Not Another Angsty New Year's Eve Post

I just read my last New Year's Eve post, and boy, was I in a state. It was bad.  I said I would make 2010 a better year, and it was.  Going back to work, despite my deep insecurity and total lack of self-confidence in my abilities, was the best thing I could have done for myself.  One of my friends commented the other day that I am a totally different person than I was a year ago.  I think that's true.

Things have not been sugar-coated wonderfulness, though.  There has been some (lots? well, less than in previous years) marital melodrama this year, too.  I think the difference was knowing that I was not trapped. If I chose to put up with it, it was my choice, not because I was financially unable to leave. Boy that looks screwed up when I write it out.  Why would someone choose to put up with bullshit?  Ten years is a long time to be with someone.  Three kids.  (Listening to talk radio discussing books called, "Your Mediocre Marriage Is Good Enough For The Kids.") Accepting that today -- and tomorrow, and many other tomorrows -- is not the day the sun is going to shine on your dog's ass.

Today, my sister took my Princess back home to BC for a week (sad. missing my girl already. hope she's doing okay. she totally is. she's very independent.), so when the boys and I got home, the baby went for a nap and the Hurricane and I settled in to watch The Sword and The Stone and eat Cheezies (this is a BIG treat!).  Later on, we ran into town to grab stuff for dinner, and I decided to stop at the movie store and grab a movie for myself.  (This is the degree of lame to which I have fallen.. watching a movie at home by myself on New Years Eve. Sad. Even more lame: I didn't find a movie at the movie store. I'll be watching TV instead.)  The Hurricane is in the back seat, ordering me to get him a movie and a treat. It makes me crazy.

I kind of let go of a friend this year.  I felt like the friendship was very unbalanced (I was doing all the giving, and the friend was doing all the taking), and that I was allowing myself to be sucked into constant drama.  I thought I would feel guilty for stepping back, but mostly I just felt relieved.  We still talk, occasionally, but even those conversations inevitably turn one-sided...

I don't know what's going to happen in 2011.  I have spent the last month just trying to get through Christmas.  Just trying to get through.  Shouldn't Christmas be fun and magical, and not something you just try to get through?  I'm not making New Years Resolutions either, as it's almost 8pm and I've only now just remembered this is what one does for the New Year.  Oh, fine! Even though I have an impossibly busy evening of watching TV and playing on the internet, I could probably muster something up, the usual I'll lose some weight, I'll try to be nicer and less of a catty bitch, I'll work on being patient, etc.  Sure, let's go with that.

Happy Freaking New Year.

One-legged man in ass kicking contest.

There is so much stuff going on these days.

The Hurricane started kindergarten, and he even gets on the bus with the older kids in the morning.  My big guy! He loves kindergarten.  He really loves the bus. He got off one day last week and this was our conversation:
Hurricane: "Hey Mom, guess what I said on the bus?"
Me: "What, honey?"
Hurricane: "I said, 'Shut up Dane, ya donkey's dick!"
Ahh.. older kids on the bus.. I just love them.

The two big kids are in swimming lessons twice a week (at 0840 what the hell was I thinking?!).  The Princess is acting very shy with the teacher and the other kids; the Hurricane is effing terrified of jumping into the water.  It's kind of painful to watch, actually.

We've decided to sell our house, as we have outgrown it.  It's a really cute little house, and would be perfect for a family of four.  Unfortunately, I am not willing to part with any of these little monsters I call my children (of the corn) on a permanent basis.

The realtor gave me a staging list, which is pretty much a list of things to change/remove in the house in order to make it look more appealing.  I also decided that I should re-paint the entryway at the same time. Fast forward through three (four?) days of ass-busting, and she came yesterday to do pictures.  Was very impressed.  Made me feel good. :) The only thing left to do is strip and refinish the dining room floor. That's tomorrow's project.

So the night before the realtor came to do the staging list, I walked into the Princess' room and saw this:

You can sort of see where she colored on her bed frame, but you can't see that she also colored on her legs, her belly, her face, her sheets, and both of her palms entirely.  Did I mention this is dark blue felt? As we get closer to her turning three, I am getting an increasingly ominous feeling.

Which reminds me that I have a birthday party to plan and also Halloween costumes to make.

A Short Post

I fell at roller derby yesterday and I think I broke my knuckle.  I felt it grind when I landed on my hand and then I felt it grind again when I stood up and tried to make a fist.  I am typing with some of the fingers on my right hand taped together.  It is as awkward as it sounds. 

The swelling and lack of hand mobility has successfully taken my mind off of my sore tailbone, on which I fell a couple of weeks ago.  Now that hurt like a sonofabitch.

I know how it sounds.  Maybe you're not really cut out to play derby.

Seriously, I am getting better at it. 

And I still love it.

Friend and money are like... two things that are very poorly matched.

I know mixing friends with money is always a bad idea.  I never do it; I made an exception this time because of circumstances and because I felt bad for this friend.

Last year I helped a very close friend out who was really in dire straits; I told my friend that I would not do the work for free, that because of my own financial problems I needed to be paid (we're talking just less than $200, by the way).  I was told I would be paid as soon as my friend received some expected money.  It didn't happen when my friend got that payment, so I asked to be paid before Christmas. I really could have used the money for Christmas stuff.  My friend knew this and agreed to pay me before Christmas.

I didn't get paid before Christmas.  I let it slide.

I let it slide through the new year and the first few months, bringing it up only once and was told yes, I would get some money. I didn't get any money.  It's been a year now and I still haven't seen any money.

I find myself becoming very resentful when I hear complaints of I am so broke! interspersed with stories of shopping trips that involve name brand clothes or $340 worth of shoes.  I am trying to remind myself that I shouldn't let this bother me; that it is none of my business what my friend spends money on, but (clearly) it is bothering me. 

A large part of me feels incredibly disrespected by this. I feel taken advantage of. I am upset that my friend chooses to spend money on expensive material things instead of paying me back; I get mad when I read about it on facebook or hear about it over the phone.

I spent time with my friend last weekend and because I didn't have any cash on me, my friend graciously lent me some.  I am going to be seeing my friend again soon, and I know I will be asked to pay back the money.  I want to remind my friend of the outstanding money owed to me and suggest that I just subtract what I owe from what is owed to me.  This is probably going to not go over well, as my friend is honestly hard up financially these days. I am worried about how this is going to impact our friendship.

I feel petty and small and kind of mean about this.  At the same time, I feel like I should not have to wait a year to get paid.  And yes, this is small potatoes, but I dammit, I worked for that money.

Thoughts?

Just hanging out.

I got my kids back on Saturday.  I didn't realize how much I missed them until they got off the bus.  The first couple of days were like a dream; everyone smiling and lovey and lots of hugs and kisses. It didn't last (it never does). Right now, though, the Hurricane is yelling and jumping on the couch. The Princess is crying because the Hurricane pushed her.  Little Dude is crying because he was running in the house.  With his shoes on.  And fell on his face. And now? The Hurricane and the Princess are fighting over which CD they want to listen to. 

It's like they never left.

Surely I am not the only one who thinks kicking them outside and locking the door is a grand idea, right?

***

Roller derby is kicking my ass.  My legs and butt and abs are SORE the morning after practice.  I am really enjoying it, though, and I am even (slowly) getting better at it!

***

I'm still depressed that a certain person, let's call him Warm Stuff, killed my tomato plant by over-watering it.  I'm trying to get through my sadness by looking on the bright side: it's a good excuse to buy a Topsy Turvy.  My lettuces and carrots are coming up gangbusters.  Cukes, radishes, and herbs? Nowhere to be seen.  I am blaming this one on birds, mostly because I can't stand birds and think they are filthy, germy creatures.

