Forget Me Not

History

2009-02-07T09:51:00.000-09:00

If you were to sit back and take a long objective look at your life, is there one moment, just one, perhaps a choice you made, that you would change? Or that you would recognize for it’s significance and be proud of it, wanting to leave it exactly the way it was?
I know exactly what my moment was. I was 16, and I didn’t know it at the time, but I was battling my first major instance of depression. I had lost interest in everything around me, including and especially school. I withdrew for nearly all of my friends, except my boyfriend, who I spent every possible minute with. Even then, I just couldn’t shake the overwhelming indifference to everything around me. I was a junior in high school, and he was a college freshman. He used to pick me up every morning and drive me to school, and one day I asked him to take me with him to the college instead. He tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted I could just sit in the cafeteria and read a book while he was in class. In all fairness, he really did try to talk me out of it, and wasn’t overly thrilled about it, but I finally wore him down and he took me with him. And so I made him take me every day for 2 weeks.
About that same time, rumors got back to one of my favorite teachers that I had been contemplating suicide. I wasn’t really serious about it, but I had made a few half-ass attempts at cutting, and one of my friends, worried that I hadn’t been at school, had said something to the teacher. The teacher called my dad. She never said anything about me missing school, but she told him about the suicidal thoughts. He was waiting for me when I came home that night, which was really rare - most days I didn’t see him until he stumbled home about 8 or 9, from the bar. He told me he had gotten a call from the school that day, and asked me if I wanted to talk about it. So I spilled everything. I told him about how unhappy I was, and how I had just stopped going to school. I told him I had been spending the days with Romeo, but it wasn’t his fault, I had begged him to take me. And I blubbered all over him for about an hour before I realized he was really, REALLY angry. That was when it occurred to me to ask what the school had said. That was the first time I learned the all important lesson to always get the full accusation before you start confessing. My dad called my mom. She was even madder than he was. She had been looking for an excuse, any excuse to yank me back to Colorado with her, so she informed him that she would be calling the school herself and getting it all straightened out. Well, according to my dad, the school district only allows you 10 consecutive absences per semester, or you are essentially expelled. And since that day had marked my 11th absence, the only way to save my grades for the year was to transfer me out. And so Mom got me a plane ticket, and I had 2 days to say goodbye to everyone.
I can’t say how Romeo felt. He had a small circle of friends that we essentially did everything with. They were all pretty upset, and one of them in particular wanted me to run away. He said he and Romeo could hide me, and would take care of me. I thought at the time Romeo was as devastated as I was, and while he was a rebel in many ways, there were just some lines he wouldn’t cross. He wasn’t happy about me skipping school, and he was even more unhappy with the thought of me running away. He promised me he would do everything he could to get me back to Alaska the day I turned 18, or even sooner if my mom would let me leave as soon as I graduated (I didn’t turn 18 until 6 months after graduation). He went with me and my dad to the airport, and he held my hand the whole time. He told me he loved me, and that he would get me back as soon as he could. I cried all the way to Colorado.
My mom was so disgusted with me when she picked me up, she just looked at me and told me if I screwed up one more time, I was on my own, and I wouldn’t be welcome around her any more. She didn’t hug me, or tell me she had missed me over the last 2 years I had spent 3000 miles away from her. My depression went from bad to worse. I went from just occasionally thinking about suicide to planning it out, researching various ways to do it. I cut my arms constantly, trying to get used to the feel, trying to work up the courage to go deeper. I talked to Kevin occasionally, when Mom would let me. And then came the day that broke my poor little 16 year old heart. Kevin told me he had spent the night with his ex-girlfriend. He said he wasn’t interested in her, that he loved me, but that “a guy has needs” and he just couldn’t wait for me for 2 years without having sex with SOMEONE.
I was absolutely devastated. I don’t even remember most of the next few weeks. I can’t even remember what I said in response. I’d like to think I told him to go to hell, but I think it was something more along the lines of, whatever you think is best, and then I just never called him again. He never had been a big talker, especially not on the phone, so I don’t think he ever called me after that.
At that point, I went through a phase where I just didn’t care about anything. I showed up for classes, did the minimum to get by. I let my old friends introduce me to new people, and I floated along, not the center of attention, but part of the picture at least. And then I met The Jerk. He was the absolute antithesis of anyone else I knew - he did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He didn’t go to school. He stayed up all night and slept all day. His parents gave him pretty much whatever he asked for. He had a car. And he wanted me. And even though I thought he was kind of a jerk, and that he was controlling, and something about him just didn’t really mesh with anyone around me (friends, family, etc.), I went along for the ride, because I just didn’t care. I wonder now if I didn’t have some idea just what kind of devastation he would wreak on my life, and I embraced it because of it. I think I knew I didn’t have what it took to kill myself, so I looked for destruction any other way I could find it. And boy did he ever fit the bill.
My life pretty much went downhill from there, skipping school, running away from home, staying out late at night, stealing money from my mom, and just generally being a nuisance. I’ve mentioned before some of the places life took me after I met The Jerk. There’s more, but even the highlight reel is pretty massive, so we’ll just leave it at that. Every now and then, though, I would stop and think of Romeo. I would wonder, what if I had given it a chance? I knew 18 year old guys only thought with one brain, and really, at that age, it’s hard to wrap your head around the idea of monogamy, especially when in order to achieve it you have to abstain for 2 YEARS. I’m not trying to make excuses, because, yes I know there are some guys out there who would have done it. But the reality is, those guys are few and far between. A long distance relationship is difficult for adults to handle - for a couple of teenagers, I’d have to say it would be impossible, especially under those circumstances. I certainly don’t blame him for what he did, any more than I blame myself for what I did. I just have wondered, often, what would have happened if things had been different.
Shortly after my divorce, I called Romeo, just for the hell of it. I don’t know what I wanted or expected, but I was surprised to learn he had moved to Colorado. His mom passed my message along to him though, and he called me a couple days later. We talked for a long time, catching up. I was just about to turn 21, and Princess was almost 2. My dad had moved to Texas, and he drove up for the weekend to visit me for my birthday. Then one night, a couple days after talking to Romeo, I get a knock on my door, and there he is. He had driven down from Colorado to see me. Talk about a shock. My dad was there, and recognized him instantly. I had just started dating a guy I worked with, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. Romeo had told me he was actually still with his ex-girlfriend, living with her in Denver. I’m not sure what either of us expected at that meeting, but I know it was incredibly awkward. My dad told me I was an adult and I could make my own decisions, but if Romeo slashed his tires again, he’d kill him (the friend that had wanted to hide me from my parents? He slashed my dad’s tires twice after I left. Dad always blamed Romeo for it, because he didn’t know the other guys in our circle.) Dad stayed in his camper most of the time that Romeo was there. Romeo slept in the bed with me that night, because I didn’t have a spare. We didn’t do anything, just talked a little. He left the next day, and that was that. I broke up with the guy at work shortly after that, and a couple weeks later I met John.
And all through these 9 years I’ve been with John, I have thought about Romeo. I don’t know why. I don’t know if every girl does that with her first love, or first sexual partner. He was both for me. I don’t know if it’s because there was so much left undone and unresolved between us. I don’t know if it’s because I’m still in love with him after all this time, or if it’s just that I’m in love with the idea of escape from whatever current situation I find myself in. I do know that every time I think of him, I get that shivery, happy, heart-racing feeling. I felt that at one time for John, but not since the first 3 months we were together. I don’t know if it would go away if I was to find myself in a relationship with Romeo or not. I know I miss him, miss talking to him, spending time around him. I miss working on that old beat up Ford of his, and surprising him by remembering how to put the parts back in when he and his friend forgot. I miss watching him play the guitar, knowing he preferred his electric guitar, but he would play his acoustic just for me every now and then. I miss that stupid mouse of his that would run on it’s squeaky wheel all damn night. I miss his parents, who always treated me like I was a part of the family, who never acted like I was a burden to them, even though I know I must have been. I miss eating pancakes with him in the kitchen, and discovering that peanut butter on pancakes is the best thing ever. I miss being a part of his life, every aspect of it, good, bad, and indifferent. And I wonder constantly what would happen if I just walked away from my life, and put myself back in his.
When I moved back to Alaska, I knew there would be the possibility of seeing him again. I found one of our friends on MySpace, and talked to him every once in a while. He told me Romeo was in a relationship with someone(not married), and had 2 kids with her. He said he was living back with his parents. He said he didn’t have email or anything, but told me over and over to call him. For me, email would have been easier. I have changed a lot in 14 years. Mostly, in weight. That, and most of the time I just don’t really give a damn how I look, so I haven’t really made much of an effort to keep myself looking young or pretty or anything. I don’t use fancy moisturizers or have complicated beauty rituals. One the rare occasion that I even wear make-up, it takes me less than 10 minutes to apply and run out the door. My hair is starting to go gray, and I am 50-75 lbs over weigh. I have glasses I wear mostly full-time, and while I don’t have a lot of wrinkles or anything, I just look tired all the time. I’m embarrassed to be seen by anyone who knew me back then. Someone who I was in love with and who I might think about starting a relationship with again? No way in hell do I want them to see me like this. Not to mention, if he was in a relationship, I don’t want to do anything to mess that up. I know from LOTS of experience that it’s one thing for an old girlfriend, or even girl FRIEND, to pop up and leave a comment on MySpace. It’s a whole other matter for that same person to start calling your house. Not knowing anything about this girl, or about his current situation with her, I didn’t want to take the chance. Just because I think about him all the time and wonder what if, doesn’t mean I want him unhappy. And if he’s content in his relationship, I am content to leave it the hell alone. So I didn’t call. I didn’t try to contact him in any way, other than to tell his friend that if he wanted to give Romeo my number, he could, and that I would gladly take his call, anytime.
A couple weeks ago, I went to pay my insurance bill. I always deal with the owner of the company, but by some fluke, her other agent was in the office that day and available. And who should it be but Romeo’s mother. Who recognized me. And we proceeded to chat for over 45 minutes about Romeo and his brother, and just catching up in general. Come to find out, the girlfriend is no more. (And I got the distinct impression from Mom that she wasn’t very pleased with her son’s choice.) It was a weird vibe, overall. It almost felt like she was saying she wished he had stayed with me, but I might have just been over thinking and projecting again. She told me he was working out of town, 2 weeks on, 2 weeks off. She gave me his cell phone number, saying that it didn’t work while he was out of town, but he would be back in a week. And then she dropped the bomb - she told me he was coming back just long enough to back and head back to Colorado, that he was seriously thinking of moving there and that he was going down there to basically get everything set up and figured out so he could move. So knowing this might be the last chance I had to talk to him again for a long time, I went ahead and called. I caught him just as he was getting on the plane, but we’ve been texting each other all day every day since. He is cutting his trip down to just a week and flying back in a couple days. (I think he gets some pretty good travel deals - he works for an airline.) He wants to see me, and I want to see him. And therein lies the problem.
First of all, the body image hasn’t changed. I’m still seriously uncomfortable with seeing him, looking the way I do now. I also know that it shouldn’t matter, because I am married. I don’t know why it would matter in the least that he finds me attractive, because the most important part of the problem is I have a husband, and a relatively strong, committed relationship. I just bought a house, I have 3 kids, and I’m currently actively trying for another. So Romeo being attracted to me should be really really low on my priority list. But it’s not. Because I’m running through various scenarios in which I leave my husband and start a new life where I left off with Romeo. And I think I might be losing my mind a little.
It’s not much of a secret that I have been unhappy in my marriage for quite some time. It’s not that we fight much, or that he’s abusive, or controlling, or anything bad. It’s just that I don’t feel like I love him any more. I feel trapped all the time. I hate having to defer to anyone else in any decision. But more than that, I hate the thought of divorce. I know what happened to me the last time I went through one. I am not really capable of taking care of myself. I have horrible money management skills, and when I spiral into a depression, I really start to lose it. I don’t want to go through another custody battle. I don’t want to have to split my kids in half. I don’t want to lose my home. I don’t want to have to fight over all those little details, the stupid and the mundane, and the complicated and important. And there are times when I wonder if I even really have an understanding of what love is supposed to be - maybe it’s supposed to be like this, after time. And there’s no guarantee that it will be any different if I find someone new. Then I wonder if I’m just settling. And I go back and forth, around and around until I’m sick and dizzy, and I just give up and accept.
I might feel differently if I could pinpoint just what was so wrong with our relationship, but I can’t. With The Jerk, it was easy. He controlled everything I did, from the clothes I wore to the friends I was allowed to have. He wouldn’t even let me get a driver’s license, I had to go behind his back to learn how to drive at 20 years old. He was abusive, mostly in the earlier stages of our marriage, and when I found out he was being abusive to our daughter, I left. Simple as that. And no one has ever told me I was wrong, and that I just misunderstood, or that I didn’t try hard enough. But with John it’s not like that. He’s good to me, he really is. Just because I wish he was more romantic sometimes, or that he wasn’t so rigid with the kids, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him, or our relationship. It’s just that every day, the little stuff weighs heavier. And I constantly question myself about whether I’m doing the right thing. And I think that’s what angers me so much about our marriage - I don’t know where I stand in it. It’s a constant battle within me to just decide if I’m happy or not with what is. I know some of that is the depression talking, but not all of it.
It scares me, because I don’t want to think about throwing away what might be the best thing in my life for nothing. I’ve done it once. If I had known more about depression then, and sought real help for it, I wonder if I would just gone to school, instead of skipping. If I had understood what was happening to me, would I have thrown everything away like I did back then? And I wonder if I’m strong enough now to make the right decision, not knowing what the answer is. I am so afraid to let the depression win again, but I don’t know which side it’s playing from. And that terrifies me, to the point I can’t sleep at night sometimes. I have learned from past mistakes that just ignoring the issue and hoping it will resolve itself just makes it worse, but how can I make a move if I don’t know what’s real and what’s depression-induced fantasy? I don’t know if I should be fighting to save my marriage, or if I should be fighting harder to end it.
All I know at this point is I’m going to meet Romeo for lunch a few times, talk to him in person, catch up on each other’s lives, and see if the puppy love feeling is still there. And then I don’t know where to go from there, but I guess I’ll figure it out as it comes.

