *in the moment* ??

 

Are you there, Skinny?? It's me, Fatty.

I live a life of gluttony.  I own this fact.  I'm not in
denial.  It is all my own doing.  I love carbohydrates,
cheese of any kind, and wine of any color.

I have gained 9 pounds since the summer began.

My goal was to lose 20 lbs. by June (clearly that didn't happen).  I had found a walking buddy in my neighborhood, and we actually had quite a routine down.  I started cooking straight out of Weight Watchers cookbooks.  I was taking supplements.  I was drinking lots of water.

Then I tore my ACL.  Figures.

I gain weight just by being in the same room as anything with calories.  I have no self-control.  No will power. 
I used to.  Until I had children.  Then I went into survival mode.

My "fat" clothes are getting too tight.  It's pathetic.  I'm completely disgusted with myself.  I might as well move into a barn, grow utters and start making milk.

So, what do I do to make myself feel better??

Eat.  And drink wine.  I'm awesome.

I'm giving myself one more week of free-for-all-trough-feeding, and then buckling down.  Seriously.  I'm putting this into cyber-space to keep myself accountable.  Must turn this jello into muscle by Christmas.

Wish me luck!  (personally, I give it two weeks)  But, I WILL look like this again:

(even if it requires rehab, starvation and plastic surgery)

My Reality

It's rather depressing to find a picture of yourself  (circa. pre-kids, pre-cellulite, pre-sleep deprivation, pre-bat wings, pre-an ass that could qualify for it's own zip code) and barely recognize that it's you.

It's even more depressing to know that under no circumstances, will you ever look that good again.

But, just to add salt to the open wound....you end up having this conversation with your just-turned-6 year old:

Little Man:  "mom, who's that?"

Me:  "that's me".

Little Man:  "really?  it doesn't look like you"

Me:  "well, I was younger.  And much thinner then."

Little Man:  "oh, so like a hundred years ago".

Thank you, sweet, little angel of mine.

Where is the Calgon?!?

I am blessed in many ways.  Too many to count.
One of the reasons I am such a lucky girl, is the fact that I have a hard-working husband, which allows me the opportunity to stay at home with my children (which is easiest job in the whole world....GAG!).

My *BFF*,  *bestie*,  *practical sister*, lives in the midwest with her husband and 2 sons.   They have a vacation home at the beach, 3 hours from our house.  Since their kids are on a traditional school calendar, they are able to spend the summer on the coast.  Which, in turn, gives me a great place to escape the mundane, when I'm ready to crucify my children.  And also allows us to spend time together (and drink together), and the kids to bond and create memories (and come up with new ways to drive us over the edge).

So, here we are, for the third week this month.  No hubbies.  Just us moms, and 4 kids.  Psychotic, over-tired, over-stimulated, sassy, attention-seeking, over-sunned kids.  Under the age of 7.  We are completely out-numbered.  And severely alcohol-deprived.  (And that's mostly because there is barely enough time to take a breath, or a pee, let alone pop the cork on a wine bottle)

Anyway, yesterday we decide to venture to the beach.  With a heat index of 110.  Two adults, four kids.  A beach cart with 300 lbs. of paraphernalia attached to it.  And a pop-up-tent (which it turns out was missing KEY PIECES OF EQUIPMENT in order to actually function.  However, I'm sure the two of us doing our best to set it up anyway, all while screaming at children to stay the hell out of the ocean, provided comical relief to everyone.  You're welcome).

So, how did the day proceed??  Completely sober, somewhat-medicated mommies, attempting to set up a tent with only 3 functioning legs, on a busy beach, after dragging all necessary supplies 1 mile through the hot sand until we actually found  enough space to set up camp.  Lots of profanity.  Lots of whining (by ALL involved).

It ended quite similarly, except THIS time, all four miniature humans were crying.  And tired.  And hot.  Mommies were dripping in sweat.  And highly irritated.  Strangers stared as 'Baby Girl' refused to walk, but mommy couldn't pick her up because she was too busy dragging the monstrosity of beach crap on a 2-wheeler.

Nobody wanted to shower off the sand from their sunburned bodies.  Nobody wanted to assist by carrying even a flippin' towel!  We were all almost backed over/into by some jackass in an F150  (whom I'm certain was NOT sober).......

You'd think after a few days of all this activity, my children would at least sleep well through the night.

HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!


