Diary of a Domestic Diva

She's crafty....and she's just my type

2008-02-12T22:29:00.000-08:00

So in my quest to be the single most ~~cheap~~ frugal bride on the planet, I am resorting to several Do It Yourself projects. Yeah, yeah, I know some of you are chuckling right now and I'm okay with that. I am the first to admit that I am NOT a crafty person. When I hear the term "crafty", it actually brings to mind an old Beastie Boys song that I used to listen to. Believe me, the two meanings of crafty are far from similar.

So we've established that I do not have a creative, talented or artistic blood cell in my body. Needless to say, when I came across this Seating Card chart on the Martha Stewart website, I thought I was going to have to enlist the help of a friend to help me make it (read: have Cheryl make it). Then the other night my man had a couple of buddies over to watch the hockey game and I decided that attempting to make the boards would be far more entertaining than hanging with them while they swilled beer, shouted at the TV and behaved like swines in general.

So off to Walmart I went, since it was the only place at 6:30pm on a Sunday I figured I could buy the necessary supplies. I was actually a little bit nervous on the way up there, this being my first time buying fabric (there's that chucking again..) but I sucked it up and walked straight to the fabric & notions department. What exactly are notions, anyways?

So I'm standing there, like a deer in the headlights, staring at probably 30 different types of white fabric. I mean seriously, who knew there could be that many kinds? Certainly not me. There was this one employee nearby who kept looking over at me, I think he mistook my clueless pacing back and forth between rows of fabric as possible shoplifting. So rather than have security come and ask me to empty my Prada bowler, I quickly grabbed one that I thought would look the nicest and carried it up to the counter where they cut it for you. Of course, I had no clue how much I needed, but I did have the dimensions of the boards I needed to cover and that's what they have staff for, right? Wrong. The lady, although I am sure a lovely person, could barely speak English and clearly math was not her strong point in her school days. First she tells me I need 5 metres and I nod "ok"...she is the expert after all. Then she says "you agree?" Ummmm, yeah. Sure I do. Then she kind of squints up her eyes, as if she is thinking really, really hard and tells me no, I only need 3 metres. Side note: I always thought fabric was sold by the foot. LOL

So after making a complete jackass of myself at Walmart, I head home, happier than a pig in shit with my purchases. On the way home, my dear friend Cheryl sends me a text telling me that I will need quilt batting. First of all, I didn't even know what in the hell quilt batting was and second, I was already half way home and really didn't feel like turning around. But, the nagging little voice in my head that sometimes knows better, knew that she would be right. She's crafty like that, and not in the Beastie Boys way.

And so, two evenings, hundreds of pins and one ridiculously tender thumb pad later, I am finished my little project. Martha, eat your freaking heart out.

*******************************************************************
Cost of my DIY mission:

Styrofoam board $18.19
Fabric $13.46
Ribbon $16.53
Quilt batting $5.86
Making something myself for the first time ever.....priceless.

Deep Breath In.....Exhale....ahhhhhh

2008-02-01T13:11:00.001-08:00

I've calmed down. I've also come to the realization that I simply cannot please and accomodate everyone. I'm just going to roll with it and do whatever I think should be done. I might have felt differently if any of the parents were paying, but as of yet the fuckers have offered up nothing!! So it's my way or the highway. I am of course asking opinions from my friends, because unlike with my mother and MIL, I actually give a damn what they think.

I am hereby making a promise to myself to enjoy this experience. Think I can keep it?

Liar Liar My Pants Are On Fire

2008-02-01T10:28:00.001-08:00

The stress just started. Apparently my mother disagrees with the date, the time and well, basically everything to do with what I've planned already. Oh and she thinks we should change the date to the weekend before, which would be fine if it wasn't for the fact that my in-laws are going out of town then.

Maybe I can't do this.

A wedding

2008-02-01T09:29:00.000-08:00

So we had planned on taking a trip to Vegas in March, just before I (try to) get (and stay) pregnant. One last hurrah, so to speak. We had bounced around the idea of getting married while we were there, so the other night I sat down and started pricing out the trip. Now I am not one for big fancy weddings, but I want to wear a beautiful dress, have a semi-nice ceremony and not be married by a fat guy in an Elvis suit, know what I mean? So by the time we factor in airfare, hotel, decent wedding package cost, spending money, tux & dress rentals, and all the little miscellaneous stuff, we were looking at about $6,000. Coupled with the fact that my man's family would be absolutely pissed if we "eloped" (mine wouldn't care...lol) - we decided that we would do it here in town instead.

I don't like to drag things out and despite the way my life seems to go, I don't like complicated ordeals. I definitely don't like drama. So you can imagine that taking on planning a wedding is the last thing on this planet I would want to do. Not to mention all the other shit going on in my life. Ah well, what's one more thing on my plate right?

In one day, I have picked a venue for both the ceremony and reception, booked a DJ, chosen colors, style of bridesmaid dresses, picked bouquets, centrepieces and have a basic idea of everything else. Tomorrow I am going to try on dresses at a local sample sale and if that doesn't pan out, I am going to take a deep breath and buy a dress off eBay. Tuesday I meet with the catering co-ordinator to confirm the menu, but I've already looked at it and basically know what I want.

I have actually been less stressed in the last 2 days than I have in the last 2 months. Maybe this will be good for me, it will keep me occupied and keep my mind busy. And maybe people will be asking me about the wedding, instead of asking me about other stuff that I don't want to talk about.

I have exactly 8 weeks to plan my wedding. I know I can do this. I have single-handedly planned fundraising dinners/dances/silent auctions for 100+ people in the same amount of time, and they were far more complicated.

So far, no Bridezilla. Let's hope it stays that way!

StupidShittyLife

2008-01-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

I can't even think of a title for this blog. I don't even want to be blogging but somehow it seems easier than dealing with emails asking me why I haven't been blogging or the dreaded "how are things going" emails....god I hate those. How the hell am I supposed to reply. How do you THINK things are going?!

It all started on Thursday. I was out shopping and my SIL called me on my cell to tell me that my daughter was on her way to the police station. She had been arrested for shoplifting makeup at Zellers in our local mall. Oh lovely. When I got home, there was a message from a police officer, so I called him back expecting it to be about the incident. It wasn't...it was about my Uncle, who is accused (and undoubtedly guilty) of molesting a child in my family. The officer wanted to come over and take a statement from me to see if there was anything I knew that could possibly help the case, which keeps being bounced back from Crown Counsel due to lack of evidence. So anyways, he came over and took my statement, which of course was heartwrenching and awful for me. To me, harming a child in that way is the unthinkable. It makes me physically ill.

Then, on Sunday, my SIL calls again and tells me that my daughter has just called her and is bawling her eyes out because she has nowhere to stay. She has lost her winter jacket and it is -35 outside. I took down the number she called from and my man called over there to see what was going on. Daughter was drunk and said that she needed help because she can't stop drinking and doing drugs. She claimed to have been on ecstacy every day for the last 30 days. How much truth to that I do not know, because she is a habitual liar and a drama queen. Horrible thing to say about my own flesh and blood, but I am just speaking the truth. She will say anything for sympathy lately. Well, sympathy is something she is NOT getting from me at this point. No fucking way am I playing into that. She has made this bed and in it she must lie. So we load everyone in the car in 30 below weather to go and get her. We pick her up from this shithole of a townhouse. She's drunk, her hair is dyed bleach blonde (from black last week, you can imagine how nice it looks) ...I can't even look at her. When I look at her, extremely unhealthy emotions boil up inside me. I said nothing as we drove her to the hospital's Youth Detox. I had already called ahead and reserved a bed for her. We get there and the doors are locked so we ring the buzzer and we wait. And wait. And wait. A good ten minutes in the freezing fucking cold, waiting to admit my 15 year old daughter for Detox. Not a real high point in my life, let me tell you. We walked in, I wrote down her Care Card number and we left. She shouted something at me as I was walking away, something about how I didn't fucking care anyways. Oh yeah right, this was how I wanted to spend my Sunday evening. I cried the whole way home and then cried myself to sleep.

