Sarah is finally potty-trained (for the most part). We were at Sam's Club yesterday and I had forgotten (BAD MOMMY) to take her to the bathroom because shopping. An hour later she had gone in her Pull-Up. I went back into the store (we had been eating at the snack counter tables) to buy some Pull-Ups (needed them anyway) and when I returned to the table my mother was running away towards the bathroom with Sarah in tow. They returned and I handed my mother a new Pull-Up. She gave me an eye roll of exhaustion and turned and said to Sarah, "Let's put your Pull-Up on now."
And in the BLINK OF AN EYE Sarah drops her drawers and shows everyone at Sam's Club that she has been going commando!
Good thing little girl hinders are cute.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I'm the mommy, THAT'S why!
So Benjamin still refuses to eat most things. Except he puts a new twist on this pickiness by changes what he "loves" and "hates" from day to day. One day, he can't eat enough grapes. The next? I hate grapes! So now I have three pounds of grapes that he won't eat. It seems that one constant, however, is strawberries. He loves them. LOVES them. Unfortunately we don't live in Argentina, California, Chile, or wherever the heck they grow them in mid-January. So I have been scrounging for strawberries for the past few months and paying $5.00 for a pathetic-looking carton of mushy red things.
He takes the same thing to school for lunch everyday, too. After a year of torturing him by forcing him to take hot lunch (and no thanks to my mother who insisted on saying at every possible opportunity, "Those school lunches are TERRIBLE! BLECH! I can't believe you make him eat that stuff! I don't blame him for not eating it! BLECH!" - and sticking her tongue out for emphasis), I decided that it was really too expensive anyway and he now gets cold lunch. This is what it consists of: prepackaged PB&J (this is my fault; too lazy to make one each day), halved strawberries (won't eat them if sliced further), string cheese, milk, and (this is one of the few variances) a KitKat or cookie or whatever he wants for "dessert". Every once in a while he will get REALLY crazy and ask for a half of pita bread with one slice of fake cheese in it.
Sarah, on the other hand, will eat almost anything (unless Benjamin is there to let her know its BAD). Every meat product is called chicken and she seems happy with that pretense; she loves chicken. Her favorite veggie is broccoli. And, funnily enough, she hates strawberries. At least she eats everything else (its cheaper, if nothing else!).
The other day my mother was watching the kids for the day while I ran around and cleaned or something, and when I went to pick the kids up I brought Pizza Hut pizza and breadsticks for supper. I put everything on the table and starting making up plates for the kids. Benjamin came in and declared, "I don't like that pizza." So my mother springs into action: she grabs his plate and starts slicing cheese and getting out the crackers for him. I stand there, aghast, and ask what she is doing. She said, "He doesn't like that pizza." I said, "Yes, he does. He only doesn't like it because we're at your house." She informed me that was ridiculous, and didn't slow down for a second with the cheese-cutting and cracker-grabbing. (This is the woman who keeps oil on hand to make Benjamin homemade french fries for every meal that I am not present.) I informed him that if he did not eat his pizza he did not get anything else, including a snack later that night. He took a sideways glance at grandma and then shook his stubborn head. My mother did take away some of the cheese and crackers at this point, and make a half-hearted effort to get him to eat the pizza. He didn't. I told him he couldn't have a breadstick until he ate a bite of pizza. Didn't happen. About 8 minutes later (Benjamin had moved to the living room, sans plate) my mom tried to swipe him a breadstick. I asked who it was for, and she said, "You can't just starve him!" I informed her that the human body could live up to 14 days or so without food (she wasn't impressed) and that if he didn't eat tonight he would probably be okay in the morning. She throws the breadstick down and puts her hand over her mouth as she starts to cry (I am obviously the worst daughter and mommy that ever lived) and runs out of the room. Benjamin is in the other room whining to her, "I'm HUUUUUUNGRY." She cries harder.