Excuse me while I vomit in my mouth for a minute.  These are MY kids we're talking about.  They were born immune to sleep.


But....we'll be back next week to do it  ALL.  OVER.  AGAIN.


Somebody please smack me upside the head.

Fight Club

OK....I admit, I've got sort of a "temperamental" emotional status when it comes to my children.  Most of the time, I want to fight them...... when I'm not praying that the looney bin arrives to cart me off in a straight jacket, lock me in a padded cell and administer heavy sedatives to me intravenously.

However, going to a semi-enclosed public location with them, where other children and their *un-involved* parents will also be (ie.  the Children's Museum), gives me HIVES.  I swear.  I do it for my kids...... and partly to give them something else to climb on besides each other and me (and, honestly, because if we get couped up in the house together, I'll be "self-medicating" by noon).

But, it is AMAZING to me, how many parents completely ignore their children's behavior, when they set them loose in public.  Do people not realize that children are complete imbeciles when they think they can get away with it??  That they purposely do asinine things to GET attention???

I swear I've never wanted to fight so many people under 5 feet tall  IN MY LIFE!!! (other than my own children, of course)  And then I wanted to sucker punch their completely oblivious parents!!!

Two words people:  Parental Supervision.  WATCH YOUR OWN DAMN CHILDREN!!!  Paying a $5 cover charge at the door, does NOT entitle you to immunity from parenting!!!!

If your kids push, knock over, steal from, grab at, yell at, bully, or otherwise look at MY children cock-eyed, while you sit on your ass in the corner checking Facebook on your iPhone, you better believe this "helicopter-mom" is gonna Take. Them. Out.

Just sayin'.

My Week in Recap

I'm going to pretend for just a moment, that 1 or 2 of you are actually wondering why I haven't posted anything in a week.......  (just let me live in my delusional reality for a bit, if you don't mind).

I feel this past week in my life bears to be written (ie. 'complained') about.  And more importantly, justifies my increased consumption of wine.

It all began 1 week ago......my Aunt L came for a visit.  Now, Aunt L, is my mother's sister.  My mother passed away 3 years ago, so Aunt L has taken over position of mother/grandmother.  And GOD BLESS HER for that!  Truly.  However, any outside visitors create a chaotic environment in my household.  That's just how we roll in this house.  "Little Man" tends to turn into a ......PSYCHOTIC LUNATIC....when his routine gets disrupted in any way (I'm not saying he gets this from me, but it's remotely possible).

During this same time, I was in communication with the Principal, Vice Principal, and Curriculum Director of Little Man's elementary school, in order to switch him from one Track to another Track (please refer to earlier posts about the school system here).  My reasoning was to get him in a class with other children closer in age to him (he was the youngest and smallest in his kindergarten class), because I feel it will benefit him socially - now and in the future.  I felt frantic about this situation, because school was due to start THIS Monday.  I'm not usually a procrastinator, but I had a gut feeling about things, and I needed to act on them - FAST.

After some severe GI-stress-related issues, and 2 nights of insomnia, I am happy to say HE GOT SWITCHED.  However, he's home for 3 more weeks.....not so sure I'm mentally prepared for that.

Anyway, during Aunt L's stay, "Baby Girl" developed a high fever (and by "high", I mean 105+).  I gave her some ibuprofen, which she choked on, so I naturally assumed it was strep throat.  After coordinating drop-off of my Little Man to VBS,  I took Baby Girl to the pediatrician.  She began twitching severely, looked up at me, her eyes rolled back, and she seized.  Right there.  In the doctor's office.  In my arms.

I think I actually stopped breathing for a few minutes.

After the entire staff of receptionists and nurses came running out into the waiting area, she came to, and projectile vomited all over us.  So, I spent the next 2 hours, covered in pink vomit, trying to figure out what was wrong with my child.  Her fever was still 105.  They gave her a Tylenol suppository, stuck her with needles & a urinary catheter.  Cultures of all kinds were performed.  Then they gave her a double dose of an antibiotic that is used to treat bacterial meningitis.  Two injections.  One in each thigh.  It took me and 2 nurses to hold her down (this "fight" mentality will definitely be beneficial for her later in life).

I am strongly convinced I now suffer from PTSD.

Aside from an elevated white blood cell count, we still have no idea what was wrong.  Thankfully, her fever came down after 24 hours.