It's not so bad...

2009-01-28T08:55:00.003-09:00

Really. I'm shocked, but this whole college thing? Not bad at all. Granted, I've only had 2 classes. But so far, I'm wayyyy ahead of the game, and I like it that way. I like both of my real life teachers, which for me is a major bonus. I am NOT AT ALL an auditory learner. I have a hard time with normal conversation, because after about 30 seconds, my eyes glaze over and my ears shut down and it all sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher. I have such a hard time absorbing information that way. Both of my teachers are very high-energy, and both have a fantastic sense of humor, which really helps to keep me engaged. And since both of my classes are largely lecture-based, well, anything that helps keep me paying attention is fantastic.

And I accomplished something I'm pretty proud of - I managed to test out of one of my online classes. So, I replaced Computer Essentials with the Impact of Mass Media. I have no idea how I'm going to do with that one, but what the heck, we'll give it a shot. I have discovered though that the online classes are not what I expected. I thought they would be more of a work at your own pace, self directed thing. Instead, you have to log on every week to get your assignments, and part of your grade is participating in the discussion groups with the rest of the class. I had really planned to just go in, and work my way through as quickly as possible, so that I could take a ten week class and have it all done in 5 weeks or so, but with the way these are set up, I won't be able to do that. It's kind of disappointing, but there's nothing much I can do about it now. I think next quarter I might take more live classes though, instead of the online ones.

Global Warming, go AWAY!

2009-01-15T01:04:00.003-09:00

The weather is so bizarre here right now. I am in Alaska, the frozen tundra, etc. It should not ever under any circumstances be 41 degrees in the middle of January. We are experiencing rain, which is a wonderful combination with the ice that was uncovered recently under all the snow blown away by the 80 mph winds. I couldn't leave my house today. Even with 4 wheel drive and studded tires, I couldn't get off my street. The wind was so bad that as I was at a complete stop at the bottom of the hill, trying to figure out how to either get all the way up it and out of my subdivision, or halfway back up it and into my driveway, I felt myself creeping to the side and the wind literally pushed my truck along. Schools were closed today due to the icy conditions, portions of the highway were shut down, even the city busses were cancelled. It's insanity, I tell you.

But I refuse to wear a plaid skirt

2009-01-12T16:10:00.003-09:00

I have an announcement to make. Drum roll please.....

I am 30 years old, and I am going back to school. And I think I may have just lost my mind.

Once you hear all the details, you're REALLY going to think I'm crazy.

For starters, have I mentioned lately just how much I hate having my mother in law be my children's nanny? Hmm, well if I haven't, let me just reiterate it. I SERIOUSLY hate it. She drives me crazy. Our new house would have been a huge improvement over our old one, but it still would have been hard (before, she had the second master bedroom, now, she would have the tiny guest cabin in the backyard). After the latest argument between her and John, she hasn't spoken to any of us in a couple of months. So we decided to see about finding a new nanny.

I have had very few people in my life that I could call close friends. My best friend is no longer speaking to me because of the way we bought our house, but even before then, there was a pretty big gulf between us. My other other friend here comes around a lot when she needs something, but I am never the one she calls to go hang out with, or go party with, or pretty much do anything social with. They come over to our house for holidays, and we have their kids over at our house all the time, but I rarely see them socially any more. I seem to have issues with holding on to friendships. I don't know if I become too clingy, or too distanced. Nonetheless, there are a few people that I do remain in infrequent contact with. One of them, Sue, worked with me at the company I worked at in Tulsa. We became friends in our training class, and although we never really hung out much outside of work, we have kept in contact, mostly over MySpace. She was one of the few people who really stuck by me when Garrett died. She was totally supportive of our move to Alaska, in a way very few people were. Over the three years since we have been here, we have kept in touch, and we have discussed how much she and her parents have always wanted to visit Alaska. I offered my home and any assistance I could give as tour guide whenever they wanted to come, and for the past several months, we have been eagerly planning her trip up this summer with her daughter. A few weeks ago, she was telling me unhappy she was with life in general right now. Crappy job, yet another roommate screwed her over so she was living at home with mom again, and just generally not really moving AHEAD with life. So John and I discussed it, and we offered her the nanny position for the summer.