***

Because I am kind of a jelly-heart (don't tell no one), I have acquired another dog.  See, what happened was, a very good friend of mine moved out of the province and couldn't take her dogs with her.  She found a home for one, and asked me to take the other to the SPCA because she just couldn't bring herself to do it.  Turns out, neither can I.  So now, we have two dogs.

And that, is summer so far.

Roller Wonderland

My sister has my two older kids for the next week.

Just me and the baby here.

Yeah. It's awesome.

The last three weeks have been pretty busy around here.  Hot Stuff and I are still Unresolved, but he's been out of town for work for the most part so the level of drama around here is minimal. I have spent some time doing Things That I Want To Do and Things That Are Fun and it feels wonderful.  I went to see Joe Rogan last night.  He was mostly funny, but some of his routine was.. way over the line even for me, I guess. I thought his opening act, Ari Shaffir, was absolutely hilarious. 

I also joined a women's roller derby league.  I went to my first practice today and holy CATS it has been a long-ass time since I strapped on a pair of roller skates. When I was a kid, I had roller skates (roller blades didn't exist until I was a teenager).  In the summer time, the civic centre in my hometown thawed out the ice in the hockey arena and hung a disco ball; all the kids showed up on Saturday or Sunday (or both) afternoons for public skate and had a blast roller skating.   Anyways, some of it came back to me fairly quickly and other stuff... not so much.  Part of practice today involved learning to fall properly and I'm quite certain I will be a rainbow of interesting colors tomorrow.  Of course, since this is a full contact sport, padding is mandatory. Knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, approved helmet: check.  Not a single piece of gear prevented me from falling on my ass, which conveniently has lots of padding.

So I won't be around as much this summer, because I hope to be doing various and assorted fun stuff.

Winning Friends, Influencing People.

So I'm in Sprawl-Mart the other day, and I have (foolishly) brought all three kids with me.  Little Dude is in the cart, and the Hurricane and the Princess are shoving each other and myself, fighting over who is going to push the cart.  I bark out, loudly, "You guys! STOP! I can't push the cart like this, so both of you move out of the way!" and who do I hear calling out to my son? His beloved preschool teacher.  Yeah, it was awkward.  All I could do was slap a big fake-ass smile on my face and pretend I hadn't just yelled at my kids in the middle of the store.

Later that day, after soccer had ended, I stopped at the store to get Hot Stuff some cigarettes.  Since I only had the Hurricane, he came into the store with me.  As I am standing at the till, waiting for the debit to finish, I hear a voice call out to my son!! Yes!! The Hurricane's beloved preschool teacher!! As I am buying cigarettes!! In front of my kid!! So we must chat!! And it's uncomfortable!! I feel the need to make the lame-ass excuse of, "Oh these? These aren't for me!" because that excuse is Highly Believable.

Sidenote: While we were in the Big Chain Store, my Princess decided to throw a whopper in the toy section because I wouldn't let her hang around and stare at the baby dolls all day, nor would I buy her one.  (I should probably mention that we were well past nap time before we even went in the door.) By the time we had doubled back to the laundry aisle, she had ramped up the tantrum intensity from Extreme to I'm Going Nuclear, Motherf*ckers, So Watch Out.  I gave her a choice: knock off the crap and walk nicely, or she was going in the cart.  She loudly and vehemently refused both choices, so I carried her like a football from one end of the laundry aisle to the other and stuck her in the cart.  Yes, she kicked and screamed and carried on the whole time.  I just let her go on about her business, because it takes a lot more than a bunch of noise to embarrass this mama. As I am wrangling her into the cart and trying at the same time to place her so she doesn't smash my bag of white cheddar popcorn (Mmmmm), some lady - a total stranger - says to me, "Well, looks like someone needs to spend some time at my house," in this smirky, superior tone.  Really? Really, lady? Let me guess: your children would never behave like this, because you would never allow it.  You would have spanked them and that would have smartened them right up, I'm sure.  Perhaps she has some secret child-beating technique that I am unaware of? Am I supposed wallop my kid for being tired, and that is somehow going to make her stop crying, instead of making her cry harder? Maybe I should have just given my child to this self-proclaimed Toddler Whisperer? At least I was able to give the woman the opportunity to congratulate herself on what a great job she did raising her children compared to the mothers of today.

Some people.

I am trying to find the words without saying things I shouldn't.  I want to post something light and fun but I am neither light nor fun.  It feels fake to say anything but what I feel.  Things are changing around here.  I am not sure yet if it is for better or worse.  Better, I think.  There is still much to figure out.

I have pulled away from my real life people, and my internet people, too, while I come to terms with this change.  (I tried with Five for Ten, I really did.  The last two topics, Lust and Yes, were just too impossible for me.) This is my way; to pull away and let the hurt wash over me and through me, until I realize that I am not going to die. My pain is too private and I am uncomfortable with other people, even my close people, seeing my heavy emotions.

What else can I say?

I can only talk about my feelings:

hurt
sad
doubtful
relieved
disbelieving
lighter
intimidated
hopeful.

My heart; she is heavy.

Memory

Five for Ten hosted by Momalom.com

I think I was ten or eleven.  It was a cold, rainy, snowy evening. Other than my cold red cheeks, I was warm inside my winter coat.  My mother and I were going Christmas shopping.  This was big.  This was huge; it was rare that I got my mother to myself without one of the other Klingons hanging around.

I remember my winter boots.  I remember my mom's winter boots.  I remember her winter-proof, water-proof (probably bullet-proof) Skanska Cement-gjuteriet winter coat; it was just so big.  I remember the smell of cigarette smoke. I remember the bright headlights from cars, the streetlights, and lights in the storefronts, and the way they all reflected off the wet pavement.  I remember the smell of Christmas in the air.

I remember walking across the street, feeling the wet, slushy rain on my face.  My mother, smiling at me as she took my hand in hers and tucked them both in her enormous, warm winter coat pocket.

Happiness

When you're done reading this sorry post, hit up Momalom.com; I'm pretty sure there are some actually happy people over there writing about actual happiness.

I am dragging myself kicking and screaming into this post.  I am feeling anything but happy today; it has been a rough week for me.  I will try my best not to drag you down with me as I go on about happiness.

Happiness:

spending some alone time with my not-so-tiny baby while the two older kids are having naps.

watching my littlest guy cry on the floor in desperation for just..one..more..cookie..please..oh! the angst!

letting my cutie-patootie eat way too many chocolate chip cookies.

getting wide-open mouth kisses (aka "lickers") from my baby guy, complete with complimentary slobbery cookie crumbs.

This is about as much happiness as I can wring out today.

Blogger, thy name is melodrama. 

Debbie Downer is also fitting.

Courage

(Go to momalom.com to find out what this Five for Ten business is all about. You won't be sorry.)

Seven years ago, a mother woke up in the early hours of the morning to the sound of her front door closing and, after checking on her two little girls, called the police to report a break-in.  When the police came, they took the mother's statement and dusted for fingerprints.  They got a description of the mother's wallet and purse, which the thief had taken. They called in a locksmith to change the locks and offered victim's services, which the mother declined.  As the police were getting ready to leave, asking their final Well, if there's nothing else? question, one of the mother's little girls, the seven year old, said,

"He left something in my room."

The world, the world came crashing down.

The man who had broken in through the balcony door had crept down a flight of stairs into the seven year old's room and molested her while her five year old sister lay in bed beside her. As he was leaving, a marijuana roach fell out of his pocket. When he was done, he walked out the front door, as though it were his own house.

The mother cried.

The five year old and the seven year old talked to the police the next morning. The five year old only knew there was A Bad Stranger in the room and I just pretended to sleep, Mommy.

