Things You Shouldn't Do

Feed the zoo animals. You shouldn't do that.

Mix ammonia with bleach.  That's bad.

Shave and eat cereal while driving.  True story. I used to see a guy do this on the beltway at least once a week. 

You also shouldn't get the stomach flu and decide to forgo taking your meds and then forget to take your meds for almost a full week.  It can cause withdrawal.  Me, being wicked smot, did just that this Christmas and spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day in bed sick with what I thought was the flu.

Again.

Except, yesterday, after days of jittery nerves, total exhaustion (I slept 19 of the 24 in Christmas) and a sick stomach I had a thought.  A break in the fog that had become my brain.  I hadn't taken my Celexa in days.  Holy shite. 

I'm going through withdrawal.  So I popped a pill and a few hours later felt a bit better. I'm still not myself and its weird. I still feel breathless, sick to my stomach, completely exhausted and jittery.  I'm hoping that is what was wrong and not that I just have some ridiculously bad bug in me that will cause everyone else around me to get sick too.  From what I 've read though it is the lack of this drug in my system that is causing all this.  To think I was weaning myself off it anyway. 

Here's to a detoxed 2012!


*Image courtesy of soberinanightclub.com

Parenthood- An Abundance of Gross

Quite often I am the lucky recipient of incredibly gross behavior that requires me to say things that are even beyond my disgusting, perverse comprehension. I am the one who wanted a book called, "The Wonders of the Scab." Parenthood however has revealed a whole other level of nastiness.

"Stop putting things in your butt and trying to eat them!" 

"You cannot eat the snotty tissue, even if your Father did leave them all over the bedroom floor."

There is obviously the normal ones too-

"Don't pick your nose."

"Don't pick your nose and eat it."

"You cannot pick your  nose and wipe it on your bedroom walls."

"Yes, you do have to wipe."

"No, wiping does not consist of smearing poop on the bathtub."

Sigh.  I'm exhausted just typing up this list of disgusting things.  That's the part about parenthood that no one tells you.  Yes, it is loud. Yes, it is messy.  There is spit-up and snot.  There are mountains of diapers and you are covered in more bodily fluids than you ever knew were possible but no one tells you how absolutely gross, putrid and stinky parenthood can be. 

I, for one, never thought I would have to use a sock to wipe my kids ass in the woods one day. Did you?

Ugh. Family Illness. Hard.

Earlier this week I was back in my old stomping grounds.  A work trip brought me to Rhode Island and the southern part of Conneticutt.  While there I indulged in a bit of nostalgia by driving around, visiting old haunts (apparently my high school health teacher is now our school principal. huh.) and soaking in the senic views that part of the country has in abundance. 

Maybe it was being so close to where I grew up, driving by the house my family built or working at a place my father has been so many times for his own job but I just couldn't shake the thoughts of him and how life and distance has made me feel that I know him less than I did before.  Sure, I can tell you the facts and that the man likes to fish but what's his favorite fish? I don't know.  What's his favorite movie? I don't know that anymore either.  I could say Gran Torino but that's only because he resembles Clint Eastwood a whole hell of a lot.  I actually heard him tell a boy I once dated to, "Get off my lawn!" 

Then you get a phone call from your Mom mid-day telling you that your Dad was rushed from work to the hospital.  In the middle of a conversation in a hallway he had chest pains so bad he fell over and couldn't move. He thinks to himself, "Oh no! I'm not dying at this place!"  It keeps happening every few hours and they don't know what is wrong with him.  It doesn't seem to be his heart but it is still incredibly scary.  I feel far away and helpless.  It is times like these when I hate being an only child.  There is no one else to talk to and trade information.  H, like me, isn't known for his comforting words.  "That sucks. You should go down there." is about as good as it gets around here.  We Mason's aren't known for our eloquence or bedside manner. 

I firmly believe that there is such a thing as instincts and a sixth sense.  I kept thinking this nagging, back of my mind thought all week that something was going to happen to him.  Why else was I brooding on him so much?  I was right.  Something did happen and as squeamish as it makes me to show emotion and get personal I know that I have to get to know my Dad all over again.  It's time.  I can't keep putting up a wall because the one person who is so similar to me has just as hard a time doing this very thing.  Maybe we just show our love differently and assume the other one just knows it is there.  It still doesn't mean we actually know each other though.  No matter how much of a freak I am regarding emotions I can't let this go.