On the one hand, it felt really weird to offer a friend a job, in my home. One the other hand, we look at it more as offering her an opportunity. Neither John or I can explain it, but since moving here, our lives have done a complete 180. Our credit is improving almost daily. We both have good jobs that we really like. We are paid well, and neither one of us has a really outrageous commute to work. We have a LOT of time to just spend at home, being with our kids, and each other. Just a couple months ago, we were able to buy our first home, which is something neither one of us thought we would be able to do for years to come. We have enough money left over to pay for our "toys," and especially during the summer, we take frequent trips to nearby (and some not so nearby) parks and rivers to ride our machines and fish, or just play around in the mud. Last year, we went clamming for the first time, and had such a blast, we have already planned this summer's trip too. By the time you offset the upgrade in pay with the higher living expenses, you would really think there wasn't any difference between the way we live here and the way we lived there. And there shouldn't be, but there is. I don't know if it's because we are more relaxed, our kids are healthier, or we just feel more like we belong here than we did there, but moving here was the best thing that ever happened to any of us. And we would like nothing more than to offer that to our friends and family. Which we tried to do with John's mother, and had it slapped back in our face, repeatedly. And so we are trying again, with Sue, and her daughter, Diva. What we have discussed with her, is that essentially, we are offering her a paid vacation. It doesn't pay extraordinarily well, but it does include room and board. And she will have all three of our heathens in tow all day. But the rest of the time is all hers. She can explore, hunt, fish, camp, play, and enjoy her daughter all she wants, all summer long. And if she likes it here, come fall when John is laid off again and stays home with the kids himself, then she's welcome to stay as long as she wants (although, to keep things professional between us, once we aren't paying her to be a nanny, we will charge her a nominal rent fee for the cabin, or help her find a different house if she prefers). We will help her get a job, and we'll help her enroll Diva in Peanut's school (they will both be in kindergarten this fall). We'll help her establish residency so she can qualify for the PFD, and we'll do whatever else we can for her. We won't hand her the moon, but we will help her climb towards it in any way we can. And I'm thrilled that she wants to do it.

Now I bet you're wondering what all this has to do with me going back to school, aren't you? Well, it seems that in an attempt to get her life moving in a better direction, she decided to go back to school in Tulsa. Had everything all set up to start this fall. So to help her continue with that goal, I started looking into colleges up here, trying to find one that had the program she wanted. What I found was a small community college that offers classes in Accounting, my major of choice. And more than anything, since the day I quit high school, I have always regretted that I never went to college. I was supposed to be the first one in my family to go. And I failed, miserably. And while I was sitting there in that office, listening to all the options available to my friend, I suddenly asked myself, "Why can't I do it too?" So I signed up, right then and there. I still have some paperwork to finish, and some financial aid to figure out, but classes start at the end of this month.

It's going to be so hard. 2 nights a week, after work, I will be going to 4-hour classes. I'll leave the house in the morning before the kids get up, and not get home until after they are in bed. That hurts me more than anything. And at least two other nights a week, I will be taking online classes, so even though I'm there, I can't really focus on them. But, if all goes well, 14 months from now, I WILL have a degree in my hand. And 7 months after that, I'll have another. I decided to take two majors, so that I have the accounting degree that I've always wanted, with the hope of moving into a more formal accounting position in the future, preferably closer to home, or with more flexible hours, and also medical billing and coding, so that I can have a second, part time, work from home career, that eventually I'm hoping will move into something more permanent. My goal is to work entirely from home, or barring that, work from home at least 50% of the time. That could translate into any combination of billing and accounting, but since they do tend to go hand in hand, I'm hoping for something like a small doctor's officer that just needs someone to handle their books and insurance billings. Preferably one that already has a receptionist/office clerk, that will allow me to have limited contact with the public, and maximum flexibility. Is it too much to ask for? Yeah, probably. But you've got to have goals, right?

He made my mom cry

2008-12-29T09:49:00.002-09:00

Yes, that was my husband's Christmas gift to me - making my mother bawl like a baby. In a good way, though, really, I promise.

You see, back when I was just a wee tyke, me mother began collecting Hallmark ornaments for me every year. She chose one series in particular, the longest running ornament series for Hallmark. She had every one except for the first one. Every year, it was my job to put my ornaments on the tree, and every Christmas Eve, I got the new one for the year. One of the very very few happy memories of my childhood.

When I grew up and moved out on my own, I moved a LOT those first few years. In one move, I made the mistake of trusting someone I shouldn't have, and suddenly, 75% of my belongings came up missing. Wanna take a guess at what one of the casualties was? So a few months ago, as my husband was cruising Craigslist for outdoor Christmas decorations, he comes across an ad from some guy who has the entire series, including the first one and several special editions. And so, taking the money he had been saving for a new snowmachine, my husband, the man I love with all my heart (most days anyway), he got me the set, wrapped each ornament (in their original, mint condition boxes, by the way), and put them under the tree after I went to bed on Christmas Eve. And when I called my mom to tell her what he had done, I think she cried harder than I did. It takes a lot to impress my mom, so more than buying me my memories back, he also bought me peace from my mother for several months at least. A better gift, I don't think I could ever ask for.

Merry Christmas, and happy New Year everyone.

Save As Draft

2008-12-16T09:21:00.006-09:00

Oh lordy, I had no idea I had so many posts waiting in limbo. Oops. Let me see what I can do about that.... Hmm, in reading some of those posts, I'm not really sure I can finish them at this point, because I'm not really sure where I was going with them, but they are interesting, so here we go:

From July 23, 2008:

No, seriously, GO AWAY already. Ok, let me tell you people something you may not know about me. I live in Alaska, but I hate the cold. I grew up here, and I moved back home, deliberately, but I still hate the cold. I love winter time, I love watching the snow fall, I love looking at the trees all covered in frost, I love snowmachining, I love watching the kids play in the snow, hell, I even love clearing the driveway, as long as I get to use the snowblower to do it. And in all honesty, I am cold here less often than I was when we lived down South. I think it has something to do with more consistent temperatures, and a lot less wind, not to mention wayyyyy less humidity. Yes, I do have a point, hold on, let me find it again... Ah. There it is. Alaska has some of the most beautiful summers in the world. We have incredibly rich, moist soil, which produces simply stunning vegetation. The mountains, the lakes, seriously, I cannot describe to you people how beautiful it is here. Every summer but this one. I don't know what the deal is, but this summer has been nothing but rain, rain, oh, and more rain. See, this is how a typical Alaska summer should go:
April = Break-up month. Lots of slush, lots of mud, cool temperatures, a little rain as the sky adjusts to not sending snow.
May = Clean-up month. Seriously. The first weekend of May, all the schools hold contests for who can pick up the most litter. The dump has several free days, where you can clean up your house/yard/garage/whatever and dump anything and everything you don't want for free. Local charities, organizations, and military groups hold donation drives, and have volunteers out cleaning up the highways. Very little rain, lots of sun. Not a lot of green, and the ground is still too cold to plant in, but warming up nicely.
June and July = Summer! Beautiful sunny days, warm temperatures (75-85 usually, but because of our location, it feels about 15 degrees warmer than the actual temperature). Everything is green and gorgeous, flowers are blooming, vegetables are growing, blah blah blah.

OK, now how sad is it that I can't remember what it was I was going to say about August and September? So anyway, it rained. A LOT. We're not talking drenching downpours that lasted a couple hours and moved on for a week or so, we're talking nasty cold wet drizzles that lasted weeks at a time with maybe 12 hours of relief. It was AWFUL.

Moving on, from 8/5/08:

I had the weirdest dream last night...You were there, and you, and you too! And there were munchkins, and flying monkeys, and a wizard- oh, oops, wrong dream.
Seriously, though, I had an interesting dream last night. And that's unusual for me to comment on, because I am one of those who either doesn't dream, or I forget about anything remotely resembling a dream instantly upon waking. A couple times a year, though, I will have a dream that seems to come out of nowhere, and is so vivid in some aspects that it's like I'm still living it. Last night I was so blessed.
A lot of the details are already starting to fade, but I know this - I was supposed to be in a little town about an hour south of here, fishing. The hotel, the shady car lot next door, and the town in general looked NOTHING like the real thing, and I vaguely recall something about changing our mind about where we were going, so I don't know where I really was. The beginning of the dream is so weird that I'm having a hard time holding on to the details, but I remember us checking the trunks of every car on the lot next door to the hotel, trying to see if our keys would open them. I remember the guy who owned the car lot being one of those mob types, and a whole lot of weird stuff going on, and we were spying on him. And then, I remember pulling up in front of the hotel, and someone pulling in right after me. I was scared, because we had just witnessed "something we shouldn't have" the night before over at the car lot, and the people in the car behind me were watching me. They followed me into the hotel restaurant, where I was eating with my husband and my kids. And then, out of nowhere, they produced a gorgeous little girl, about 9 months old, and handed her to me. I looked up, and saw this young

Hmmm.... GOSH I wish I could remember this one!!!! I know it was strange, but cool. Somehow or another, I ended up with the sweetest little baby girl ever. I remember her name: Piper Anastasia. Where the name came from I couldn't say. This is one I never would have come up with on my own, I promise.

