My Inner Dork Revealed and Other Weekend Musings

Friday was H's birthday, the big 30, and to celebrate we went to one of those Japanese steak houses. It was all fine and good. T.D. was entertained by the flashing knives and onion smoke stacks which was nice. Afterwards we were headed back to the car when H decided he wanted to check out the local used book store.

Normally I am not a fan of the used book store. It's musty, disorganized to the point that you wonder if sugar high crazed toddlers put the books on the shelves and there is always that CD section. It entices me first thing only to find myself staring at multiple copies of Green Day, Johnny Mathis, and Andy Williams Cd's. Suffice to say I am not a fan of the used book store realm. We wandered in and began to peruse the stacks. As T.D. squeaked about in her Pippytoes, H and I noticed that this store was unlike others. It was indeed fantastically organized. Each section that declared 'Cooking' actually had cookbooks. Those were then divided into different types of cooking. Emboldened I ventured into the U.S. History section.

Here is when I really went a little nuts. I might have even left some drool on the shelves which I can easily blame on T.D. First stop was espionage. A closet fan of all things spy I ran my hands over the spines of these fine books. I began to notice that U.S. History section might indeed be the finest of them all. It was painstakingly labeled and separated out by state, there were the wars, the Old West, Native Americans, and then to my surprise and glee a whole section of Immigration. Here is where my inner dork is truly revealed. I majored in U.S. History with a concentration in the socio-economics of cities from Reconstruction to the first World War, with an even deeper concentration in Immigration and the Gilded Age. Two vastly different worlds, but one I can immerse myself in for weeks and not know time has passed. I can wax and wane about kitchen cleaning agents from this bygone time and types of food to sewer systems. Finding this gem of section almost had me peeing my Capri's. Before I knew it I had found old textbooks in mint condition that I lovingly stroked and cooed over. Good times. Then I happened upon the exciting title of 'The New England Mind-From Colony to Province'. I shivered with anticipation as I looked at the index and table of contents. Ooh happy times indeed! This little piece of gold had to be mine! I snatched it off the shelf before anyone else could.

Incredible purchase in hand we left the store, but not before I could head over to the Classics and find oodles of good fun with Edith Wharton and Fitzgerald. I will be back to the used book store in the future. Yes I will.

The rest of the weekend followed with nice sunny weather, a party for H, too much food and drink and about three separate cakes. Eesh. Way too much cake in our house. We woke up Sunday bloated, dehydrated, and whispering one word to each other-Detox. We need to detox our systems of the sugar, salt, fat and whatever else we ingested. Starting today we are on! Lemon juice and water all around! For the next few days we'll see how lucid my thoughts are as I subsist on a variety of veggies, legumes, lemon water, and air.

News Flash!!

Are we all picturing Kermit, the Frog, in a trench coat about to give the news that the three little pigs house has just blown down? No? Just me then. OK.

NEWS! NEWS! NEWS!
I had an email yesterday and a comment posted on this blog under the post- The Power of the Onesie. We have some truly great news! The bill passed in Washington state for Paid Family Leave. That makes two states that have now passed this incredible bill. Way to go! MomsRising!

Kate, from MomsRising, stated that they received some wonderful onesies from this site. Thanks to EVERYONE who supported and sent some in. The display was phenomenal and just goes to show that grassroots campaigning really does make a difference!!

I Have the Grudge Kid

T.D.'s latest achievement is screaming. She's quite adept at it. Typically the scream doesn't come in the form of frustration or anger, just bursts. Very effective when she wants to scare the bejeezes out of me.

Example 1: I am cutting up fruit at the counter. Sharp knife in hand. NPR is buzzing on the radio, a quiet afternoon listening to the feuds of Nixon and Kissinger, is there anything better? Silently she pads into the room, stalking her prey (me). She screams one sharp, shrill scream right behind me. I jump and turn quickly while brandishing that long, sharp knife. She laughs hysterically, screams again and runs away. Oh Ha ha, what good fun. I almost knifed myself in the throat jumping like that. How would I explain that to the neighbors?

Example 2: Watering plants on the deck we are out enjoying the sunny day. T.D. toddles around pointing to objects and generally pushing the dog around. Suddenly screams ring through the quiet afternoon. I turn to look and T.D. is just standing stock still in the middle of the deck and she laughs. I think my heart might have stopped for a mili-second or two. Thanks kid.

This has been going on for a few days. I know it's best to ignore it and not show reaction, but when she jumps out of nowhere and does it, sneaking up behind me screaming like a banshee on acid or at least that kid from the Grudge, it's a bit hard not to react to. A neighbor actually asked if there was something wrong yesterday because the screams coming from our house were scaring her kid. Now her kid roams the house asking, "T.D. crying? T.D. sad?" Nope. T.D. sly. T.D. delights in freaking the crap out of her Mom.