Yesterday, SIL calls (she really needs a slap upside the head for being such a bearer of bad news) to tell me that a mutual friend of ours delivered her baby girl at 6.5 months along last week and buried her on Saturday. What the fuck. This world is one cruel place and if there is a God, he is one sadistic motherfucker. My heart goes out to her like you wouldn't believe. She has one 6 year old boy already and did NOT want any more babies, her first pregnancy was awful. She is divorced and remarried now and decided to have another because it was so important to her new man. I have to wonder if their relationship can handle something this devastating. She told SIL there is absolutely no way she will try again and that she is getting her tubes tied ASAP. Will he resent her for not trying again? Will she resent him for pushing her into a pregnancy that she didn't really want? What will happen to ME if I suffer yet another loss in a couple of months...???

And so today, I sit here still in my jammies, unshowered and not giving a shit about anything or anyone. I have spent the majority of the day laying in bed with severe stomach pain. Not sure if it is gastroitis that I have had previously from stress, as it feels MUCH more painful than that, but whatever it is it feels like I have been kicked right in the guts. I guess in reality life has kicked me in the guts. Now I just have to figure out how to get up and get on with it before it drags me down to the point of no return.

Tattoos and Tulips

2008-01-21T09:54:00.000-08:00

So I have been wanting another tattoo for some time now and have finally decided to bite the bullet and get one. I actually have two planned out, both with very significant meanings to me. The first is a symbol that both my man and I are going to get done between our shoulder blades. He has practiced Judo for 25 years and has an extreme respect for the Japanese culture, so we have decided to have the Japanese symbol for 'eternity' permanently inked into our skin to show our commitment to each other. Maybe it's as crazy as the guy who gets "Donna" tattooed on his bicep and then has to live with it day in day out after they break up, but I don't think so. I truly believe with all my soul that I will be with my man for eternity. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it's honestly how I feel.

My second tattoo has a much different meaning. I am sure everyone can relate to the eternity symbol, nearly everyone has been in love. This second tattoo will symbolize something that nobody else can possibly ever imagine or understand, unless, like me, they are living it.

When 3rd baby M was born (at home, accidentally...but that's a whole other blog entry) and after we were rushed to the hospital, my doctor came in, sat down beside my bed and held my hand. I remember the look in his eyes, as if he was terrified to speak. He began to tell me that they suspected that baby M had Down syndrome. I remember looking down at this perfect little being in my arms who was looking up at me with squinty, swollen eyes and thinking there was no way. They were wrong. They absolutely had to be wrong. I recall asking how this could have happened and all I remember hearing were the words "chromosomal abnormality" and "freak of nature". I know in my heart now that my doctor was at a loss as to how to explain it to me from a medical standpoint, but that's all I took out of the 15 minute conversation. My womb was abnormal and my baby was a freak of nature.

In the days following his dramatic entrance to the world, I was in a fog. I merely existed day to day, having no clue what I was doing. Baby M was in an incubator on oxygen and was tube fed and I was helpess. I would even go as far as to say I felt completely useless as a Mother. I developed mastitis but refused to stop pumping, after all feeding him was really the only thing I could do properly at that point. I'm not sure how many days it had been since his birth, but I was sitting in the pump room one afternoon, hooked up like a Jersey cow, bawling my eyes out. I'm not sure what hurt more, the physical pain from the mastitis or the emotional heartbreak I was feeling, it hurt me right to my very core. There was a gentle knock at the door and the lactation consultant came in and sat down next to me. It was one of those moments were there was nothing but intense, raw emotion. This woman, Jean, whom I had only met a few times for a couple minutes each time, held me while I cried. I layed my head on her shoulder and cried like I had never cried before. She said nothing until I had stopped. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. A beautiful, colorful stationary with tulips on it. Printed on this beautiful tulip paper was a poem and I would like to share it.

Welcome to Holland

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

For me, landing in Holland is definitely not what I had planned. I have shed many a tear over the fact that my trip to Italy was permanently cancelled. I have become a person I never thought I would have to be, a person I never wanted to become. I have met people I never wanted to meet. My entire world came crashing down on June 4th, 2003 and even though it's been rebuilt, it will never be the same again. Somehow, I have adapted and grown to love this person I have become. Before I could never have imagined my life with a son with Down syndrome and now I can't imagine life without him. He is my special boy and I love him to bits.

Interestingly, tulips have always been my favorite flower, even as a kid. As an adult my gardens were always full of tulips in the spring and I often bought myself tulips for inside the house once mine were dead and gone for another year. So I am getting a tattoo of a single tulip to forever mark my trip to Holland. It's beautiful here.

A Happy Medium

2008-01-18T13:51:00.001-08:00

When I was growing up, I was the biggest bookworm around. If my nose wasn't buried in a book, there was something seriously wrong. I have read THOUSANDS of novels in my lifetime, which I think has contributed to my ridiculous obsession with spelling mistakes and typos (the one main thing I forgot to write about in my 7 crazy things list) but I also think it has made me a more intelligent, well-rounded person. If that makes sense. Anyways, there is a point to my blather about reading, I promise. Since I was little, every time I hear the term "happy medium" I think of the book A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L'Engle. In the book, the Happy Medium was actually a woman, or a spirit if you will, that lived in a cave and had a crystal ball. Now I am all grown up and feel as though I am desperately seeking my very own Happy Medium in all different aspects of my life. The real meaning of happy medium that is. Compromise, middle ground or whatever you want to call it.

For example, this recent decision to try for another baby, which by the way has been put off until March cycle because I don't want to be a giant whale in the dead of summer, not that we get a summer here but whatever. It really is a HUGE compromise on my part. This is something my man really wants and is looking forward to and something I am scared to death of doing. We are on extreme opposite ends of the spectrum on this matter, but there is really no common ground, nowhere to meet in the middle. There's either a pregnancy and (hopefully) a baby....or there isn't. It's pretty shitty that I have to feel this way about it and totally unfair that I would have to add 'hopefully', but that's just the way it is.

Along with my intense fear of having yet another miscarriage or crazy pregnancy comes another fear that is totally shallow and vain and I am not ashamed to admit it. I've mentioned before that I lost a lot of weight last year (in the neighborhood of 65lbs) and to be honest, I just don't want to gain it back. Since the move and excessive eating/drinking over the holidays, I managed to pack on a nasty 14lbs. I am utterly disgusted with myself. I am however bound determined to lose it and get back in shape (I finally found a treadmill, yay!) I'm on Day 5 of a cleanse right now and feeling fantastic. I have been working out every day, sweating my ass off and loving it. I'm actually down 9.5lbs already, but I will gain some back when I reintroduce food next week. I didn't do the cleanse to lose weight, because I am smart enough to realize that would be a temporary fix. I did it to kick start myself and my body into action and clearly, it's working. I flat out refuse to go into this pregnancy feeling unhappy about my body. I already told my man that since this WILL be my LAST baby, I have every intention on enjoying the ten months of ~~Hell~~ pregnancy, or at the very least try my best to. I will buy killer maternity clothes and I will be radiant, god damnit. lol. The decision to wait until March to try also gives me the opportunity to shed some fat and tone up a bit before I get myself knocked up, which is a bonus. I can picture myself now in SFAMK maternity jeans and a tight fitting, low-cut top and everyone looking and thinking how great I look for being preggers. Oh come on, a girl can dream can't she?