Ok, next... From 8/15/08:

For the last several years, I have noticed some strange things about myself. I've always been a good, strong sleeper, but lately, it seems like I can't ever get enough sleep. It takes everything I ave to force myself out of bed in the morning. Then at night, I know I'm exhausted and I know I need to go to bed, but the peace and quiet after the kids are in bed is so seductive, I cant seem to force myself to go to bed. I've always had relatively low self esteem, but it seems like I can't do anything right, EVER. Everything I touch turns to shit. Where's Midas when you need him? Gold is a lot prettier than shit... I've always been somewhat impulsive (umm.. ok, a lot impulsive), and had a short temper, but now, the slightest little thing sends me into fits of absolute rage. Sometimes I scare myself because of how angry I get. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt someone sometimes. Although lately, it takes too much energy to even care about being angry. I've always been a loner, spending hours, days even in my room alone, reading books, writing stories, drawing, bu now? I spend the majority of my day (when I'm not sitting there, staring at the wall, thinking about how futile it is for me to even start a project at wok, or start the laundry, because I'm going o screw it up and not finish anyway) imagining what my new life will be like. The life where I just walk out the door one day and never come back. Walk away from my job, my home, my kids, my husband... everything. It' not like they'll miss me, I'm not really a lot of fun to be around anymore. And if I leave, I'll be alone. And that's all I want sometimes, just to be alone. No noise, no touching, no having to think about everyone else in house's feelings, when it seems like no one ever thinks about mine. Not having to be anything for anyone, other than just plain old fucked up me. I've noticed the headaches that I used to gt about once a month, now come about twice a week, sometimes so bad I will be willing to sell my soul just to make it stop, but I can't because who wants a soulless mommy? A soulless mommy won't get you milk even though you ask 15 times 30 seconds like you're trying to break some kind of screwed up world record. A soulless mommy wouldn't care that you've lost your mittens for the 3rd time this week an we have to go to Walmart RIGHT NOW because if you are forced to go to school without gloves you're hand will fall off and die, oh and don't forget, sister has a project due tomorrow morning that needs supplies we don't have. It's exhausting, and sometimes I just hate my life.

Not sure where I was going with that one, obviously a pity party, but I think I was leading towards something positive there at the end. Or maybe not, hell I don't know. I've slept since then.

From 11/26/08:

It is time once again for our annual Thanksgiving free-for-all. Let us all pray we will survive it again this year.
When I was growing up, I always wanted to be that family that went all out for every holiday - you know the one, that obnoxious Ned Flanders-y neighbor who has all the decorations, and the stay at home mom who only knows how to cook from scratch? Yeah, well, that wasn't us - not by a long shot. One year for Christmas, my mom was so depressed that she informed me if I wanted my gifts wrapped, I'd have to do it myself. So I did, complete with the surprise face Christmas morning. That worked so well for her, she did it every year after that. I always swore my kids would have better holiday memories than I did. Then I married a broke loser, bounced around from house to house to house for years, losing most of my inherited holiday decorations, and rarely having a place to put up what I did have left. I had high hopes though, that things would turn around. When I met John, his family was completely Christmas obsessed. They also celebrated various other holidays throughout the year, like the 4th of July, with a vibrancy I had never before seen. However, his family did not pass along the holiday bug to him , at least not for any holiday other than Christmas. The year after I first met John, his grandfather passed away. For several years after that, John wanted nothing to do with any of the holidays, including Christmas. He slowly starting coming around though, and started celebrating the one holiday his family never had before - Thanksgiving.
Now, I personally have never really seen the purpose of Thanksgiving. I have always hated it, mostly as a kid because my birthday always falls within a week of it, and so my birthday meal almost always consists of dry turkey. Not to mention, it's hard to have a birthday party as a kid when all your friends are visiting relatives for the holiday weekend. When we lived near my grandparents, my grandma would do a big Thanksgiving meal, but since we didn't get along with my mom's brother, and all his kids are at last 10 years older than me, it was never what I would call a happy or fun day. All through John's childhood, his family went hunting over the holiday weekend (deer season almost always opens that week), so no one was ever home to make the big meal. I'm still not entirely sure how it started, but for some reason, about 5 years ago, John just decided one day he wanted a real Thanksgiving, and since none of his family was going to do it, he decided we would. So we did.
His mom came over for the day. His sister and her boyfriend dropped by on their way back home from hunting that morning. His good friend and his family stopped by. We watched movies, played cards, drank a little, ate a lot, and had a fantastic day. We never set a time for anyone to be there, we just started cooking around noon, and cooked a little at a time so there was fresh stuff to serve all night long. Nobody was on a schedule, everyone just came over when they felt like it, stayed as long as they could, and moved on. I thought it would be a horrible stressful day, but it was actually pretty nice. Our house was teeny tiny, so there's no way we could have accommodated everyone all at the same time for one big sit down meal anyway. The next year, we did it again. We invited a few more friends to stop by when they were done with their family events. Every year, it got a little larger.
Then, we moved here. The only family anywhere near us is my dad. His girlfriend has 3 adult children, one with kids of her own, that have never been to my house for some reason I can't explain. They've been invited, but they never show up. My best friend since I was 4 lives down the road, but all of her family and her husband's family are nearby, so their day is usually pretty full. I figured our annual Thanksgiving party was going to be a huge flop, but then, a guy my husband works with decided to move over the holiday weekend. They didn't have any Thanksgiving plans because they were going to be so busy, so John invited him and his wife and their 5 kids over. I had never met any of these people, but it ended up being almost like our previous holiday parties, so it was really nice. I remember being horribly embarrassed because our home was less than stellar at that time, literally falling down around us, and I was so afraid of what they were going to think of us, but I ended up with a new friend, a great babysitter, and Princess got two new friends out of the deal too. Last year, we had moved into a nicer home, and we did the hosting thing all over again, with a few more people added in to the mix.

Not really sure how I was going to finish this one, but I can say we moved into our new house, and it actually had much better play space for all the kids and pets that invaded us. We had a great time, up until Chunky started puking all over the couch, the floor, me, my friend who just had surgery, his bed, his brother, and anything else within easy reach. I'm probably going to get in trouble for saying this, but we thought it was just a hangover. My dad and my friend's asshole husband both thought it was hilarious to slip the baby beer every chance they got. Seriously, who gives a 2 year old access to open beer cans? Every time I saw them I'd take it away, but as soon as my back was turned they were at it again. Grr. Anyway, his brother woke up the next night with projectiles shooting out of both ends, and then I had it, and later the next week my friend's 5 kids all got it, so turns out it was just a stomach flu, but still....

Overall, my life has been crazy, but no more so than usual. I make a lot of excuses, especially for not posting. I started this for me, I'm really the only one who reads it, so all I'm doing is making excuses to myself, but I can't seem to stop. So I will try to do better, but I guarantee nothing. I do have tons of stuff to post about though, everything from finding my birth family to suing the airport to buying my first ever home that I love more than I could ever describe, just because it's mine. There's also stuff about that crazy wedding, and the ridiculous decision to make all of our Christmas gifts this year, and so much more. So stay tuned, and I promise, there will be new postings, and less than a month apart.

It's official

2008-11-25T08:23:00.001-09:00

I'm 30. Gah.

I'm baaaaccckkkk

2008-11-05T09:34:00.004-09:00

So, in the time since I last talked to you all, LOTS of things have happened. My office has moved, I moved, I arranged the wedding from hell, I broke my foot, then put so much use on my walking cast that I broke IT, Princess started off at her new school with one hell of a bang, we missed Halloween, I survived what should have been Pumpkin's 6th birthday with a minimum of tears (but lots of stress, since it was the same day as the wedding), and more. All of which I will get to, eventually.

However, there is one topic at the front of my mind today, as it is with most of America. Now, as I have mentioned before, I normally take very little interest in politics. I scraped through high school government with a D-. I honestly don't know the difference between Congress and the Senate. And normally, I don't care. This election has been different though. Alaska has taken center stage in this election, for several reasons (namely Palin and Stevens). Everywhere I go, especially at work, I am thrust into a political discussion. Most of the time, I am left standing with a stupid look on my face, not really following the conversation. I do have opinions, but I can rarely coherently defend them. Frankly, I would have gladly voted for Hilary. I like her, I like her style, I like the way she ran the country the first time she was in office (oh come on, you really don't think Bill had any real input, do you?), and I think she would have been good for our country. I like McCain too. As far as Republican conservatives go, he's a pretty decent guy. I'm not a big fan of Obama. Mostly because I'm afraid he's more flash than substance, but to be honest, I don't know that much about him, so my fears may be completely ungrounded. I think some of the people against him because his name "sounds like Osama" are so fantastically stupid that I no longer wonder why our country is in the toilet. Palin, on the other hand, scares the hell out of me. She is a fantastic governor. I'm glad she will be returning to our state. I think the whole "Troopergate" scandal was blown ridiculously out of proportion, and while I'm not a conspiracy theorist, I can definitely see where a certain element in our state is just hunting for any excuse to throw her under the bus. The idea of her in charge of our country, however, just gives me chills.

Despite what she has demonstrated thus far, she's not stupid. She is actually a very intelligent, friendly woman. She brought about huge changes and fantastic growth to a previously neglected area of our state. I remember driving through Wasilla when I was a little girl, on my way to our family homestead. There was a gas station/convenience store on the corner, and a stop sign. Now, there's a booming city, rivalling Anchorage in options for shopping, dining, entertainment, etc. The one and only thing I disagree with is the addition of a sales tax to the area. It's one of the few locations in Alaska that have a sales tax, but with expansion comes the need for expanded wallets, and so I do prefer this method to raising yet again the property taxes, as Begich chose to do in Anchorage. It's a small percentage, it has cap, and it's spread more evenly among the people. A LOT of people in Alaska choose to rent simply because of the ridiculously high property taxes, so a relatively small percentage of the population carries the majority of the tax burden in our state. Anyway. She does, however, have some seriously scary opinions of home and hearth, and the treatment of women in general. Granted, I have a decidedly liberal attitude. But even so, I cannot see how turning back the clocks 50 years or so will help us NOW. And it seems to me somewhat hypocritical for someone who believes that women should be at home raising the kids and doing the housework, to actively seek out a national appointment, dragging her kids along with her, pulling them out of school, and forcing them into the spotlight. But I digress (alright, I digress a lot).

