...there is a reason that I have had the same bestest friend, since the first day of ninth grade.
'Cuz she ROCKS, that's why.
After finishing the post below, I locked myself in the bathroom, and fell to pieces. So, I did the only thing, any self-respecting adult, locked in a bathroom, with a phone, a cigarette, a lighter, and snot running down her face, can do.
I called my best friend, with whom, I share a potato.
The potato bit, is a long standing, inside joke, that I'm not sharing at the moment.
To quote Le Tigre..."nanny nanny, nanny nanny boo boo".
...just because I can.
She has always been there for me, when it really mattered. She's held my hair for me, while I've thrown up, and then I've returned the favor. Sometimes, even in the same night, LOL. Words cannot begin to describe the love I have for this awesome chick. She rocks my world, on a regular basis, just by showing up, yk?
So, after the obligatory pep talk, she moved right into a charming tidbit, about how, 12 years after the original loan, 3 years after the last court date, where she got a judgment in her favor, she's tracked down my former roommate, and filed the court papers to have her salary garnished. Turns out, she works as a realtor with the same company, that HER realtor, who is listing her house, does.
Karma is a bitch, LOL.
She will be getting married in the fall (my friend, not karma), and her daughter will be born in about 2 months. IN the meantime, she just happens to be buying my cousin's house, right around the corner from me. How rockin' is THAT?
She may not always understand me, and vice versa, but damn, is that girl always around when I need a potato.
"Put on your shit kickers and kick some SHIT" drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Friday, April 07, 2006
I will *NOT* freak out...
...I will NOT freak the fuck out...
oh wait.
I'm making a truly admirable attempt, at least, in my book, not to completely lose my SHIT.
When I was 18, my cousin, Rachel, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was the only girl cousin I had, and I just adored her. She was only 6 when she was diagnosed, and 7 years, and 2 weeks old, when she died, after an agonizing year of surgeries and treatments. I can honestly say, I've never been the same. At that moment, when my father knocked on my apartment door, and told me that she died, while I was changing from work, to go sit with her, like I did a few times a week, my world view shifted.
No longer, was bad shit, the stuff that happened to other people. Babies die. Kids die. Not just in sudden accidents. They get sick, and die. As in, no doctor, no treatment, no surgery, can prevent it.
I totally, not to put too fine a point on it, lost my SHIT. The weeks afterwards are kind of a blur, in all honesty. I drank, drugged, and cut my way through one of the most horrifying times of my life. Even my club buddies were scared, by how out of control I was. How do you DEAL with something like that? How do you come to terms with that?
Now, fast forward, 11 years later, to the phone call I got from my sister-in-law this morning. My nephew, who is 5 months older than my youngest son, has a lump on his neck. She took him 2 weeks ago, to get it checked out by our pediatrician. He told her to come back in two weeks, if it hadn't gone away. IT could just be from a cold. This morning, is the end of week two. It's almost doubled in size. He has to go for blood work tomorrow, there is a possibility, that it's leukemia, or another childhood cancer.
I hear the words, coming out of her mouth, and suddenly, I'm not a 30 year old mother of 3 kids, with a silly, crazy, happy life, but a scared, 18 year old kid, who just can NOT do this again. I barely survived it the first time. I cannot watch another kid I love DIE. I just don't have it in me. How fucking chicken shit is THAT?
We have no information to work with yet, we'll get results of his blood work on Monday, hopefully. My sister in law, is freaking out, understandably. She's depending on me, to help her through this. I honestly don't know if I can. I'm sitting here, typing this, just barely holding absolute panic at bay. I can barely catch my breath, at the mere suggestion that I walk this road with yet another family member and their beloved child. What the hell am I gonna do, if I actually have to walk it?
I got no answers. Not one.
From a girl, who thinks she knows it all, that's saying something.
just barely. drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
oh wait.
I'm making a truly admirable attempt, at least, in my book, not to completely lose my SHIT.
When I was 18, my cousin, Rachel, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was the only girl cousin I had, and I just adored her. She was only 6 when she was diagnosed, and 7 years, and 2 weeks old, when she died, after an agonizing year of surgeries and treatments. I can honestly say, I've never been the same. At that moment, when my father knocked on my apartment door, and told me that she died, while I was changing from work, to go sit with her, like I did a few times a week, my world view shifted.
No longer, was bad shit, the stuff that happened to other people. Babies die. Kids die. Not just in sudden accidents. They get sick, and die. As in, no doctor, no treatment, no surgery, can prevent it.
I totally, not to put too fine a point on it, lost my SHIT. The weeks afterwards are kind of a blur, in all honesty. I drank, drugged, and cut my way through one of the most horrifying times of my life. Even my club buddies were scared, by how out of control I was. How do you DEAL with something like that? How do you come to terms with that?
Now, fast forward, 11 years later, to the phone call I got from my sister-in-law this morning. My nephew, who is 5 months older than my youngest son, has a lump on his neck. She took him 2 weeks ago, to get it checked out by our pediatrician. He told her to come back in two weeks, if it hadn't gone away. IT could just be from a cold. This morning, is the end of week two. It's almost doubled in size. He has to go for blood work tomorrow, there is a possibility, that it's leukemia, or another childhood cancer.
I hear the words, coming out of her mouth, and suddenly, I'm not a 30 year old mother of 3 kids, with a silly, crazy, happy life, but a scared, 18 year old kid, who just can NOT do this again. I barely survived it the first time. I cannot watch another kid I love DIE. I just don't have it in me. How fucking chicken shit is THAT?
We have no information to work with yet, we'll get results of his blood work on Monday, hopefully. My sister in law, is freaking out, understandably. She's depending on me, to help her through this. I honestly don't know if I can. I'm sitting here, typing this, just barely holding absolute panic at bay. I can barely catch my breath, at the mere suggestion that I walk this road with yet another family member and their beloved child. What the hell am I gonna do, if I actually have to walk it?
I got no answers. Not one.