The very idea that my Mom will possibly print this out and give it to him in the hospital just makes me think, "AAHH!  KEEP IN DRAFT FORM ONLY! DON'T HIT THE PUBLISH BUTTON, YOU FOOL!"   But I'm trying to break out of this no-emotion mode. So GAH!

My Marriage the Infomercial

This whole marriage counseling thing is like a giant ball of string. You pull one piece and the ball gets to unraveling and suddenly I feel as if our relationship has turned into a cheesy infomercial.

Look at this mess!  It needs help!  Get counseling!  One dose of counseling will start working with super soaking power packed action!  You'll talk more! Be more honest!  Get heartfelt and say all those things you never thought you would share with anyone!

Feeling angry and confused?  We've got that too!  Just throw in some anger management and we've got you covered!

But wait! There's more!  Have intimacy issues?  Why not try this style of counseling for better connection. For just one additional session you too can have the closeness you crave.

Sigh.

I know it is worth it but pulling that thread is painful and signals hard work that sometimes we don't always want to admit we often have to do in order to fix the things that need fixing.  Somehow throwing in a wicked stomach flu that knocked out our whole house the last few days has slowed down and brought us closer.  Heh.

Where's Mummy?

While you all have been enjoying first snows, holiday extravaganza's and foods I've been puking them up with a bout of food poisoning. I said I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy but I think I actually might, just for a much longer duration.  I'm sure H is quite done with emptying puke receptacles and applying cold compresses to my neck as I yell, "H! MAKE IT END!" over and over again.  One good thing as Lattes and Life pointed out, I'm down a few more baby weight pounds.  Now that is a happy holiday gift to me!  A few more weeks of shredding and I should be pre-Fifth Element weight. 

In other news, and on healthier days, I am here-

TheFind has the amazing Dolce & Gabbana Lip Jewel Compact. I heart this thing so bad. 

MPR has The Koobli for messy situations. 

The RE9 Advanced Cellular Renewal Masque from Arbonne.

Avent's Top Ten Tips for Babies with Colic

Enjoy your last weekend of Christmas rush and take some time to sit back and enjoy the upcoming winter solstice and all this season really has to offer.   

Fear Leaving the Body

I've been feeling too sick and tired lately to do anything but my paid work.  Having food chucked at me, wiping snot off noses other than my own and being woken up more than once a night is just wearing me down.  I think you all come here for my honesty but not for the humdrum of our daily lives.  I've decided to try the '30 Days of Truth' to get my writing flowing again. 

Day One- Something You Hate About Yourself. 

Geez.

Really?

That sounds like an awfully negative way to start.  OK, here goes.

I hate how I let a fear of failure get in my way.  I've gotten better as I have gotten older and seen that this fear will get me nowhere but as a kid it was always there like a shadow lurking just behind me, whispering in my ear that it was just easier and sigh, safer to stand back and let other people be daring and play sports, be loud, get into stuff and be bold.  I was not content and built up a lot of anger, bitterness and resentment towards myself and others because of this trait but the fear was too much.  It is a dark side of me that I loathe. 

For some reason when I turned thirty and I had TD that shadowy figure of fear lessened.  I've heard that the part of the brain that controls motivation in women gets bigger after having children.  That is especially true for me.  Suddenly, I didn't care about failure so much as I wanted to do what I wanted to do and who cared about the failing part. If I tried and things didn't work out, at least I could say I tried and it now made sense.  I wanted to be a fearless role model for my daughter more than my fear of failing. 

I still let fear get in my way at times, it allows me to procrastinate on small things that make no sense. I tell myself I'm shy or too tired when often it is fear sucking up my strength.  It angers me that I allow myself to be this way but more often than not I kick its ass to the curb these days.  It's always scary when I confront those fears no matter how big or small (like placing an order for food delivery. Yeah, I know that is weird but I still get all anxious about doing it.), but I tell myself that the nerves I'm feeling is just the fear leaving my body.  That's all.  I'll be better for it all later.

And you know what? It's always been true. 

Day One is complete. Can I run a victory lap around my house now? 