Oh and how did no one notice that on Wednesday I titled my post 'WTF Thursday!'?

WTF Thursday!

Seriously? Why?!? This is the uber-cool, must-have for Spring? Are you kidding me? I can really see myself traipsing about town in my Hoodlet. People at the local Target would probably call the cops on my suspicious self. This is supposed to add "flair and whimsy" to your spring wardrobe. Uh-huh. Sure.

Product of the Week!

Go check out 'Product of the Week' over here. If you would like me to review of product of yours email me and we'll work something out! I am always willing to try something new and give you an honest review! More PBN reviews coming soon too!

Head on over to Queen of Spain's blog for some good commentary on alcoholic pj's for tweens. Aye.

A little Alec in All of Us?

It seems that this mess with Alec Baldwin continues. He's been seen all over discussing his less than ideal phone call to his daughter Ireland. I really didn't want to give this story any real play until yesterday when I had a conversation with a girlfriend of mine and it came up.

My biggest fear, and I talk about it often, is that I'll become a little too much like Joan Crawford. I've seen, own, and read the story Mommie Dearest more times than I can count. I have read numerous books about J.C. and even possess a copy of 'My Way of Life' by her. It's an almost illogical fear really, but there are those days where my temper is a bit too short and I find myself yelling. If someone were to tape that? Well, I cringe with embarrassment. We all have those moments whether it's with our kids, our spouses, or at a total stranger in our car. We yell, lose our cool and say some pretty vile things. We shouldn't do this. Especially to our kids, but it does happen. I yelled at a driver yesterday because he stopped in the middle of a lane for no reason. Just stopped his car. No light, no stop sign, and no other cars in front of him and yet he stopped. T.D. had been yelling herself into a tizzy for twenty minutes and nothing was appeasing her. Instead of yelling at her I really yelled at him. Seriously, why was he stopped? Oh right, he wanted to merge into another lane, and despite the fact that no one was coming, he stopped to think? and then ever so slowly get over. I digress...

My girlfriend made the point that what Baldwin did wasn't right, but we've all had those moments. She added that being girls once we know we weren't always the nicest, considerate people at that age either. I started to laugh and told her about how my grandmother told me that at the age of eleven (Ireland Baldwin's age), "I was a real bitch to deal with." Thanks Grandma! I know though she was right in many instances. I was a moody little SOB prone to silent treatments and major bouts of sulking. I didn't even want to deal with me.

I am not even completely surprised about this Baldwin outburst. We've heard the stories about his temper for years. He probably does need some sort of anger management. I just think though that we all have moments we regret, moments we wouldn't want anyone to see that aren't typical of us and our lives. Anyone else agree with me on this one?

One!

Awww, it's so cute, look at that sweet little one year old blog! I can hardly believe it myself. It's already been a year. In some ways, and this is so tired and predictable of me, it's felt bone gnawingly long and in other aspects it's raced by faster than a hamster on smack.

T.D. is one now as well and ever the dictator. She throws her hands up to show displeasure, delights in shrieking loudly, and now walks around with her chest puffed out and her hands behind her back, just like Hitler did to hide the shakes he had in his hands. Isn't that precious?

I looked back this morning at some old posts, had a few laughs, cringed at some moments, and realized that I did achieve my goal of staying at home, and also managed to keep up the blog, and start a new career. What a wild year it's been. Enjoy some excerpts from the past year! So much has changed including this blog.
We've got everything-
Going back to work,
Typical Mom Anxieties,
Bouts with PPD,
Poop,
the final straw, and
squishy feelings

Thanks for reading!

That Floundering Feeling

I had a meeting the other day about a writing job which I'm excited about as it's not a venue I've done a lot with and it will require a bit of detective work on my behalf. I knew going into the meeting that I would have to bring T.D. along and that was fine as this woman also works out of her home and her kids would be there too. Fine. Fine.

When I arrived I got T.D. settled in the playroom just off the office. She toddled around the room checking out the new toys. It soon became clear however, that the office was far more fascinating to her and so were the contents of my purse. She showed this fascination by dumping it all over the floor and then systematically removing what I couldn't grab as I tried to pay attention, take notes, and make intelligent conversation. Oy. My stress level rose a bit there. The meeting continued on as I doled out graham crackers and juice. I took notes and stole my sunglasses back. I tucked my cell phone away as well as pens. T.D. found a highlighter in the office and took off with it. A paper weight was brought to me with reverence. Sigh. It was exhausting and distracting while I tried to be OK with it all. I just don't do well with this type of thing.