From a girl, who thinks she knows it all, that's saying something.
just barely. drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Ha ha! I'm not cleaning the gar-a-ge....
WHO
Who is your best friend? Amy
Who do you like? That\'s a little vague, don\'t you think?
Who is your mom? a born-again zealot, but she sure does love me.
Who owns your house? The bank. Except for the little concrete pad that the trash cans sit on. THAT we own, baby.
Who bought you the clothes your wearing? Me.
Who is at your house? My kids, and my lovah
Who loves you? Who doesn\'t, baby?
Who said hey to you today? The lady at the convenience store I bought milk in this morning.
Who are you talking to right now? Um, no one. I\'m typing, remember?
Who was your ex-boy/girlfriend? A bunch of psychos that are either A) in jail B) rehab C) or legally cannot come within 100 yards of me. I sure can pick \'em
WHAT
What town do you live in? Baltimore, and it rocks
What are your pet peeves? people not using turn signals, the religous right.
What are you wearing? \"Draft the Bush Twins\" shirt, jeans, and black hightop converse
What do your teeth look like? sharp and pointy. *growl*
What are you doing in an hour? working on a glass mosaic
What is your middle name? Rebecca
What is your deepest secret? Seriously, you think I\'m going to post it on the internet?
What are you doing tomorrow? Writing for a few hours, then taking my oldest to the state park for a birthday party
What is your boy/girlfriends middle name? Wesley. Yeah, I know.
What is in this for you? An avoidance tactic. I\'m supposed to be outside, helping to clean out the garage.
What is your favorite thing(s) to do? Write.
What are you sitting on? My ass, which happens to be in a chair
WHERE
Where are you at right now? In my office
Where were you at at 12 noon today? Um, it\'s only 11:35 AM here.
Where is your toothbrush at? In the bathroom. Where SHOULD it be?
Where do you sleep? In my bed.
Where do you live? In my house (this is getting fun)
Where were you at at 7pm yesterday? On my couch, with my sick 8 year old, watching Chicken Little. I want a Herby
Where is your boy/girl friend? Um, outside cleaning the garage, LOL.
Where are your parents? Beats me. Here\'s hoping they don\'t show up here today.
Where did you put your bookbag? On the wrought iron rack by the front door, which is actually where it belongs. Go figure
Where do you keep your socks? In my husband\'s drawer.
WHEN
When was your first kiss? Kindergarten. Patrick Arnold, under the table in Library, when we were supposed to be watching a film
When are you getting a job? I have one. In fact, I have about 4. Being your own boss ROCKS
When will you grow up? Hopefully never, but I think it\'s catching up to me.
When are you going to call your friend? So what, now I only have one friend?
When did you get home last night? I never left, LOL.
When did you graduate? 93
When are you going to stop taking surveys? Never, if it means I don\'t have to help clean out the garage.
When was the last time you had a fruit smoothie? I\'m not sure, but I\'m comfortable with, \"it was a long time ago\" answer
When are you getting married? Shit, I\'m never getting married again. If this gets fucked up, I\'m OUT.
WHY
Why are you taking this? Seriously? Pay attention. SO I DON\'T HAVE TO HELP CLEAN OUT THE GARAGE
Why are you weird? I\'m not WEIRD. I\'m eccentric.
Why are you wearing what your wearing right now? Because it\'s finally warm enough to break out all my really cool t-shirts. Oh, and it was clean, and on the top of the pile.
Why dont you have friends? Hey, screw you buddy! First I only have one, now I have NONE? Eat me.
Why cant you get a boy/girl friend? My husband is kind of a dick that way.
Why do you live where your at? Because I love this town, and I dig my house.
HOW
How do you fix your hair? Right now, it\'s growing, for my best friend\'s rennisance wedding in the fall, but normally, it\'s short and spikey in the back, long on the sides, no bangs.
How are the kids? Aidan\'s sick, but Caleb and Lucien are good.
How many hours do you spend on the computer? Depends on my day.
How many TV shows do you watch? Once again, depends on my day
How did you find this survey? A friend (told you I had some, fucker) sent it to me
How do you like it so far? Not too shabby, for a time-killer
How do you make sharpies? Beats me. I just buy mine
How many sharpies do you own? About 10
How often do you say I love you? Frequently. It should be said often, and sincerely
Who is your best friend? Amy
Who do you like? That\'s a little vague, don\'t you think?
Who is your mom? a born-again zealot, but she sure does love me.
Who owns your house? The bank. Except for the little concrete pad that the trash cans sit on. THAT we own, baby.
Who bought you the clothes your wearing? Me.
Who is at your house? My kids, and my lovah
Who loves you? Who doesn\'t, baby?
Who said hey to you today? The lady at the convenience store I bought milk in this morning.
Who are you talking to right now? Um, no one. I\'m typing, remember?
Who was your ex-boy/girlfriend? A bunch of psychos that are either A) in jail B) rehab C) or legally cannot come within 100 yards of me. I sure can pick \'em
WHAT
What town do you live in? Baltimore, and it rocks
What are your pet peeves? people not using turn signals, the religous right.
What are you wearing? \"Draft the Bush Twins\" shirt, jeans, and black hightop converse
What do your teeth look like? sharp and pointy. *growl*
What are you doing in an hour? working on a glass mosaic
What is your middle name? Rebecca
What is your deepest secret? Seriously, you think I\'m going to post it on the internet?
What are you doing tomorrow? Writing for a few hours, then taking my oldest to the state park for a birthday party
What is your boy/girlfriends middle name? Wesley. Yeah, I know.
What is in this for you? An avoidance tactic. I\'m supposed to be outside, helping to clean out the garage.
What is your favorite thing(s) to do? Write.
What are you sitting on? My ass, which happens to be in a chair
WHERE
Where are you at right now? In my office
Where were you at at 12 noon today? Um, it\'s only 11:35 AM here.
Where is your toothbrush at? In the bathroom. Where SHOULD it be?
Where do you sleep? In my bed.