The seven year old talked to the police, and the children's advocate, and the nurse, and the doctor, and the counselor. The seven year old told her story over and over, as many times as she was asked.  The seven year old went through intensive counseling.  The seven year old picked up her life and kept going.

How much courage does it take at the age of seven to tell your story about The Night the Bogeyman Came?

The seven year old is now fourteen.  She is a normal, annoying, funny, awkward, gorgeous fourteen year old girl.  She is an excellent student and a loyal friend.

Recently, one of the girls that she has known since kindergarten, that she used to be close with, decided to be malicious and bitchy and mean.  This friend told some other friends about the fourteen year old's molestation seven years ago.  Some boys thought it might be daring to walk up to the fourteen year old and ask her, "Were you molested?" to which the fourteen year old replied, "Yup. Now you can let it go."

Most of them did.  Two of them didn't.  Two of them decided that they ought to make the fourteen year old's school life hell.  Doing things like moving away from her when she came near.  Or saying, "Ewwww," when she passed by.  The worst, the final straw for the fourteen year old girl, was when one of these two boys said to her, "Gross. Don't sit by me. You're dirty."

The fourteen year old told her mother.

The mother, to her credit, did not go flying completely off the handle and start ripping the heads off of the friend who spilled the secret, the two boys, and all of their parents.  The mother called the school, and there was a meeting between the girl, her mother, and the Vice Principal.  The girl went back to school the next day.  The school handled it.

How much courage does it take for a fourteen year old to do the right thing and tell someone? To risk being the object of even more harassment when her friends find out she told?

When I first found out about all of this, I was mad. I wanted to kick ass and take names.  I wanted to get in someone's face and demand action. I wanted to protect the girl from these little assholes.  I wanted to tell her, all of it means nothing, high school doesn't count once you're done; this sucks and it's hard and you just walk tall and keep moving and they can't touch you.

I didn't have to tell her anything. She already knows.

Courage.

**This is a close family member, not one of my own kids. Sorry for the confusion!

Well, sure, it's funny NOW.

I take pictures because I don't really think people would believe me without evidence. 

As the Hurricane was being marched outside for running in the house and generally being a little shit walking by the fire extinguisher, he yanked on an apron (see: dust-covered lump in Exhibit A, just west of the dusty blue sippy cup) that was hanging from it: both the apron and the fire extinguisher hit the floor.  As it hit the floor, the top assembly popped off the extinguisher and the extinguisher skittered all over the floor (almost like it had contents under pressure or something!). In a matter of seconds, the interior of my house looked like a cage match involving cornstarch and super fine baby powder. Even with all the windows and doors wide open, it took about ten minutes for the dust to settle. Literally.

Since I'm all about sharing, let me pass on my new-found knowledge (thanks to Mike @ Fire Prevention): what's inside an ABC fire extinguisher is pretty much baking soda plus a couple of other chemicals to keep it from clumping up.  It's non-toxic to ingest and harmless to breathe.  It tastes like ass. And now you know.

Grateful (but not Dead) (almost, though.)

I went for a run tonight. (Insert shout-out to Sarah because her mantra of "You can do it. You can do it. You can do it." runs through my mind when I feel like No Way Can I DO THIS. And FYI, you guys, I wear my momalom.com shirt alla time when I run. It's my running shirt.)

At first, I was hating it. Hating the run, hating the pain, hating the feel of my butt fat bouncing up and down. Then my inner voice was like, "Hey, dumbass. Be grateful you can run."

So I am.

I am grateful I can run.  I am grateful for the good shoes I run in and the road I run on.  I am grateful for the fresh air and the blue sky. I am grateful for the time and space to do something healthy for myself. I am grateful for the music on my MP3 player.

I was most grateful when I hit that halfway point and turned back for home.

Kids

It's been a week of pretty heavy thoughts.  Kids, though, they don't stop being themselves just because adults are "going through stuff."

Some things that make me smile:

A Princess-ism:

soapy soppeen: grocery shopping

How I know my kids are bonding with each other:

When there is much yelling and carrying on at the table at snack time, and I call out, "OK, who wants to go to their room instead of having snack?" My Princess yells, "Hurricane!" and the Hurricane yells, "Princess!" See? Their willingness to throw each other under the bus tells me that they are totally normal siblings.

Princess Fashion:

Stripes and prints and prints and stripes and some more stripes. Check. Pink and dark green and lavender and black. Check. Socks over tights. Check. A stuffed cat named Puppy. Check. Yeup, everything a Princess needs to stay on the cutting edge of fashion.

I don't even know what to say about this. I am pretty sure that is a Bakugan sticker on his forehead. He got in the drawer, but could not get out.

It's a good thing babies are cute.

Marriage, Part IV

My original plan was to get a job and ask Hot Stuff to leave.  Things became so awful between us, with all the fighting and silence and absence, that I told him even before I had found a job that I wanted him to leave.  He refused.  He wasn't giving up the house, and neither was I. I felt like I should keep the house because I was keeping the children; he felt like he should get the house because he paid for it. (Someone should tell this guy that I pay half the mortgage every month with Sweat Equity.)  Neither one of us budged for weeks.  It's impossible to maintain that level of emotion over the long term, so eventually we talked and decided that we needed to figure this shit out.  I told him I was sick of his constant disappearing act and complete lack of respect towards me; he told me he was sick of me controlling him.  We both agreed to change.

It lasted less than a week before he was going out till all hours.  I tried a new tactic; let him do his own thing and I'd do mine.  Perhaps when he saw that I was no longer waiting around for him, he'd realize that I was serious about not living with a part-time husband.  The only condition was that if he was going to be out drinking or wasn't home by the time I locked the door when I went to bed, he could find somewhere else to sleep. 

This is sort of what we've been doing up until now.  I say sort-of because in the last two or so months he's been out of town for work quite a bit, and when he's home, the rule still applies: be home without the smell of liquor on you before I lock the door or you're SOL.  There's been less of that, though.  Hot Stuff has been going out less, and I do recognize that it has a lot to do with him feeling less stress and gaining some of his self respect back by bringing home more money.  Still, it feels like we are in a holding pattern; there is a lot of unresolved stuff between us.

Sometimes when Hot Stuff is out of town, I start thinking things like, "Would this be my life if we split up?" I mean, when he's gone for a week or two or four, I am single parenting.  There's never any easy relief.  Yes, I can get a sitter. My only evening sitter charges $5 per kid per hour. Dinner and a movie GNO costs $60 in sitter fees alone.  I don't consider that "easy." 

If we did split up

Would I still get that hopeful feeling that he might be home and I might see his truck in the drive when I crest the small rise before our driveway? Would my eyes be drawn to pick up trucks that look like his? Would I always be hoping to run into him?

How much is too much? Where is the line between

this is a really rough patch, keep at it

and

what the fuck am I still doing here?

Where is the line between

my marriage is worth this battle

and

this battle is a losing one?

Where is the line between

don't give up easily, fight for your family

and

the only thing worse than being in a bad marriage for two years is being in a bad marriage for three years?


Do I stay or do I go? Do I want to be single? No.  Do I want to be married to a part-time husband? No. Do I want to be married to the man I married 7 years ago? Yes. Do I want to be married to the man I am currently married to? Not really. Sometimes. Sometimes, when the man I am currently married to is the same man I married 7 years go. Do I think my marriage is worth saving? Yes, if I am not fighting the battle to save it by myself.

Sometimes, I am very lonely.  Very married and very lonely.  When my husband is home, sometimes I am lonely.

If I were to leave,

I know I would be alone.  Alone, I can do. Alone, I kind of enjoy. I like me. But I would still be lonely.  I would not miss having a companion, I would miss Hot Stuff.