When we had finally covered what we needed to I gathered up my stuff to go and it was just all over the place. My shit was all apart as we like to say in our house. Literally all apart. I love gathering crap up off a strangers floor. I took my notes, my supplies, my kid, my purse and the items given to me during the meeting. It was an armful. I thanked her and we headed out the front door. Then that damned wind that has been keeping me up at night, blowing crap all over our yards, and generally making life incredibly bothersome happened. In one giant gust it ripped all the notes from my hands. The stack of papers she had just given me? Sailing across four houses in her neighborhood in under five seconds. There was simply no way for me to grab them with everything else I had in my arms. I set some things down but as I awkwardly crawled around with T.D. picking up loose papers I knew it was a lost cause. They were not even in sight anymore. I HATE WIND. I don't care about how it helps pollination... I LOATHE WIND. Fine. Fine. Fine! I will just put my stuff in the car and ask for another folder of papers. But wait...

"Where are my keys?", I ask T.D. Mainly because she's there and I'm squawking aloud but also because I know she's the culprit behind the lost keys. I dump out my mess of a purse and look. Nothing. I'm locked out. I trudge back to the house and ring the bell. Embarrassed and feeling like the biggest, unprofessional loser I explain the wind and now the keys. We head back into the house. The keys are found in the playroom quickly and a new folder is presented to me. I felt like a moron though. A tired dishrag, rung out to dry, found on the road dishrag. An incompetent, unprofessional dishrag. Days later I still cringe when I think of it.

For the Ladies

I think maybe I should get some of these because no matter how hard I am sweating at the gym I still feel like all the women are looking at me like, "Can't you control those things lady?!" Then thinking, "Well, hers must be fake." Ha! If only. Then maybe I wouldn't have to work out so much to keep them perky.

Please Leave A Message

Yesterday I was running around like a mad woman, what else is new, and I came home to this-

Hi Vicky, it's ... (my neighbor) I hope you are having a great workout and a good day. I'm bored and I was just thinking that maybe I should start my own blog about the monotony of motherhood and how your kid can cause it's diaper to explode and you clean that up and redress them only to have them puke all over the new outfit so you have to clean them again, and redress them once more. Then your second kid says they want to play outside because they haven't been outside in days with this weather so you bundle them all up only to have them look at you from the front door and say, "Watch penguins? I want to watch penguins." I'm bored. You don't have to call me back.

Oh can we not all empathize with this type of moment? Because you know that all happened in about a fifteen minute time span and that poor woman was dripping in stress sweat and just trying to keep from losing it. Reminds me of the time T.D. and the dog managed to smear poop all over each other in a ten minute window and include me in on the fun as well as all three levels of our townhouse.

Mulling

I've finally gotten around to speaking with our financial advisor in the last week about what to do with my 401k plan from my old job. I feel just like that women in the "Chuck" commercial who keeps saying she is too busy to think about that complicated stuff. Once I had gotten that out of the way my mind began to wander and mull over a few other items.

How good is our life insurance? What exactly is our plan? It's a good thing my sponsor chimed in this week with Term Quotes. This company has all the basics you need to know about life insurance. What it is, the different types and why you might need it. Once you've established those guidelines you can move on and take a look at the choices. Term Quotes has over fifty different companies that can offer you quotes on life insurance. It really is worth looking into even if it's just for peace of mind.

I certainly feel better now that I have looked up our information again and verified that it's correct and in place. After this week's nightmare here in VA it makes you think hard about how precious life is.

And the Nominees Are...

The Blogger's Choice Awards have begun! Check out my sidebar and click to vote for me in anyone of my nomination categories! It's just an honor to be nominated. Sigh...

Letters and Loathing

Why is it that just declaring that you are going to the post office brings up a collective groan? People immediately sympathize with you and describe a nightmare post office visit of their own. Sometimes they ask you what your game plan is or if you could maybe be so kind as to drop something off for them too. Anything to deter from going themselves.

I needed to mail out a package to a friend for weeks. It sat in my car in various locations. It sat in a closet and then moved to the front door. Finally, it was beyond late and it had produced offspring in the form of two smaller packages that actually had mail by dates. Fine, I grimaced, set my jaw, and decided Saturday was the day. EARLY Saturday I would hit the post office. Just get it over with already. As I drove into the parking lot I noticed the jam. People swarmed like ants in the parking lot zig-zagging every which way. Cars lurched forward and stopped unexpectedly. It was a maze of obstacles. I sighed letting my shoulders slump. I was not going to deal with this today.