OK, so here's the Happy Medium thing in relation to my weight loss. When I lost all my weight last year, I thought I looked fabulous. I was so proud of myself (and still am) for perservering and achieving my goal. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line and I am honestly not sure where, I surpassed my goal and lost control. I have pictures from a trip to Kelowna that we took in August and let me tell you, I don't look anything like I thought I looked. My head looks too big for my body and my neck and arms are scrawny. My man's friend Jamie told me last week that I looked like I was about to die. I burst out laughing when he told me that, but I suppose in some exaggerated way, he is right on the money.

Somehow, I must find my middle ground with my body. I'm not sure how I go about doing it, but I sure as hell am going to try. I plan on being very careful once I feel that I am approaching a weight that I am comfortable with. I am well aware that I have some major body image issues so this really is a difficult undertaking for me. I lose weight very quickly too, and not because I crash diet, it's just the way I am...but of course it doesn't help when trying to achieve the difference between fit and emaciated.

I need to find a balance between where I was a little mushy in some areas (I'm wearing shorts for a reason, people) and still felt like I hadn't quite achieved my goal (in June):

and Bobble Head Girl (in August):

If I had a crystal ball like Madeleine wrote about, then I would know when I would achieve my goal. But since realistically that's never going to happen, it leaves me only with the question...Is a true Happy Medium actually achievable?

BFF Swoops In Again To Save My Sanity w/Blog Game

2008-01-10T16:45:00.000-08:00

So one of my BFF's tagged me in a blogging game (is that what they are called? I'm still an amateur!) - as per the rules and regulations I have to list 7 strange things about myself and then tag 7 others who will then do the same and so on. Since I am VERY new to blogging, I will only be able to tag a couple of people, but this is still fun. I SO needed this today and interestingly enough, I sat down to read BFF's blog right after the EX came. I didn't push him off the porch as I had dreamed, I did however slam the door so hard that the blinds rattled on a nearby window :)

OK so here goes. This is actually harder than it seems, I think it would be easier for other people to tell me 7 crazy things I do, but then that would probably just piss me off so maybe this is safer.

7. I have an obsession with numbers. I know almost every phone number I have ever dialed, even childhood friend's numbers from 20 years ago. I can rattle off mine, my man and my 4 kids Care Card #'s, Social Insurance #'s and any other important #'s like Drivers License, credit card #'s or whatever. When I was working as a legal secretary (my life before I was a SAHM) I knew all of the Incorporation #'s for every mortgage company that ever crossed my desk. My obsession extends to license plate #'s, I actually spot people I know by looking at their plates to confirm it's really them.

6. I hate wearing socks. The only time I wear them is inside my Nikes when I am running and sometimes in the winter inside my boots. I NEVER have socks on at home, and yet oddly enough I am one of those people who always has cold feet. I still can't bring myself to put socks on, I feel like my feet are suffocating.

5. I must load the dishwasher the same way each time. Glasses on the top left row, plastics on the other half and the bottom is for plates and bowls, always together and always facing the same way. The utensil basket is sectioned into 6 and MUST have all forks in one, spoons in one, knives in one, plastic spoons in one, sharp knives in one and misc (garlic press, blender blade, etc) in the last. If by some miracle someone other than me decides to load the dishwasher, I always end up emptying it and starting all over again.

4. I have a disturbing compulsion to weigh myself. For this reason, I do not and will not ever own a scale again. I will literally weigh myself ten times a day and if I weigh more one morning than I did the previous morning, I will restrict my food intake that day just to get back to the weight from the day before. I almost wonder if it's an illness, but if it is I have it under control. Sort of. When I was working at the gym, I would talk to myself on the drive to work and promise myself I wouldn't hop on the scale right away. It worked about half the time. I'm a freak.

3. I LOVE to sweat. When I am working out, I don't feel like I have "done it right" unless I have buckets of sweat pouring down my face and my armpits are wet. If there isn't a wet stain along my shirt from my boob crease, I'll stay on an extra 5 minutes and run like hell. The bigger the wet strip, the better I feel, it's like how I measure my workout. Gross, really.

2. Just like my friend Cheryl, I eat everything off my plate in sections. I'll eat all my meat, then veggies, then whatever else. In no particular order, but I absolutely cannot swap back and forth between foods. If one food touches another, I'll separate it with my fork before it hits my lips.

1. I know the words to almost every song out there. I don't usually sing out loud if I am with anyone, but I always lip sync the words and I sing if I am alone. I am a terrible singer, and I mean nails on the chalkboard awful. I would never ever go to Karaoke, I would rather stick hot needles in my eyes than subject people to my singing skills, or lack thereof.

** extra one: my man just asked what I was blogging about and when I told him he started laughing. Every night before bed, I HAVE to locate all three cordless phones and make sure the ringers are off on 2 of them and they are on their bases. Then I take the 3rd one, turn the ringer to the lowest setting and put it under my pillow. Yeeeeep, a complete freak of nature :P

Alright, I know there's more (in fact I can think of some right now about the way I grocery shop and the way I arrange the pillows on the sofa 50 times a day) but I'm leaving it at that so people still want to be friends with me and read my blog. LOL. Here is who I am tagging. Sorry it's not very many, maybe next time around I will have more blog buddies!!

Mummy Danni
Lisa
Charmed Girl

Profanity Philled Rant about Draco (spelling mistake intended)

2008-01-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

So this afternoon I am hanging out with my man and the phone rings....it's the ex's cell number on my Caller ID. Those of you that know me will know that this event only takes place in cases of extreme emergency. He doesn't speak to me, ever, we only communicate via email. Pretty effing twisted since we see each other 10 times a week for pick-ups/drop-offs. So I answer and he's telling me he is at the courthouse for our hearing and where am I? WHAT?!?! This is MY hearing, MY day in court that I have been patiently waiting for for MONTHS now. I flipped my lid on him, so he put his lawyer (let's call him BS, short for Big Shot..or whatever :P) on the phone and I tore the guy a new one. How in the HELL was I not served with notice of this hearing, MY hearing? I ended up hanging up on BS and hopping in my car. I drove like a maniac (thank God for radar detectors) to the courthouse and as I was approaching, I see EX and BS outside, waiting for me. I peeled into the first spot I saw, parking half on the curb and hauled ass up the courthouse steps. BS greets me with a "Good Afternoon, Miss (insert last name)" to which I snorted "go to hell" and slammed my way through the doors like the classy broad that I am.

I walk into the conference room and there are signs on the table for Defendant and Applicant. At the Defendant side of the table, there is a barely any elbow room due to the well organized stacks of papers and manila folders. On my side, there is a jug of water and a glass. Empty and bare. My folder is at home, chock full of well organized notes to follow and point form arguments to make. It's at this moment it hits me - I have nothing but me.

The Judge walks in and I apologize for being unprepared and express my extreme upset about not being notified of the hearing date. She completely understands and although it appears that it was an error made by the court registry, BS's office also should have notified me and didn't. I would be willing to bet my left tit (and it was 'spency LOL) that this was a tactic. Somehow, some way, this was done to make ME look like an ass. Job well done, boys.