Murphy's Law

It's Murphy's Law that I go away for a weekend and get some much needed rest and re-connection with H only to come home sick with two sick kids. 

It's Murphy's Law that I have a meeting today that would actually put money in my pocket and now I have to cancel because the only time the pediatrician could see a severely wheezing Comedian was during that said meeting.

It's Murphy's Law that has me looking at mountains of work that needs to be done, the motivation to finally do that work and the energy, despite being sick, and the sitter decides to not even show up today or return my calls. 

You know what though?  I don't care. I'll get over being mad at the sitter and losing some money.  I'll get the work done somehow too.  It's more important that I take care of my kids and get myself better. I could have written a better blog post all about eating peanut butter straight from the Reese's factory and how being snowed into a Woodside Cottage was everything we needed and more, but instead I chose to make Valentines with TD this early morning and talk about the truly important things like why Strawberry Shortcake has so many parties each day that TD simply must attend. 

Murphy's Law be damned, not me.

Is There a Plan C?

A week or so ago I mentioned that I had some "stunning" news.  That news would be that after the debacle that was Mirena and some malfunctions on Lifestyles part and Plan B, it has come to our notice that now we need a Plan C.

I'm pregnant. 

This my friends, was not planned. We, well I, was done.  No more pregnancies, no more babies and puking up my insides for months on end.  No more ginormous boobs to contend with as well as puffiness, cankles, or pants that don't stay up. My breeding days were over.

Ha! I feel like the Grand Pumpkin that comes to life in the Simpsons Treehouse of Horrors spoof.  He is fed pumpking bread by Milhouse and then screams, "Revenge!" and sets out to eat all the little children at the Halloween party.  Yes, Lifestyles and Plan B, I want revenge and restitution!  When I plunked down my $50 for Plan B along with a pregnancy test I never wanted to use, I really meant it when I said to the pharmacist, "Yes! That better be all."

I got rid of everything.  There are no more infant clothes.  No swings, boppies, Bumbo, baby bathtubs, or slings. All of it is gone. Maternity clothes?  I gave them all away or practically lit their poly-blend asses on fire.  We are all out of baby here.

So forgive me for all my cranky mood swings.  My winter blues and never-ending morning sickness have just done gone and killed my creativity these days.  I still can't wrap my head around this news despite the constant reminders that would be me barfing and spontaneously gagging all over the place.  Maybe when the cankles return will I really believe that this is happening.  Until then, bear with me.  I have no idea how to formulate this new Plan C. 

I Have Issues

Clearly, I have issues.  I realized this at two different times today.  First, I yelled at the gym television that was playing Fox "news".  I yelled, "Shut the F*ck up!  You are so IGNORANT!"  I mumbled something about "fallacies, bad research and fair and balanced my ass" when I realized that my right hand was extending and giving Fox the bird. 

It seems I have some built up testosterone in my system this week.  The cold that has be flagging has also taken me away from any gym time.  I didn't make it to kickboxing. I haven't gone on any runs either.  The idea of Body Pump or Boxing is just laughable.  I kept thinking if I just took it easy, as much as you can with two small kids, I would feel better.  The. Cold. Is. Still. Here. 

I'm going to have to move my treadmill.  Clearly, this is the problem. It's not that Fox is craptastic network full of lies or anything. I'm blaming this all on my "lucky" treadmill at the gym.  If I get kicked out of my gym for bad conduct it is this treadmill's fault.  It's right square in front of the television that plays Fox News.  Since it was the first and now only treadmill I have ever run on I am a bit scared to move to a different one. One that would be out of my comfort zone and possibly place me in front of the less inflammatory television that plays 24 hours of ESPN.  Except, stupid ESPN keeps playing these schmaltzy, 'arrow to the heart' feel good stories about athletes helping sick kids realize their dreams and I end up sobbing.  I feel the need to yell, "it's sweat, not tears!" while I run. 

The 10k FAIL?

So...I'm supposed to run this thing called a 10k in a few weeks. December 13 to be exact. A few weeks back this seemed like a fabulous idea. Then I got sick. The cold from hell descended on our humble abode and took all of us, minus TD, under. It was like some Kraken from the deep. Everyone got better except me. Two weeks later, still sick and crying from the sheer sick of being sick syndrome I headed to my local Urgent Care one night this week.