As we were packing to leave my mother again tried to sneak him some pizza-alternative. I caught her eye before the handoff took place, and Benjamin again went into whining mode, "I'm HUUUUUUUUNGRY." Tears flow again, and my mother turns to this 6-year-old and says, "I'm sorry but your mommy won't let you eat."
So that's just great. I said, "He made his choice and he doesn't get to eat." My mother made sure I knew that that was ridiculous and he should be given options of food he likes.
We left.
Is it me, or am I up against a team of two on this food issue??
He takes the same thing to school for lunch everyday, too. After a year of torturing him by forcing him to take hot lunch (and no thanks to my mother who insisted on saying at every possible opportunity, "Those school lunches are TERRIBLE! BLECH! I can't believe you make him eat that stuff! I don't blame him for not eating it! BLECH!" - and sticking her tongue out for emphasis), I decided that it was really too expensive anyway and he now gets cold lunch. This is what it consists of: prepackaged PB&J (this is my fault; too lazy to make one each day), halved strawberries (won't eat them if sliced further), string cheese, milk, and (this is one of the few variances) a KitKat or cookie or whatever he wants for "dessert". Every once in a while he will get REALLY crazy and ask for a half of pita bread with one slice of fake cheese in it.
Sarah, on the other hand, will eat almost anything (unless Benjamin is there to let her know its BAD). Every meat product is called chicken and she seems happy with that pretense; she loves chicken. Her favorite veggie is broccoli. And, funnily enough, she hates strawberries. At least she eats everything else (its cheaper, if nothing else!).
The other day my mother was watching the kids for the day while I ran around and cleaned or something, and when I went to pick the kids up I brought Pizza Hut pizza and breadsticks for supper. I put everything on the table and starting making up plates for the kids. Benjamin came in and declared, "I don't like that pizza." So my mother springs into action: she grabs his plate and starts slicing cheese and getting out the crackers for him. I stand there, aghast, and ask what she is doing. She said, "He doesn't like that pizza." I said, "Yes, he does. He only doesn't like it because we're at your house." She informed me that was ridiculous, and didn't slow down for a second with the cheese-cutting and cracker-grabbing. (This is the woman who keeps oil on hand to make Benjamin homemade french fries for every meal that I am not present.) I informed him that if he did not eat his pizza he did not get anything else, including a snack later that night. He took a sideways glance at grandma and then shook his stubborn head. My mother did take away some of the cheese and crackers at this point, and make a half-hearted effort to get him to eat the pizza. He didn't. I told him he couldn't have a breadstick until he ate a bite of pizza. Didn't happen. About 8 minutes later (Benjamin had moved to the living room, sans plate) my mom tried to swipe him a breadstick. I asked who it was for, and she said, "You can't just starve him!" I informed her that the human body could live up to 14 days or so without food (she wasn't impressed) and that if he didn't eat tonight he would probably be okay in the morning. She throws the breadstick down and puts her hand over her mouth as she starts to cry (I am obviously the worst daughter and mommy that ever lived) and runs out of the room. Benjamin is in the other room whining to her, "I'm HUUUUUUNGRY." She cries harder.
As we were packing to leave my mother again tried to sneak him some pizza-alternative. I caught her eye before the handoff took place, and Benjamin again went into whining mode, "I'm HUUUUUUUUNGRY." Tears flow again, and my mother turns to this 6-year-old and says, "I'm sorry but your mommy won't let you eat."
So that's just great. I said, "He made his choice and he doesn't get to eat." My mother made sure I knew that that was ridiculous and he should be given options of food he likes.
We left.
Is it me, or am I up against a team of two on this food issue??
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Moving
Well, it seems we are really going to be moving.
We looked at some decent houses today, but none that really impressed me. They are either in a not-the-greatest location, or are just too small. We have become accustomed to life in this PERFECT house, and I am therefore having a huge degree of difficulty finding something comparable (or better).
A friend of ours bought the house we REALLY wanted. Great house, big enough, great area. Unfortunately, also great price.