I have suggested marriage counseling.  I got some resistance to it.  Funny, something Hot Stuff said made me really happy.  "I don't know if counseling is worth it, because I don't know if I want to be with you." Finally, finally I felt like I was hearing the truth, and not whatever he felt would pacify me.  He has agreed to see a counselor with me.  He is out of town right now, so I think I may book an appointment for late next week, when hopefully he'll be back home.

I do know that now I am strong enough to walk away.  I mean, I have always been able to do it, I just didn't think I could with two babies and a toddler. I don't want to walk away without trying everything.  I do think there is something worth saving here.  I love my husband, and I'm not ready to call it quits yet.

So here we are.

Marriage, Part III

I remember the first few years Hot Stuff and I were together.  We were pretty rock-steady.  We usually had one major whopper of a fight per year.  That's pretty good, I think.  We never took each other too seriously.  We never put our relationship or each other under a microscope to be examined or picked apart. We were easy with each other and there was always a good rhythm between us.  Basically, our relationship was low maintenance.  Over the last five years, our marriage has changed - starting pretty much with the birth of the Hurricane.  Nobody can predict what effect having a child will have on a marriage.  I think I changed drastically right away; the realization that I held someone's life above mine hit immediately. Hot Stuff changed somewhat, after a while.  (And by the way, what is up with the fucking myth that men are awesome with babies? That's a load of shit.  Any pregnant women reading this ought to know that lots of men are coolly disinterested in babies until they become fun, at about 6 months.  Just lettin' you know.) Having a baby settled him down, some.

Just like my body after popping out a kid, our relationship was not as firm and fresh as it was before.  It was a lot more work not to snap and go completely fucking insane on Hot Stuff after a night of crying baby, sore boobs, and no sleep.  Eventually, though, our relationship evened out. We got the happy, easy rhythm back.  We got the not-takin-you-seriously back.  Things were smooth again, even including our little Hurricane and his super big personality.

My pregnancy with the Princess was healthy and happy.  We were just a family of three waiting for our Even Number.  We got her, and she was (and still is) a living doll (nowadays, sometimes closer to Chucky than Pretty Baby Pee-Pee Pants).

Can I tell you about the last time I went grocery shopping and bought a pregnancy test? I don't know why I did it.  The Princess was just a tiny baby; I was on the pill, and I was breastfeeding.  That's practically like surrounding my uterus with a moat and then stocking the moat with piranhas and man- sperm-eating alligators.  I had been feeling "weird" for a couple of weeks. Honestly, I think I felt "pregnant" but was too scared to admit it to myself.  Hence, I figured I'd take a preg test, have it come up negative, and go on with life.  Only it was not to be.  I peed on the stick.  The stick had two bright pink lines even as the pee was crossing the second line.  I did not have to wait for some faint-ass is-it-positive-or-is-the-lighting-just-bad positive. It was positive. I took the stick downstairs and went out the front door, where Hot Stuff was having a smoke.  I had the stick in my hoodie pocket.  I started laughing.  I kept laughing. Hot Stuff kept asking me, "What the hell is wrong with you?" I laughed until I was shaking and tears were rolling down my face.  Then I was crying.  Then I was giving him the stick with the two pink lines.  Then he was staring at me. "Are you sure?" No, dumbass, I'm not sure.  I mean, I peed on the stick, yes it's my pee, but there has to be a problem with this lot of pregnancy tests.  I'm going to check it out on the internet, because I am sure as hell not pregnant as I already have a 2 and a half year old hellion and a 3 month old baby.  Not. For. Real.

For. Real. Once it sank in, I was happy.  My third child was a complete and utter surprise.  There is no negative connotation in that statement.  Simply, I did not go from pee on the stick to immediately overjoyed like I did with the first two. I made a few stops with this one, including scared and overwhelmed.

I discovered this pregnancy sometime in spring 2008.  After my terrible summer, Hot Stuff lost his very high paying job in October - a month before Little Dude was born and a couple of weeks before the Princess turned one. He got hired on at a different company doing a job that paid less and was a few giant steps back on the ladder.  I know it killed him.  It killed him to have to step back.  It killed him to have to take a job that he despised, because it came with a guaranteed salary.  A job that forced him to face what he thought was a lesser man in the mirror.  A job that forced him to show up every day and work for 8 hours doing something he hated.  A job that I specifically asked him to not take any out of town work; to only work in or around town, thus drastically cutting down on his ability to make a decent wage, instead of just his guaranteed salary. As a mother to three and feeling incredibly insecure, I needed him to be close to home. As a family, we needed him to have that job.  That job, as shitty as it was for him, saved our butts.  So, so many people went under in 2009 because the ass fell out of the oil and gas sector.  There was no work.  To have a job, even a crap one, that paid our bills was a godsend. None of that ever mattered to Hot Stuff.  His self worth and identity seemed to be so tied to his muckety-muck job and high dollar paycheck, that he could never see himself as anything but a failure for losing both.

And so it began.  Going out after work a few days a week turned into everyday, turned into staying out late, turned into sometimes on the weekends too, turned into big, big problems at home.  I felt very angry, abandoned, resentful, and I felt like I was drowning.  I would ask (beg/plead/cajole) him for help; for him to be home for dinner, help with the kids, help at bedtime, a hug and a conversation after the kids were in bed.  I got the answers I wanted to hear, but I never got the actions to back it up.  I felt enormous pressure to squeeze a dime out of every nickel; from my perspective, Hot Stuff didn't have to give up any of his fun money. I became very resentful that I literally had to figure out groceries down to the dollar to stay under budget, but he was still smoking as much as he wanted and going out whenever he wanted. As I said in a post a while ago, the more I expected from him, the more he pushed away from me.  The more he didn't live up to my expectations, the angrier I would become.  I put so much of my own energy into forcing him to be what he wasn't or couldn't be or didn't want to be. I just felt so overwhelmed.  I think I felt that if I could control him, then I at least had some measure of control over one thing in my life. It blew up in my face.

Towards the end of 2009, things got better financially but worse in our marriage.  Hot Stuff switched companies and started going out in the field to work and making more money.  Things between us had deteriorated so much that I was thinking about a separation.  I started looking for a job at Christmas time, and found one in fairly short order.

Marriage, Part II

I have said before that 2009 was the worst year of my life.  2008 was just as awful, but because 2009 was a continuation of the shittiness, I always call 2009 the worst year ever.

Something in my marriage changed, if I am entirely honest about things, the summer my mother died (2008).    Two weeks before my mom died, my aunt and my sister both told me that she was dying.  I had been keeping in touch with my dad, and he said  we were playing a waiting game to see if the last round of radiation had shrunk the cancer.  (Radiation can take up to two weeks to have an effect.)  My dad seemed calm and rational and hopeful; what I didn't know is that he was in deep denial.  He could not face that his wife was dying, so instead he dug his heels in and kept his hope alive by telling himself, and me, that we just had to hang in there.  What he didn't tell me is that she was in so much pain that she cried constantly when she was awake and mostly the doctors were snowing her. (This is also known as keeping her comfortable by doping her into unconsciousness.  Don't judge.  If you have never seen someone crying and writhing in pain, you don't know what it's like.)  I was so scared.  I did not want my mom to die before I could say goodbye. I had my own children and my niece and nephew staying with me for that whole week, as my brother and sister in law had gone on a trip.  I had to wait until they got back before I could fly home and see my mother.  Hot Stuff was so supportive; he offered to come with me, to drive me, to do whatever I wanted to do.  I asked him to stay with the kids and not take any work until I got back.

