Does it Even Matter May 2, 2012

** This was a juicing blog post, but I decided to post it over here, too… **

 

There are pre-fast leftovers in my fridge. There are fresh peanut butter/chocolate chip cookies on my counter. There are crackers in my cupboard. And… there are chili-cheese coneys at Dairy Queen.

I want them. All of them.

I want to feel full, and comforted. I want to chew. I want that emotional release that comes with eating a meal that you really want. You know that feeling of “ahhh! that was good.”

Which would be part of the reason I’m so fat to begin with… I’ve always chosen the “ahh” of food over the “ahh” of slipping into smaller clothes. Obviously, the “ahh” of food is much more immediate. Who doesn’t love a little instant gratification? I know I do…

So, today I spent all morning cleaning the kitchen, then playing with the kids outside and I let myself go too long without juicing. When I came back in I really wanted to just eat leftovers and crackers (I love pretty much any kind of dip-able leftovers with club crackers). I even almost convinced myself to go ahead and have them, call this day a bust and start over tomorrow. Or not. My logic?

Why does it even matter? I’ve always been fat, I always will be fat. I’m going to fail eventually anyway, might as well be my choice.How do I even know this will help with the pain and energy and RA? Who cares?

Ouch! Turns out I’m pretty negative when I’m hungry. So, I made a deal with myself. I’d have a juice, and if I still felt like being a petulant child when my blood sugar wasn’t in the toilet, I’d give in.

While I was drinking my juice (a delicious Asian inspired carrot concoction) I had an epiphany. It doesn’t really matter. If I want to stay the same as I’ve always been, I can make the same choices I always have. If I want to make a change, then I’ll have to make different choices. Not just now, but forever. It doesn’t really matter. The choices I make today will shape my tomorrow, but I have complete freedom to make whatever decision I want. One carrot juice isn’t going to save me any more than one coney dog is going to kill me. It’s all about the pattern of choices. So this one day doesn’t matter. This one choice, isn’t important. But, pile it up with a couple hundred of its friends and there’s what’s important.

Needless to say, I did not go ahead and eat my stir fry with crackers. I didn’t drive down the street and get a coney dog. I had my (delicious) carrot juice and several glasses of water. I’m still hungry. I still want to eat. I still half feel like giving up. But, I have one more good decision behind me. It needs some friends to help build some momentum. I think I’ll get there. I feel like today will end just fine and tomorrow, too. Maybe in a few days it won’t feel like such a struggle…

Mother Goose Day May 1, 2012

Did you know that today is Mother Goose Day? Yeah, no, it really is.

Did you know that much like Shakespeare, we don’t know who the original Mother Goose (or Geese) was? I didn’t know that. Until I consulted Google this morning while preparing the kids’ “lesson” for the day. If we can count reading a couple of nursery rhymes and talking about Mother Goose as a “lesson.” I have always like Little Miss Muffett and Humpty Dumpty, but I read the one about the old woman in the shoe as a cautionary tale

What is your favorite Mother Goose rhyme? Do you read the “scary” ones to your kids to try to make them see that you’re really not so evil?

Feeling a Little Better & a Little Worse March 31, 2012

Better:

Being spring break and all, I finally bit the dust and conquered three rooms of my house. The kitchen, living room and bathroom are CLEAN, yo! My mom came on Thursday and pulled out the appliances and whatnot in the kitchen and got it really clean, even in the “invisible” spaces. Then she helped me flip over my heavy arse living room furniture, so we could clean under there, too. I found ALL the missing toys. Poor Bert’s been under there since Thanksgiving! So, I feel so much better about the house. It no longer feels like this:

 

Also, I did go food shopping and bought the stuff to make five of the Pinterest meals I was salivating over the most. So far one was awful and two were great. When these meals are gone, I’m going to start my juice fast. The hubs is in complete agreement on this plan. So, next week I’ll be back on the juice wagon.

 

I think I mentioned that I stopped the Arava. Which was the breeding un-friendly drug. We have decided to still spend a couple of months actively preventing, then we’ll re-address. Or, as I like to phrase it, we should have listened to Mrs. Gamgee in the first darn place!