So we are going with plan B, which is a pretty decent house (which needs a significant amount of updating) in an ok area. We are still looking.
I spent all day cleaning this house to show it to someone this evening, and she had the nerve to call me about 1 hour before the appointed time to tell me that she went home sick from work, and that she doesn't want to go out "in this cold". Whatever dude.
So here I sit in my clean house, just thinking about the day off school tomorrow and how trashed it will become.
We looked at some decent houses today, but none that really impressed me. They are either in a not-the-greatest location, or are just too small. We have become accustomed to life in this PERFECT house, and I am therefore having a huge degree of difficulty finding something comparable (or better).
A friend of ours bought the house we REALLY wanted. Great house, big enough, great area. Unfortunately, also great price.
So we are going with plan B, which is a pretty decent house (which needs a significant amount of updating) in an ok area. We are still looking.
I spent all day cleaning this house to show it to someone this evening, and she had the nerve to call me about 1 hour before the appointed time to tell me that she went home sick from work, and that she doesn't want to go out "in this cold". Whatever dude.
So here I sit in my clean house, just thinking about the day off school tomorrow and how trashed it will become.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Acupuncture
So I had acupuncture yesterday. I have come to an endpoint in my search for pain relief, and I had very high hopes that this would help me.
I had 19 pins in me, not including the four gold spikes that remain in my ears for "endorphin release". The picture shows just my left ear, which is where there were five pins, and you can see the two gold spikes remaining.
Here's how it worked: I got into the exam room and had to take off everything but my undergarments (I was sure to wear non-holey undies this time since I FORGOT for the initial visit and ended up walking around the room with a doctor and nurse watching my rearend jiggle around in frayed undies). You know how those rooms are always just a little bit FRIGID? Well this was no exception. So I kept my socks on so I wouldn't freeze quite as fast. First thing the nurse did was take my socks off. I laid down and had a gown on, and a sheet covering me from my shoulders (not my arms) down to my knees. I WAS FREEZING. Then, just to make sure I would die of hypothermia, she took a little alcohol wipe and starting swabbing down random parts of my body: ears (inside and out), lateral knees, posterior knees, medial ankles, lateral forearms, and proximal thumbs. Oh yeah -- let's not forget my clavicles as well.
Then she left. Now might be a good time to draw a visual picture of this nurse. She is called Katie, although her nametag says Katherine. She is about 5'4" and 300 pounds. She has a distinct southern accent, and acts as though we are best friends. She also only does palp BPs (maybe because they don't have a cuff for her size so she's not used to real BPs?). She calls me "hun". She also speaks in fragments because she has to huff and puff at a significant elevated rate.
A moment later I hear a little whispering outside my door, and then the doctor comes in with his little torture cart. He has been amused by me since visit #1, so he is already kind of smirking when he says hello. I told him that stores aren't carrying bamboo plants right now, so he would have to wait until spring or summer to get one. I also told him that those pointed Chinese hats are hard to find, even on ebay. Hey -- he told me this was "eastern medicine" and I thought it would be more convincing if my pure white, late-50s, sweater-and-slacks doctor had some of the props to go with it.
Without further ado, I feel another alcohol wipe swabbing down the same areas as above. (Just in case?) Then, without really explaining anything, I feel him groping around on my ear, then a quick poke. He starts twisting the pin, and suddenly my left arm spasmodically flies off the table. He says, "There." One more time; same sequence. THEN he explains this to me. "You see, we put the pin in, then twist it until you either feel a dull ache or shooting pain from the site." (Something I learned in school about explaining a procedure BEFORE you do it.....?) He does a few more, which REALLY FREAKING HURT, then tells me he is going to put the spikes in. He had casually mentioned this in the past and I really didn't know anything about it, even after the explanation. No explanation today! A quick THUNK, and my ear was pierced! Then another one! He explains that those stay in and will fall out on their own. (He had also checked my eardrums to make sure they were intact for when the spikes fall out and into my ear.) He repeated this entire process on the other ear, then told me to flip over onto my stomach.