Going back home and being with my mom and watching my dad suffer was hard.  It was so incredibly hard to see my mother dying, fighting, refusing to let go, burning through the morphine and the hydromorphone and the other super-narcotics in different combinations and being in agony, and my father dying with her. The crying, the crying out for her own mother, the lucid moments of talking to her and telling her again how much I loved her, the long periods of restful and restless sleep and telling her to let go, just go. The apneic periods when I wondered if she was gone and feeling happy and relieved and sad; seeing her start to breathe again, and feeling happy and relieved and sad. The seizures which scared me at first then became routine.  Oh Mom, another seizure, I'll ring for the nurse. My beautiful, strong, amazing mother turning to dust right in front of me.  Fighting so hard to stay alive when the cancer was everywhere.  Losing the battle, but fighting it every inch. Every day, twice or three times a day, for two weeks, I would walk up to the hospital to sit with my mom for four hours to give my dad and my aunt some relief. At the end of the day, I would call Hot Stuff at home and he would ask me how I was doing, was I okay, was I taking care of myself (I was 7 months pregnant with Little Dude).  I would say, okay, yes, yes.  He would tell me about our two at home and assure me that the world had not come to a screeching halt without me.  Until the beginning of the third week.  I don't know what caused it, whether he had a bad day or what, but he started pressuring me to come home.  I was shocked when he said that I should come home right away because, "it's been two weeks already, you need to be home with your kids." He got angry when I replied that no, I needed to be with my dying mother, for as long as it took her to die.

As much as it may seem so, I am not trying to vilify Hot Stuff. This was just so hurtful that it was like the first chink in the marriage armor.  Each phone call after that first one was tense because he kept at it; telling me I needed to come home right away.  Me telling him he could suck it if he thought I was coming home one minute before I was ready.  My mom died halfway through the third week, and I came back home.  Once I got back, Hot Stuff was back to supportive and caring and tender. (My cynical side wants to throw a dig in here, "Yeah, because he got what he wanted.")  Two weeks later I drove back to BC with my brother and sister in law and all 4 of our kids, for my mom's memorial ash-spreading.  Hot Stuff offered to take time off of work and drive me and the kids, but I told him no.  I felt I needed to stand on my own.  (I wonder if this made him feel excluded. Not that he would have said anything.  He hates my hometown. Thinks it sucks.) Part of me now wishes I had said yes, and part of me still thinks I made the right decision.

The thing of it is, these little nicks and chinks in the marriage armor don't always buff out.  I have definitely forgiven Hot Stuff for getting angry and being very selfish when I needed him to be completely selfless.  I haven't forgotten, though.  I never will.  I feel like I reached out for a helping hand and got my hand slapped, instead.  It made me wary.  It made me feel unsure about Hot Stuff's willingness to give me emotional support.  That doesn't sit right with me.  Shouldn't I feel completely solid that Hot Stuff will catch me when I fall, no matter what?

Am I asking for too much? Are most men like this? Am I asking him to give me something that men don't have to give?

Marriage, Part I

Bear with me as I work through some stuff.

March was, on the whole, a pretty good month for Hot Stuff and I.  We were getting along, he was home quite a bit, I got to go out without the kids and do fun no-kids grown up stuff.  I was starting to feel that our marriage was getting to more stable, comfortable ground.

Last Tuesday morning, I took the Hurricane to preschool and when I got back at 10, Hot Stuff said he was going out to get supplies for work, as he would be heading out of town the next day. (Hot Stuff's job frequently takes him out of town for extended periods of time.  This is how it is, and how it always has been.  I've never had an issue with it - with the exception of Little Dude's birth, when I asked him to stay close to home for quite a few months.  I did not feel like I could manage things completely on my own.)  I asked him if he would be home before lunch, and he said he would.

He did not come home until 7 am the next morning.  I called him a couple of times on Tuesday but figured out by supper that he was not going to be coming home. I wasn't frantic with worry, or anything.  I mean, I was a bit worried, but definitely more pissed off.  After he got home, I spent Wednesday morning stomping around and ignoring Hot Stuff until he left for work.

He called on Wednesday night and left a message, but I haven't called him back.  It's Sunday night. I'm being stubborn.  I don't want to talk to him. I am tired of always being the one to hold out the olive branch; to open the lines of communication; to suggest a hundred different compromises to solve an argument. I'm sick to death of always having to give up and give in because he absolutely refuses to budge, let alone meet in the middle.  It's gotten real old, having to explain time and time again that doing things that hurt my feelings hurts my fucking feelings and I deserve a damn apology.  An apology that may or may not be given.

I love my husband, but he can be a very hard man.  It literally feels like running into a brick wall, trying to explain why I'm upset and why things like staying out all fucking night without a phone call are hurtful.  And disrespectful.  And generally a shitty thing to do.

So that's why I haven't called him back.  Because I'm tired of explaining, compromising, giving in, not getting an apology or any kind of acknowledgment of "I fucked up"-ness, and sucking up the hurt.  I do not want to turn my back on 10 years together. So my internal conversation goes like this:

Me: I'm so fucking tired of this bullshit.

Me: What are you going to do, leave?

Me: No. I'm going to give him a taste of his own medicine. I'm going to dig in my heels and let him twist, for once.

Me: You know that's childish.

Me: Yup. And I don't care. Hrmph. I'm gonna do it anyways.

Me: What is it going to solve?

Me: Nothing. But it's making me feel better.

Me: Is this what is best for your marriage?

Me: I am thinking about what is best for me, in the most selfish way.

Me: Hot Stuff is not your Mortal Enemy in a Fight To The Death. Marriages are living, breathing things that need patience and care and constant maintenance to stay alive.  Communication is the roots.  Ignore the roots and the plant dies.

Me: I'm still not going to call him.

Me: You're being stupid.

Me: I know you are but what am I?

You see? I'm being childish and irrational but for the first time in a long time, I don't feel angry and resentful about caving in, once again.

5:47am

Hot Stuff is dropping the kids off at daycare today, so I am not presently rushing around gathering bags and sippy cups and setting out coats and boots for my kids to be helped into, half asleep, then rushed out to the car.  I have a few minutes of quiet.  It's really nice.

We put Little Dude into a booster seat at the table yesterday - no more highchair!  A small part of me is sad that he is moving away from the baby things, but a larger part of me is relieved.  Now if I could only convince him to start walking.  I am going to re-christen him Stubborn Like Goat if he doesn't fall in line. (His big brother is aka Listens Like Stick and his sister is aka..well.. Princess.)

The other day Little Dude was crawling around and the Princess accidentally stepped on his hand.  He started to cry, of course, so she knelt down to give him a hug (as much as it may appear that she has him in a headlock, it is a headlock of love), and squished his other hand under her knee.  She was puzzled as to why he cried harder when she "hugged" him.

6:04am

So quiet. Why do I think I am forgetting something? Oh yeah, because I have forgotten what it is like to not have to fly out the door.

I'm pretty sure I just about DIED today.

Where do I get these stupid ideas?

Today I decided to take my shiny new MP3 player with Sport Band out for a run.  A RUN. What. The. Eff. ?.

I haven't been for a run for years.  As in, 3 years.  Not only that, I haven't been working out with any kind of consistency lately. In some kind of vicious circle, the not working out has led me to be disappointed with the scale not moving (169.0 last Friday), which has led me to believe that I need to start RUNNING.

What is wrong with me, people? (Actually, Rootietoot pegged it a while ago: "You're kind of an idiot." It's as valid a diagnosis as any.)

So anyways, needless to say, I am shockingly out of shape.  So far out of shape as to be classified as dodecahedral.  I started out with this harebrained idea that I would go running for 20 minutes today; you know, nice and easy.  Something I could build on, because obviously for me, 20 minutes is nothing.  I can do 20 minutes on my recumbent bike practically standing on my head.

