A Tale Of Two Lines

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

**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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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.