My plan, because then I did create one, was to go during the week. A sneak attack in the early morning. While everyone else was commuting to work, I would be mailing my cumbersome packages. Heh. My plan was foiled by a tiny dictator in pink pants. While the packages were all neatly stacked back into the car, correct addresses and labels applied, she slept. Slept and slept and slept. A marathon of a freakin' nap. Finally, we made our way out, late in the day. I silently cursed the postal gods though I should have been appeasing them with tasty treats or something. As I drove up I noticed, "WTF! It's worse than Saturday! How could..., but..., WHY?! I joined the lurching cars and parked.

The winds were high and whipping around the parking lot so strongly my purse, which weighs quite a lot these days, blew away from my body alarmingly. Whatever, I'm stronger than wind and post office. I pressed onward. The car doors flew open almost knocking me over. T.D. got scared. The stroller almost blew away before I could put her in it. The stroller that was not big enough to hold all the packages or even one. The wrong stroller was in the car. Damn! I juggled the packages, fought the wind, and with one-hand steered the stroller through the lot. One older man asked if he could help. Nice. Except he was in his car, going reverse, and almost hitting two pedestrians and a giant Suburban. "No thanks kind Sir!" I really wanted to yell inexplicably, "Can't you see the mess you are creating?! GET OUT OF THE WAY!" The impatient Suburban lurched into my path. I yelled sweetly, "WTF Assface!", as the zig-zagging ant people stared. My hair blew into my eyes and around my face like Medusa's snakes. The transformation was happening faster than I thought.

Upon entering the post office, I know we are just getting through the doors, I saw the lines. The lines of slump shouldered people who moved as if off to a gulag. They looked like the tiny Mer people trapped in the Sea Witch, Ursula's, cave. I could feel myself caving and slumping as well as I joined their ranks. I stood in line, muttering like a crazy person, and a cheery postal worker asked if anyone had any packages to mail that were going outside the U.S. No one moved. OUTSIDE? I think a majority is inside the U.S. but what do I know? She got pissy right quick and barked at our collectively sad lot, "No one has a package going outside the U.S.?" Her piercing gaze eyed my packages. I looked quickly away, averting my eyes.

The man in line in front of me lurched forward. I'm next! I hear his grizzly voice ask for an envelope. "Oh for the love of...", I think. "You come unprepared?" Geez! I look at T.D. and say, "I know, I know, I feel the same way." She yells. Then I see him wander away from the counter without his stuff to the postal store side looking for an envelope. This ends up taking two postal workers plus the unprepared grizzled man about ten minutes to find an envelope that doesn't piss him off for some bizarre reason. I am almost bent at the waist at this point. Finally, it is my turn. It only takes a mere five minutes to get my packages into the mail system. That's it. Yet somehow we have been there for 45 minutes. I drag my tired ass out towards the door. Inexplicably I feel the urge to pull the fire alarm. I can't explain it. I feel it would almost be an act of mercy even if it's probably a federal offense. I would be setting these people free! I look away, head down, I steer us to the car becoming a zig-zagger myself.

Happy Monday!

It's a cold, blustery day and it feels more like January than mid-April. The weather is seeping into my soul making it a gooey, slightly sticky, clumped with allergen inducing dust bunny darkened mess. I lurched downstairs to head to the office, ignoring the howling winds outside my door. My coffee in hand I decided to check out my site meter. I do this weekly just to get stats, see who's reading and who's not, etc. I found a link I didn't know about.
Mothers Day Central and there I was listed as one of the Top 100 Mom Blogs! Seriously!?! ME?!

I mean I like me. Most days. I just had no idea other people liked me like that. It was the push I needed to see and hear. Sometimes I wonder if anyone is really reading this, if I am actually good at this blogging/writing thing, and whether or not I should even keep going. So I just want to say a HUGE THANK YOU to my readers and supporters. I love that you all always know when to tell me I'm doing something good and it's just when I need to hear it.

It also makes me beg the question- who on earth nominated me? Step forward! I wish to thank you publicly. A question that is always on my mind is also who are my readers? I would love to know you better. Drop me a line, check in and say hi, tell me what you like about the site and/or why you read it. I would love some feedback.

Again THANK YOU and it's great to see all my favorite blogs that you can find in my sidebar links also are on the list.

Cheers!

Don't Mind Me Today, I'm Just Cantankerous

There was the day of Nixon's funeral and how I got to listen to it and various recaps of his administration for an entire morning. Every May his resignation speech was played. Every May I am giddy with joy at hearing it again.

There were the hazy days of cocaine, booze, weight gain, peeing in the studio, and nights at Elaine's. They are as much of blur to me as to him as I was only six.

Bumpy, country roads on my way to school where my greatest joy was listening to his voice talk politics and start a book club of sorts in the mid-90's even as he broadcast from the hospital with deflated lungs. As a non-Kennedy loving New Englander his bits on Ted Kennedy got me each time.