Where do you live? In my house (this is getting fun)
Where were you at at 7pm yesterday? On my couch, with my sick 8 year old, watching Chicken Little. I want a Herby
Where is your boy/girl friend? Um, outside cleaning the garage, LOL.
Where are your parents? Beats me. Here\'s hoping they don\'t show up here today.
Where did you put your bookbag? On the wrought iron rack by the front door, which is actually where it belongs. Go figure
Where do you keep your socks? In my husband\'s drawer.
WHEN
When was your first kiss? Kindergarten. Patrick Arnold, under the table in Library, when we were supposed to be watching a film
When are you getting a job? I have one. In fact, I have about 4. Being your own boss ROCKS
When will you grow up? Hopefully never, but I think it\'s catching up to me.
When are you going to call your friend? So what, now I only have one friend?
When did you get home last night? I never left, LOL.
When did you graduate? 93
When are you going to stop taking surveys? Never, if it means I don\'t have to help clean out the garage.
When was the last time you had a fruit smoothie? I\'m not sure, but I\'m comfortable with, \"it was a long time ago\" answer
When are you getting married? Shit, I\'m never getting married again. If this gets fucked up, I\'m OUT.
WHY
Why are you taking this? Seriously? Pay attention. SO I DON\'T HAVE TO HELP CLEAN OUT THE GARAGE
Why are you weird? I\'m not WEIRD. I\'m eccentric.
Why are you wearing what your wearing right now? Because it\'s finally warm enough to break out all my really cool t-shirts. Oh, and it was clean, and on the top of the pile.
Why dont you have friends? Hey, screw you buddy! First I only have one, now I have NONE? Eat me.
Why cant you get a boy/girl friend? My husband is kind of a dick that way.
Why do you live where your at? Because I love this town, and I dig my house.
HOW
How do you fix your hair? Right now, it\'s growing, for my best friend\'s rennisance wedding in the fall, but normally, it\'s short and spikey in the back, long on the sides, no bangs.
How are the kids? Aidan\'s sick, but Caleb and Lucien are good.
How many hours do you spend on the computer? Depends on my day.
How many TV shows do you watch? Once again, depends on my day
How did you find this survey? A friend (told you I had some, fucker) sent it to me
How do you like it so far? Not too shabby, for a time-killer
How do you make sharpies? Beats me. I just buy mine
How many sharpies do you own? About 10
How often do you say I love you? Frequently. It should be said often, and sincerely
Would you, could you, in a car?
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All you wanted to know, and MORE!
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Sunday, March 19, 2006
Cranky say Grow up!
Cranky.
Crankycrankycrankycrankyasamuthafucka.
I can't begin to compare the level of frustration I'm sporting this morning, to anything. My similies and metaphors are broken.
I'm spinning in rather dizzing circles, over and over and OVER again, and have yet to figure out how to get the fuck OFF this particular ride.
Why is it, when we're little, we assume that everything will be fine, when we are "GROWN UP"?
Being a grown up SUCKS.
Crankycrankycrankycrankyasamuthafucka.
I can't begin to compare the level of frustration I'm sporting this morning, to anything. My similies and metaphors are broken.
I'm spinning in rather dizzing circles, over and over and OVER again, and have yet to figure out how to get the fuck OFF this particular ride.
Why is it, when we're little, we assume that everything will be fine, when we are "GROWN UP"?
Being a grown up SUCKS.
Ambassador from the Land of Weird...
..I am not.
I am not, your opportunity to inquire about how much tattoos cost, how many I have, if you may see them, and if they hurt, while on a field trip with my son.
I am not, your chance to find out how exactly all us "freaks" get our hair to be multiple colors at the same time.
I am not your friend, I am a fellow parent on a school field trip, with my 4 year old son, to the local train museum. I am there to spend time with the Fruit of My Loins, not to answer your questions about the stickers on the back of the Machine Of Evil, (which, incidentally, how do you know which car is MINE??), or debate whether or not, Emily the Strange, constitutes anime.
I am not the local attraction at the carnival, and frankly y'all, if I'm your barometer of weird, you need to get out more.
I am not, your opportunity to inquire about how much tattoos cost, how many I have, if you may see them, and if they hurt, while on a field trip with my son.
I am not, your chance to find out how exactly all us "freaks" get our hair to be multiple colors at the same time.
I am not your friend, I am a fellow parent on a school field trip, with my 4 year old son, to the local train museum. I am there to spend time with the Fruit of My Loins, not to answer your questions about the stickers on the back of the Machine Of Evil, (which, incidentally, how do you know which car is MINE??), or debate whether or not, Emily the Strange, constitutes anime.
I am not the local attraction at the carnival, and frankly y'all, if I'm your barometer of weird, you need to get out more.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The question was posed....
...just when, exactly, is it acceptable, to correct another person's child?
My immediate thoughts were, "whenever the little asshole is being a shithead".
Not very mature, but bear with me.
I am well aware that I am not what "normal" motherhood, supposedly looks like. I have tattoos that number in the double digit range, a few piercings, am almost abnormally fond of black clothing and black eyeliner, and feel naked without boots on. However, I have been da'momma for almost 11 years now. If I can be bothered to teach my children good manners, "Please" and "Thank you", in between sacrificing chickens in my basement, the least you can do, is correct your little goddamn enormous seven-year-old future felon of America, when he's sent my 4 year old sprawling, since he was silly enough not to realize that huge ass doughboys, don't HAVE to wait in line.
I am so damn tired of other parents, and this applies across the board, mothers and fathers are equally to blame, not teaching their children basic people skills. If one more little asshole bangs her charming, child-size shopping cart into the back of my leg, while her mother chats on her cell phone, in line in the store, I just may completely lose it, and have to be pulled out of the store in a straight jacket, screaming, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY EXCUSE ME, AND IT ISN'T POLITE TO BE AN ASSHOLE!".
When did we decide that "please", "thank you", and "excuse me", were obsolete? Why is it, that basic grammar skills escape us? I, who cannot begin to claim the "Grammar Queen" title, still know enough, to teach my children, it's "please MAY I", not "please CAN I".