After asking a few routine questions, the Judge allowed me to say a few words. I think I did a pretty decent job getting my point across as to why we were there. I explained that the current schedule is hectic (back and forth ten times a week, yes TEN) and that with the majority of my time with my son being daytime, I am unable to persue the option of going back to work full time because I would never see him. To add insult to injury I would then be 100% financially responsible for daycare costs because it would fall into "my" time. When it came time for BS to explain why they were so opposed to my application, he goes on this big rant about my "disabled down syndrome kid" (yes, that's a direct quote) and how any change to the schedule may be traumatic for him. GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. I literally wanted to leap over the giant round table and strangle the life out of this ignorant piece of crap. The fact that M has Ds has NOTHING to do with this situation!!!! Is that the best he's got? Is EX really ok with his lawyer playing the Down Syndrome Card in court? Could I have honestly procreated with such a fucking asshole? Apparently so, because he sat there, all smug, leering at me from across the table. I guess I really don't even know him any more, who the hell is this Phil guy anyways?

Anyways, before I go off on a tangent about the remainder of the conference, it ended with the Judge saying that since the application is so vehemently opposed, this must go to trial. Guess how long of a wait it is for a trial? 6-8 months. SIX TO EIGHT MONTHS before this can be resolved. And of course, no guarantees that I will win. Things could very well remain as is and if I choose to work full-time, it will mean seeing my son ONE evening a week. What the FUCK.

Needless to say, I am beyond upset. I have never hated anyone as much as I hate EX right now. I loathe him and that's not nearly an intense enough word. I envision myself opening the door the next time he comes here (tomorrow at 5pm) and throwing him off the porch, right on his fat ass for all the neighbors to see. I imagine walking into his place of work and just plowing him, square in his smirky fucking face. You're probably wondering how I can be so cruel, right? If only you knew what this bastard has put me through since I left his sorry ass 3 years ago. It has been month after month of hell, with me always conceding and giving in to his ridiculous demands because I can't deal with it any more. Throughout the separation, my lawyer called him Draconian, in fact she even printed it in a letter about him, which I will save for years to come. I just might start calling him that to his face. Thousands of dollars wasted on said lawyer (which is the reason I don't have one this time around) for what? I walked away with nothing and every time I turn around, I'm bending over to take it up the ass all over again.

I am an absolute mess right now, my eyelids are swollen, my right leg won't stop shaking and I have that stupid hiccup thing that happens when you cry too hard.

This sucks.

edited to add: I came out of the courthouse to find a parking ticket on my windshield. Fuck me.

Bittersweet Decisions

2008-01-07T15:34:00.000-08:00

So, it looks like two lines it's going to be. Starting my next cycle, we will be actively trying to conceive. Unfortunately, this decision comes in the wake of terrible news. The job I was waiting to hear about is no longer available, as the person for whom I would have been working for has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. It would be awful news whether I knew her or not, but it's especially saddening because she is a family member of a friend of mine, a friend whom I would consider in my "inner circle", even if we have only been friends for a short period of time. I care about her and what happens in her world, so I am sad for her. And for me, too. Not on the same level, but I am disappointed that I won't be given the opportunity to work for this person, because I believe she would have been the perfect person to help me on my way in my career.

I wasn't sure that me not going back to work right away was going to push me to make a decision about getting pregnant, but after several days of mulling it over, talking it out with my man and weighing the pros and cons, I figured why the hell not. Let's face it, waiting another 3 months or even 3 years isn't going to take away any of the fears I have about pregnancy. I am going to make an appointment with my doctor, but I know she will tell me the standard stuff....not to worry, I will be monitored, blah blah blah. I know she will give me the go ahead.

So I was feeling pretty good about this decision and then I remembered something, something huge. In some sick sense of irony (the story of my life), the day that I made this decision to have another baby, today, January 7th, is also my daughter's 15th birthday. Fifteen years ago today, when I was only 15 years old, I was laying in the hospital, alone (my mother having literally dropped me on the curb outside the entrance doors because she was late for work) and I was riddled with fear. It's almost funny when I think back. I was scared of the pain of labor and delivery. I was nervous about whether or not I would be able to take care of my tiny, fragile newborn baby because I was still a baby myself. Fast forward fifteen years and nothing much has changed. I am a grown woman now, but I am still unable to care for that very same child. Despite my best efforts, I was incapable of making my daughter's life a good one. She is on a path to self destruction and I am a helpless bystander. I have failed horribly as a Mother and yet here I am, ready to bring another child into my life.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

A Tale Of Two Lines

2007-12-28T09:54:00.000-08:00

So last night at about 10pm, I decided I was pregnant.

I am late, but my cycle has been whacked for months, from stress I am sure. But my boobs are so sore. Like big, heavy, sore watermelons hanging off me. Ok maybe cantaloupes, but whatever. They're sore. So anyways, I call my man at work and ask him to bring home a HPT. He knows the drill, we have done this LOTS. He gets home an hour later and he has the test in the package, but not in the box. I guess he took it out and threw it away after he paid for it because he didn't want any of his gossip loving staff to see the box through the plastic bag. Good idea, except that the test he bought wasn't the one I usually take. So, I peed on the stick and then waited.....

Two lines. Two lines. TWO F*CKING LINES. No, no, NO! This is not happening to me, not right now. I had a meltdown. A sobbing, ready to jump off the nearest bridge, raving lunatic needing medication, m-e-l-t-d-o-w-n.

As it turns out, the test was one of those ones that turns to a + sign if you are pregnant, so I mistook my | as the "2nd" line, when in fact it was a - meaning negative as in not pregnant. Now there's a sick cruel joke to play on someone. Perhaps ONE day I will laugh about this, but definitely not today.

Anyways, this really got me thinking. Why was I so upset? The idea of another baby doesn't scare me, on the surface of it. It's what comes with pregnancy that terrifies me. My track record is horrible, having had more losses than babies, ranging from 8 weeks along to 20 weeks. To add insult to injury, half the time my body doesn't realize it's not pregnant anymore and I have to have a D&C. My pregnancies have been far from "normal" - my doctor actually laughs about it. Not in a mean way, but in a shaking her head, baffled kind of way.

My 3rd baby M was born with Down syndrome. Please don't get me wrong, he is the love of my life....but that's not what I signed up for. Nobody wants that. My entire world has changed, I have been forced to become this whole other person I never intended or knew how to be. Does it scare me that I might have another baby with Ds? Honestly, not really. That doesn't mean that I don't feel an immense amount of guilt that my body did that to me. I know it wasn't anything I did. I know it wasn't anything that could be prevented. I know that it happened at the moment of conception. I know all of these things, but it doesn't take away the fact that I feel like my womb is a failure. I can't explain it, it's just how I feel. I could write an entire novel about my experience of having a baby with Ds, so I'll leave it at that.

My 4th baby M pregnancy was a roller coaster ride. I was diagnosed with Cholestasis, a rare (of course it's rare, this is me we are talking about) but serious liver condition that can cause stillbirth, especially if the pregnancy goes further than 36 weeks. I existed day to day, wondering if my baby was going to die inside of me. How does a person deliver a baby they know is dead? I lived in fear for months and drove myself crazy if the baby didn't move. The poor boy was poked and prodded and jiggled around several times a day, just to be sure. I battled with my doctor as to when we would deliver. She felt it was safe to wait until 38 weeks as long as we monitored carefully, I completely disagreed. After weeks of ~~harrassing~~ talking to her about it and printing off every statistic and medical article on the net, she ~~caved~~ agreed to induce at 36 weeks. Of course the induction(s) resulted in nothing more than 4 days of mild labor and no progress and ended in a c-section. The likelihood of me having Cholestasis with subsequent pregnancies is as high as 90%.

It always strikes me as strange that my first 2 baby M's were pretty much textbook pregnancies. They were also completely unplanned pregnancies when I was 14 and 19, with the same loser guy (apparently I never learned my lesson the 1st time). 3rd and 4th M's were planned, oh how they were planned. Temping, charting, timed. Very planned. Mother Nature sure can be a b!tch, eh?