The point of all this is that this morning, I had a conversation with a coworker. Generally, I like this man. I think of him as very intelligent, friendly, funny, and he usually has some interesting news tidbit to drop on me in the morning, generally one that makes me chuckle all day (he was the one who broke the PETA and breast milk story to me). The day before the election, however, he morphed into a Republican demon - telling me how he had talked to his grown son the night before, discussing the vote, and how he had never been more proud of his son when he said "Don't worry Dad, I've voting for McCain, and so is everyone I know. We all know Obama's full of shit." Now, again, I do have some concerns about his sincerity, but I truly believe the man has some wonderful ideas. And while I don't expect him to completely solve this country's problem in his time in office, I DO expect that he will put forth one hell of an effort. While I think he may not be able to accomplish all that he has set out to, that doesn't mean I think he's full of shit, and while I understand that everyone's political views are different, I think dumping that kind of statement on someone, who you haven't bothered to even ask first what their views ARE, smacks of the exact type of arrogance that has helped to flush this country down the toilet. Anyway, so I replied with "Well, I wouldn't go that far. I think he has great ideas. I just don't know that he will be able to accomplish them all. My choice would have been Hillary, but I'll take him over Palin any day." The look of shock was almost comical. After he stuttered out "WHHHHYYYY?" in a whiney tone more reminiscent of my 4 year old than a grown man, I said that I think she was the single most "anti-woman" candidate since I was born. The thought of her making decisions for me and my daughter terrifies me. And he looks at me, and says with the deepest of scorn, "Are you talking about the abortion thing?"

And here it was my turn to sit with the deer in the headlights look of shock. The abortion "thing"???!!!! Are you kidding me? Even sweeping aside her views on religion, sexual orientation, and everything else she stands for that I 100% do NOT support, the abortion "thing" alone would have been enough to sway my vote against her.

Here's the thing - I actually don't believe in abortion as a personal choice for ME. That does not mean that I won't support and defend the right for every other woman on this planet to have SAFE access to that choice. One of my favorite bumper stickers, which I think sums the whole thing up so well, states "If you can't trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?" And how much truth is there in that? As an adoptee, I am grateful that my mother's choice was for life, but that doesn't mean she made the best choice for everyone involved. What it does mean i that she was able to make a choice. And that's what counts. I personally believe that abortion should be used only in the direst of circumstances. I hate that there are some women in this world who routinely use abortion as a method of birth control. I also know that when we start drawing lines, there are people who fall through the cracks. If we say that only women who have been raped can have abortions, well, what kind of proof is required for that? Do you have to have a police report in hand, taken immediately after the incident? What about those women who, for whatever reason, never report their rapes? What about those cases where the continuation of the pregnancy would cause death for either mother or child? Who determines that? And really, what are the percentages of women and young girls who have no medical access to be able to afford the type of doctor it would take to make that determination? What about the drug and alcohol addicts, who are unable to care for themselves, let alone a child. If they are forced o give those children up for adoption, does that make it better? In most cases, it actually continues the addiction cycle. And then there are the other cases... the women who actually used birth control and it failed. The women who were doing everything in their power to prevent an untimely pregnancy, and it simply didn't work? What about the girls in college, who have a one night stand, or even a steady boyfriend, but aren't ready for marriage and family? How many of them would be forced out of school and onto welfare? How many failed marriages start with the words "I take care of my responsibilities?" (and yes, I actually do know someone who was using protection, got pregnant anyway, and this was how she was proposed to by the father, who ended up dumping her 5 months in because they were completely incompatible, and has yet to contribute to that child's life in any way, leaving the entire burden on her. Would she have chosen abortion had she known from the beginning he wouldn't be there? Probably.)

You know, I could go on and on. But it just absolutely kills me to hear the basic human right to choose summed up as "that abortion thing." I just cannot understand how, in our supposedly enlightened world, anyone could possibly refer to such an important decision as that.

What happened to romance?

2008-09-27T05:07:00.002-08:00

I admit it, I'm a sucker for a good romance novel. I just love the happy endings. I love how sure the happy couple always is of their love for each other. I love the sappy speeches, the expressions of undying devotion.

But I always wonder, just how much of that is real? I know for some people, it probably is. But not for me. It always is in the beginning, but something happens, and as time goes by, I find myself more alone than when I started. Is it that way for everyone, or am I just not with the right person yet?

I remember when I first met John. I had just broken up with The Jerk. I was on my own for the first time in my life. I had just turned 21, and had just attempted to go out, by myself, for the first time. Let's be honest with each other here, shall we? I have ZERO self-confidence. I mean none. I am terrified of going places alone. Most of the time, I still dread going to the grocery store by myself. Whenever possible, I'll either beg John or Dev to go with me, or even better, to go for me so I don't have to leave the house. And maybe part of the problem is that I am surrounded by such confident people. Both John and his mom can start up 30 minute conversations with anyone they meet. Whenever I try, it comes off as a desperate attempt by a crazy person, and I get a lot of "uh huh, right, OK, whatever you say, I'vegottogonowBYE!" Maybe it's because I was raised by a self-hating, social anxiety-riddled, abusive single parent. There was no balance. I think I certainly prove the theory that social behavior is learned, not inherited, considering I was adopted at birth.

Anyway, I was terrified to go by myself. I tried all night to find ANYone who would go with me. By midnight, I'd given up, and just decided to go alone. (Which is pretty silly, considering in the heart of the Bible Belt, bars close promptly at 2am.) So I went to this bar. It was loud, it was dark, it had good music (as a matter of fact, they were shooting a music video that night, so it was extra crowded). I was hit on by a couple of really drunk guys. I never had a drink, or danced, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could do this. So the next week, I went back. I convinced a coworker to go with me. She met a guy earlier in the week, so she brought him along. They were drinking, and dancing, and having a great time. I was sober as could be, feeling really weird because everyone around me was having such a great time and I just wasn't a part of it. And then, out of nowhere, this guy walks past me, and whispers in my ear "Smile, it gets worse." Then he's gone. A few songs later, he walks by again and asks for my name. A few songs after that, while I'm at the bar getting a drink, he asks me to dance. And before he left that night, he asked for my phone number. I gave it, partly because I was intrigued that this guy, who so obviously knew the regulars, had friends that included girls much prettier than me, had stopped to talk to ME of all people. He could have talked to my friend, who at that point was all but stripping on the dance floor. He could have talked to anyone, but he chose me.

I had never been singled out of a crowd like that, and I think it went a little to my head. It was all I could think about for days. I didn't expect anything to come of it, but then, a few days later, I came home from work to a message on my machine from John. I called him back, and we talked until 6am. That night, and every night that week. Pretty much from that moment on, I spent every available moment with him. He was a bouncer at that particular bar, so that amounted to me spending three nights a week there after work, until closing. And then I ended up either going home with him, or he came home with me.

We talked about EVERYTHING. I thought, for once, I had found someone who really KNEW me, who understood me like no one else ever had. And even though he told me things about himself, I don't think I wanted to listen, or believe. He told me that he was a difficult person to be with - stubborn, mule-headed, and raised in a different era. He told me that sex was the single most important factor in his life - that everything he was was tied up in it. He felt similarly to me in some ways - he felt unattractive, unwanted, outcast as a child, but he had found that he had a knack for pleasing women. So therefore, he gauged his entire life from that point on based on sex - if he wasn't getting any, it was because he was no longer attractive, or wanted. It was because he was a failure. I heard all that, but I sure as hell didn't understand it. I also heard him say that he had just come out of a nasty divorce, his second, and that he didn't want to get married again, or even truly settle down, anytime in the near future. I took that as a challenge. I figured that meant I had to change that about him.

Now don't get me wrong, he wasn't all bad. I felt more loved than I ever had in my life. He treated me exceptionally well - he bought me flowers, he rubbed my back when I came home from work, he held my hand when we walked through the grocery store, he pulled me over to sit next to him on the bench seat of his truck because he wanted to feel me as close to him as possible. He danced with me, and only me, every night he worked (which may not sound like much, but the bouncers were supposed to make themselves available, to dance with the lonely girls to help drum up business. He could have been fired for what he did.) He gave me pretty much anything I asked for, whether it be something frivolous and romantic, or boring and practical, or even just his time and attention, which I was desperate for.

And a month into the relationship, I was head over heals in love with him. And I made the mistake of telling him so. I don't know if he truly didn't feel it for me, or if he just wasn't ready to hear it, but he told me that day that he wasn't in love with me, and that he wasn't ready for a serious relationship. That while he would be faithful to me, he wanted it no strings attached, something he could walk away from at any time. He told me that he would call me and let me know if he had the urge to sleep with someone else before he did it, just so I would know and I could decide if I wanted to continue our relationship. And he broke my foolish little heart into thousands of tiny tiny pieces.

I lived with it for a few weeks. I had a "friend" at the time, who turned out to be not so friendly after all, who convinced me that he was doing me wrong (even though he hadn't told me anything he hadn't said at the very beginning - I just hadn't wanted to listen). I let her convince me to go out with her one night, alone, without John. I hadn't done that since that very first time. I was terrified, and I latched onto one of John's friends, a fellow bouncer, and also his boss at his day job. He was off work that night, and was drinking with a few of the other bouncers. My "friend" dumped me almost as soon as she hit the door, and I didn't know what to do with myself. So I proceeded to get shit-faced drunk. And when he offered to drive me home, I said yes. And when he kissed me in the car, I didn't say no. Partly because what John had said about wanting to keep his options open had hurt me so deeply, and I figured if he could play that game, so could I. Partly because I was so unsure of myself that it never occurred to me to say no. So when he got to my house, and followed me in the door, I still didn't say no. I certainly wouldn't call that experience rape, but I sure didn't want it. I cried myself to sleep that night, and woke up with one hell of a hangover to the phone ringing at 0-dawn-hundred. It was John, and I don't know how he knew, but the first words out of his mouth were "So who'd you end up fucking last night?" And when I told him, he told me he never wanted to talk to me again - that I was to burn his number, and forget he ever existed.