Before I go on, I need to explain something so we can all really, really appreciate the richness with which I received my comeuppance today.  One of my favorite shows to watch is X-Weighted. I love to watch people transform themselves with good old fashioned hard work and self-denial.  I do need to admit, however, that when the people are doing their initial fitness assessments, I am the first in line to tsk-tsk about how poorly they are doing. Honestly, what is taking you so long, lady? You're going to have to move your ass faster than that. (Sidenote: I am usually snacking while watching X-Weighted. Sick, hey?)  I then compare myself with how the contestants fare during that first fitness assessment, and (without fail) I can congratulate myself on Having Not Let Myself Go Quite As Much As That.

Until today.

Today, I got a giant smack-down.  You know how far into my run I made it before I had to stop? 1 minute, 30 seconds. 1:30 and I was done.  My legs: on fire.  My lungs: begging for mercy.  I had that thick, metallic taste at the back of my throat and cramping in my sides. I was pretty well ready to pass out on the side of the damn highway. I spent the following 10 minutes alternating 1 minute of running and 1 minute of walking. Then I was able to build myself up so that by the end of this "fun" run, I was doing 2:15 running, :45 walking.  Oh. My. God. I am so, so out of shape.  Thank you, Life, for kicking my ego right in the babymaker, and then kicking it some more while I was down.

In some sick, twisted way, it has given me a challenge.  Instead of being all high and mighty about my non-existent Superior Fitness Level, I am forced to admit that I am going to have to work really, really hard to get to that 20 minute mark.  You know, the super-easy 20 minute mark that was just somewhere to start; somewhere to build from? I guess (big sigh) I also should (big eye roll) acknowledge some bad habits (super pissy pouty face) like eating junk in front of the TV (another giant sigh and eye roll) and being all judgmental (finger quotes and catty tone).

7 hours later and my lungs and legs still hurt.

Joining the 21st century

On the phone with Doreen a while ago:

Me: I think I'm the only person in the entire world who doesn't have an MP3 player.

Doreen: No, I'm sure lots of people don't have MP3 players.

Me: Sigh. I doubt it.

Later, Doreen called me back.

Doreen: Hey, it's me, you remember how you said you were the last person in the world without an MP3 player?

Me: Yeah.

Doreen: You were right.  Even the Duggar kids have iPods!!

Oh yeah? OH YEAH, DOREEN? Well I got NEWS FOR YOU, SISTER! I am the PROUD owner of a NEW 4 Gig MP3 player. In YOUR face. Yeah, I said it. In YOUR face.

How do I use the stupid thing anyway?

I bought special headphones-- or pardon me, "ear buds" - and a "sport band" so I could wear my new MP3 player on my arm and go jogging, and have music: handsfree!

I downloaded LimeWire and then downloaded some music (in Canada P2P is still legal, so in YOUR face, FBI).  I downloaded such gems as: Pump Up The Jam (oh yes I did, and you know you love it), Bad Romance (don't act like it's not on your MP3 player too), Milkshake (my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.  I could teach you but I'd have to charge. Cash only, no credit. Sorry), and Everyday People (both the Arrested Development and Sly & The Family Stone versions, because they are both so funkalicious). I also downloaded a bunch of other stuff that I didn't think anybody would have heard of.  If you have any suggestions for good-to-work-out-to (or just plain good) music, I would love to hear them.

I figured out how to transfer the music onto the MP3 player.

My MP3 player got locked and loaded in the Sport Band.

Yesterday I strapped on my locked and loaded MP3 player in it's Sport Band, put my shoes on, stretched out, and:

unloaded the dishwasher and made granola bars.

It's nights like these.

I am back to work tomorrow (after a few days off) for three 12-hr shifts in a row.  I had really hoped that tonight would be calm and smooth and what the hell was I thinking?

We had a big lunch, so I decided french toast for supper would be just right.  In my infinite be-on-top-of-things-ness, I put the two little ones into the tub before supper.  After bathtime and while I made supper, I let Little Dude crawl around just in his super-cool Diego poncho-style towel.

In the middle of making french toast, I dropped the cinnamon on the floor.  It may have been due to the fact that I had just discovered the front door knob was broken.  Broken as in, I had to completely remove it from the door to get the front door open.  Or maybe I dropped the cinnamon because I realized that I had a front door with a hole instead of a doorknob, that was basically a giant neon sign saying "Come In and Rob Us" and I was going to be working 12 hour days for the next three days and it was 5:40 and the hardware store was going to close at 6:00 and I had one half dressed kid and one completely undressed kid.

I half-assed dressed the children and practically threw them into their carseats.  I sped to town.  I made it to the hardware store with minutes to spare. Luckily (*snicker*), my children had the good sense to break the doorknob when doorknobs were on sale at the hardware store.  Gee, thanks, kids.

Well, since we're in town, I should pick up milk, I think to myself.  As I am pulling up in front of the little convenience store, my son threw something at me.  From two rows back.  I got nailed in the ear with the insole of one of his new boots (what the hell? I don't get it either).  I came unglued.  I'm pretty sure the whole entire street now knows how dangerous it is to throw something at someone who is driving and why my kid is never, ever, EVER going to do that again.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.  The kids eat.  I change out a doorknob.  I walk into the bathroom after attempting to clean the kitchen.  My children, my beautiful older children, have dumped water all over the floor near the sink.  My baby has toilet papered the wet floor.  With a whole roll of toilet paper.

Shower the big kid.  Teeth brushing for everyone.  Quick, quick, it's past your bedtime.  We'll do stories tomorrow.  Extra stories.  Into bed now.  Love you.

A half clean bathroom.

Two loads of laundry to fold, one still to go into the wash.

A half clean kitchen.

Two baby bags and one lunch to pack for tomorrow.

One Princess, refusing to stay in her bed.

One Little Dude, wailing away in his crib.

Why is this shit happening tonight?

Princess-isms and Brownies Plus!!

My little girl is learning more and more new words everyday; along with the learning comes the mangling.  Some of my favorites:

GICKLE GICKLE GICKLE!: tickle, tickle, tickle. At top volume (of course).

Sedder: sweater

Fu-uhk you: thank you

Bye see ew wader: bye see ya later

Wan cuhwuh: i want to cuddle

Pe-ah buhyur: peanut butter

Peanut butter makes me think of chocolate.  Chocolate makes me think of Brownies Plus. Thinking of Brownies Plus kick-starts my salivary glands and reminds me that I should post the recipe. This recipe is straight from the book Cream Puff Murder by Joanne Fluke. Cream Puff Murder is a Hannah Swensen mystery and has a lot of yummy recipes.  As a matter of fact, all of the Hannah Swensen mysteries have great recipes to go along with entertaining stories. (I have tried recipes out of all of the books I've read in the series. What can I say? Hannah Swensen runs a cookie shop. I love cookies.)

OUTED!!

ZOMG, somebody stop my inner twelve-teen year old from Freaking the Fark Out before I go completely Nuclear and my head explodes.

Sigh.

My sister has outed me on Facebook with the following:

Meg* "wishes her sister wasn't so damn busy...she needs to keep writing her blogs...they are so freakin' funny and lets face it, I need a really good laugh (among other things..LOL)"

HI FAMILY AND FRIENDS.  I'm just as obnoxious here as I am in real life. Happy reading.

*I tried to link up her blog with her name, but it appears that she has taken her blog down.  Skank.

I am going to drown my sorrows with some Brownies Plus.**

**You don't want to know what the "Plus" is.***

***Yes you do. It's chocolate bars. Yes, brownies with the chocolate bars built right in.  Never again will I be forced to make that second trip to the kitchen to get a chocolate bar with which to wash my brownies down.  Homemade convenience food. How awesome is that?

Way more awesome than your Dad potentially reading your blog. (Did I forget to say thanks for that, Meg?  And by thanks I mean, "The Opposite Of Thanks, But Way Harsher.")

Just sayin'. (Skank.)