Sinus Infection. No wonder I felt like my face was imploding, cracking and generally falling apart with pain.

Throughout this time of plague I haven't been able to run. Weeks of no running have gone by. I got three miles in, maybe. There's been no cross-training, no training runs. No nothing. The coughing, the body aches, the lack of sleep- it was just too much.

I'm set to run seven miles Saturday and then in two weeks it is the 10k. I feel a big fat, FAIL coming on. I need to make it in 1:05 or less to qualify for the half-marathon I want to run in March. However, I'm feeling less than optimistic. If I can pull off a good time Saturday maybe my confidence will be restored, but right now while my body is feeling better, my mind is messing with my head. The word is still out on my lungs. They aren't really returning my calls right now, but I think they'll survive.

I've wanted this so badly for so long it seems and now I'm feeling so depleted in spirit I just don't know if I can pull it off. It's all setting up to making me feel less than me and I don't like it one bit.

You Are About to Enter the Sick Zone.

Welcome to the my lair! (Insert evil laugh here.)

It's filled with tissues that have been used multiple times over. They litter the floor around me and threaten to take over my tiny world.

I shuffle around with a cocktail of Dayquil, Mucinex and ibuprofen. This cold is kicking my ass. I've cried "uncle" many times over and it still keeps enforcing Dragon Whips on me. Last night at 1:18 a.m. and desperate from a rousing fight with my lungs and a coughing fit that threatened to wake my entire house I chugged the kids Chestal cough suppressant in triple dose. Homeopathic honey-ed goodness. I think it worked. It was either that or the Last Call with Carson Daly and surfing Prizey that did the trick.

The juice is gone. There are still no cough drops in the house and my nose looks like someone tried to shave it raw underneath.

On a positive note, I wore pants yesterday for the first time in four days. Yeah, pants! I still didn't do my hair though. To think that I have to clean my house, buy birthday presents, shop for food and make all that food for The Comedian's first birthday Saturday and I honestly have no idea how on earth it will all get done. Too bad I can't waste time tweeting about it. Heh.


Beat winter skin blues! Enter to win Sothys skincare products here!

Mary Poppins Can Bite Me

It was a beautiful fall day. The sun was out, the air crisp. The crackle of new library books was all around. Sounds like bliss, right? I should have been beaming, right?

Except I wasn't. As I opened the kitchen windows to let in that gorgeous fall breeze all I could think was, "Today is one of those days I wish I was back in an office." I would rather deal with jackass project managers who can't think for themselves, defense contracts and engineers with yellow teeth and even more yellow fingernails than be in the house with my kids today. Or even out of the house with them.

My jaw hurt from gritting my teeth. My shoulders were hunched up to my ears and my upper back was burning from it all. I has missed my morning run due to a sick, teething baby and the whole house looked like a plastic baby doll hospital had been detonated. Picking up tiny cracker crumbs off my bathroom carpet (It's organic! I should be happy!) while dealing with exploding diapers, endless whiney-faces around me and the crying. Oh the non-stop, ear-bleeding, cheese-grater on my pulpy exposed nerves crying. It was doing me in. Thoughts of cigarettes danced across my brain.

I just wanted to find a dark shed to hide out in with a carton of Kreteks and a bottle of Grey Goose. Alone. Deep, abiding silence would be my only company.

When TD asked me to read a ridiculous looking books about Wild Boars while I was still trying to shovel leftovers into my piehole I probably cringed. I hefted her on my lap and read the thankfully quick, with giant print book. These boars were insatiable and as insatiable boars are want to do they baked a massive cookie. I looked at TD and thought about my week of detoxing and said, "Let's do that! Let's bake a "massive cookie" just like the boars." So we did.

An hour later this was the result.

If I wanted to wrap up this post with a pretty bow I suppose I could. I could say that baking this cookie with my precious preschooler was the balm to my soul on an otherwise calloused and scabby day.