And my poor little heart, that had already been broken, disintegrated. I was numb to everything for the next couple of hours. And when the phone rang again, and John said he would talk to me, I jumped at the chance. I went to see him, and I cried, and I begged for forgiveness. I told him how sorry I was, that I hadn't meant it, that I had done it because he said he was going to sleep with other people, that I thought it was what he wanted, that I was drunk and stupid, anything, anything at all he wanted me to say, I would, if he would just love me again. And he told me that I would have to earn his trust. That he wouldn't really want to be around me for a while, and that I would just have to deal with it, ride it out, if I wanted to be with him.

So, I did. I felt him flinch every time I touched him. And so I stopped touching him. I dealt with the absolute silence when I told him I loved him. And so I stopped telling him. I learned to get over the pain when he would dance with other girls. And so I stopped asking him. I waited for the phone to ring every day like it used to, and I accepted that it wouldn't. And so I stopped hoping. I went around in a daze for months. And then The Jerk pulled a stunt that got me arrested. And then I lost my home, and was put in the position where I had to send my daughter to live with my mother for a while, because I was living in my car. And then, when I went to visit my baby for Christmas, on the way home, I totalled John's truck - the truck his son had picked out with him, the truck that meant more to him than any other possession. And then, while I was being treated for the hip injury, I found out I was pregnant. And then, I lost the baby. And I think I lost my mind a little. I know I wanted to die. I know I wanted everything to end, that nothing was worth living for any more. And John came back to me, at least a little. It was never again like it was in the beginning, but I wasn't being actively punished any more.

And I lost two more babies that year, but I dealt with it, moved on. None was as devastating as the first. I think I was just so numb after that that I really didn't care. Then I got pregnant one last time. And 9 months later, my beautiful little boy was born. He was my miracle baby, after all I had been through that year. He was John's too. Pumpkin and John had a connection like I have never seen. I was so jealous, but so proud of it, that I didn't care that John and I were still just drifting along. We had so many things happen over the next two years, I didn't have time to worry about it anyway. Between the job changes and losing our home and vehicles, starting all over again in a crappy trailer with borrowed cars, horrible jobs, and no money, plus the ongoing legal battles with The Jerk, it was so draining, so exhausting, that I didn't care about anything else.

That's when the sex issue really started coming up. I was so stressed, and so tired, that I had no interest in sex, at all. I was fat, awkward still with all the baby weight and the stretch marks. I'd never been particularly pretty, but at last with Princess, my body went back to normal. With Pumpkin, it just got bigger and bigger, even after he was born. I was disgusted with my body, and with myself, for being so weak that I couldn't fight my way through our problems, and just "pick myself back up." The less I wanted sex, the more insecure John got, to the point where he was downright nasty to me if I didn't put out. Sex has been, and still continues to be, a battleground for us.

After Pumpkin died, it go even worse. Something in John died that day too, something none of our other children has ever been able to fix, or even start to fill back in. His health has tumbled downhill, he body has gotten out of shape, and all of his years have suddenly crept up on him. He is feeling his age, and now more than ever, he needs the sex to reaffirm himself that he's still loved, and desired. And now, more than ever, I need to be left alone. I have spent so many years, locking away everything from him, that I can't figure out how to bridge this gulf that stands between us. And until I have an emotional connection, I can't enjoy a physical one.

And even though he'd never admit it, John needs the emotional connection too. But he still, after all these years, distrusts me, or maybe it's just a habit by now, I don't know. But mostly, because he doesn't get laid very often, he prowls the personal ads, and talks to other women online. That's all he does, is talk. I've seen the emails, there's never any cyber sex, or anything even like it. He's never met any of them, but he flirts, and has the lighthearted chat that we used to have way back when. And it hurts me so much, to see him have with other women what he once had with me.

I don't know which part hurts more - the fact that I see basically everything he said and did back then was just a line, designed to get in my pants, or that he can just continue to throw it out there, knowing how desperate I am for that kind of attention from him again. It's funny, back then, I would have given the moon for him to say he loved me. He acted like he did, but it wasn't enough. Now, he says it all the time, with about as much emotion as he uses when he says he loves toast. And I would give the earth for him to just act like he did again.

And so, I read sappy romance novels. And I wonder, what happens 5 years down the road? 10? At what point does happily ever after stop being good enough? Is there even such a thing?

My blog style - no entries for a month, then 50 in a day

2008-07-18T09:39:00.002-08:00

I suppose I could just make one great big entry, as that would be the sensible thing to do, but when have I ever done anything sensible? What is incredible to me though, is my motivation for this blog. The whole point was to use this as a form of therapy. I tend to internalize all my problems, feelings, whatever, until I can't take it anymore and I explode, all over all the people who don't deserve it. And so I thought, hey, here's a good idea. I can let everything out every day in a non confrontational, relatively nonjudgmental way, and then my kids never need to see me in all out pea-soup spewing, head turning demon possession mode. Not to mention I like writing, it makes it easier for me to say what actually needs to b said. I have discovered that when I get upset, I develop some crazy form of Alzheimer's, where I forget common words and all I can hear is my brain screaming "I hate you!" at anyone who comes within 5 feet of me. Just in case you're wondering, THAT is why I have never let my children have a birthday party. I am still scarred by the few attempts my mother made at letting me have a normal life - the sleepovers with new friends that started out with my mom being the coolest mom ever and ended with her screaming at me "Don't ever ask me for anything again you ungrateful little bitch!" while locking herself in her room for days on end. Not exactly the highlight of the evening. And then explaining to my friend's parents why my mom wasn't available to talk to, and where their precious child had learned such lovely language... well... you get the idea. And so, when my daughter was 2 or 3, ad I recognized this side of my mother in me that seems to get worse with every passing year, I put a stop to all functions that expose me to other people's children. Hey, my kids may be scarred for life because their mom's nuts, but at least they won't have the added embarrassment of it happening in front of their friends.

Hmm... where was I again? Oh yeah, so anyway the whole point was for me to talk about everything, every day, so I don't have these little meltdowns. But umm.... as you can see, that doesn't happen. Partly because I have discovered that I need time to process events. Otherwise all I ever talk about it my initial knee-jerk anger response. Sometimes I feel like I should just be carrying around a sign that says "VERY angry person, stay out of my way!" And partly because I am lazy. I know, I know... I told you all from the beginning I was lazy, but really, I don't think any of you believed me. And this latest laziness? Well, it's all your fault. Every day when I flip through my daily blog list, no one else has written anything either. There's weeks between posts sometimes. So there.

So give me a little time, and I will tell all. It may take a while, but really, I got all day, and nothing much better to do.

Summer vacation

2008-07-18T09:14:00.001-08:00

Ahh, that magical time of year when your normally mostly well behaved children turn into Gremlins (and not the cute fuzzy one either, the howling, slimy, yucky ones with an attitude problem). My 10 year old's angry with me because I won't let her leave our street by herself, and none of the kids on our street want to play with her any more because she called another girl a name. My four year old is in the stage where some days he takes a nap, some days not, his allergies are bothering him, he's interested in everything, except when it comes time to do it, which all equals a great big bundle of whine. And the baby, well... if he isn't outside at least 2 hours a day, he becomes destructo boy. Which would not be a problem, except for the mid 50's temperatures and the constant downpour of rain. I don't care if they play in the rain when it's warm, but cold and wet, not a good combo.

All in all, I have a house full of howler monkeys.

The End of the World

2008-06-16T01:18:00.002-08:00

Hmm, a little dramatic much? Perhaps. But nonetheless, that what it feels like. It's been an interesting month folks, one like I've never known.

For starters... Remember that last weepy post? You know, the one where I'm all crying about how I have no idea who I am and if I can just find my family, all will be right with the world? Well, guess what? I found my family. No shit. Don't worry, it caught me a little off guard too. Here I have been looking off an on for the past 10 years, admittedly more off than on, and I sign up with a search group, and here's my family, found for me in about a week and a half. Right before Mother's Day, to be exact. Talk about irony. So, how is it, you ask?

Well, here's the thing. I like to pretend that I am a happy, well-adjusted, non-judgemental type person. I mean really, nobody on this earth is perfect, and I am a shining example of the opposite of perfect myself. Maybe it's just because I have always had this romanticized notion of my "real family" coming in to save me from the insanity of my adoptive family, that finding out the truth is a little, well, disappointing. My mother is a meth addict. Actually, the way she was found was through her most recent possession arrest. That was last year, and she has done the rehab thing and is clean for now. Apparently, she goes for long stretches at a time, being clean, holding a job, being a parent, etc., until the stress overwhelms her and she turns back to the drugs. OK, I'm not talking to her here, or to my friends and family that are all hanging on my every word, waiting for me to show some sign that I'm NOT thrilled with this whole deal. I can be honest with you people, right? Good. Boo freaking hoo. You know what? We all have stress. I understand she had a lot to deal with at a young age (more about that some other day), and still carries around a lot on her shoulders. I don't mean to make light of that. I really don't. But I have never once in my life used drugs as a crutch to forget about the crap in my life. There are so many times I wanted to. Do you know I have never once in my life tried an illegal substance? That I didn't even start taking TYLENOL until I was over 21? I always said it was because I was raised by an addict and was scared that something like that would happen to me. And that's true. But now I wonder if perhaps I didn't know somehow that there was a hereditary weakness in there as well. Because guess what? I have a sister in jail for stealing cars while high as a kite. Oh, and a brother who's been in and out of jail 3 or 4 times on meth charges. Gosh, let me tell you, I am just so freaking proud of my family right now.