I obey.
Next thing I know he is swabbing my knee pits again and two more pins go in those! He TAPES them down, then tells me to flip back. I refer to myself as having "Mickey Mouse ears" because it feels like I have huge things shooting out all over my ears. (When my head is on the pillow, I can't turn my head because the pins are sticking out in all different directions.) He places the remaing pins in my legs, arms, ankles, and thumbs -- each time waiting for a reflex jerk to tell him when its "in". He seemed to be packing up, so I asked how long I had to lay there. He told me 20 minutes, and that I needed to lay completely still, without moving at all. I asked why I couldn't move at all, and he smirked again and said, "Well sometimes the pin goes through a tendon..... Well, you'll see." I figured he assumed I would probably move anyway, just to find out. I asked if there was any "bamboo" music and he said he'd have some the NEXT time I came (Ha!).
Suddenly he is gone, and Katie is back. She dims the lights and tells me she will be coming back in a couple times to twist the pins some more, stating that it "reenergizes" the nerves. She leaves and I am laying there -- compleely stuck (no pun intended). I can't move, I can't sleep, and I can stop thinking about how EVERYTHING itches. Eventually I drift off a bit, just as Katie comes back in to reenergize my nerves. In all honestly this didn't hurt at all, although I can't figure out why not. I drifted off to sleep again, then the doctor was back in. He flicks on the lights, and starts yanking pins out of me. I hear them clinking into the metal tray wondering exactly how many were stuck in me.
Then he is gone again, and Katie is back again. She tells me to get up slowly and "stretch" a little, then to get dressed.
When she comes back she has "instructions" for me. Its a long list of things I have to do with the spikes in my ears. I have to clean them with alcohol, "energize" them with magnets a total of 1 minute or more each day, and tape cotton balls over them when sleeping or showering.
If you thought I was sexy before, you should have seen me with cotton balls taped to my head. HOT! Its a little weird sleeping on a cotton ball, and even weirder trying to shower and wash your hair with cotton balls taped to your ears. And they HURT. A LOT! There are big bruises, bloody streaks, and remaining holes all over them. My kids look at me as though I am an alien, and if I wear something black I feel just a little goth.
That's the end of the story. The best part is that my insurance has decided they don't want to pay for it after all so I get to spend $76 on this torture.
To make this very long story short, DON'T DO IT! I will say that while the pins were in, my left SI and left shoulder pain did resolve. But the second they were yanked out the pain returned. The pins hurt EXTREMELY much going in and being "adjusted" and hurt coming out too. He wants me to come back once more this week (yeah, right) and twice next week (yeah, right).
I'm not going back. I can spend my $76 on massage therapy, which keeps me WARM and seems to work without significant pain.
The End.
I had 19 pins in me, not including the four gold spikes that remain in my ears for "endorphin release". The picture shows just my left ear, which is where there were five pins, and you can see the two gold spikes remaining.
Here's how it worked: I got into the exam room and had to take off everything but my undergarments (I was sure to wear non-holey undies this time since I FORGOT for the initial visit and ended up walking around the room with a doctor and nurse watching my rearend jiggle around in frayed undies). You know how those rooms are always just a little bit FRIGID? Well this was no exception. So I kept my socks on so I wouldn't freeze quite as fast. First thing the nurse did was take my socks off. I laid down and had a gown on, and a sheet covering me from my shoulders (not my arms) down to my knees. I WAS FREEZING. Then, just to make sure I would die of hypothermia, she took a little alcohol wipe and starting swabbing down random parts of my body: ears (inside and out), lateral knees, posterior knees, medial ankles, lateral forearms, and proximal thumbs. Oh yeah -- let's not forget my clavicles as well.
Then she left. Now might be a good time to draw a visual picture of this nurse. She is called Katie, although her nametag says Katherine. She is about 5'4" and 300 pounds. She has a distinct southern accent, and acts as though we are best friends. She also only does palp BPs (maybe because they don't have a cuff for her size so she's not used to real BPs?). She calls me "hun". She also speaks in fragments because she has to huff and puff at a significant elevated rate.