Why is it, that the parents who pay the least amount of attention to their child's behavior, are the loudest, most obnoxious ones when someone else takes the time to correct them, seeing as how they've managed to draw blood?
Control your little shitheads already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
My immediate thoughts were, "whenever the little asshole is being a shithead".
Not very mature, but bear with me.
I am well aware that I am not what "normal" motherhood, supposedly looks like. I have tattoos that number in the double digit range, a few piercings, am almost abnormally fond of black clothing and black eyeliner, and feel naked without boots on. However, I have been da'momma for almost 11 years now. If I can be bothered to teach my children good manners, "Please" and "Thank you", in between sacrificing chickens in my basement, the least you can do, is correct your little goddamn enormous seven-year-old future felon of America, when he's sent my 4 year old sprawling, since he was silly enough not to realize that huge ass doughboys, don't HAVE to wait in line.
I am so damn tired of other parents, and this applies across the board, mothers and fathers are equally to blame, not teaching their children basic people skills. If one more little asshole bangs her charming, child-size shopping cart into the back of my leg, while her mother chats on her cell phone, in line in the store, I just may completely lose it, and have to be pulled out of the store in a straight jacket, screaming, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY EXCUSE ME, AND IT ISN'T POLITE TO BE AN ASSHOLE!".
When did we decide that "please", "thank you", and "excuse me", were obsolete? Why is it, that basic grammar skills escape us? I, who cannot begin to claim the "Grammar Queen" title, still know enough, to teach my children, it's "please MAY I", not "please CAN I".
Why is it, that the parents who pay the least amount of attention to their child's behavior, are the loudest, most obnoxious ones when someone else takes the time to correct them, seeing as how they've managed to draw blood?
Control your little shitheads already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Monday, February 27, 2006
And the Award for Understatement of the Year (so far)...
...goes to Republican Bob Taft (Ohio)..."This is hindsight, but it was a mistake to bury FEMA under the Department of Homeland Security".
Republicans, they think too, just slower than the rest of us! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Republicans, they think too, just slower than the rest of us! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
A greeting, from the island of germs!
I've actually reached a new, personal-best record.
4 doctor visits, in 5 days. This, of course, spans the weekend, and does not include the 1/2 hour I spent on the phone with the doctor, on the only day we didn't actually go into the office.
I am of the opinion, as I have excellent health insurance, that frequent-fliers, of the pediatrician office, should get some perks. I'm not knocking the parent that only comes in two or three times a year. I'm just sayin', that those of us that are on a first name basis with all the staff, who, actually recognize our voice before we identify ourselves, when calling to make an appointment, should be rewarded.
I have, single-handedly, put at least one of the doctors children through college, as well as paid off the doctor's student loans. If you visit sub shops, you get a little coupon, entitling you to a free sub, after so many purchases. As my doctors make about $50, every time I drag one of my germy booger heads into their offices, how 'bout a little kickback?
I'm not asking for much. Maybe a "Frequent Visitors" parking spot, located right near the elevator, as opposed to the back of the damn lot, where I end up having to park, and then lug in sick child, plus whatever extras I happen to have joining the germ soup, that day. Or, perhaps a special waiting room, preferable roped off with velvet cord, that has real books, instead of 27 copies of "Parenting", and "Your Baby" magazines, perhaps some coffee and tea as well.
"I'd like to make an appointment for my son today"
"Ah, Mrs. Blockston, we have an 11:30 opening, which should put you here, just in time for fresh coffee and muffins".
I hardly think, it's too much to ask.
lysol away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
4 doctor visits, in 5 days. This, of course, spans the weekend, and does not include the 1/2 hour I spent on the phone with the doctor, on the only day we didn't actually go into the office.
I am of the opinion, as I have excellent health insurance, that frequent-fliers, of the pediatrician office, should get some perks. I'm not knocking the parent that only comes in two or three times a year. I'm just sayin', that those of us that are on a first name basis with all the staff, who, actually recognize our voice before we identify ourselves, when calling to make an appointment, should be rewarded.
I have, single-handedly, put at least one of the doctors children through college, as well as paid off the doctor's student loans. If you visit sub shops, you get a little coupon, entitling you to a free sub, after so many purchases. As my doctors make about $50, every time I drag one of my germy booger heads into their offices, how 'bout a little kickback?
I'm not asking for much. Maybe a "Frequent Visitors" parking spot, located right near the elevator, as opposed to the back of the damn lot, where I end up having to park, and then lug in sick child, plus whatever extras I happen to have joining the germ soup, that day. Or, perhaps a special waiting room, preferable roped off with velvet cord, that has real books, instead of 27 copies of "Parenting", and "Your Baby" magazines, perhaps some coffee and tea as well.
"I'd like to make an appointment for my son today"
"Ah, Mrs. Blockston, we have an 11:30 opening, which should put you here, just in time for fresh coffee and muffins".
I hardly think, it's too much to ask.
lysol away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Step away from the snack dip,
party's over.
Pity party, that is...
oh, grow UP already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Pity party, that is...
oh, grow UP already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Sunday, February 19, 2006
No Lid = Sonic Boom
It's amazing to me, how the little things really do matter.
I've been having a bit of an attitude problem lately. Shocking, of course to those around me, as my even-keeled nature is known for miles around, LOL. I haven't been able to really put my finger on what exactly, has me so tied up in cranky knots.
This morning, I was in a pretty good mood, getting the kids dressed and out the door, to hit the grocery store, leaving Doug behind to nurse a wicked hangover in peace and quiet. Then, I went to fetch my coffee mug, to take with me.
No lid. No where to be found.
Putting away the dishes is the one task I've pretty much managed to farm out to other laborers in my house. However, this means, that finding any sort of gadget, lid, or basically, anything that is not a bowl, plate, or cup, is a 10 minute process. I've been very clear, about my mug, and my lid. I love my coffee. I cannot function without my coffee, and I adore my mug.