Making my college roommie sick with embarrassment because her roommate listens to an old, white man each morning before class.

Finding that same voice on the radio dial regardless of where I have lived and spending each election season listening as he tirelessly questions the candidates and wouldn't let them skirt the issues like other people do.

Hearing my local radio station this morning use many derogatory terms and racist remarks for the bazillionth time. A-ha, ha, ha...how witty and original. Still on the radio without question I might add.

I love America. We get all riled up, find a target, fire that target because he's the best example (old, white geezer is the best I have to say), and create a huge media blitz congratulating ourselves about how we are making the world better. Yup, sensationalized news always does that am I right? Yet in a week or a month it will be gone, the radio airwaves will be the same. Couric will plagiarize again and nothing will happen because she's so darned cute. If another Anna Nicole had died or Britney Spears had knocked over a liquor store this week that would have taken over instead. Right now the airwaves would be ripe with discussions about how she's ruining America's young girls. Super stores would still sell Bratz dolls though and people would still buy them for the under eight crowd.

I may not have loved or agreed with everything that man had to say, but I grew up hearing his voice each morning and it was oddly comforting to find it wherever my life took me. I don't love or agree with everything anyone has to say or stand for 100 percent. However, I learned so much about books, sports, politics and more. I learned the impact a person can make for a charitable cause or two and now I'm left to wonder will his firing really make a difference? I think no.

Nice Work if You Can Get It

I'm feeling a little restless today. I had another one of my fun dreams where it's all gnarled black licorice-like trees and heinous red lighting. I swear they can be like a bad 70's horror flick at times. The lack of spring weather, the chronic indigestion and the inexplicable way I just burst into tears all adds up to a very bizarre feeling day. I swear if I didn't know any better I would think I was pregnant again.

It's odd, I have plenty of work to do, but I can't quiet my mind long enough to actually concentrate and put words to paper. I keep looking out the window as if something is going to happen. After a morning of baking cookies for my Avon bake sale this weekend I decided T.D. and I had to get out of the house. The gloominess outside wasn't daunting enough and I loaded her into the stroller.

Once we got out there though I couldn't even stay still on my Ipod. I just kept skipping around. No Kanye, no Christina. No Diana Krall or White Stripes. Minor Threat, Rollins, disco tunes, or Weezer was cutting it. My old stand by songs were just making me more frustrated too. Then some Lady Day began to play. Her voice, the sound of music, the actual grayness of the day all fit and finally put my mind at ease. That and T.D. passed out in the stroller ceasing her fussing. I just strolled along as Billy Holiday and I took a walk and listened to the beat, beat, beat of the drum.

The Yoke of Guilt

Guilt is nothing new to a mother. It's as old as the profession itself. There are different types of guilt, strains if you will, and I am just beginning to discover them.

There's the guilt you feel when you take time for yourself even though you may need it.

The guilt of going back to work, or when you work late, or have to go to work when your child is sick. That guilt used to ping me a lot in my former days.

Then there's the guilt you feel when you are there in their daily life, but aren't always mentally present. They might be playing nearby as you work from home guilt is what I'm talking about. Sometimes I feel guilty just because I am home with her. I felt like that yesterday in the middle of Tot Thyme while my husband works his ass off at two jobs, I'm on a gym floor playing with plastic cheese slices and smiling. I'm laughing as she slides down the slide and he's on a conference call or screaming at a printer or monitor to "just fucking work!" H thinks I need to get over this type of guilt and fast. It did help that he says he sometimes feels guilty when he's not all that busy at work and he knows I'm home trying to type just one sentence while chasing a toddler.

I had an epiphany of sorts last week. I was walking down the stairs of my house, having just put T.D. down for a nap (yes!) and I thought, "Why do I think I need to be working 8-9 hours a day? That's impossible! I am home with T.D. now. I can only work part time. What on earth has been wrong with me?" I figured once I had discovered that little gem of information I would feel less stressed. Not true. Instead, the all-consuming guilt began to put it's heavy, burdensome yoke around my neck and shoulders weighing me down even more. This happens to me way more than when I was working by the way. When I was working outside of the home I was too busy to think properly and had to focus on the job at hand. Now I'm knee-deep in my job each day, along with the job of being a good wife, friend, Bree Van de Kamp style household runner, and oh yeah trying to eek out a writing career.

Obviously, I could probably ease up on trying to be so neat and tidy. I just can't help myself though, and honestly our house isn't that tidy. Yes, I was compelled to organize the t-shirt cubby and the pantry on Saturday, while scrubbing bathrooms. Sometimes I bake like a woman possessed, but I don't wear aprons, and my laundry room isn't even remotely neat and labeled. I wish though.