So I'm scared. I'm not the kind of person who is scared of anything. Not heights, not spiders, snakes, death. Nothing like that. Just pregnancy, it terrifies me right to my core. And yet, I just don't feel like I am "done" having babies. I want one more, just not right now, not right this minute. Not that the fear will change months or years down the road. Will I be more mentally prepared? Probably not. So I don't know what the f*ck I am doing, whether I am coming or going. I am waiting to hear about a possible job opportunity and that will probably be the deciding factor for me, or maybe not. The waiting is exruciating though, I just want the god damn phone to ring already so I can get on with my life, whichever path it may be taking. I will truly, honestly be fine with either path. They will each be rewarding (yet frightening) in their own way. But I would like to be able to make a decision. Knowing what I am facing will help. Maybe I do have another fear, fear of the unknown. I need to be in control of something right now. A career and a life with the babies I have or a life with babies and then a career.

Two paths to choose from. One line or two lines? I just don't know.

This one's for my man

2007-12-27T21:33:00.000-08:00

**Here's the post that's been saved in my drafts. He is even more deserving of it's posting after putting up with my Grinchy self over Christmas.

What seems like forever ago in the early stages of our relationship, my man and I were lying in bed listening to music and talking. We had been through SO much. How we made it through the first 6 months of our relationship is a true mystery.

When the media player (that had previously been playing on shuffle mode) got to this song, it just played it over and over. It was romantic and yet disturbing at the same time. We didn't say much, I just cried and he wiped my tears. We listened to it probably ten times.

I haven't heard the song in ages, but as I am puttering around getting ready for our company to come over, it came on. I stopped and listened to the whole thing and remembered all the tough times we have been through. Somehow, we have made it this far, our relationship (fairly) unscathed.

God how I love this man for being by my side, thick and thin, better and worse. Even though he doesn't read my blog, this one's for him. I love you babe.

you think i'd leave your side baby
you know me better than that
you think i'd leave you down when you're down on your knees
i wouldn't do that
i'll tell you you're right when you want
and if only you could see into me

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me

when you're on the outside baby and you can`t get in
i will show you you're so much better than you know
when you're lost and you're alone and you cant get back again
i will find you darling and i will bring you home

and if you want to cry
i am here to dry your eyes
and in no time
you'll be fine

you think i'd leave your side baby
you know me better than that
you think id leave you down when you're down on your knees
i wouldn't do that
i'll tell you you're right when you want
and if only you could see into me

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me
when you're low
i'll be there
by your side baby

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me
oh when you're low
i'll be there
by your side baby

Drunk & Disorderly

2007-12-23T09:16:00.000-08:00

I started a post last night about my man and how wonderful he is. It's saved in my drafts and I had planned on finishing and posting it this morning. That was before he made a total and complete ASS of himself at our get together last night. He's one of those people who has a very defined limit when it comes to alcohol. I can usually see him approaching the line and then I swoop in and cut him off. He's very good about it, if I manage to catch him before he crosses the line. Unfortunately, last night I was too slow in the swooping department. I was too busy socializing and playing hostess-with-the-mostess to notice. Once I realized he was totally past the point of no return, I just let it go, I mean it's Christmas, right? He was actually quite funny, not so much in a comedic, witty kind of way, it was more like cheap entertainment laughing at the drunk guy, but it was funny nonetheless. He babbled his way through the night telling partially coherent stories about people at work (he works in a grocery store) and then after a most enthralling story about frozen stuffing that comes in a package shaped like a triangle (wtf?), he disappeared. I found him passed out, fully clothed, on top of the covers in the bedroom. Really, the perfect place for him at the time.

When everyone left, I went to bed. In retrospect I should have just slept in one of the three other empty beds, but I figured he was passed out until morning. I won't make that assumption again. After some more incoherent blather, I finally got him to lay back down. And then he decided it was time to iron his shirt. At 4am. He had to work at 9. Then somehow, in a matter of minutes, it became MY fault that we were still awake. He was shaking his head at me, scolding me like a child, telling me he has been trying to sleep for the past 2 hours and don't I know he was to WORK in a few hours? WTF?

When I woke up and hauled his half-drunk sorry butt out of bed, I knew he would be late for work. He was only 15 minutes late, but I know for sure he got ripped a new one when he got there. He has called me several times to apologize for his abundance of idiotness last night, I'll give him that. He feels terrible (good!!). I've been trying to think of a suitable punishment, but I figure having to be at work for the next 7 hours with the hangover from hell on the busiest day of the entire year will suffice. {insert evil laugh here}

I am utterly exhausted this morning. I'm running on 2 hours sleep, my kitchen still needs to be cleaned, approximately 63,456,794 beer cans need to be taken to the recyclers and as I type this, my youngest M is smearing peanut butter and blueberry yogurt all over the wall in the dining room.

Needless to say, the post about how much I adore him isn't getting posted. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

Smiley Girl With The Perfect Life

2007-12-22T13:36:00.000-08:00

You've heard about her a couple times. There she is people, in all her white-toothed glory. Smiling, happy, radiant. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you that 45 minutes before this picture was taken, she was locked in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with a pillow over her head sobbing to the point of being unable to speak, gasping for air. But it's true. Her unbelievably supportive man (seen on the right, amazingly without any visible injuries) had to remove the bedroom doorknob with a screwdriver (this is the difference between him and me, I woulda just kicked it down) and coerce her out of bed like a cop talking a person off a window ledge. Gently and quietly, while carefully choosing his words so as not to spark total disaster. Somehow she managed to peel herself off the bed, pull herself together, and half a tube of concealer and a Kleenex full of snot later, walk out the door as if she spent the day relaxing at the spa. You know that commercial, "Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Maybelline?" Well, it's definitely Maybelline. Except that I really am a diva at heart, so it's actually MAC, but who's comparing.

This is my life some (ok, most) days. I feel like a person who is battling Multiple Personality Disorder or a similar condition. It's emotionally draining pretending to be something you're not. Quite frankly, Scarlett, I'm sick of it. I now have zero patience for people who really DO have good lives. I secretly look forward to hearing about other people's misfortunes, because then maybe they will get a taste of what my life feels like. Bitter much?

Is this really who I've become? And if so, is there any turning back? Will I ever be able to tell someone I am doing well or congratulate them on something good they have going on and actually MEAN it? Will the drama and pretending ever end? Forget the Perfect Life part, will I ever actually BE Smiley Girl? One can dream, I suppose.

Well, I have to run, we are hosting a drinks & appies night tonight. The house will be immaculate, the food will be to die for and I will be my usual ~~fake~~ fun, ~~lying~~ likeable, ~~phony~~ perfect self. Ciao! :)

My Two BFF's

2007-12-21T19:12:00.000-08:00

So this week has been interesting, to say the least. Yesterday was probably the most worthy of it's own post. I woke up in a fairly decent mood, really excited to go to my son's Preschool Christmas concert. We managed to get everyone ready, on time, which is an amazing feat in our house. So we're all geared up to leave and we can't find the keys. They are nowhere. My clean house looked like it had been ransacked by robbers by the time we were finished looking, but we did find them. When something crappy like this happens first thing in the morning, I should really take it as a sign to just stay the hell home and not bother facing the world. It's inevitably going to be a BAD day.