Except that neither kid napped. The dog barked like she was on fire all afternoon incensing the other dogs on the block to bark like banshees. I barely made my deadline. The Comedian's fever continued to climb higher and higher. At 5 o'clock we were in rush hour traffic on 95 racing against time and red lights to get to the doctor's office. When she threw up on me and my keys while I listened to H via my cell phone tell me that he didn't feel like cooking dinner (um, dude? Hamburgers. Easiest thing beside mac 'n' cheese.) I had to stop and brace myself against the car. An ambulance screamed by sprouting a million and one questions by TD about how the ambulance lit up like that, drove like that, where it was going and who was in it, blah, blah, blah. I had to bite my lip and hold back tears on this all together crappy day. No butter, sugar, chocolate panacea was going to soothe it either.

Sometimes it's just like that and it's futile to get all Mary Poppins about it.

Mortality Looking Me Square in the Eye.

Last Friday I had my ultrasound appointment for my right breast. In the days leading up to it I could barely sleep. I felt exhausted mentally and then physically.

Each night I would lie down and my brain, lethargic during the day would instantly whir to life. All the cogs moving at warp speed and what felt like a million thoughts began zipping along my own personal information super highway. I wasn't trying to be full of doom and gloom but with the pain persisting in my breast there was this constant reminder that something just wasn't right. I dreaded the ultrasound but couldn't wait for my questions to be answered. I couldn't take this lack of sleep and constant feeling of worry settling in my stomach. Questioning your mortality is one thing but throw in a husband and two kids into the mix and I began to question myself and feel a sense of guilt if something was actually wrong.

But it's not. It's apparently quite common for women to have this knot under their nipple even weeks after weaning. The pain is gone after icing and the knot has gone down considerably. It has been an immense relief and yet my brain has not been able to calm down. The idea that my mortality was looking me square in the eye has been a bit too much for me to swallow. It's left me uneasy and I can't seem to shake it. I keep thinking there is another shoe that will dropping shortly and I don't know why. I feel like a shadow of something is always one step behind me and I really want to kick it's ass.

Retching via my Blackberry

I was all set to blog about my nervous feeling regarding my impending 5k this weekend, a first for me. That is until something decided it wanted to make a bloody good mess of carving out my insides this morning.

At least that is what it felt like.

I did the whole doling out the vitamins routine, changed the night time diaper, made a spectacular batch of oatmeal for TD and then WHAM! Just as I poured the dog food the queasy stomach I had been nursing for the last day just sucker punched me and I was soon lying on the floor of my foyer in a soaking wet, cold sweat. TD, being the good and dutiful classic eldest child fetched me a pillow from the couch and used her step stool from the bathroom to reach my phone so I could call H and almost vomit into the phone at him. If the sound of your wife retching into a trashcan via her Blackberry doesn't move you I don't know what will.

The fetal position never felt so good. In minutes my t-shirt was soaked through and I didn't care that there seemed to be a lot of cracker crumbs coating my limbs as I lay prone on the floor. I just wanted the awful sick feeling to go away. At some point I managed to get up and give The Comedian a bottle. Poor kid was laying on the kitchen floor sucking away while I lay nearby taking deep, cleansing breaths.

I'm not feeling 100% but I'm keeping down some toast which is a plus. Also? I think I have developed a new fashion trend- Prada glasses and sweat-soaked, floor matted hair is the new grunge.

Anna Wintour to spotlight 'Little Houses'

I'm giving you a quote to discuss today because my life recently consists of nocturnal journeys to the tiny tot bedrooms in my house and my current my main objective of the day is to find out exactly where that puke smell is coming from, I don't care who it came from, I just need to know the where.

Anna Wintour, editor of the ginormous fashion tome known as Vogue, recently stated that the magazine will do a story about obesity. Be still my heart. Vogue is going to address something relevant? Fascinating. Can you tell I'm more of an Elle girl? I digress. Here's the quote, discuss in the comments. Really, people. I want some discussion. No more reading for free I say!

"I'd just been on a trip to Minnesota, where I can only kindly describe most of the people I saw as little houses."

Love the use of the word 'kindly'. It's like the southern phrase, "bless her heart..."

In Which a Window Attacks My Head

I guess my forehead was jealous of my eye divot because after a glass or two of cranberry wine I decided to close up the house (A broken AC the last few days has made my house hotter than the hounds from hell dog house.). As I pushed down on the window to slide it shut a spring busted inside it sending the window flying open towards my face. The lock on it, in the open position of course, smacked me square in the middle of my forehead.