*chirrup*

I am a neglectful blogger. Since I went back to work (which I still love), I have less time to do the same amount of things, and sadly, less time to compose my Delightful and Highly Intelligent Musings.  I do have a few ideas swirling around my head, but I haven't felt like getting them organized and writing them down. Well, that's not entirely true. There are some thoughts in my grey matter that have been yelling louder than the other thoughts, and the squeaky, disruptive wheel must be slashed and/or shot out before the other, non-squeaky or disruptive wheels. I do have a private, secluded spot where I am writing things down that I do not have permission to make public. I have just now put a dumptruck-load of squeaky-wheel disruptive thoughts in my Garden of Secluded Delusions and hopefully, will be free to once again regale you with my Fanciful Witticisms.

I Blame The Kids..

..for causing me to treat my bathroom like a public toilet; making sure there is 100% T.P. coverage of the toilet seat, using my shoe to flush, and for godssake, don't touch the faucets.

..for individually and together breaking about 90% of the "nice stuff" and/or shit that isn't nailed down.

..for touching the remaining 10% of stuff not nailed down and moving it, and then promptly forgetting where they put it.

..causing me to speak these words, "Hello, Poison Control? Yes. How much bug dope can a child ingest before we need to go to the hospital?"

..for the state of my vehicle. Yes, it may appear to be an SUV from the outside; from the inside it looks like a flop house for hobos.

..for killing the battery in the digital camera (the one they are not allowed to touch), usually just hours before I am going to want to use it.

How ARE you?! I have missed you SO MUCH!

So the last post may have given you the impression that I am bitter and angry about life these days.  That's actually pretty far from the truth.  2010 has been really awesome so far.  I went back to work. I got rid of the old, disgusting carpet and put new laminate flooring in the living room.

Things I Learned While Installing Laminate Flooring:

-carpet and underlay is really easy to roll up together and the more you roll, the heavier it becomes,
-I am not as strong as I thought I was,
-banana knives are really sharp,
-my knees cannot tolerate pulling carpet staples for more than 10 minutes at a time,
-MOST IMPORTANTLY: when you roll underlay over a sizable hole in the floor (oh, lets say.. the size of an old intake vent about 12" x 14"), do not tell yourself that you will cut the underlay from over the hole later when you get to it. Inevitably, you will step where the hole is covered, thus putting your foot through the underlay and then through the old sheetrock that someone nailed up to close the hole, and then you will smash your thigh against the subfloor and give yourself a giant, puffy, multi-hued bruise above your knee and have pain for days.

It's the little things, you know?

So anyways, back to the List of Really Great Things That Have Happened In 2010. Where was I? Work. Check. Flooring. Check. Ah, yes. My BFF Trish came to visit for five whole days, and her and her kids stayed with me and mine. We had a blast. My stomach hurt from laughing every day. I love me some Trish. And? My SIL (you know the one) and I mended fences. I got the apology I needed. I got an explanation for the way she was behaving. Things are okay between us. Funny enough, something she said is sticking in my mind, "After everything we said to each other back then, there's nothing we can't say to each other now." Wouldn't you know it, it's true. I don't keep my opinions quiet around her anymore for fear of setting her off; I just give it to her straight. Things are still in very early stages, but I sense a change in her.  I don't know for sure, so we wait. And we see.

So even though I have a husband who is doing his own thing on Valentine's Day and I have only my period and my pinkeye to keep me company, I am doing really amazing, thanks. And you?

Happy Valentine's Day

Oh, it's happy around here today..

White: the color of the tissues overflowing from every garbage can in the house because the Princess and I have disgusting runny noses.

Red: the color of my period. Which I got today. (OH YEAH! Thanks Mother Nature!! I wonder if Always will make a commercial about it! That would be awesome!!)

Pink: the color of my PINK EYE. Because a cold and my period isn't enough? Really? It's hardly sporting to kick a gal when she's down.

Regarding Mexican Standoffs:
My husband is MIA tonight. Again. Third night in a row. Valentine's Day, no less. Thanks for the lovely evening, honey.

Conversations with a 4 year old

At supper time:

Me: "Hurricane, sit down and finish eating, please!"

Hurricane: "I need to go wipe my butt some more."

~~~~~~~

Hurricane on the toilet:

"...10...11...12.. Hey Dad! Guess what? I got twelve inches!"

~~~~~~~

On the way home, in the truck:

Hurricane: "Mom, I hate girls."

Me: "Hon, you don't really hate girls, do you?"

Hurricane: "Yah I do. Well, not Moms.  Just girls and Bad Strangers."

Letters of Intent, Jan 22/10

Brought to you by Julie @ Foursons. Woof!

Dear Weirdo Lady Who Owns The Runaway Dog Who Was Living In Our Garage For 5 Days,

Listen, I know living out in the country allows us pet owners to get away with things that would not be allowed in the city. Nobody buys dog licenses out here. No one is going to call the dog catcher on you when your dog runs away.  We all kind of watch out for each other's dogs.  If you want to be afforded this same consideration, you need to be a more responsible pet owner.  When your dog first showed up, I looked for posters or something with your dog's picture on it at the mailboxes and in town. Nothing. Weren't you worried about your dog? Seriously. Five. Days. I would be knocking on doors and checking the ditches along the highway if my dog was gone overnight. You asked me when your dog showed up here. Don't you know when she ran away?

These three things really pissed me off: you purposely do not get your dog yearly vaccinations because she's "just a mutt;" you have no collar and no tags for her; and this is at least the third time she's run away, according to you.  If you don't want to get your dog's shots, fine. Personally, I think this is lousy dog-ownership but apparently not everyone gets vaccs for their dogs. At least get her a rabies vaccination every other year or so.  Do you know how many rodents and bats there are around here?  If your dog gets rabies from a badger or a bat and bites my kid, I will freak the fuck out and it will not end well for you.

Look, your dog can't be running around with no tags and no collar. Your dog was living in my garage for five days because I had no idea who she belonged to.  That's no life for a dog. Spend the five bucks and buy her a collar with a tag that you can etch your number into. Not everyone is going to put the effort into making posters in order to find you.

You need to either build her a dog run or pay better attention to her. In the winter, our gate is snowed open and our dog can get out.  Fortunately, she is old enough that she doesn't go very far anymore when it's cold, mostly to the side yard to pee. Your dog is a puppy and will run away, obviously. In the summer, you can believe that our gate is closed when the dog is outside. That's called Being Responsible.

So, Irresponsible Pet Owner, if your dog shows up at my door again I will be giving you the What For.

Just sayin'.

Stone

In with the In Crowd

So I happen to be close, personal friends with some Big Deal On The Internet types. When you travel in such high society circles, doors open and things happen.  Things like scoring some swag.  Some really, really cool swag from some really, really amazing women. (You see how Big of a Deal they are? They have their own swag.) 

I highly recommend you go there. To Momalom.com (not "there" as in "my bedroom" even though that's where I took those pictures, but only because that's the only mirror in the house that's at the right level.) Go forth and be welcomed into a community that is smart, funny, understanding, and supportive.  For realz.

To Jen and Sarah, my kindred spirits: thank you for the shirt. I love it.

(Sorry I could not get a shot of the back; it took me 20 (yes, twenty) shots to get two good ones of the front!)

I am no longer a shiftless, jobless, energy sucking drag on society. For this week anyway.

Today was my first day back to work. In honor of my first day, yesterday I went out and bought myself some new tank tops to wear under my scrub tops (honestly, they gape open and everyone can see right down your shirt) and a new pair of shoes. The shoes are not sexy. They are white and they have that "balance ball" technology - and NO, I did not pay $115 for them. But hot damn, are they ever comfortable.

Going back to work was like.. like I never even left. I slipped right back into it.