What it all really boils down to is that inherently in me I've always had issues with being at home. Now that I'm here in the daily mire of it and yes, the joys of it, I'm conflicted. I just can't seem to hand myself over to that domestic mommy. I can't and won't give up trying to write, no one wants me to, but I can't seem to find a balance that sits well with me. I can't seem to cut that yoke of guilt that builds and builds it's weight on me until I practically collapse or have a series of breakdowns and fights with H.

Thanks for listening readers, I appreciate. Check out my weekly product review here.

The Power of the ONEsie

MomsRising is an organization that works at a grassroots level to campaign for issues such as family leave, maternity AND paternity leave, better after school programs, flexible work hours, and fair wages. To say it's family friendly is an understatement. MomsRising groups are popping up all over communities across the country these days and I myself have become a supporter.

MomsRising has a goal of bringing millions of people, who all share a common concern about the need to build a more family-friendly America, together as a non-partisan force for 2008 and beyond.

"Despite all the rhetoric about being family-friendly, we have structured a society that is decidedly unfriendly... What's missing now is a movement. What's missing now is an organization. That's why MomsRising is so important." -- Senator Barack Obama, 9/28/06

Right now they are working extra hard on their Power of the ONEsie project. It's fairly simple. You either buy a onesie from the MomsRising website or you creat one yourself and mail it in. You could even do a onesie party and make a whole mess of them to send to the Power of the ONEsie display! That display which is currently hanging outside of the Washington State capital is helping to bring awareness to the Family Insurance Leave bill that Washington State is currently working to have the Governor sign into law. MomsRising won't stop there! They will continue to work on each state until it reaches Washington, D.C. and all the states enact this law. To me, this is so simple to do and support. It helps not just individuals, but whole communities. When things are balanced in one area it will spread. As an individual and as someone who is part of a community I will do my part. I will send my onesie. I will spread the word and try to gain more knowledge about how I can continue to help and fight for equal rights, wages, and healthcare.

Want to send a onesie yourself? Go here and do your part.

Sitcom Mom

The last few days have been interesting to say the least. I got whacked on Thursday with a flu so vile I had moments of whimpering worse than when I was in labor. "I can't do this, I don't want to do this anymore...sniff, sniff, sob, puke." Oh yeah, it was bad. Luckily for me and all involved in our tiny domain it did not last long. Nor has anyone else been brought down like a sack of bricks by this illness.

I went through Friday recuperating. H stayed home with T.D. to let me suffer in silence on the couch. I creeped around the house through the day feeling like a ninety year old woman who never took a drop of calcium in her life. Saturday however was a different story. H had to leave for the day. I had to be better. I was. Better too much probably. If that is even a phrase.

After trekking through the snow on an early morning Easter egg hunt and grocery store jaunt I decided to attack our house to rid it of its germiness. I felt the whole place was crawling with vermin I could not see. I organized the pantry, cleaned every bathroom, the floors were swept, my dresser deemed too messy to live was ripped to shreds and organized. I dusted, did laundry and dishes galore! I went nuts basically. Plain ol' nuts. I don't know quite what happened, but I was indeed like a woman possessed. What happens after all this zealous behavior? A breakdown of course! A classic, sitcom Mom style breakdown.

Easter Sunday dawned and I was supposed to be sleeping in. I couldn't with the shrieks of Easter joy that were coming from downstairs. T.D. in full on hyper toddler mode was flying around the room as if on some new type of joy juice. H lay on the couch as if dying. He wasn't. I made coffee. We breakfasted. We did the church thing. We came home and I started to feel myself cracking like a week old Easter egg. H made himself lunch while T.D. had a meltdown on the floor. He requested at least thirty minutes of "H time" alone. I abide. Mentally my mind ticked off the missed moments of Avon Walk training I had accumulated, work I don't get to accomplish, etc while he does what he needs to do. Now he wants alone time? I gripped the stove. T.D. continues to meltdown as I try to load the dishwasher, wish my parents a Happy Easter, and feed T.D. lunch. I give up on the first two and end up pushing T.D. in her highchair away from me as she throws her food at me one too many times. She screams, balks, and generally refuses lunch. Wonderful. I begin to twitch. FINE! I'll just clean up then. I'm good at that. As I load the egg encrusted breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and run the disposal a gurgling sounds erupts from the sink. Huh.