A moment later I hear a little whispering outside my door, and then the doctor comes in with his little torture cart. He has been amused by me since visit #1, so he is already kind of smirking when he says hello. I told him that stores aren't carrying bamboo plants right now, so he would have to wait until spring or summer to get one. I also told him that those pointed Chinese hats are hard to find, even on ebay. Hey -- he told me this was "eastern medicine" and I thought it would be more convincing if my pure white, late-50s, sweater-and-slacks doctor had some of the props to go with it.
Without further ado, I feel another alcohol wipe swabbing down the same areas as above. (Just in case?) Then, without really explaining anything, I feel him groping around on my ear, then a quick poke. He starts twisting the pin, and suddenly my left arm spasmodically flies off the table. He says, "There." One more time; same sequence. THEN he explains this to me. "You see, we put the pin in, then twist it until you either feel a dull ache or shooting pain from the site." (Something I learned in school about explaining a procedure BEFORE you do it.....?) He does a few more, which REALLY FREAKING HURT, then tells me he is going to put the spikes in. He had casually mentioned this in the past and I really didn't know anything about it, even after the explanation. No explanation today! A quick THUNK, and my ear was pierced! Then another one! He explains that those stay in and will fall out on their own. (He had also checked my eardrums to make sure they were intact for when the spikes fall out and into my ear.) He repeated this entire process on the other ear, then told me to flip over onto my stomach.
I obey.
Next thing I know he is swabbing my knee pits again and two more pins go in those! He TAPES them down, then tells me to flip back. I refer to myself as having "Mickey Mouse ears" because it feels like I have huge things shooting out all over my ears. (When my head is on the pillow, I can't turn my head because the pins are sticking out in all different directions.) He places the remaing pins in my legs, arms, ankles, and thumbs -- each time waiting for a reflex jerk to tell him when its "in". He seemed to be packing up, so I asked how long I had to lay there. He told me 20 minutes, and that I needed to lay completely still, without moving at all. I asked why I couldn't move at all, and he smirked again and said, "Well sometimes the pin goes through a tendon..... Well, you'll see." I figured he assumed I would probably move anyway, just to find out. I asked if there was any "bamboo" music and he said he'd have some the NEXT time I came (Ha!).
Suddenly he is gone, and Katie is back. She dims the lights and tells me she will be coming back in a couple times to twist the pins some more, stating that it "reenergizes" the nerves. She leaves and I am laying there -- compleely stuck (no pun intended). I can't move, I can't sleep, and I can stop thinking about how EVERYTHING itches. Eventually I drift off a bit, just as Katie comes back in to reenergize my nerves. In all honestly this didn't hurt at all, although I can't figure out why not. I drifted off to sleep again, then the doctor was back in. He flicks on the lights, and starts yanking pins out of me. I hear them clinking into the metal tray wondering exactly how many were stuck in me.
Then he is gone again, and Katie is back again. She tells me to get up slowly and "stretch" a little, then to get dressed.
When she comes back she has "instructions" for me. Its a long list of things I have to do with the spikes in my ears. I have to clean them with alcohol, "energize" them with magnets a total of 1 minute or more each day, and tape cotton balls over them when sleeping or showering.
If you thought I was sexy before, you should have seen me with cotton balls taped to my head. HOT! Its a little weird sleeping on a cotton ball, and even weirder trying to shower and wash your hair with cotton balls taped to your ears. And they HURT. A LOT! There are big bruises, bloody streaks, and remaining holes all over them. My kids look at me as though I am an alien, and if I wear something black I feel just a little goth.
That's the end of the story. The best part is that my insurance has decided they don't want to pay for it after all so I get to spend $76 on this torture.
To make this very long story short, DON'T DO IT! I will say that while the pins were in, my left SI and left shoulder pain did resolve. But the second they were yanked out the pain returned. The pins hurt EXTREMELY much going in and being "adjusted" and hurt coming out too. He wants me to come back once more this week (yeah, right) and twice next week (yeah, right).