 

Worse:

Holy sickballs, Batman! I freaking hate being sick. I have been sick less than normal, though, what with not interacting with the public on the daily anymore and actually building some kind of immune system with my juicer. But, this latest bug got me and Baby G square in the ears, nose and throat. He was really bad for a couple of days (wouldn’t eat of drink, getting on the verge of needing IV fluids), but thankfully forcing water and medicine down his throat seemed to have worked, because he’s drinking today and less cranky pants. He’s napping now, and has been down 2 hours, which is twice as long as he napped yesterday, so fingers crossed he’s on the mend. Because I am not. I feel asstastic! Gonna take a nap myself I think when the hubs gets home.

 

The brokeness is wearing thin. I miss having disposable income. Less than 2 years until the big credit card is paid off, though, then we will have money again. Hanging in there…

Not So Private… March 15, 2012

So, it appears I’m being stalked. Awesome.

 

Remember back when I mentioned that a lot of my search results were making it look like someone was intentionally searching for me? Yeah, well, 20 minutes after I posted this last night, my phone rang. It was an “unknown” number. Needless to say, I did not answer. I am not interest in speaking to anyone at 1am, let alone someone who feels they need to use an “unknown” number. As if I don’t know who it is.

 

As I’ve said before, I’m not letting anyone else dictate how I live my life. This includes how I blog. I’m not moving or shutting down again because someone else feels the need to be a nosy, busybody. But I do want to acknowledge that I know you’re there. You’re not slick. You’re not pulling one over on anybody. You’re not influencing the way life is lived in this house. I haven’t even mentioned it to anyone else. I won’t mention it, either. Because, I don’t talk about you. You are not a topic of conversation in this house.

My New Job: Reading Harry Potter December 29, 2011

As you might have gathered from the last post, I’m writing more again. Really, truly trying to finish something! I have all of these ideas floating about. There are bits of a story and scenes for a novel, but nothing really concrete. I keep sitting down to write and find myself feeling the work too flat. Too Stepahnie Meyer, if you will and I’m shooting for JK Rowling (as any decent author should).

 

See, I have spent a lot of time calling Twilight entertaining, but flat, crappy writing. Of course, I’ve spent a lot more time positively gushing about what a freaking genius JK Rowling is to have come up with the whole concept/world of Harry Potter. While I know that there is a lot more to literature than just these two, these are what I think of when I think “write fiction.” So, I made a decision! It’s time to study these authors and examine their methods. It’s time to read from the authors perspective.

 

In other words, my new job is re-reading my favorite books. It’s a hard life… LOL

 

Seriously, though, I’m sure there is much to learn from both of their writing processes and that’s where I’m looking to start.

 

Are any of you writing fiction? Done any cool author studies? Am I the only dorky grown-up giving myself homework?

The Week From Hell: Really, More? September 25, 2011

 

Friday Big C went to school and Lil C was with me. It was harder. Note to self: 4 is not too young to learn to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

 

The highlight of my day was not dealing with how to pick up babies with a cracked rib and farked hand. No, the highlight was when the vet’s office called. No, really.

 

Why were they calling? Oh right, I still haven’t delivered the urn. Oh, no, that’s not what they wanted? No… They were just doing appt follow up calls and wanted to see if Waldo was feeling any better.

 

I swear I’m not making this shit up.

 

Yes, they were following up on Waldo, just making sure he recovered. I let her know that considering her office had euthanized him on Monday, I didn’t see recovery in his future. I also let her know that they had completely fucked any chance of my having any peace surrounding my dog’s death. Also, could she please let the other idiot know that I hadn’t gotten the urn yet, because “was nearly killed on the way to get it.”

 

Guess who the next person to call me was? Guess what she wanted to know?

Idiot #1: Hey, I just wanted to see if you still needed me to order the insanely overpriced second choice urn, because you didn’t drop off the one you wanted and you didn’t call.

Me: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! YOU PEOPLE ARE MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her: Huh?