A few days later, with oral antibiotics in tow, we ventured off to the beach, to stay with our dear friends and their 2 young boys.  This trip had been planned for months, and we were intent on celebrating Little Man's 6th birthday.

All went great, and everyone had F.U.N.........

despite the 11pm bedtimes, and 6am wake up calls, the diarrhea caused by antibiotics.....

Oh, and Little Man pissing his pants during the fireworks show, saying "holy $hit" in front of everyone, and Baby Girl getting into the ant spray under the non-childproofed cupboards.  (I've never claimed to be Mother of the Year, people).

Now, please excuse me while I go make myself a stiff drink.

Where have I been for the last 6 years??!

Happy 6th Birthday to my amazing, sensitive, funny, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, outgoing, loving Little Boy.  I can't even begin to tell you how much joy you have brought to my life over the last 6 years.  I have never cried, laughed, drank or had as many anxiety attacks as I have since welcoming you into my arms at 6:12am, July 3rd, 2005.

I haven't had a solid nights sleep since you were born.  I never stop worrying about you.  Never stop wanting to protect you.  I love watching you turn into a young man, with your own opinions and feelings.  I love that you still ask me to cuddle with you on the couch, yet have no problem establishing your independence when there is something you don't want to do.

I love how you treat everyone equally.  You know no evil in the world.  I love how you try to see the best in every situation.  I love how forgiving you are, even to people who may not deserve it (myself included).  I love your fearlessness.  I love to see how easily you make new friends.  I love to see how each new day brings excitement to your eyes.  I love to see your desire to please others.

I am so in love with you, that it almost breaks my heart.  I feel lucky to be your mother.  I am proud to call you my son.

You are truly a miracle.  The world became more blessed the day you arrived in it.

You will hold my heart forever.

INhumane Treatment

So, I think it's safe to say, I like to "write" my feelings.  Okay, and "drink" them too, but, whatever.

Anyway, upon a recent visit to the local SPCA to adopt a dog (because I clearly lack enough chaos and drama in my life), I was in amazement at the stupidity, self-righteousness, and utter rudeness of the "adoption counselor" who interviewed us as a potential adoptive family.  Seriously.  I felt like I was on trial.

Apparently, you need to sign a contract in blood, donate a kidney, and agree that if the dog bites your child in the face, it's the child's fault, not the dogs. I got the feeling they would rather you give up your child in this situation, than relinquish an aggressive animal.  Because, who doesn't want to live in a home where they feel their life is being threatened by a four-legged creature??!  Right?

After waking up this morning, I still couldn't let it go.  So, I wrote a letter the SPCA we visited, as well as the ASPCA, and now I'm passing it along to you.  I feel my soul might be able to rest now.  A little bit.  Maybe.

To whom it may concern:

I am writing to you with sadness and disappointment over the way my family was treated on a recent visit to the Wake County SPCA facility, in hopes of finding a dog to adopt. 

We sat down to what we thought would begin the "interview" process in which to find a good fit for our family, consisting of my husband, myself and 2 young children.  What it ended up becoming, was not an interview, but an interrogation. 

I am strongly concerned about the qualifications of the "adoption counselors" at this facility.  She was rude, condescending, and very self-righteous.  I have a degree in Animal Science.  I have been a Licensed Veterinary Nurse for ten years.  I worked in the same specialty hospital for almost 12 years before deciding to be a stay at home mother.  I have donated several hours of my life to working in shelters and with various rescue organizations in order to treat and rehabilitate sick and abused animals.  I have worked among amazing veterinarians treating animals that were lost and injured during Hurricane Katrina, as well as some of the pit-bulls rescued from the Michael Vick compound.  Over the years, I have donated funds to the ASPCA.

Does this make me a perfect person?  Of course not.  But I do believe I am worthy of respect, especially when reaching out to adopt an animal in need of a good home.  I find it extremely disheartening that an organization such as the SPCA employs people with this caliber of flippancy towards others.

I completely agree that potential adoptive families should go through an interview procedure and, perhaps, even counseling services.  However, I feel this should be done by qualified  individuals, with actual social skills. 

I sincerely hope this was an isolated incident, and that other families/couples/individuals have not been treated this way at this particular facility, or any other.  Regardless, it is for this reason, the poor and insulting treatment of myself and my family, that we will choose another avenue to adopt a pet.

Enuff said......