I'm not going back. I can spend my $76 on massage therapy, which keeps me WARM and seems to work without significant pain.
The End.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Ephesian 4:31
"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice." - Eph. 4:31
I received an email from my ex-boss today stating that he was "under no obligation" to replace a letter I had misplaced and had requested from him.
I just can't fathom living with that kind of bitterness in my heart. He carries that with him every single day of his life, just letting it fester there. It's absolutely no wonder why people are hateful, spiteful, filled with revenge, and eventually resort to violence to attempt to relieve this deep bitterness inside them.
What can we do to end this rampage of hate?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
What I did this morning
5:15am - get a call from my instructor's wife; no class today
5:19am - realize that I have a pounding headache
6:15am - child #1 is up and STARING at me trying to sleep
6:45am - child #2 gets up and has peed through her pajamas
7:10am - both kids are now in bed with me
7:17am - Steve comes home; the kids are begging for a movie
7:25am - realize that my headache has not subsided whatsoever
7:50am - Steve picks a STUPID fight with me over dried eggs on the scraper
7:55am - I am done screaming my bloody lungs out and refuse to speak to him
8:15am - cleaning up after breakfast
8:30-8:38am - tell kids to get their shoes and coats on (x15)
8:39am - make a cheap comment about how if Steve is going to skip our family event today (see below) he better get something done around the house
8:40am - leave to go to Home Depot to make whatever kids project they have for us
9:05am - in Home Depot screwing together football helmet bookends. I make four, the kids make none
9:13am - ponder how my head is pounding and now my back hurts from sitting on a concrete floor
9:23am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:25am - walking around Home Depot with kids clapping their bookends together to make a VERY loud noise
9:26am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:28am - pick up 5 small plastic bins to buy, kids drop everything they are carrying to play in the larger plastic bins; get a dirty look from some lady who can't get through with her cart because the kids' junk is all laying in the aisle
9:32am - walking from the front of the store to the farthest possible corner because child #1 "forgot" he had to go potty; I realize that the bins I grabbed are splattered with some dark, sticky substance but I am SO not going to get new ones
9:34am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:35am - walking back to the front of the store to checkout
9:36am - say no to all 25 candy items on the rack in the checkout lane
9:37am - dragging two kids out to the car because I forgot the checkbook out there
9:38am - Sarah falls flat on her face in the middle of the wet, slushy, dirty, freezing parking lot and lays there screaming for about 10 seconds ... and drops a bookend
9:40am - back in line to checkout again
9:41am - say no to all 25 candy items in the checkout lane; Sarah is still crying about falling in the parking lot
9:42am - can't figure out how to sign the little credit card thing because there is blood pounding through my ocular arteries; Sarah asks me to take her pants off because they are "wet" (I didn't)
9:43am - Sarah drops a bookend; is still crying about falling in the parking lot
9:45am - the checkout lady ACTUALLY has the GUTS to say to me, "Have a nice day"
At this point I have had enough. I stopped mid-stride, looked her directly in the eye, and said, "What did you just say to me?" She wasn't sure if she should smile or not, and she said, "Well TRY to have a nice day.....?" I said, "Do you really think that is going to be possible?" She then said (as I began walking away), "Well... It'll be naptime soon!" We both smiled.
So that was pretty funny. We got home and Steve actually WASN'T sitting on the couch watching TV. Turns out he was downstairs "organizing" the workshop area of the basement (which has not been organized since before we moved here). I was supposed to be happy he was doing something, but I was annoyed that he chose to do THAT rather than clear a path through the toys, load the dishwasher, cleaning the stinking dried eggs off the scraper!, or something else that NEEDED to be done. I didn't say a word.