It's funny. I started this whole blog thingy because I was depressed and feeling sorry for myself. Why? Because amongst my so called friends, I felt like trailer trash. Hmm, I'm a felon (for something not entirely my fault, but whatever), I'm married to a felon (for an idiotic act when he was 18), and I have spend an alarming amount of time in trailers that were literally falling down around me. I'm always broke, even though I make good money. Nothing I own (OK, very little) is new - I buy everything at thrift stores and off Craigslist. I don't own a home, and my credit is in the toilet. So yeah, not exactly the friend you're proud to show off to your family, right? But at least my parents are semi-respectable. Yeah, my dad's a drunk, but by god he can hold a job. And yeah, my mom's crazy, but when she's medicated, she's great. Not to mention she's a financial genius. So to find my "real" family, and have them be what they are, well, right now, I'm just a little sad about the whole thing I guess. I don't love them any less. I had just hoped for less... I don't know... drama I guess. I just wanted one thing in my life to be normal, or as close to it as I can ever hope to achieve, and it's just not happening. And it makes me sad, ad it makes me angry. But you know what? I'll get over it. I always do. Just not today.

Speaking of today, how was your Father's Day? Mine was great. I spent the morning cooking my husband and my dad a huge lunch (if I want to see my dad while he's sober, it has to be before noon). My poor husband is working nights right now, and he only gt a short nap before we had to wake him up for lunch, so he was grumpy. The whole time, I just felt really disconnected from him. Like he would have rather been anywhere else. Which, hey, with my family and his combined around, I can see that. Not to mention, this is his first Father's Day since his dad died. So he's a little bummed. He left for work tonight without telling me goodbye. Again, I figure he's having a bad day. And I don't blame him for that. Then I find out that he had logged into my email earlier to forward something my dad's girlfriend had sent me on to his mother. Umm, what?

OK, prepare for me to be a giant hypocrite. Ready? Good. I am a private person. I won't talk on the phone if there are other people around me. I can't stand having people read over my shoulder. Someone reading my emails gives me the absolute creeps, even if it is my husband. It's one thing for someone to ASK first. It's even better if they just ask me to log in myself and forward the message on. It's royally pisses me off to have someone just take it upon themselves to log in and send away. HOWEVER, I freely admit to reading my husband's email when he's not home. I have my reasons, none of them very good, but they do exist. Although, to be fair to me, I haven't done it in over a year. Until he started acting all distant and moody, I probably wouldn't have, but that coupled with the email intrusion on his part, well, I kinda lost my head.

Ever heard the expression curiosity killed the cat? I understand exactly what that cat feels like right now. I feel like someone just stabbed me right in the chest, or possibly back, I don't know, but my chest literally hurts, and I feel so sick to my stomach it's all I can do not to throw up right now. Maybe it's blowing things out of proportion, but " please don't call after 5 , that's when she gets off work usually . course that isn't to say i don't go places without her and might be able to call if you wanted sometimes . " kinda sounds like perhaps there might be something going on behind my back. Best news? That was dated April 29th. I found another message from a week or so ago from the girl he wrote that too. Nothing overtly incriminating, but oddly enough, even though I could see that it was a reply to something he sent, there was no record of any other emails between them, including the one that he sent her to get that reply. So, my dear sweet computer innocent husband has started to learn how to cover his email tracks. Not to mention all those motorcycle rides he's gone out alone on. And all the calls he makes when I'm not home. And why his cell phone went over his minutes for the first time ever last month.

And so, I'll be doing one of two things over the next couple of weeks. I'll either be blogging like crazy because if I don't I'll scream, or I'll shut down completely and deal with everything internally, like I am trying to teach myself not to do but have been doing anyway (hence the several long absences).

Someone out there, please send some happy thoughts my way? I'm seriously tired with dealing with the shit pile all the time, for once, I'd like to see the flowers at the top.

Are you my mother?

2008-04-11T08:43:00.003-08:00

So, once again, I've been off in my own little world. It took me a little longer to process this one into even a semblance of coherency, and honestly, it's still not over, but I have to spill some thoughts now or I won't be able to deal with what's coming. To protect the innocent, I have tried to use initials only, but that may get confusing, so we'll see how it goes.

I think I've mentioned before that I'm adopted. I've known from birth that I was, my mom never wanted me to "find out" in a bad way and hate her for lying. I still have the book I got on my second birthday - "Why Was I Adopted?" which, incidentally, is an awesome book for adopted kids. Perfect for probably to 5-8 age group, but works well outside of that too. My adoption was a little outside the norm, in that it was arranged between a friend of a friend and handled completely privately, through an attorney, as opposed to an agency. All that really means for me is that in some ways, information is a lot easier to come by. In others, it can be 10 times harder.

Now, for as long as I can remember, I have known certain things regarding my biological family. For starters, I know my BM (birth mother)was 17 when I was born, and that she already had a 2 year old. I know that my AM (adopted mother) used to take my BM and BS (birth sister) shopping. I know that my BM was working as a babysitter to G, a guy who worked with my dad, and his wife E. Which is how they met - G & E knew my mom and dad were considering adoption, and they knew about my BM's circumstances, so they introduced everyone. And by waving the magic attorney wand, I had a new family.

I have tried a few times over the years to find my BM and BS. The fact is though, I've never really put a lot of effort into it. Why? I don't know, really, other than even though my life has never been easy, I'm comfortable with it. I don't hold any animosity towards my BM, I don't really have the need to demand answers from her. I guess I've always viewed it pretty simply - she was 17, she already had a kid and likely no education, life is hard. Maybe it was because I have always known I was adopted and there was never any attempt to hide anything from me. Maybe it's because even though my life was difficult, mostly through my own choices, it was comfortable. I have never been hungry, I have never wanted for anything I have ever needed, and very few things I truly wanted. I went through a restless phase about 15 years ago, that lasted probably longer than it should have, where I felt like I was searching for something, but never during that period did I attempt to search for my birth family. John doesn't understand that while the act of searching is something I want to see through, and I want to hold that information in my hand, I have never given any thought to actually MEETING my family. I don't know if that's because of my inherent social awkwardness, or if it's because I'm trying to protect them from any pain or discomfort, or if it's because, while the idea of having another family is something I've always dreamed of, it's not something I need. Yes, my family is a train wreck in it's own right, but I wouldn't change them - they are who they are, and I have accepted them, flaw for flaw, as they have accepted me.

After my son died, a few things became very clear to me. First of all, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Never live your life so that it's full of regrets for all the things you never "had time" to do. You have the same amount of time as everyone else in this world - it's how you choose to make use of it that counts. And so, for myself, I never want to say on my deathbed, "Oh, I wish I could have just met them once, just o see what they're like." Second, there are a lot of truly terrifying health issues in this world. My son died of a type of leukemia that is not genetic, that is truly an accident, but there are other types of cancers and other diseases that are hereditary. My husband comes from a family with lots of heart disease and diabetes (and, accordingly, lots of obesity as well). At 36, he became the youngest member of the family thus far to be diagnosed with Type II Diabetes and chronic high blood pressure. Even though I know I am adopted and that I share no genetic ties to my family, their medical history is remarkably similar to my husband's, and I worry about setting my kids up for early deaths. And so, I would like a complete medical history, or even just a general picture of what I can expect. And third, I learned from my son that family is everything. My definition of family is a little looser than most - blood ties mean very little to me. My mom and dad may have their issues, and I could discount them because there's no blood link between us, but they are my parents. They chose me, and now, I choose them. As an only child, I have no siblings, so I have made my own. I had a Big Sister when I was a little girl, that I still keep in contact with today. My kids call her aunt. Likewise, I have known my best friend since we shared a table in kindergarten. Her house was home to me sometimes more than my own was. Her mom is my "second mom." Her grandparents loved me and took care of me like my own would have had they lived here. She is my sister, in all aspects but blood. And so, I figure, if I already have two moms, why not a third? And you can never have enough sisters.

The point of all this is that I started searching again. So far, I've only researched some things myself, and signed up for a few adoption registry's. One in particular has been incredibly helpful and supportive, G's Adoption Registry. I also just found another group through Google Groups that I have been using. In the past couple of weeks, I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which I haven't seen since I was dealing with my son's illness and death. One day I'm ecstatic all day long, thinking I've found a clue, or maybe even found the right person - all the names add up, the locations kind of do, everythings great, and then.... The next morning, you find out that nope, it's not right after all. So you come crashing back down again, and start over at square one. And then you find another clue, or another name, or another phone number. And then no one will return your calls, so you're not sure if you've found SOMETHING, or if they just think you're crazy and are ignoring you. I tell you, it's crazy making.

I actually had started this post over a week ago, wanting to tell you all how I had found E and was meeting with her and she was going to answer all the questions I had about my adoption. Guess what? That didn't exactly work out. I talked to her once, made tentative plans to go to dinner, and never heard from her again, even after leavn several messages. So I have continued my search without her, and so far, no luck. So I'm just gonna stop here, and say, Mom, wherever you are, please contact me.

I think this pretty much says it all.