We walk into the church and the very first person I see is my daughter. Apparently my Mother thought it would be a good idea to bring her? (yes that's a question) She's sitting there, jet black hair teased as big as a football helmet, raccoon eyed makeup, a hoodie with skulls on it (yes, I said skulls) and skater shoes with tongues as big as my ass (which incidentally is growing by the day...effing Christmas season) Never mind that she was not only expelled from school the day before, but was also banned from all school district properties. Never mind that 5 days ago, she was drunk and high causing a scene at both the mall and her school. Never mind that the last time I was face to face with her, she called me a f-ing c--- and told me she didn't care if I died. Never mind that the last time she came to visit her brothers, she showed up drunk. Never mind all of that, there she is. I am surprised she made it to the front pew, one would have thought she would have exploded in a ball of fiery hell upon entering the House of God.

So anyways, I take a deep breath and I mutter under my breath "Just when I thought this day couldn't get worse".....and literally, within maybe 3 seconds, my ex walks through the door. What the f**k, are you kidding me with this sh!t? I'm not sure why it surprised me, it was after all his son's concert, but I was shocked. The next hour is kind of a blur. Lots of singing, kids whining, yelling, Santa's bells, my stupidfuckingex chatting it up with my Mom, Gramma and brother like nothing has happened. I wanted to scream at them. How they can even look at him after what he has put me through is beyond me. They even wished him a Merry Christmas. WTF?

Ok fast forward. We got the heck outta there and came home. That's when all hell broke loose. The previous owner dropped a letter in my mailbox. I ripped it open right away, but now I wish I hadn't. It's actually sitting right in front of me as I type and I can honestly say, I can't bring myself to read it again. I read it when I opened it, then I read it out loud to my man on the phone and that's it. It's sitting there, font side up and I can't even glance at it. My head hurts just thinking about it. As you've obviously figured out, it's not what we wanted to hear. There, in print, is the too bad so sad, if you don't like it, take us to court. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS TO PEOPLE? These people are not idiots either, they are both highly educated. They did this on purpose. They lied and they covered up their problems and left them for us to deal with. I mean seriously, what the F is wrong with a person to do this to someone. Someone they don't know. Someone who did them a favor by buying their house. Someone with a family, with little kids. Someone with plans for that house. Someone who wanted to fill that house with love and raise their children there. Someone with a heart and feelings and emotions. This truly is enough to break a person's spirit. Is there no human decency in this world? I'll say it again, WHO DOES THIS?

My drama has been going on for months, years maybe. I am just "that" person, never a dull moment. Most people don't see it, because on the surface I am Smiley Girl with the Perfect Life. But those who know me well, also know all my sh!t. Well most of it anyways. One of those people is my friend Cheryl. We have often said we must have been separated at birth. We are two peas in a pod with so many similarities it would floor you. Kinda creepy really. I am certain she must have felt my added pain yesterday, because she asked me to spend the evening with her (we haven't seen each other in months), doing whatever I wanted to do. We ended up going for appies and a few drinks (of course both drinking Rye, Diet Coke, tall glass, slice of lime) and I vented. Dumped, unloaded, unleashed, whatever you want to call it, but my god it felt good. I didn't cry, I didn't get worked up, I just talked it all out and she listened. We took turns. OK I am lying, I dominated in the venting department, but she did vent about what it's like to go back to work after 5 years as a SAHM and I listened. She labeled our friendship easy and that's exactly what it is.

So. Those were my two BFF's yesterday. The soul-crushing Big Fat Fuckyou from previous owners and my soul-lifting evening with one of my most Bestest Friends, Forever.

Life is not like a box of chocolates, it's more like a box full of shit

2007-12-19T15:36:00.000-08:00

I woke up today in an 'okay' mood. Then life punched me in the gut.

Now I just want to die. Be gone. Disappear.

I hate this pathetic excuse for a life.

The Lady is a Tramp

2007-12-15T10:50:00.000-08:00

So my man calls me last night to tell me that his mother is at the mall and is looking for a Christmas present for me. Not surprising, since we clearly expressed that we did NOT want any gifts from anyone this year as we don't have the extra funds to be buying for everyone like we have in past years. I still haven't figured out if she's doing it to make me feel guilty, or to make her feel less guilty because she can't not buy a present for her son. Anyhoo, apparently she found some lovely bath salts she thought I would like. (Can I just point out here that I have honestly only taken one, maybe two, baths in the 3 yrs we've been together?) Apparently the reason she was calling about them is because she was wondering if I would be offended. You're probably wondering how a person could be offended by bath salts. BRACE YOURSELVES PEOPLE. What you are about to read will either make you fall off your chair flat on your ass or laugh so hard that your morning coffee spits on your nose.

The bath salts are called Tramp. Yes, T-R-A-M-P. As in slut, whore, easy, skank, trollop, loose, bimbo, hussy, floozie, jezebel, harlot, tart, wench. Shall I go on?

Now if that doesn't say "Merry F*cking Christmas you douchebag of a daughter-in-law".....then I just don't know what does. Ho ho ho....pun intended.

(and yes, it's ok for you to laugh. I did.)

Pardon the French, but f*ck me this is a BAD day

2007-12-14T14:09:00.000-08:00

Today was the last day for the previous owner (let's call him FA, you figure it out) of this stupid house to reply to our letter. We gave him 2 options, the first being that he could buy the house back from us for ALL of our costs to date (I really hope he doesn't choose this one, I do not want to move AGAIN) and the second being that he put $50,000 into our lawyers trust account and then when the repairs get done in the spring, that will pay for it and remaining funds (if any) will be given back to him. If neither was agreeable to him, we sue his lying ass in court for all costs, including legal fees and emotional stress. We would likely win, but how long it would actually take to get the money off him is another story. It could be several years if we had to garnish his wages. I'm not sure where the $70,000ish up front is going to come from. I'll probably just go pick it off the money tree in the backyard.

So, the realtor called today to say that FA has gotten his own lawyer and would like an extension to prepare a reply. F*CK. Are you kidding me? I have been waiting ALL WEEK LONG for this day, just so that I know what we are facing. I cannot bear the thought of going through the already crappy Christmas season not knowing. He has known about the problems since the day after we took possession (this was the day it flooded...happy f*cking housewarming) and he has had ten days to respond to the letter. I am FED UP. I want to drive over to his new house and a) haul him outside and beat the living crap out of him b) put a garden hose on full blast in his basement window and see how he likes them apples or c) BOTH

OH JOY. The phone just rang as I am typing. It was my mother calling to tell me that my daughter is in jail. Apparently she showed up at the school (which she hasn't been attending for weeks) and was high and freaking out so they called the police. Is this really happening? I mean, REALLY HAPPENING?

I just want to curl up in a ball and die. Bloody f*cking hell. THIS IS NOT MY LIFE, it is someone's twisted and sick idea of a cruel joke. I swear it has to be.

Oink oink moo moo

2007-12-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I finally admitted to myself that I have gained weight. I could feel it in my clothes, and could most definitely see it in the mirror. Cruel, unforgiving mirror. Having spent the last year working my ass off (quite literally) losing 50+ lbs, this was a truly, deeply, depressing revelation. Not exactly what I need right now.

I could list all kinds of excuses. We moved and I haven't had the time to go to the gym. It's that time of year when food is everywhere. I've had too much on my mind. But it doesn't matter what I say to myself or others, the fact is that I just haven't given a sh!t for the last 6 weeks. Not about me anyways. I've given many sh!ts about what is going on AROUND me, and even more sh!ts about what is going on WITH me, but not about me personally/physically. My legs are hairy, my toenails haven't seen polish in weeks, my acrylic french nails are nowhere to be seen and I am packing on the chub like a farmer's pig heading to slaughter.