Me: I talked to Idiot #2 about 1.5 hours ago. She wanted to know if Waldo was recovering, and I told her to tell you that we would be getting the urn early next week because I & my four children were very nearly killed going to get the damned thing and you promised this would be easier and I am so pissed at you people!!!!!!!!!! Did she not give you the message? Do you people not speak to each other? What the fuck is going on up there? How do I even know those are my dog’s ashes you’re giving me? YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her: Huh?

Me: When is my dog going to be back? We’ll just pick him up in the scatterbox and deal with the urn our own damn selves. GRRRRR!!!!!!

Her: He’ll be in today. C-ya…

 

Yeah, another more truth than paraphrase completely appalling conversation. I hate those bastards now.

 

Then today (well, technically yesterday) I had to go clear out and sell my car. The first car I ever bought and paid off myself. The car I debated over and researched for months. The car I just put $1,200 wheels on. That was a debacle. The old man at the tow yard took a nap rather than let me back to clear out my car. So, I had to find a way to entertain a baby in a parking lot for 45 minutes. Then, he took a couple of young kids straight back to their car. I FUCKING LOST IT. Rationally, I can tell you, that old man probably got more of the heat than he deserved, but… good fucking grief enough is e-fucking-nough! So, I finally got my shit (all of my good sippy cups and both of my baby carriers were in there) and they towed it to the salvage yard.

 

The people at the salvage yard were awesome. They gave me my wheels (which were undamaged) and took my plates off for me. Then they essentially paid the tow/impound fees. And they were nice. And they were amazed that I wasn’t in hospital. They know a lot more about car wrecks than I do.

 

This whole week I dealt with a lot of assholes. But I also dealt with several really awesome people who did a fabulous job of helping make this truly shitty week a little less shittacular:

• The medics that took care of me & Lil C were terrific. I’m totally taking them cookies when I’m well enough to bake. And have cleaned the plastic from my oven*.
• The cop that took my statement. He was so nice and comforting and did a great job of calming me down and getting the kids cared for.
• The nurse at Children’s. She was a rockstar with my little grumpigus Lil C.
• The doctor at Urgent Care. He was quick and efficient and cared and gave me vicodin.
• The guys at the salvage yard. They were sweet and took care of lots of little details I’d not have thought of and helped me get valuable parts I could sell myself off of the car (turns out it was only the wheels) before they scraped it.
• My husband. He has been so helpful and sweet. Even though he’s had the same week I have he’s still going out of his way to take care of me, hold my (good) hand through the stuff I have to do myself and handling everything else. I love that man.

 

OK, that’s the end. Seven days of hell. Nothing is allowed to go bad for at least a year now, right?

 

* There is plastic in my oven because on top of everything else, I melted a cutting board in there.

The Week From Hell: How is it Not Over Yet September 25, 2011

Thursday Big C stayed home from school because he was sore, or traumatized or just realized he had a good excuse to stay home. Whatever. I’m damned glad he did, because “Holy shit carting babies around is hard when you can’t move without severe pain!” Lil C stayed with my pops and bro. IDK why. I’m guessing because my sister realized that I was in no fit state to have to care for my own child, let alone 3 additional kids. And yet, there weren’t a lot of options, either. Sure, someone could have offered to come to my house and help with all 4. But, no one did. Whatever.

 

Until 3:30pm when I got a shitty phone call because someone went to pick up Big C (without asking or being asked) and he wasn’t there. I didn’t take to kindly to people getting shitty with me over them deciding to drive across town unprompted then being upset because they didn’t get to be the hero. Which had Big C been at school, G or I would have been there to get him and would have been really confused by someone else being there to pick him up… poorly thought out plan.

 

Point? Boo to unnecessary drama.

 

Also, boo to cutting teeth the day that mama is least able to provide comfort. Baby G is now a six teefer. He cuts those bitches 2 at a time. He’s not a super fussy teether, but he does get diaper rash when he gets teeth and it just sucks having a crank when you physically can’t comfort with lots of nursing and holding. Especially when that’s all the crank wants.