I totally lost my SHIT. I ranted, raved, screamed, cursed, and generally threw a gigantic temper tantrum (mark this one down, for when my children begin therapy, I'm sure it will come up). I put the kids in the car, drove 1/2 to the store, realized I was just irrationally angry, turned around, dropped off the children, and took off.
At that moment, I could totally relate to those people that just get in their cars, and roll the fuck OUT.
After driving around for about 1/2 an hour, I think I pinpointed just *what* has been bothering me.
It may sound silly, but something tells me, that any woman, who is either married, or has children, just may be able to relate.
I am a work-at-home-mom. I stay home with my children, while providing day care to two of my friend's children, as well as being a Mary Kay consultant (don't spread that around, you'll ruin my street cred, LOL), run a part-time ebay business, and have been working on some freelance work as well. I'm a really busy gal. I also cook dinner 4 nights a week, as in, homecooked, and hot dogs don't count. Since the New Year, I've been actually doing really well with my time management goals, and the house has not only been relatively mess-free, but clean as well.
If I'm spending more time (well, more effectively spending time, I suppose is a better way to phrase that), I don't think that it is entirely out of the realm of realistic expectations, to have others that, you know, live in this house, to pick up after themselves. Now, by this, I do not mean I expect my 4 year old, to do the dishes, or scrub the floors. I do, however, expect that when people, including the other tall person that lives here, to put their laundry in the hamper, not on the floor, next to the hamper. I expect people to throw their own trash away, put their dirty dishes in the sink, and, if something is on the floor, not to step over it, but rather, to bend over, and pick it up.
Now, this may seem a digression, but bear with me. On Valentine's Day, which I generally think is a crap holiday, since it doesn't seem very special to me, to celebrate love on the same day of the year, as everyone else, I really, really, REALLY, wanted to go to the Visionary Art Museum, one of my favorite places in the world, anyway, for the Post Secret Exhibit, since the creator would also be there, until 6. My wanting to go, had nothing to do with it being Valentine's Day, it just happened to be the only day that the creator would be there. The timing didn't work out. I get that. It's hard to arrange an outing, on a Tuesday, a work and school night, much less, one that has to occur before dinner time.
The thing that bothered me, is that there was absolutely NO effort. None. In looking back, I cannot remember the last time, that someone in this house, made any sort of an effort, to do something, just because *I* wanted it done.
This brings me back to the coffee mug lid, and the housework. I've finally realized, that the reason I've been so tense, cranky, and generally unpleasant to live with for the last two weeks, has a lot to do with the fact, that I just don't feel like *I* matter.
I know my husband loves me. I do. I also know that my children love me. I also realize how incredibly lucky I am, to have such a fantastic family, a solid marriage, and healthy children. It would just be nice, to be reminded, perhaps twice a damn year, that I matter to them. That my needs and desires, at least make the list, occasionally, of things they are willing to think about, and perhaps act upon.
My husband wants to go to Atlantic City for his birthday. Not my thing. Not at ALL. I can't think of just about anything I'd rather do less, besides an colonoscopy. Yet, I've planned a weekend trip for his birthday weekend, arranged the babysitting, talked to our best friends about going with us (they are), and have spent a few hours, researching the different hotels and casinos.
It would never occur to him, to do the same for me. In looking back, Doug has arranged babysitting, twice. That's two times, in eleven years of marriage. The first time, I told him I wanted him to take me on a date, and he had a week to set it up, and find a sitter, and the second, he was horny, so he dropped the kids off at his parents for an hour. I don't want it to seem as if I am inappreciative of these efforts, especially the last one, since I'm always up for child-free nookie, LOL.
I just don't feel as if anyone gives a shit, about things that are important to me, unless I'm yelling, or crying. The thing that is currently, really pissing me off, is that I feel GUILTY about feeling this way! I feel as if perhaps, I'm being unrealistic, and selfish. After all, men are, obviously different than women. I have a husband with a great job, who is a wonderful father, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, really DOES love me.
I just wish that how I felt, and the things that I want, made enough of an imprint, on the people that I love the best, that they would consider them, and occasionally, act upon them. Even if it's just twice a damn year.
Guilt trips, no travel agent required! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
I've been having a bit of an attitude problem lately. Shocking, of course to those around me, as my even-keeled nature is known for miles around, LOL. I haven't been able to really put my finger on what exactly, has me so tied up in cranky knots.
This morning, I was in a pretty good mood, getting the kids dressed and out the door, to hit the grocery store, leaving Doug behind to nurse a wicked hangover in peace and quiet. Then, I went to fetch my coffee mug, to take with me.
No lid. No where to be found.
Putting away the dishes is the one task I've pretty much managed to farm out to other laborers in my house. However, this means, that finding any sort of gadget, lid, or basically, anything that is not a bowl, plate, or cup, is a 10 minute process. I've been very clear, about my mug, and my lid. I love my coffee. I cannot function without my coffee, and I adore my mug.
I totally lost my SHIT. I ranted, raved, screamed, cursed, and generally threw a gigantic temper tantrum (mark this one down, for when my children begin therapy, I'm sure it will come up). I put the kids in the car, drove 1/2 to the store, realized I was just irrationally angry, turned around, dropped off the children, and took off.
At that moment, I could totally relate to those people that just get in their cars, and roll the fuck OUT.
After driving around for about 1/2 an hour, I think I pinpointed just *what* has been bothering me.
It may sound silly, but something tells me, that any woman, who is either married, or has children, just may be able to relate.
I am a work-at-home-mom. I stay home with my children, while providing day care to two of my friend's children, as well as being a Mary Kay consultant (don't spread that around, you'll ruin my street cred, LOL), run a part-time ebay business, and have been working on some freelance work as well. I'm a really busy gal. I also cook dinner 4 nights a week, as in, homecooked, and hot dogs don't count. Since the New Year, I've been actually doing really well with my time management goals, and the house has not only been relatively mess-free, but clean as well.