I'm no stranger to this road, I've been down it before. I am NOT, I repeat NO EFFING WAY, going down it again. I have worked too hard for too long and felt too good about myself to let myself go. I don't care what's going on in my life, at least I have my looks to fall back on.
(btw...that ^^^ was me trying to be funny, even though I'm not supposed to be trying)

Anyways, it's just not likely that I am going to make it to the gym 5x week right now. For one, we moved and the gym is no longer 2 mins away from my house. Two, my man works ridiculous shifts and lots of them this time of year and three, come January I will either be working outside the home or inside the home (that's another entry for another day) so time will be a major issue. Running outside at this time of year isn't really an option. The roads are hideous and even though I have a wind cover for the double jogger, it's just too cold to even consider running in 20 below weather with kids. So, I've decided to get a home gym and a treadmill. I LOVE running. Love love love it. I've always wanted a treadmill and almost bought one earlier this year, but room was an issue and I was able to get to the gym and run a lot outside this summer. Room is still a bit of an issue, since the majority of the basement floods, but I have a spot in mind that doesn't flood....yet. I knew my SIL had a home gym, dismantled and collecting dust in the in-laws basement storage, so I asked her if I could borrow it until they want to use it. Of course she said yes, how could she say no? So that leaves the treadmill. Easy peasy, right? Just go get one and voila!, all will be better. That's what I thought too. I have scoured the local buy and sell, newspaper classifieds, craigslist and the like. I even posted a message on mine AND my man's Facebook accounts (yes, I have a Facebook page, I'm an addict....again, another blog entry for another day) .......and yet, with a combined six hundred and thirty four friends (yes, 6-3-4) nobody has one they want to sell? Oh, AS IF. I know there are dozens of treadmills out there, hiding under a pile of clothes or a blanket of dust, just praying that someone, anyone, will come along, fire them up, hop on and sweat all over them (hmmm that almost sounds dirty lol) but no such luck. Faaaaaack.

I would just go buy a brand new one, but I'm not sure I can justify such an expensive purchase right now. It's 2 weeks before Christmas (ok 12 days but who the hell is counting anyways) and we have a half renovated house that has a huge unforseeen repair bill looming in the spring. I considered doing a no payments no interest thing, but for the first time in, well, ever, we are debt free aside from the mortgage and car payment. We have spent the last 3 years paying off all of our credit cards, loans, line of credit, department store credit, you name it. We also made a pact that we wouldn't get sucked into the no payments bullsh!t ever again. I know the man won't care, I know he understands. So maybe I will. I dunno. That could lead to more guilt, as if I don't have enough of that.

Anyways, it's my man's only day off this week, so I did manage to get to the gym this afternoon. (Side note: I quit working at the gym last month, but I'm still on an employee membership and I'm not reminding them to take me off. I know, I'm evil, pure evil). I weighed myself when I got there. 8lbs. In 6 weeks. Jesus. You have got to be kidding me. I wanted to cry, but instead I bit my lip, told myself to suck it up buttercup (or butterball as the case may be) and hopped on the treadmill. It felt good. Screw that, it felt GREAT. I forgot what that rush of endorphins does for a person. I ran like a mofo for a full 40 mins. My brain was just flying. I thought about all the people I hate for making my life miserable and ran faster and harder until my lungs felt like they would explode and I wanted to barf. I left there panting, beet red in the face, mascara running to my nose, sweat stains under my pits like the classy diva that I am and I felt like I could take on the world, and then some. I think it's safe to say that running is definitely "my thing".

So, I'm back on the wagon and I refuse to fall off. I guess I feel like my weight is the one and only thing in my life that I have some sort of control over. I need to be in control of something right now. I need to feel good about myself again. God do I need these things.

My goal is to lose the 8lbs as quickly as I gained them. I WILL succeed. And I WILL find a treadmill!!!!

Women shouldn't try to be funny

2007-12-13T10:38:00.000-08:00

Quote, unquote. My man said that to me this morning. We were driving, listening to the radio and the radio host(ess) was attempting a joke. Granted it was a feeble attempt....but the statement was a tad harsh, don't you think? I turned to him, a disgusted look on my face, and said "Did you REALLY just say that?!" I was half-expecting him to correct himself, but the part of me that knows him well knew he actually meant it. That part was right. He went on to try and explain, basically saying that there are no truly funny women. I tried to think of some examples, but I couldn't, at least not off the top of my head. I'd like to think that *I* am funny, but lately I'm just the girl that everyone shakes their head about when they hear the latest saga in my life.

This is why I have stopped telling people about my woes. This is why I am blogging instead. I walk around in a daze, with a big sh!t-eating grin on my face, pretending my life is just peachy keen, with a cherry on top. 'Tis the season for running into people who will undoubtedly ask me how I am doing. I'm good!! Fabulous, really. Life is just wonderful, and you? How are the kids? Oh, they're doing GREAT. Especially my daughter, she's a real gem. How's the new house? It's fantastic, we're just SO glad we bought it. Did I tell you it has an indoor pool? Are you having Christmas with the family? Absolutely, you bet. We'll spend one day with my child molesting uncle and the next with the in-laws who wish I would fall off the face of the Earth.

Is this really my life? Because it sure the f*ck is not what I signed up for. I want Damn She's Funny Girl back, but since women shouldn't try to be funny, I guess I'll just have to settle for Smiley Girl With The Perfect Life.

Charlie Sheen is a comedic genius?

2007-12-11T20:41:00.001-08:00

No really, it's an actual question, because I can't quite wrap my mind around making it into a statement just yet.

I'm not big on comedy, especially half hour sitcoms. I'm not even really that big on watching TV at all, although I do watch more when the weather is crappy and I am housebound. Anyways, I watched Two and a Half Men the other night after the kiddos were in bed, the house was clean and there was nothing else on any of the other 298 channels. I laughed my head off for the entire 30 minutes, minus commercials of course. I figured that maybe I happened to catch the one episode that was actually good. But I just finished watching it again, and I'm telling you, the show is damn funny. The characters are all quirky and fun and Charlie is just downright hilarious playing a narcissistic, chauvinistic ladies man....or maybe he's not acting.....either way, he's great.

I think I may have even snorted a little when I was laughing hysterically. Phew, I needed that. Who needs a shrink when they have CBS?

Cuddly as a cactus, charming as an eel

2007-12-11T14:24:00.000-08:00

I don't like Christmas. I would even go as far to say that I hate Christmas. Perhaps even loathe. Ok maybe not loathe, let's go with hate or very strong dislike. Bah Humbug. Call me Ebenezer, it doesn't bother me. I have no problems telling people how I feel about Christmas. Their jaws drop, their eyes go wide and they look at me, horrified, and ask....."Whaaaaaaaat? How can you not like it, it's CHRISTMAS?!?!"

But really, what is Christmas?

If you are a religious person, it's about the birth of Jesus Christ. I appreciate that, even though I am not overly religious. I think it's wonderful for families to attend church on Christmas Eve and come together to worship. It's beautiful and heart warming.

What I don't understand is what everyone else gets out of Christmas.

Presents. It's the one time of year that I look around and can actually see the greed, thick in the air. Children are exposed to the mass commercialization of Christmas. Toys, toys, toys. Presents, presents and more presents. The older they get, the longer the wish lists with ridiculously expensive gifts on them. "Oh sure little Johnny, Santa would love to bring you a 42" plasma AND an XBox 360 AND a cell phone, because let's face it, every 10 year old needs to have one" Let's not even get into when they start comparing their gifts to what other kids got and then start complaining about it. Complaining! I know it's not just my kids that do this, because I have seen it with my own eyes at family gatherings and have been told stories from other parents. I have tried over and over, year after year, to try and get them to not be so greedy. But every year, it happens all over again. Sure, kids will be kids...but what are we teaching them? As they dive into the 4 foot high mountain of carefully wrapped presents and then tear them apart like animals, they certainly aren't learning the value of a dollar or that working hard for your money is rewarding. Really.