 

This brings up the point that it is dead inconvenient to me that my MIL has decided to be such a spectacular failure of a mother/grandmother/human. Don’t get me wrong, most days I am THRILLED to be rid of her bullshit. But on days like these, I’d be more than glad to put up with the innocuous, normal annoying insults to my housekeeping and badgering about how I raise my son for a bit of help. Actually, I’d be willing to put up with the little shit all the time for my husband to be happy with the relationship with his mother. But, obviously, that’s never going to happen. She is destructive and toxic and wreaks far more havoc than is OK to put up with. But, man I wish she didn’t. That said… she has made 0 effort to contact my husband this week. I’m sorry, whether or not you think the other person will accept/respond in a way that you would like, how do you ignore your child going through so much pain? I know she knows about Waldo and the wreck. G has spoken with Uncle P and his cousin C about it and they both talk to La Diabla and her sister. And, I’ve posted about it on Facebook and have a lot of relative friends on FB that talk to her. So, anyway, G doesn’t say so, but I know it hurts him that they haven’t called or reached out because of their own selfish pride. Also, if it is you guys googling me and you’ve found this blog and you’re reading this: You are BOTH spectacular failures. I can’t believe you are stupid enough to allow your own selfish pride to fuck up your relationship with my G’s. MY G’s. Losers. You are hands down the most selfish creatures I’m aware of. I hope you’re lonely and miserable, you earned it.

 

Sorry, had to get that out. I think a little bitch can be expected given the circumstances, no?

The Week From Hell: And the Plot Thickens September 25, 2011

So, Wednesday, I pack all of the little ones into the car prepared for a long ass car trip. We have pick up Big C, pick up the urn then drive all the fucking way up north to the vet’s office. By prepared I mean “covered in beans and rice because we were running late.” I’m a winner like that.

 

So, we got Big C and he was on time for once. Yes! Finally something is going to go smoothly this week. HAH!

 

About 100 feet from the school I had to turn left (back onto my street) to get to the highway. I make this turn EVERY SINGLE day. Today, as I approached it, the light was yellow. There was a van coming, but the light was going to be red before she got to it. Obviously, duh, she was going to stop. Or, she was going to blow right through the red light and smash head first into me and my car full of children.

 

I’ll let you guess which one she chose.

Yeah, so that fucking sucks. You know what sucks even worse? I got cited. I got cited!!!!! Because? I was turning left and in the great state of Ohio, if you are turning left it is your responsibility to yield the right of way. Even if the other driver has a red light. Even if you were already turning when the irresponsible bitch ran the red light. I don’t really car about the ticket. It’s $150 and that sucks, but my bigger concern by far is the fact that I just changed my insurance to liability only. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

For the record, my insurance company has been kick ass awesome so far. And, when I bumped my coverage down I did not drop passenger medical. So, insurance will take care of the medical bills for me and the kids. And there will be bills. Because obviously we got all of the kids examined.

 

Good news: The kids were not injured. Both babies were in there rear facing toddler seats and received not even a bruise. Lil C was in a backless booster in the back seat, and received a belt burn on his chest, but it was no where near as bad as it could have been. He was doing flips and flops and ninja moves before we left the hospital. Big C was in the front seat. No booster, but he was wearing his lap/shoulder belt. He is old/tall/heavy enough to ride this way. He has a very small belt rash on his neck. I had his seat all the way back and the airbag did not hit his face. The kids are all fine.

 

I was the only person that the paramedics thought should actually go to the hospital in an ambulance. Which I declined in order to stay with the kids. DUH! But, H and G both arrived on scene before we left and given that info and hindsight being 20/20 and all that… I probably should have went. My only broken bone is a small crack in one rib (went to urgent care later), but I’m banged all to hell. Here’s a small sampling:

Basically, I am marked up like this everywhere. The entire top of my hand is purple now, both knees are aubergine and I have all kinds of marks like the one down my arm all over my body. I just don’t feel like photographing them all, not that you want to see them, anyway…

 

As you can see this week was just getting better and better…

The Week From Hell: It Continues September 25, 2011

After our Waldo passed the vet’s office manager came in to discuss “the options” with G. They talked him into allowing their office to handle the cremation. It was more expensive, but it would require nothing further of us and we could grieve in peace. HAH!