Stunned I slapped my hand to my forehead and stumbled up against my kitchen wall. The pain was like a ball bouncing around in my head. After a few moments I opened my eyes but I had to say aloud, "Are my eyes open?" No one answered me as H was gone on a work trip and the girls were asleep. I confirmed that yes, I was seeing the kitchen floor and I pulled my hand away from my forehead as I blinked back tears. Mmm... blood. All over my hand. I lurched to the bathroom almost afraid to see what was waiting for me in the mirror. Sure enough, blood was pouring from the middle of my forehead and I had a nice jagged gash. I began to sob. I dialed H and woke him up. He suggested calling my friend who immediately showed up on my front step. In minutes another friend was in my house to watch the girls as we drove to the ER. All I could think was, "Really!? Really face?! As if the eye-sore wasn't enough, now you want to go and Frankenstein me up with a slice to the noggin?" I had no idea though that the worst was yet to come. The dreaded middle of the night ER visit. Thankfully, I didn't have to go alone and walk in with the line, "So I had a few glasses of wine and then I hit my head..."

Our local hospital must be composed of the most archaic systems. You sign in on a loose sheet of paper that just gets put in a pile on the information desk. Yes, really. No one seems to think that computers are needed. It took two hours for my vitals to be checked. Head still bleeding. Another hour for them to register me into their system, all the while CNN was blaring up to the second status on the Swine Flu outbreak (coming to a town near you!). Sick babies cried around us and a woman threw up on her broken leg as she tossed a plastic yellow ball in the air. Umm.... yeah. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone or Outer Limits. When a kid walked in with a terrifically terrifying cough and was immediately masked I began to get worried. The fact that this four year-old then coughed up blood on the mask didn't seem to bother anyone made me wonder if I should just make a break for it and hope my head wouldn't gangrene at a later date.

At 3 a.m. (read: 4 1/2 hours later) I was brought into the actual ER and put on a bed in the hallway which was across from Room 16. I point that out because my hallway bed was labeled a precious 16A. For reals. At this point I was delirious with exhaustion and couldn't stop laughing at my predicament. It was then that I noticed that the staff stood around everywhere doing nothing and wouldn't make eye contact with us. Sure, they were laughing and joking and translating for people who brought babies in with minor colds. Grrr.... I'm not getting into the health care system but GAH!! My head still cut open was now burning, growing swollen and red. I felt defeated and frustrated. Finally, someone came by asked me what in tarnation I did to my cranium. Oh and "what's with the eye lady?" They told me I needed stitches and a tetanus shot. I have successfully avoided that shot through a web of carefully placed lies since the last one I got in Kindergarten. They stuck me before my addled brain could lie my way out of another one. After searching for some skin glue (no one on staff could remember where it was located anymore. I feared paper clips or a good ol'fashioned Swingline might be used instead.) A nurse glued me up and sent me on my way at long last.

All just in time for my neighbor who was watching my kids to go home and watch her own as her husband was leaving for work. Two hours later TD and The Comedian woke up ready to start the day. Thank God I have kick ass neighbors who don't even blink when someone calls for help.

Random Questions #127

I feel like one lazy S.O.B today. This cold (numbre trois, I think) is totally kickin' my slowly pilatisizing butt again this week. Seriously, if I can't get some solid sleep soon I think I'm destined to be in my late 30's and still walking around with post-nasal drip and a swollen glands. I'm a petri dish in leggings.

So I give you all sorts of random today.

If Stouffer's is just getting around to making it's lasagna "now with real ingredients" what was in it before?

a. Battery acid
b. Flobee trimmings
c. reconstituted cheese and meat with space technology like the astronauts used tomato sauce.

or

d. You supply your answer!

I leave you with Mixin' don't cryp.

Dr. Mom

I'm in a sea of tissues today and wouldn't you know it - the million cans of chicken soup I always seem to have in my house and the giant jug of orange juice are all G.O.N.E. Gone. Dr. Mom is sick and we are out of the good stuff.

Blast!

The laundry monster is attacking me as I type. There's a whole legion of unmatched socks just waiting for the right moment to cry "Mutiny!"