Enough about presents, I could go on for hours. And that would be boring. So, what else does Christmas bring? Shopping.....one of my very favorite things to do. Anyone reading this that actually knows me, knows that I love to shop. I'm not a big spender, believe me I love nothing more than a good deal....I just love, love, LOVE to go shopping. I call it retail therapy and I actually believe in that. It's amazing what a new lipgloss or even new oven mitts can do for one's mood. Now, Christmas shopping? Nuh-uh. How can anyone in their right minds enjoy driving around and around the mall parking lot, scanning the spaces for an empty spot? Oh, look, there's one...ah crap, it's just a small car that pulled too far ahead. So 18 laps later, you finally find a spot, a mere football field away from the entrance doors. You schlep your way through the slushy, wet, cold snow (at least you do if you live where I do) and you finally get inside the mall. Oh joy, right? Wrong! It's wall to wall people, rushing around like chickens with their heads cut off, desperately trying to check off the next gift on their list. The shelves are empty, the line-ups are excrutiatingly long and when you live in a small town like I do, it's inevitable that you'll run into someone who a) you don't really like and you have to pretend to like, because hey, it's Christmas or b) you do really like, but geez don't they know you're in a hurry doing your shopping and could they please just stop talking?! Alright, I'm pretty sure you've gotten the drift that Christmas shopping for me is NOT the same as actual shopping. It's like the Retail version of Hell as far as I'm concerned.

Food. Another one of my loves. I love good food. I love cooking. Baking, not so much. I don't do Christmas baking. Measuring is not my thing. 10 bowls to make one thing, also not my thing. So back to cooking. My turkey dinner is by far the best. I'm not just tooting my own horn here, either. It's damn good. So why don't I like that part of Christmas you ask? Well, because I never actually get to cook a turkey on Christmas, because heaven forbid we not attend the family Christmas dinner and piss anyone off. This year....oh and last, but who's counting....it's the in-laws we don't want to piss off. So why not have it on Christmas Eve you ask? Well that's because we'd be pissing off the sister who does the Eve thing every year. And Boxing Day you ask? Because everyone is so sick of turkey by then that I can't be bothered to put in the effort to cook a beautifully browned bird with all the delicious fixin's, knowing that they are just going to eat it to appease me. My talents will not be wasted. Now can we talk about weight gain during the month of December? Actually, let's not. My pants are already tight and it's only the 11th.

Decorations. I have toddlers. Enough said.

Parties. Let's separate them. But first, let me point out that with 3 little kids, we have to choose which parties to attend. Getting a sitter for every event we are invited to over the holidays would probably mean either no presents under the tree (not that we have a tree this year....see above paragraph) or missing the mortgage payment.

1. Work parties - My man works for Save On Foods, a multi-million dollar company. They charge $25 for a ticket to the Christmas party, which I think is so wrong, but we won't go there. Anyways, 2 tix, a few cocktails, a cab home and the sitter, we are looking at $175 (minimum) to spend the evening with people that he already spends 40+ hours a week with. Sounds like fun......yeah.

2. Family parties, including Christmas dinner. My in-laws hate me, especially the MIL. Despite my negative blogging, I really am a likeable person. I'm intelligent and can hold a conversation about almost anything. I've been known to be witty at times too. So anyways, they can't stand me. They tolerate me, but it's through clenched teeth I am sure. Nobody is good enough for their son, but that's a whole 'nother blog entry, probably just as long as this one. As for my family, well if you read my previous blog entry, you'd know that there are some very serious issues there.

3. Social parties. Both my man and I had nasty break-ups with the exes. This means we "share" friends with them. Well, some friends have taken sides, but some still share. So we have to choose carefully when we are invited. Sometimes we even have to just come right out and ask the host/hostess if the Lunatic or Jacka$$ will be there. But, all in all, these get togethers are the most enjoyable of the bunch. Maybe that's the problem, they are a little too enjoyable. In my world (since I turned 30, honestly) holiday fun = 2 day hangover. So is the few hours of socializing fun worth a full day of praying at the porcelain alter? Not freaking likely.

I'm trying to think of something else that's so "wonderful" about the Christmas season, but I'm thinking that about sums it up. You're probably sitting there, sugarplums dancing in your head, thinking how crazy I am that I don't like Christmas. And that's ok.

So. Is it January yet?

Signed,
The Grinch

A bad day? Try a bad year

2007-12-08T10:57:00.000-08:00

So this is my first post, which was inspired by a friend who recently started blogging. I have tried (more than once) to blog over the years and have always, well, sucked at it I guess you could say. Strange really, considering I have A LOT to say. I guess it all boils down to time management. My New Year's resolution is to take the time to do it, at least once a week. I figure let's start with small potatoes, right?

I must admit I am secretly hoping that blogging will help me sort out my feelings and maybe put my ridiculously stressful life into some sort of perspective. I really, really, really need some perspective right now. Because of this, I have a sneaking suspicion that sometimes, my blog will be a negative one. OK maybe not negative, but I highly doubt it's going to get any laughs. Heck it may not even get any views, and I am completely ok with that. I can be charming and funny (modest much?) but I'm not sure how much of that is going to come across on here. Hopefully more than I'm anticipating. Just not today, today is a bad day.

I hate stress. I hate drama. And yet, they both seem to find me, grab hold and try to suck the life out of me. I do my best to fight it, honestly I do. I have given up even talking about my life stresses with anyone except my man, because quite honestly, if I was my friend, I'd tell myself and my nasty problems to take a hike. I could literally write a novel, a very loooong novel, about my life misfortunes. I am the poster child for Drama, with a capital D.

Let's break it down. Right now, at this moment in time, this is what I am dealing with, in order of importance in my mind:

~A 14 year old hooligan for a daughter who has run away from home, dropped out of school, gotten into drugs & alcohol and is breaking my heart with her refusal to accept help.

~A family member who sexually abused another (child) family member and is now tearing this family apart with people taking sides. There's much, much more to this story, but I'm going to leave it at that for privacy reasons.

~Emotional battle of having another child. I desperately want to start a career in Real Estate, but I am hesitant to establish myself and then put it all on pause to have a baby down the road. I have suffered many miscarriages, including two back to back in the year following my youngest son's birth. I'm pretty sure I am physically ready, but am I emotionally stable enough to deal with yet another possible loss? It honestly might send me over the edge. And, I'm going to throw this out there, even though I know it's utterly selfish......I spent the last year ridding myself of 50lbs of fattening depression, which poses the question - Do I want to spend the next year gaining it all back, only to have to lose it again?

~A new house with a basement that leaks like the effing Titanic, with a repair cost of up to $50,000 oh and let's not forget the $20,000 in legal fees to sue the guy who sold it to us and made no mention of water issues. Let me tell you how thankful I am for the 28 below zero weather this week, never thought I would hear myself saying that.

~A court battle with the ex, who is quite honestly the single most unreasonable human being on this planet. I'm waiting for my day in court and my god if I don't prevail, I am going to kill someone. Perhaps I shouldn't be writing that on my blog, but there it is. Whatever.

There are many more things going on in my life, but those are the doozies. They consume my mind all day, every day and let's not even talk about at night. My mind is reeling when it should be resting. I am not sure how much more I can take. I am thankful to have an extremely supportive man in my life who listens to me rant and wipes my tears when I cry, but the bottom line is that there is nothing anyone can do to make me better. These are issues I have to deal with head on and I just pray that they won't break me.

Someone grant me some strength. Please. I am begging.