 

The same person called us on Tuesday to let us know that she had charged the wrong amount for Waldo’s urn and now needed $60 more. HAH!

 

So, I told her, OK, just refund all of the cremation and urn and non-vet fees and I’ll have another crematory service come pick him up. I wasn’t entirely on board with them doing it anyway and the other place had the urn I liked best. Her answer?

Nincompoop: I don’t know if we can do that?

Me: Why? It was no problem yesterday… Has he already been processed?

Nincompoop: … … …

Me: Where is my dog?

Nincompoop: That’s a good question, let me get back with you.

Me: FIND MY DOG!!!!!!!!! WTF do you mean “that’s a good question?” He’s f’ing dead he didn’t walk away!

 

I wish that was one of my clever paraphrase jobs. It’s not. They lost my dog. They found him in time to be picked up by the cremation service on Wednesday. So they say. Who knows who’s ashes I’m getting back? Am pissed.

 

So, the urn was still an issue. The arranged plan became for me to go buy the urn I liked and deliver it to the vet’s office. Because that’s so much easier for me. See how convenient it was to just let them handle everything?

The Week From Hell: Part 1 September 24, 2011

Warning: I’m getting ready to bitch and whine. A lot. It won’t be funny.

 

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook know that this week has been a wicked awful one. I’m still reeling from it. It all started Sunday when my Mom called to let me know that Waldo was acting funny. OK, back story… when we went on vacation Waldo stayed at my mom’s house with my dad* and when we got back he seemed so happy that we just let him keep staying there. My dad was taking him for walks and he was sleeping in the room with my mom and he was happy, I couldn’t make him come home when he was doing so well over there. So, we visited him 2x a week and let him stay at mom’s. Which would be why she was calling me to tell me that my dog was acting weird. He was refusing to come in the house and hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. Naturally, I went straight to him. This is my beloved pooch. My best friend of 15 years. My fur-baby. I flew to him.

 

And found… a very, very ill puppy. I got him to eat some bacon and drink some water, but he wouldn’t come in for me, either. He was rather listless and lethargic. He was sick. It seemed like his hips were hurting him really badly. So, I made plans to take him to the vet on Monday.

Monday came and he was worse. He wouldn’t drink or eat (even fresh bacon). He had dragged himself into mom’s shed and would not be budged. I sat with him for an hour while waiting for my husband to take him to the vet, he didn’t move. I couldn’t go. I knew that at his age being this sick wasn’t a good sign.

Waldo didn’t come home from the vet. She said that he had a virus which had exacerbated kidney failure in progress. She could keep him for a few days and rehydrate him and tube feed him and he may or may not pull through. Even if he did pull through, she didn’t give him more than a month due to the strain on his kidneys. They don’t do kidney transplants on dogs. “This is not the movies. And at his age he wouldn’t survive the surgery anyway.” Yes, G honestly asked that. Yes, if we could have spent $10k and saved him for another year or two, we would have (never mind the fact that we don’t have $1k let alone $10k in the bank). The humane thing would be to help him pass peacefully in as little pain as possible. The last thing he saw was G patting him and telling him how loved he was and what a great dog he has been.

 

I m still beside myself with grief. I am still in shock. How is it possible that my Waldo-bear is gone? Sure, I knew it was coming. He was 15, his kidneys have been failing for a couple of years and he’s been slowing down. Knowing a thing is coming and experiencing it are two very different things. Please know I doubt there has ever been a better or better loved dog on this planet.

 

But see, that was only Monday and it has been the week from hell, not the day from hell…

 

* My parents are still divorced, my dad is now also divorced from the lunch lady (aka Man Hands, aka Wife #2) and was broke and needed a place to stay and for some crazy reason my mother let him move back in at her house. As a renter.