I feel better mentally but I seem to still have my moments. The moments where I just have to stand there and squeeze my eyes shut, press my fingers to my temples and try to focus, focus, focus! Moments where I find myself still starting blankly at an open cabinet or draw wondering how I got into this room and what it is I'm looking for. I feel blessed though that I have the help that I do and that things are not nearly as dark as they were a week ago.

Now, I'm going to see if I magic up some chicken soup by sheer will and hope that the orange juice follows.

How to Have the Best Christmas EVER!

1. Begin by ignoring the pain that has begun in your left breast. Instead, press on with your night of gift wrapping and your Master Plan. Then realize that it's Christmas Eve and everything closes early but it's too late. You are already out driving around looking for that perfect cup of joe. Which seems can now only be made at the hands of a gas station employee. Who doesn't know how to make a latte to save his life. Throw in a squirrely looking old lady behind the counter making sandwiches and the evil eye and you have the start of your night.

2. Make comments throughout the night about the pain in your chest but continue to ignore it while you wait up for company and fight your body's urge to curl up into the fetal position. Pop two Tylenol instead and finally head to bed about midnight just as your body begins to shiver - just a bit.

3. Wake up Christmas morning to find that a white hot dagger is piercing your left breast. Not one to be outdone the breast has decided to adorn itself with red streaks of searing pain and infection. "Yippie!" it says, "It's Christmastime! I'm giving you the gift of mastitis!" You double over in pain as breast tries to do the Christmas wave. Fight back tears of frustration and agony as your loved ones cheerily open presents and you begin to feel feverish and freezing.

4. Next, make the call to the midwife hot line, tears at the ready if she tries anything beyond prescribing you meds over the phone. Wish you could kiss the woman through the phone line as she tells you about a 24-hour pharmacy that will have your antibiotics in an hour or less.

5. Then, thank the greedy corporate bastards to high heaven for thinking, "Christmas Schmistmas! Let's suck some more money out of the fools who forgot to buy Great-Aunt Ethel her annual jar o' peanut brittle and economy-size bottle of Jean Nate perfume and keep our Consumer Value Store open! Let's make the pharmacists work too! (Insert evil laugh here.)"

6. Finally, down a massive dose of antibiotics and spend the rest of the holiday in and out of an aching, shivering sleep, tightly curved into a ball, wishing for the pain, sweet Jesus make the pain go away already! Wake up the next morning and realize you missed one kids first Christmas and the others first realization of how fun the day can be. Thank your family for being there for you and go back to bed.


Seriously. I wouldn't wish mastitis on my worst enemy. Holy Unholy Searing Pain with a pitchfork continuously lodged like the brander of death in my chest people!

Yeah, I'm That Anal

I woke up at five this morning and not because Dash Two (she really needs a better name now. We're just waiting for some personality besides pooping to come through.) woke me up. I was thinking about the furniture in our den and sighing with the stress of it all.

Why?

Because the new couch is being delivered today and that old stuff needed to be moved out "NOW!" my brain screamed. I knew it was all still laying about down there sucking up precious new couch space (seats nine!) and I wanted it gone. "NOW!", my brain screamed again. Did I dare wake up and move the couch, coffee table, baby swing and chair myself? Along with all of TD's toys? Or should I wait until a more normal hour losing precious furniture moving seconds and enlist H to help me? I couldn't sleep from the sheer thought of it. I plotted various ways I would store the furniture and how I would quietly move it about. I sighed again. Until it was done there would be no rest my addled and anal brain.

What else am I anal about?

-The house alarm. If it is not on I cannot sleep. If I sense at say, 3:13 a.m. that it isn't on I will creep downstairs to check it. Oddly enough, if we have company I can let it go. As if another person in the house really makes a difference in whether or not we get robbed.

-How toasted my bagel or English muffin or even toast is. If it's underdone it's total crap and I spend the rest of breakfast getting privately annoyed with my toasting impatience.

-Recycling. I try to recycle everything. I collect stuff all over the house all day in little piles. If I accidentally throw a box or piece of plastic in the regular trash I have to fish it out or risk the feelings of guilt piling up on me like the recycling does in the bin. It's a sickness people, I swear.

I'm sure H could fill you in on a whole lot more things that I don't even deem as anally retentive but there it is.

What are you anal about? Comment away!

I'm giving away two Wii games right here so come check out the review and the others from this week as well. Good luck!!