It was: awesome.  It was: fun.  It was: everything I hoped it would be, and then some.

My legs. They are sore.

I go back tomorrow and I'm booked for all next week. After that? Hopefully I will have myself a shiny new part-time rotation on a surgical unit. If the rotation doesn't work for me, I will get on the casual list and start picking up shifts. Either way, it feels really, really good to be Mom, Wife, and Nurse.

Changes

How things have changed in the last week or so. This has turned into a Mexican standoff. I know, and Hot Stuff knows, that we will work through it.  We will figure it out, because we love each other. I am not angry, or upset, or scared. I am waiting.

Hot Stuff told me awhile ago that I am controlling.  Of course I got all huffy and threw a hundred arguments and justifications at him that proved I was not controlling, and even if I was, I had good reasons.  Looking back now, I see how the more insecure and inadequate I felt, the more I pressured him to live within the expectations I placed on him. I needed him to be exactly what I needed him to be, because I felt insecure within myself. The truth of it is, I am not cut out to be a full time stay at home mom.  I have always worked. From the time I was old enough to go to work with my mom and she would pay me $5 do the crap jobs at her office on a weekend afternoon, I was out in the world making my own money. So much of my identity is tied into being a Working Girl Person that I am not a success at being at home full-time.  My self-esteem and self-worth have been sliding away for months because I am missing a huge chunk of "Me."

At the same time that this thing was coming to a head between me and Hot Stuff, I was coming to the realization that I needed to go back to work. For my own sanity. To be a better wife. To be a better mother. To be a better me. For a long time I had been feeling scared about going back to work. I worried that my skills would be too rusty.  I lacked self-confidence. I told myself stupid things like, 'don't bother, you'll never find childcare.'

Well, I found a dayhome for my kids. I called the department I used to work at in the hospital and put myself on the casual list. I sent in a resume to a small regional health complex. I applied for part time on a surgical unit at the hospital.

My old department called yesterday and gave me some hours. I am so freaking excited, I am like a kid. I am so pumped about going back to work, I am already wondering what color scrubs I should wear, and which top I should go with. I think I may even go so far as to try them on to make sure they are not going to look like painted-on spandex. That's always a confidence-builder, isn't it? Worrying about splitting your pants on the first day back.

Letters of Intent, Jan 8/10

Brought to you by the written stylings of Julie @ Foursons.

Dear Preschool Fundraiser Moms:

Re: Ladies Night

Already I feel myself getting pulled into the drama. Why did I volunteer for this shit? Oh yeah, I'm a sucker!

At the meeting today, the three of us (did you other three even know about it?) made some decisions.  The Spring Fling theme? Gone. The tea party idea that included tea pots and flower pots as centerpieces? Out the effing window.  Lame, PG-rated entertainment? Not happening. It's called "Ladies Night" not "Ladies who don't believe in fun and prefer to be in bed by 8:00pm Night." So we came up with something better. Think: a classy, elegant Casino with proper hosts* and hostesses, and good entertainment.  A hypnotist, some belly dancers, and a live band.  Not to mention food, door prizes, raffles, and a silent auction. We know there will be women of all ages and tastes there.  Some of them may think our casino is tacky. Some of them may be  disappointed that they are not sitting under bright fluorescent lights oohing and aahing over the flowerpot centerpieces and (undoubtedly) giant ugly crepe-paper carnations adorning the tables. Hopefully enough of those women will get liquored up enough to make the hypnotist's show really awesome.

*"Hosts" will be played by half-dressed male strippers who are eager to take you into the back room and show you a good time.**

**And by 'good time' I mean the raffle prizes. Or do I?

Sure, you're gonna be upset when we have our next meeting and you see that we have changed the theme.  You'll get over it. Nobody is gonna pay to attend what amounts to a Grandmother's Day tea.

See you at the next meeting! (Looking forward to the sparks flying!)

Stone

Childhood friends

Christina (this is where you met Christina) and I were inseparable in elementary school.  Her brother, Dave, and my brother were also best friends.  We spent all of our free time together, either at her house or mine.  Her parents were like second parents to me.  My house was like her second house.  Funny story: one night my family and I were sitting at the table eating supper when Christina's brother walked in.  He said hello, washed up, grabbed a plate, and sat down with us, and then filled- nay, heaped his plate with food.  No one batted an eyelash. This is what it was like.  My brother at the time was I think 15, so Dave would have been 16.  My mom was used to cooking for an army just to feed one teenage boy, so what's one more, right?  It just meant no leftovers for my brother to eat while he cleared the table.  Anyways, David finished his plate, gave my mom a kiss and said, "Sorry to eat and run.  Gotta get home for supper." You see?

In junior high, Christina's family moved away, but then her and Dave moved back to live with their dad when we were just starting senior high.  Sometime in the summer before 11th grade, she went from a chunky, kind of nerdy-looking girl to this smokin' hot blonde with big boobs and a slim but curvy body.  I am pretty sure she was the subject of many a jerk session for many a high school boy.  (Did I mention she was extremely smart? Yeah, she's a doctor now.) I would say I was a mite jealous, not of the male attention she received, but because she didn't really want to hang out with me anymore.  Perhaps it wasn't so much jealousy as hurt.  I can't really describe it, only to say we had one of those really tight we'llbebestfriendsforever friendships that girls have.. and then we didn't.  So really, I guess hurt describes it.  When we got to senior high school, she had a bunch of new and different, older friends who would take her to the bar on Friday night.  She had a boyfriend and hung around with him and his friends.  We still did stuff occasionally, it just wasn't as often.  After high school, she went to university and I went to work.  We traveled to California together once, for a week.  After the trip, we did keep in touch through letters, and saw each other once in a while. Eventually, our connection faded.  I would send her an email once in a while, I think she wrote me back once.  In a strange twist of fate, her dad died a week after my mom did.  I tried to get in touch with her after that but no response.

So here I am on Facebook yesterday, checking out a friend's page just to see how her New Years was. (I wouldn't exactly say I'm a Facebook creeper.. let's go with borderline creeper.)  Wouldn't you know it.  There is a comment left by Christina.  Christina has added two high school friends to her friend list.  Neither one of them is me.  It's awkward, now.  Since I was on Facebook first (and oh yes, I looked for her a couple of times on FB), she should send me a friend request, right? Or do I send her a friend request? Do I wait for her? It's like running into the mother of an acquaintance in the grocery store.  It's a pretty tenuous connection, so whaddyado?  Say hi or pretend not to see her?  And then if she says hi make up some quick lie like, "Oh, I wasn't sure if that was you or not?!" Am I over-thinking this?

I look back wistfully at the days when I was a kid.  Things in my world were so solid, so literal, that I never questioned that they would go on forever.  As a kid, there weren't many shades of grey.  As a kid, I would have staked my collection of New Kids on the Block posters, tapes, and memorabilia that my friendship with Christina would last forever.  Of course, I would have bet my NKOTB stuff that NKOTB would Rule The World Forever, too.

It's probably a good thing I don't gamble very often.

Yo.

About this?

There was discussion, disagreement, back-and-forth-ness, and then compromise. Now, there is peace in the house. For today.

Dum dum DUM.

Conversations with a 4 year old

Some things were said by the Hurricane over the Christmas holidays.  For your reading pleasure:

Out of nowhere, at the supper table one night: "I'll rock your ass."

In the bathroom, talking to his sister, not wearing a shirt: "Want to see my tits?"  Aunty Meg busted him and he tried to cover by saying, "No, I said 'do you want to see my kits,' Aunty.  I said kits, not that other word."

After Grandma and Poppa took him to McDonalds for lunch, where he received an Avatar movie toy in his happy meal: "Mom, look what I got from Old McDonalds! It's a Battle-tard toy!  It's a Battle-tard horse!"