The sink is bubbling up some rather disgusting mess. So is the disposal. Huh. That's not normal. It won't stop. I reach into the murky water and find nothing. No clog. I run the disposal and more filth erupts. Awesome. I slam the dishwasher shut, slam the remaining dirty dishes back into the sink, and begin muttering. I grip the stove some more. I twitch. I get all twitchy witchy and find myself talking in a slightly high pitched whisper to the raisins in the pantry. I gather up T.D. and head up stairs. What do I do? Do I have a moment of zen? Do I Calgon Take Me Away with it all? Nope. I put away laundry. I'm a mess. I stalk about the bedrooms with towels and tiny socks. I wonder to myself when I stopped speaking up about needing my own downtime. When did I just acquiesce and say, "no it's ok, that you forgot that we do Easter cards and tiny gifts..."? That was not the old pre-T.D. me. Those things are still important to me. Yet, somehow I've faded a bit. I'm not sure that I like that. I cannot find my voice. I'm a silly parody of a banal sitcom. All "ooh don't go near Mom right now, she's a bit crazy today."

Later that night I am left alone as I "seem irritated" and what happens? I talk to my mom and all my alone time is sucked up doing that. However, I do have a hair appointment on Tuesday and it's pathetically sad at how much I'm looking forward to the fifteen minute car ride I have ALONE.


Now to put things all into perspective head on over to Izzy Mom and watch the You Tube video she has up. I have to say I got a bit teary. Geez.

A Foggy, Groggy Day

Beinvenue! I'm in a swimmingly pleasant Benadryl fog today. I keep forgetting to not take it, and buy some claritin, but I become so frustrated with rubbing my eyes for ten minutes straight, while simultaneously using my tongue to scratch the back of my throat that I end up downing a capsule or two for some relief. Subsequently, I'm out of it and can't really put together a supa stah post.

I do have this though- Looks like something I would see in the beginning of one of my fabulous nightmares. How freaky is this? You can find it for real at Vernal Hoodoo's Easter Pageant on Chrystie St. in NYC this weekend.


or how about a little of this- I wish Christian Bale would star in a dream of mine even if he is a psycho. Easily a scene with a much uglier, heinous looking creature would be seen in a dream of mine.


Lastly, watch the trailer for this film- I can't wait!

A little bloodbath with your coffee?

Since I can remember, as far back as the age of three or so, I have always had very vivid and extremely violent dreams. It seems to run in the family. You want to taste something? Go ahead. It can be done in my dreams. In my dreams colors are extreme, especially red and black. They are usually very prominent factors too. Long hallways, dark forests, vasts empty lands, old houses full of dampness, caverns, caves, and tight enclosures abound. I don't need to see a horror flick for that type of action. I see it nearly every night in my dreams.

Why do I get the insane priviledge of witnessing skin peeling off someone? Torture that is in the extreme and never to be believed? I wish I knew. I wish I knew where my mind gets these images as I hate horror movies and will not watch them. I often wish I could erase it all. I hate what I see. How closely it resembles some insane things that really happen and how little power I have in each one. I am a futile figure and it pisses me off. I can easily say maybe only twice have I conquered whatever menace I find in these apocalyptic sequences.

They say, dream experts and those who aren't, that if you can find your demon in your dreams, the one that plagues you so much, you must kill it. You must tell yourself before you head to dreamland that you will extract your own revenge. Then you will be done with it forever. I've had friends tell me they've done it themselves. Samurai style and all. It works they cry triumphantly!

Hmmph. That has not been the case for me. In fact, last night, when I did manage to kill that son of a bitch that is always taunting me, I only made it stronger in the end. I stabbed my nemesis with a steak knife, twisting and reinserting the knife, while watching his eyes go black. It didn't work. It was only temporary. Now I'm good and pissed and for the remainder of the day I'll be the happy recipient of flashbacks blood and gore style. Fangs gnashing, rivers of blood flowing, howling dogs ripping flesh, car crashes, robberies, fires of intense heat and destruction, and so much more. Yup, that was just last night for an hour or two.

I wish I had dreams of flying. Dreams where I'm stressed about an exam or that I can't find my car or clothes. I would like to experience that just once. These dreams of such intensity are exhausting. Quentin Tarantino has nothing on me.

The Perils of Working at Home

Back in the day when I worked in an actual office, not a home one, things like this never happened-

It's 6:30 a.m. and the dishwasher, shower and coffee pot are all running. I'm working in my pj's and doing laundry. How productive. There's like one day out of 15 like that.

Screams explode through the air and I dash across the room, away from my work, to find that T.D. has gotten her finger caught in the VCR. VCR? I forgot we even had one.

Kerchunk! Clank! That is the sound of the dog figuring out the baby gate and escaping. Silence follows. This means only one thing. T.D. has escaped in 3.5 seconds in full on stealth mode and is halfway up the stairs.

Today is just one of those days where I feel a constant sense of urgency and it's not from my bladder. I'm running and re-doing and nothing feels like it's getting done. I'm distracted by both my cohorts continously and there is constant whining and crying as I can't possibly do so many things at once. World War III is happening on my deck in the form of a crazy terrier and squirrel. Game on!