If I'm spending more time (well, more effectively spending time, I suppose is a better way to phrase that), I don't think that it is entirely out of the realm of realistic expectations, to have others that, you know, live in this house, to pick up after themselves. Now, by this, I do not mean I expect my 4 year old, to do the dishes, or scrub the floors. I do, however, expect that when people, including the other tall person that lives here, to put their laundry in the hamper, not on the floor, next to the hamper. I expect people to throw their own trash away, put their dirty dishes in the sink, and, if something is on the floor, not to step over it, but rather, to bend over, and pick it up.
Now, this may seem a digression, but bear with me. On Valentine's Day, which I generally think is a crap holiday, since it doesn't seem very special to me, to celebrate love on the same day of the year, as everyone else, I really, really, REALLY, wanted to go to the Visionary Art Museum, one of my favorite places in the world, anyway, for the Post Secret Exhibit, since the creator would also be there, until 6. My wanting to go, had nothing to do with it being Valentine's Day, it just happened to be the only day that the creator would be there. The timing didn't work out. I get that. It's hard to arrange an outing, on a Tuesday, a work and school night, much less, one that has to occur before dinner time.
The thing that bothered me, is that there was absolutely NO effort. None. In looking back, I cannot remember the last time, that someone in this house, made any sort of an effort, to do something, just because *I* wanted it done.
This brings me back to the coffee mug lid, and the housework. I've finally realized, that the reason I've been so tense, cranky, and generally unpleasant to live with for the last two weeks, has a lot to do with the fact, that I just don't feel like *I* matter.
I know my husband loves me. I do. I also know that my children love me. I also realize how incredibly lucky I am, to have such a fantastic family, a solid marriage, and healthy children. It would just be nice, to be reminded, perhaps twice a damn year, that I matter to them. That my needs and desires, at least make the list, occasionally, of things they are willing to think about, and perhaps act upon.
My husband wants to go to Atlantic City for his birthday. Not my thing. Not at ALL. I can't think of just about anything I'd rather do less, besides an colonoscopy. Yet, I've planned a weekend trip for his birthday weekend, arranged the babysitting, talked to our best friends about going with us (they are), and have spent a few hours, researching the different hotels and casinos.
It would never occur to him, to do the same for me. In looking back, Doug has arranged babysitting, twice. That's two times, in eleven years of marriage. The first time, I told him I wanted him to take me on a date, and he had a week to set it up, and find a sitter, and the second, he was horny, so he dropped the kids off at his parents for an hour. I don't want it to seem as if I am inappreciative of these efforts, especially the last one, since I'm always up for child-free nookie, LOL.
I just don't feel as if anyone gives a shit, about things that are important to me, unless I'm yelling, or crying. The thing that is currently, really pissing me off, is that I feel GUILTY about feeling this way! I feel as if perhaps, I'm being unrealistic, and selfish. After all, men are, obviously different than women. I have a husband with a great job, who is a wonderful father, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, really DOES love me.
I just wish that how I felt, and the things that I want, made enough of an imprint, on the people that I love the best, that they would consider them, and occasionally, act upon them. Even if it's just twice a damn year.
Guilt trips, no travel agent required! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Now, I'm sure...
...that when most people say, "I've had a shitty week", they're speaking metaphorically.
I, however, have the distinction, of being able to use that sentence, in a very literal way this past week.
I took a very long, very hot shower, for about 40 minutes on Tuesday night.
At 10 PM, Doug goes down to the basement, where his throne room is set up, immediately comes back upstairs, curious as to why there is water in the basement, out past the couches.
This baffles me as well, especially considering, I was half asleep.
Turns out, it was not the washing machine, or the utility sink. There was a nice big clog, in the main line, causing the..... (I'm building up the suspense here, LOL)....
...toilet in the basement, to, quite literally, explode, with all the water from my long, hot, shower, all over the floor, along with all the waste, from the previous day's, toilet flushes.
For the next day, there were no safe drains, no flushing of toilets, no washing of dishes.
There were, however, turds that had to scooped out of the 1-2 inches of water (the floor on 2/3 of the basement is concrete, and about 100 years old, so not completely level), with the pool skimmer.
Renting the snake, was yet another learning experience. I have an old home. The first house we purchased was another older home, which we rennovated. I'm a rather handy gal, if I do say so myself. So, I walk into the local Home Depot, and tell them I need to rent the longest snake they have. Howdy Doody, tells me, "We have a 75-footer".
I then tell him, I'm going to check elsewhere, I need a 100 foot snake, it's a main line clog.
Him: "We've got a hundred footer (I loathe that word, footer, BTW), if that's what you're looking for.
No. Really, I just wanted to quiz you?
He then proceeds to ask me, "What kind of car are you driving?"
I tell him, I have the Machine of Evil parked outside, and it's a minivan.
He then points to my neice and nephew, who I had with me, and says...."Okay, because you know you can't leave them here, right?"
Seriously?
Is this a question that actually needs to be answered?
"Really? I thought this was more of a 'swap out' kind of place, as opposed to a tool rental. I leave you the kids, take the machine, and when I'm done, I just bring it back, and you give me the kids. No?"
After all of this, I pull the van around to the front, where he argues with me, about my ability to lift the snake into the van. I'm 5'10". I'm not a tiny person. Finally, I just shut up, and backed away, whereupon, he proceeded to almost drop it on his foot, LOL. I just looked at him, and said "You know, it's not going to carry itself out of my car, up my front porch steps, and down into my basement. Eventually, I will be picking the thing up. Perhaps now would be a good time for me to start?"
He graciously allowed me to help him.
Flush away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
I, however, have the distinction, of being able to use that sentence, in a very literal way this past week.
I took a very long, very hot shower, for about 40 minutes on Tuesday night.
At 10 PM, Doug goes down to the basement, where his throne room is set up, immediately comes back upstairs, curious as to why there is water in the basement, out past the couches.
This baffles me as well, especially considering, I was half asleep.
Turns out, it was not the washing machine, or the utility sink. There was a nice big clog, in the main line, causing the..... (I'm building up the suspense here, LOL)....