5:19am - realize that I have a pounding headache
6:15am - child #1 is up and STARING at me trying to sleep
6:45am - child #2 gets up and has peed through her pajamas
7:10am - both kids are now in bed with me
7:17am - Steve comes home; the kids are begging for a movie
7:25am - realize that my headache has not subsided whatsoever
7:50am - Steve picks a STUPID fight with me over dried eggs on the scraper
7:55am - I am done screaming my bloody lungs out and refuse to speak to him
8:15am - cleaning up after breakfast
8:30-8:38am - tell kids to get their shoes and coats on (x15)
8:39am - make a cheap comment about how if Steve is going to skip our family event today (see below) he better get something done around the house
8:40am - leave to go to Home Depot to make whatever kids project they have for us
9:05am - in Home Depot screwing together football helmet bookends. I make four, the kids make none
9:13am - ponder how my head is pounding and now my back hurts from sitting on a concrete floor
9:23am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:25am - walking around Home Depot with kids clapping their bookends together to make a VERY loud noise
9:26am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:28am - pick up 5 small plastic bins to buy, kids drop everything they are carrying to play in the larger plastic bins; get a dirty look from some lady who can't get through with her cart because the kids' junk is all laying in the aisle
9:32am - walking from the front of the store to the farthest possible corner because child #1 "forgot" he had to go potty; I realize that the bins I grabbed are splattered with some dark, sticky substance but I am SO not going to get new ones
9:34am - Sarah drops a bookend
9:35am - walking back to the front of the store to checkout
9:36am - say no to all 25 candy items on the rack in the checkout lane
9:37am - dragging two kids out to the car because I forgot the checkbook out there
9:38am - Sarah falls flat on her face in the middle of the wet, slushy, dirty, freezing parking lot and lays there screaming for about 10 seconds ... and drops a bookend
9:40am - back in line to checkout again
9:41am - say no to all 25 candy items in the checkout lane; Sarah is still crying about falling in the parking lot
9:42am - can't figure out how to sign the little credit card thing because there is blood pounding through my ocular arteries; Sarah asks me to take her pants off because they are "wet" (I didn't)
9:43am - Sarah drops a bookend; is still crying about falling in the parking lot
9:45am - the checkout lady ACTUALLY has the GUTS to say to me, "Have a nice day"
At this point I have had enough. I stopped mid-stride, looked her directly in the eye, and said, "What did you just say to me?" She wasn't sure if she should smile or not, and she said, "Well TRY to have a nice day.....?" I said, "Do you really think that is going to be possible?" She then said (as I began walking away), "Well... It'll be naptime soon!" We both smiled.
So that was pretty funny. We got home and Steve actually WASN'T sitting on the couch watching TV. Turns out he was downstairs "organizing" the workshop area of the basement (which has not been organized since before we moved here). I was supposed to be happy he was doing something, but I was annoyed that he chose to do THAT rather than clear a path through the toys, load the dishwasher, cleaning the stinking dried eggs off the scraper!, or something else that NEEDED to be done. I didn't say a word.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
catching up
I think one of the main reasons I don't like blogging is because no one cares enough about the intimate details of my life to sit and read it. That is, except for Kristal. You'd almost think that with two kids and a dog she would have other things to do. I'm thinking she has joined the delusional, white-collar, soccer mom group who writes down everything she thinks is cute about her kids in hopes that everyone will see it for themselves. Even as I write this she is busy posting pictures and entertaining "quips" from her own life. (I really do love you, honey -- you are just very different than me!)
Not me.
Christmas is over, which is delightful. We had a five-day Christmas marathon, and my living room is still recovering from this fact. Get up, go to someone's house, come home, dump in the living room, go to sleep. Repeat x4. I also gained 7 pounds, which makes me wonder what would have happened if I had eaten everything I wanted to eat. I also received hundreds of small "things" that are cute, but only once or twice. Like a laser keychain. To think I have lived 33 years of my life without one.
Ok. Well its New Year's now, and I have to think of where this year is going to take us. For one, I will have to move to the hellhole of SheVegas. I look around this house that I love, and wonder how this is going to be possible for me to just leave.