Somber Morning

It's April 1st and that means it's time for the Blog Exchange. The theme this month is our favorite or a memorable post. Please help me welcome, my guest blogger, Crystal from The Longest Year.

I wrote this post on a particularly exhausting day during my husband’s second deployment to Iraq – my longest year yet. I had many days I thought I wouldn’t survive the worry. I would learn later, after he returned home safely in November, that there was plenty to be worried about. After all, his own Humvee was hit by a bomb – one of several close calls during that year. This post is now bittersweet for me, as we are soon leaving the Army. My life has been forever changed by our experiences. I never knew there were so many heroes among us.

This morning I went to my new Bible study, located at the main chapel on post. As I walked in, I noticed that there were several soldiers lined up, apparently "practicing" for something. I wondered, is there a memorial today? Military funerals and memorials are rehearsed to precision. That thought alone made me sad. That this is a part of our daily lives - memorials for young men and women.

After worship, before moving on to our class, one of the leaders mentioned that we would need to finish timely. There was to be a memorial for a soldier in our chapel that afternoon. Ah, I thought. So we did lose another one. So. So. Sad.

Then I went to my class - Too Busy Not to Pray. A large group of 16 settled into our seats and got started. The usual chatter and excitement of a new class bubbled in the room, catching up after not seeing each other over the summer. We started the discussion. Then, there it was. The sound of a trumpet right outside our window. Just two notes - two notes - into "Taps" and several of us were in tears. The trumpeter was obviously practicing for the memorial as well. He stopped after just a couple of bars. But we were already scrambling for tissues.

The teacher paused for a split second, obviously wondering if she should acknowledge it. But she decided to keep the class together and press on. We had a nice discussion for another twenty minutes, talking about what kept us from praying, what drew us to prayer, so on and so forth and then POP! A single gunshot. All of us jumped. POP! Another one. And there it was...the lead in to the full strain of a trumpet now dutifully rehearsing "Taps." That was all it took for one poor girl to gather her things clumsily and mutter, "That's enough. I have to go. My husband's battalion [obviously deployed] has had a rough month [Army-speak for "lost soldiers"] and I can't take this." Several of us were already in tears. Before she could leave, our teacher asked to pray.

"Taps" continued to play in the background. Several of us (including me) were sobbing as the teacher asked God for comfort - for those of us whose spouses were in constant danger, for the families of this poor soldier who would be honored today, for all of us trying to serve this country and countries around the world. We continued with the class, but I didn't entirely recover.

After class as I picked up E. from childcare, I was relating the story to the woman in charge (also a military spouse). I told her how my heart was heavy for these families. She smiled and hugged me, gratefully, "Thank you. You don't know how much that means to me. The soldier was in my husband's battalion. In fact, I just found out we lost another one this morning." She paused. "Three weeks, Crystal. They're three weeks from coming home." I just shook my head.

I went home and logged onto a military message board, where I opened up a post from a poor woman who had just been told her husband's truck was hit by two bombs - but they had no additional information for her. This is actually totally against Army protocol - to give families half-information. But sometimes people mess up. At this writing, hours later, this woman is still bawling her eyes out wondering if her husband is dead or alive. We have been taught "no news is good news," so that is the single thread she is hanging onto.

I've been reflecting on this all day. That this is our life. And I bet the world outside doesn't even know. I was talking to a friend tonight who said her eyes have been so opened since she married into the military. After 12 years in a professional life as a civilian, she married her Army husband only a few years ago. She says she never knew. She saw it on the news but she never really knew or appreciated how much there is to deal with - how very many soldiers have lost limbs, lost life. How many young wives and mothers were now widows. How bombs and Taps are a part of our daily lives. We're all affected by it. Even after returning, many of them have lost their sense of peace, silently suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

She said she is still awed by the military community. Frankly, today, I am stunned by it. Not that today's events were so unusual than my other days. I am constantly reading messages from women about their husbands having lost a friend in battle, or a soldier in their unit having lost limbs. I am frequently re-routed around our Army post by orange cones and men in uniform guarding the street for another memorial. But today I am exhausted. And tonight I will cry. I'll cry for the soldier's memorial today, for the family who was notified this morning that their loved one died just three weeks from his homecoming, and for the poor woman who is sitting in her house alone and wondering what will come of the shocking news that her husband has been hit by a bomb.

Please don't misunderstand this post. I don't want pity. I want prayers for these families. I want people to know. It's not just the news. It's our life.
Thanks for being a listening ear.

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Crystal is a crafty stay-at-home mom to a very chatty two-year-old and military wife. She’s reluctant about life after the Army, and continues to blog her life at My Longest Year.