...toilet in the basement, to, quite literally, explode, with all the water from my long, hot, shower, all over the floor, along with all the waste, from the previous day's, toilet flushes.
For the next day, there were no safe drains, no flushing of toilets, no washing of dishes.
There were, however, turds that had to scooped out of the 1-2 inches of water (the floor on 2/3 of the basement is concrete, and about 100 years old, so not completely level), with the pool skimmer.
Renting the snake, was yet another learning experience. I have an old home. The first house we purchased was another older home, which we rennovated. I'm a rather handy gal, if I do say so myself. So, I walk into the local Home Depot, and tell them I need to rent the longest snake they have. Howdy Doody, tells me, "We have a 75-footer".
I then tell him, I'm going to check elsewhere, I need a 100 foot snake, it's a main line clog.
Him: "We've got a hundred footer (I loathe that word, footer, BTW), if that's what you're looking for.
No. Really, I just wanted to quiz you?
He then proceeds to ask me, "What kind of car are you driving?"
I tell him, I have the Machine of Evil parked outside, and it's a minivan.
He then points to my neice and nephew, who I had with me, and says...."Okay, because you know you can't leave them here, right?"
Seriously?
Is this a question that actually needs to be answered?
"Really? I thought this was more of a 'swap out' kind of place, as opposed to a tool rental. I leave you the kids, take the machine, and when I'm done, I just bring it back, and you give me the kids. No?"
After all of this, I pull the van around to the front, where he argues with me, about my ability to lift the snake into the van. I'm 5'10". I'm not a tiny person. Finally, I just shut up, and backed away, whereupon, he proceeded to almost drop it on his foot, LOL. I just looked at him, and said "You know, it's not going to carry itself out of my car, up my front porch steps, and down into my basement. Eventually, I will be picking the thing up. Perhaps now would be a good time for me to start?"
He graciously allowed me to help him.
Flush away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Far be it from me...
to criticize another person's parenting skills...
Oh, wait.
That's exactly what I'm going to do.
Having never been pursued by the paparazzi, since, apparently, getting your children to school on time, every morning of the school year, garners no awards, or accolades (especially from those same children, who inherited their mother's morning people skills), I've never known how scary it must be, to have your every move, videotaped, or photographed. It has to be more than annoying, to have your every grocery receipt published, your trips to the gas station bathroom, tabloid fodder (but seriously, you can get flip flops for like $2.50 from Old Navy), your every move tracked.
However.
There is, just no way, in my own little pea-brain, I've found a way, to be remotely sympathetic, to Britney Spears. I've never been a fan, can't stand her singing (if you even want to call that warbling she does, singing), but in the past two years, she's gone from being a moderately annoying pop celebrity, to being a trainwreck. I find myself wanting to just *shake* the crap out of her. All that changed, the minute I saw the pictures of her driving, on a HIGHWAY, with her infant son, on her damn lap.
What the FUCK?
"I'm being aggressively pursued by people, enough so that I'm scared for my well-being, so I'll just snuggle up my infant on my lap, and hop on the freeway, so as to avoid them".
I'm blown away, by not only her lack of understanding, of just how dangerous that really is, but the local authorities choosing not to press charges.
If I can garner, not one, but two, "Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign" tickets, on basically deserted streets, how can they *not* write her a ticket, make her take a damn parenting class, or, even more appropriately, have a little sit down with the parents of a child lost in a car accident? Especially considering, they've got a picture of the crime in action?
Reality check @ Drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Oh, wait.
That's exactly what I'm going to do.
Having never been pursued by the paparazzi, since, apparently, getting your children to school on time, every morning of the school year, garners no awards, or accolades (especially from those same children, who inherited their mother's morning people skills), I've never known how scary it must be, to have your every move, videotaped, or photographed. It has to be more than annoying, to have your every grocery receipt published, your trips to the gas station bathroom, tabloid fodder (but seriously, you can get flip flops for like $2.50 from Old Navy), your every move tracked.
However.
There is, just no way, in my own little pea-brain, I've found a way, to be remotely sympathetic, to Britney Spears. I've never been a fan, can't stand her singing (if you even want to call that warbling she does, singing), but in the past two years, she's gone from being a moderately annoying pop celebrity, to being a trainwreck. I find myself wanting to just *shake* the crap out of her. All that changed, the minute I saw the pictures of her driving, on a HIGHWAY, with her infant son, on her damn lap.
What the FUCK?
"I'm being aggressively pursued by people, enough so that I'm scared for my well-being, so I'll just snuggle up my infant on my lap, and hop on the freeway, so as to avoid them".
I'm blown away, by not only her lack of understanding, of just how dangerous that really is, but the local authorities choosing not to press charges.
If I can garner, not one, but two, "Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign" tickets, on basically deserted streets, how can they *not* write her a ticket, make her take a damn parenting class, or, even more appropriately, have a little sit down with the parents of a child lost in a car accident? Especially considering, they've got a picture of the crime in action?
Reality check @ Drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
I'd like to say
that I'd die if you left me,
but we both know,
that just isn't true.
Because, that's not what I do.
I don't fall apart
I don't pick up the pieces
I just leave them behind.
I'd like to tell you that you are the world to me
but I know, deep down,
that just isn't true.
The world is bigger than both me, and you.
What I can tell you
is that your eyes,
they change colors,
according to your mood,
and that you make this funny noise,
that only I hear, when you chew your food.
I sure would miss that.
but we both know,
that just isn't true.
Because, that's not what I do.
I don't fall apart
I don't pick up the pieces
I just leave them behind.
I'd like to tell you that you are the world to me
but I know, deep down,
that just isn't true.
The world is bigger than both me, and you.
What I can tell you
is that your eyes,
they change colors,
according to your mood,
and that you make this funny noise,
that only I hear, when you chew your food.
I sure would miss that.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Happy Birthday! Clean the bathroom, would you?
I think I aged a year, this past week, not Aidan, LOL.