Another thing is my constant pain. The doctors have actually had the GALL to label this "fibromyalgia". I don't even think this exists. My comforting theory about the "F" word thus far has been the following: people are only diagnosed with F after repeated trips to multiple doctors whining about pain. This has been a catch-all in my mind; a diagnosis given to people who want to be told there is something wrong with them, by doctors who don't want to see a certain patient ever again. The problem is that *I* was given this "diagnosis" after just an initial visit. So what does that mean for me? Physical therapy is a joke. The "butt sling" I have to wear is a joke. Dr. Pond thinks I need back surgery. Whatever.
And lastly, my career. I am certain that Mr. Marhol congratulates himself on having ruined this for me, but his congratulatory demeanor will probably disappear once he kills himself due to the overwhelming stress of being such a massive jacka*s. So I will work casually at OC and wait until he offs himself, then will go back to Plymouth.
And what of the kids? Benjamin loves his school, and it SICKENS me to the depths of my soul to have to pull him from the school and start over again at another one. My only consolation is that he may be able to attend Sheboygan Christian School now.
And what of my friends? After a lifetime of pushing people away so I would not have to be accountable to anyone, I have actually managed to maintain friendships on a mutual level. Leslie, Raeni, Jeannie. I'm sure there are more. And who do I have in Sheboygan? Michelle (who lives just as far away from the southside as she does Plymouth) and Jenny (who I love, and who lives five blocks from our prospective new house). I'm not comfortable with change. I don't want to move. At all.
Those are all the musings I have for today. I don't think I should use a blog as a "diary" because its on the internet, for heaven's sake; any schmuck can read it! I think I'll look for some pictures now.....
Not me.
Christmas is over, which is delightful. We had a five-day Christmas marathon, and my living room is still recovering from this fact. Get up, go to someone's house, come home, dump in the living room, go to sleep. Repeat x4. I also gained 7 pounds, which makes me wonder what would have happened if I had eaten everything I wanted to eat. I also received hundreds of small "things" that are cute, but only once or twice. Like a laser keychain. To think I have lived 33 years of my life without one.
Ok. Well its New Year's now, and I have to think of where this year is going to take us. For one, I will have to move to the hellhole of SheVegas. I look around this house that I love, and wonder how this is going to be possible for me to just leave.
Another thing is my constant pain. The doctors have actually had the GALL to label this "fibromyalgia". I don't even think this exists. My comforting theory about the "F" word thus far has been the following: people are only diagnosed with F after repeated trips to multiple doctors whining about pain. This has been a catch-all in my mind; a diagnosis given to people who want to be told there is something wrong with them, by doctors who don't want to see a certain patient ever again. The problem is that *I* was given this "diagnosis" after just an initial visit. So what does that mean for me? Physical therapy is a joke. The "butt sling" I have to wear is a joke. Dr. Pond thinks I need back surgery. Whatever.
And lastly, my career. I am certain that Mr. Marhol congratulates himself on having ruined this for me, but his congratulatory demeanor will probably disappear once he kills himself due to the overwhelming stress of being such a massive jacka*s. So I will work casually at OC and wait until he offs himself, then will go back to Plymouth.
And what of the kids? Benjamin loves his school, and it SICKENS me to the depths of my soul to have to pull him from the school and start over again at another one. My only consolation is that he may be able to attend Sheboygan Christian School now.
And what of my friends? After a lifetime of pushing people away so I would not have to be accountable to anyone, I have actually managed to maintain friendships on a mutual level. Leslie, Raeni, Jeannie. I'm sure there are more. And who do I have in Sheboygan? Michelle (who lives just as far away from the southside as she does Plymouth) and Jenny (who I love, and who lives five blocks from our prospective new house). I'm not comfortable with change. I don't want to move. At all.
Those are all the musings I have for today. I don't think I should use a blog as a "diary" because its on the internet, for heaven's sake; any schmuck can read it! I think I'll look for some pictures now.....
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