My sunny, funny middle child, turned 8 last Saturday! He had a wonderful birthday...I hope.
The thing about birthday parties, actually being on the birthday? How can I do my usual completely and totally anal melt-down, over the state of the house, and decide an hour before people arrive that really, the molding around the bottom of the walls, really needs a second scrubbing, if I have to make sure that one of the kids has a great birthday?
Birthday are a BIG deal, around here. HUGE. I have an entire week, myself. Except for my last birthday, The One We Will NOT Name. I grew up in a home, where my mother homecooked meals, EVERY night. It was a very exciting day, when we would get to eat fish sticks, mac and cheese, and green beans, on the occasional Saturday night for dinner. While cooking away, she also managed to have a totally and completely spotless house (seriously, I swear, it looked like a damn model home), and (this one is the kicker), SEWED ALL OF OUR CLOTHES. Seriously. Dresses, skirts, blouses, t-shirts, even JEANS.
Let's just say, that's a tough yardstick to have laying around. Though, in my case, you're more likely to find it laying in the middle of my lawn, after one of the kids have taken it outside to play with, and never brought back into the house.
I find myself eyeing up my house, with a drill sargent's eye, taking in where the cats have played "let's climb the wall", using their claws, usually only making it halfway up, before just kind of sliding down. Because really, why just let go, when you can leave little kitty claw marks all the way down the wall?
Say what you will, my cats are not under achivers.
As are my children, considering I found the "hiding" spot for boogers. None will confess as to whose boogers they actually are, which I find slightly comforting. I don't think I really want to know, who is wiping them on the wall, right beside the molding, in the upstairs bathroom.
I'm afraid it may be the large one, and then I'll have to divorce him.
My sunny, funny middle child, turned 8 last Saturday! He had a wonderful birthday...I hope.
The thing about birthday parties, actually being on the birthday? How can I do my usual completely and totally anal melt-down, over the state of the house, and decide an hour before people arrive that really, the molding around the bottom of the walls, really needs a second scrubbing, if I have to make sure that one of the kids has a great birthday?
Birthday are a BIG deal, around here. HUGE. I have an entire week, myself. Except for my last birthday, The One We Will NOT Name. I grew up in a home, where my mother homecooked meals, EVERY night. It was a very exciting day, when we would get to eat fish sticks, mac and cheese, and green beans, on the occasional Saturday night for dinner. While cooking away, she also managed to have a totally and completely spotless house (seriously, I swear, it looked like a damn model home), and (this one is the kicker), SEWED ALL OF OUR CLOTHES. Seriously. Dresses, skirts, blouses, t-shirts, even JEANS.
Let's just say, that's a tough yardstick to have laying around. Though, in my case, you're more likely to find it laying in the middle of my lawn, after one of the kids have taken it outside to play with, and never brought back into the house.
I find myself eyeing up my house, with a drill sargent's eye, taking in where the cats have played "let's climb the wall", using their claws, usually only making it halfway up, before just kind of sliding down. Because really, why just let go, when you can leave little kitty claw marks all the way down the wall?
Say what you will, my cats are not under achivers.
As are my children, considering I found the "hiding" spot for boogers. None will confess as to whose boogers they actually are, which I find slightly comforting. I don't think I really want to know, who is wiping them on the wall, right beside the molding, in the upstairs bathroom.
I'm afraid it may be the large one, and then I'll have to divorce him.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Friday, January 20, 2006
Momma, don't let your babies, grow up to be....
gay, repressed cowboys...
*sigh*
Jen and I went to see Brokeback Mountain, figured that this way, we wouldn't have to, A: find sitters for the sprats, and B: defend a beautiful love story, to two men, who, while they may be comfortable in their manhood, revert to middle school boys, who think it's funny to wipe snot on a seat.
It was beautiful. It was SAD.
Jen, however, lost her SHIT, she started sniffling, then it progressed to hands on the face, to full-on, shaking in her seat, making noises, sobbing. It was a lovely movie, I highly recommend it. Heath Ledger, and Jake Gyllenhaal's performances were astounding, especially given that in every other movie I've seen Jake in, I can't shake the image of Frank's head in the mirror, in Donnie Darko, LOL.
It makes me sad, for all the people who end up, so disconnected, from that which they really want, in life, because of society's conventions, or fear of what others will think. Why *do* we care so much for other's thoughts? As if our self-worth can be measured by a stranger's second glance, or friend's opinions of our mates, outfit, house, or life choice? Why do we spend so much damn time, trying to just be "normal"? I would love to say that I never fall into that trap, but I do. I suppose it's human nature. I'm just glad, that it's never cost me, a life of happiness with the person I truly love.
Because, he's upstairs, very much, NOT wiping boogers on seats.
waste no time: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
*sigh*
Jen and I went to see Brokeback Mountain, figured that this way, we wouldn't have to, A: find sitters for the sprats, and B: defend a beautiful love story, to two men, who, while they may be comfortable in their manhood, revert to middle school boys, who think it's funny to wipe snot on a seat.
It was beautiful. It was SAD.
Jen, however, lost her SHIT, she started sniffling, then it progressed to hands on the face, to full-on, shaking in her seat, making noises, sobbing. It was a lovely movie, I highly recommend it. Heath Ledger, and Jake Gyllenhaal's performances were astounding, especially given that in every other movie I've seen Jake in, I can't shake the image of Frank's head in the mirror, in Donnie Darko, LOL.
It makes me sad, for all the people who end up, so disconnected, from that which they really want, in life, because of society's conventions, or fear of what others will think. Why *do* we care so much for other's thoughts? As if our self-worth can be measured by a stranger's second glance, or friend's opinions of our mates, outfit, house, or life choice? Why do we spend so much damn time, trying to just be "normal"? I would love to say that I never fall into that trap, but I do. I suppose it's human nature. I'm just glad, that it's never cost me, a life of happiness with the person I truly love.
Because, he's upstairs, very much, NOT wiping boogers on seats.
waste no time: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
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