2008-03-31T16:51:00.001-08:00

Kimberly says it best I think, so here you go. This is pretty much me this week.

http://parentingwithoutalicense.com/2008/03/31/if-this-keeps-up-i-may-have-to-take-up-scrapbooking/

And the stupidest thing YOU'VE ever done?

2008-03-24T09:59:00.002-08:00

I grew up mostly in Alaska and Colorado. Winter sports capitals, right? Maybe when I was younger. My dad was a big outdoorsy type, lots of fishing, hunting, camping, ice skating, skiing, ice fishing, sledding, etc. My mom? Not so much. So when they divorced, when I was 6, my outdoors education came to an abrupt end. While I may have started out as a tomboy, I very quickly became as citified as I could get. John, however, grew up in rural Oklahoma. His mom's family surrounded him, and his dad's family was up the in the wilds of Minnesota, so he got a thorough education in all things outdoors. One of our goals when we moved here was to spend more outdoors time with our kids, and to get us some "toys" to help with that goal. And so, about 2 weeks ago, we bought snowmachines.

Now, some people may disagree with the way we went about this, but we thought it was best. We went out and bought the oldest, ugliest machines we could find that were still in running condition. We had many reasons for this, mostly centered around the fact that neither one of us was an experienced rider, and if we were going to break something, we much preferred it to be an old crappy machine we didn't really care about, as opposed to a nice new machine that cost more than my car. John had spent quite a bit of time on snowmachines when vacationing in Minnesota in his youth, but not much since then. The last time he rode was over 10 years ago. Me on the other hand, well, I've never even seen one up close. A word of advice to all of you: A few months shy of your thirtieth birthday is not really a good age to take up this particular hobby. Let me set the scene for you:

We had been trying, ever since we bought them, to find somewhere with enough snow left to take them out and test them. Yesterday, we discovered a nice spot about 2 hours away from the house. We saw the tracks running along the highway, and came upon a turnout with several empty trailers, so figured what the heck, looks good. We pull in, and a few other people come in behind us. Everyone is unloading these gorgeous, snazzy new machines - and looking at us like we are the worlds biggest idiots. (Turns out they were right, but we didn't know that at the time.) We finally heave our old dilapidated machines off the trailer, and commence the starting up process. They are a PAIN to start, like an old lawnmower that doesn't feel like working anymore. Anyway, finally got them started. Now, I wanted to go to the right, where I had been watching all the other people go, and where I had seen the trail from the highway. John, however, decided we needed to go to the left, where there was only one lonely track that had been snowed over a couple of times and could barely be seen. His logic? Less people and less chance of us hitting anyone. My thinking? Let's go where everyone else has been so we know there's no water underneath us. Needless to say, he won. So, over the embankment we went. At the bottom, we came to a rather sudden stop. It seems that all the warm weather we have been having has softened the snow crust, and therefore putting a heavy object on it makes you sink. So off we get to dig them out. Snow up to my waist, I'm tugging and pushing on this poor machine for all I'm worth. Turns out that the older machines do have one serious drawback - they have much shorter bodies, less height, and less lug depth. Which basically means, if you aren't on a well-packed trail, you aren't moving. A rather grueling hour later, we get them both unstuck, turned around, and back up the embankment. At this point, John says maybe I was right, and off we go on the path to the right.

I am actually beginning to enjoy myself at this point, all the way up until I hit my first big series of bumps. My right foot slides right off the running board, and gets stuck in the snow. As I can feel myself being pulled off the machine, I get a death grip on the handlebars to pull myself back up. Bad idea. See, when I grabbed the handlebars, my hand covered the throttle. So, not only was I still moving, I was moving FASTER. So here I am, holding on the to handlebars, sliding all over the seat on my belly, legs flying straight out behind me, can't see anything but the gas tank right in front of my face. I finally muscle myself back upright on the seat, whimper a little about my pulled groin muscle and twisted knee, and keep going. We get to the end of the trail and have to turn around. I go up the embankment and back down, and while the snowmachine makes it through the turn, I don't. Off the side I go, rolling about 10 feet before I finally come to a stop, face first in 4 feet of snow. After I dig myself back out, we resume the ride. Over all, we went through the trail several times, and those were my only major accidents, so I guess I did OK.

This morning, however, was a whole different story. I hurt, like I haven't hurt in years. I found muscles that haven't been used in decades. My right side is one giant owie. My arms are so sore I could barely get dressed this morning. My back is resolving into one big ache. Surprisingly, my legs are OK, my knee only hurting when I'm on the stairs, so I didn't do as much damage to it as I thought I had at the time.

So tell me, what idiotic stunts have you pulled, thinking you were still in the prime of youth?

Science Fair

2008-03-20T15:23:00.003-08:00

I have come to the conclusion that the school science fair project is a new torture device, intended to punish parents for sending their kids to school all year long to annoy the teachers.

When I was in school, the science fair was never mandatory. I participated one year, in middle school, for the extra credit points for my flagging science grade. It was a pathetic attempt, with virtually no display, and a poorly thought out project done in a rush the night before the fair. I had no help at all (my mother was not the help-with-homework type), and while it was obvious some kids did, it wasn't the norm. My project was on growing crystals. There were several projects on growing plants with different fertilizers/liquids/sounds/etc., projects on building bridges out of wood, projects on the amount of insulation required to drop an egg and not break it, projects on changing the colors of carnations with colored water, and other similar, simple experiments. Elementary school has changed a lot in 20 years.

First of all, for grades 3, 4, and 5, science fair participation is mandatory. It's encouraged for K-2. Second, and most alarmingly, the packet my daughter brought home explaining the rules and restrictions had the line "While genetic experiments are allowed, experimenting on live humans is against the rules." How many 4th graders do you know that are out splicing genes? I mentioned this to a co-worker, who informed me there were quite a few. The elementary school her children went to, an "ABC" school held to a much higher academic standard than your typical public school, had demonstrations at this level, starting in 2nd grade science class. WTF? I think we have officially reached the point where we are forcing entirely too much pressure on our kids. Maybe it's just me, but it scares the hell out of me knowing there are 7 year olds who know more about genetic engineering than most adults.

Anyway, her school wasn't quite so bad. Most of the experiments there were at the levels I remember from middle school. A lot of the projects were hand-written, which I thought was interesting. I honestly figured they would all be typed. Princess's project turned out really well, I think, but we shall see what the judges have to say Friday afternoon. (That would be my other big complaint - it takes 3 whole days to grade them? Is there just one person doing it, or are all the teachers participating? I'm not a teacher though, so I have no idea what all is involved in the grading, and I am probably the most impatient person I know, so teachers, please don't hate me for that comment!) I''ll update as soon as I have her grade. And, if I can ever figure out how to put in links and pictures, I'll show you what she did.

Ahhh, spring... Kinda.

2008-03-19T09:41:00.003-08:00

A lot of people that happen to meet randomly on the internet, as well as in person when I been traveling all over the country, have told me "You're so lucky you live in Alaska." Most of the year, I whole-heartedly agree with this sentiment. Except in April. April is what we in Alaska refer to as "break-up season." That's when all the snow melts, and combines with all the gravel that was spread all winter long, to make giant slushy mud holes out of every intersection and turns every yard into a swamp as the ground unfreezes and tries to adsorb all the extra water. When the snow melts, it also reveals all the trash and animal feces that was covered up by all that gorgeous whiteness all winter long. It's an ugly, messy, disgusting month. And then, in May, summer begins in earnest. Volunteer clean-up crews scour the cities, picking up every spare scrap of litter. All the water eventually soaks in, along with the gravel, and the flowers start blooming like crazy. It's beautiful, but you have to make through April to get there.

So, I was fully prepared to enjoy the slightly warmer but sill snowy climate of March, when all that global-warming-crazy-weather-patterns bullshit struck. The last week of February and first week of March, we had temperatures in the mid-50's. That's virtually unheard of here until April. Several days in a row of gorgeous, sunshiney weather. The ice in my driveway melted enough I could attack it with a big stick, breaking out chucks of 6 inch thick accumulation. Half of my backyard snow melted, revealing last years accidentally uncut grass. Of course, the bad thing about the snow melting at the top of the hill in the back yard, is that it all ran down into a giant puddle at the bottom of the hill, trapped their by our fence. So my swingset was mostly underwater, but I bought a pump and a new garden hose and prepared to pump the water out into the front, where it could flow merrily on it's way down the city sewer system. Then, I woke up the next morning, and everything was frozen. It's back down into the teens, it's spitting snow, just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to play in. The lake in my backyard is now solid enough to ice skate on again, but after acclimatizing to the warmer temperatures, now no one wants to go outside and freeze again, so everyone is sitting in the house, moping. The streets are completely snow free, but the melt hasn't reached the sidewalks yet, so there's no where to ride bikes, and only dirty, icky snow left in the yard. In short, we all have a serious case of cabin fever.

In an attempt to relieve some of the cabin fever, we took everyone on a drive down to Kenai the other day. I found some cheap snowmachines on Craigslist, and thought what the hell? It will give us something to do next winter. So we all piled in the car and away we went. Keep in mind, this is a 4 hour trip, with 2 small boys, a grumpy husband, and a bitchy mother in law. Princess wisely chose to stay home and take advantage of the time alone to complete her science fair project without the assistance of her brothers. The trip down is relatively uneventful, although long and pretty boring. We found the place with no problems, picked up our new toys and headed home. Silly me, I had thought we could take the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing, maybe scope out some good fishing spots, and look for wildlife, since I had not been in that area since I was 10 at summer camp, and nether of the other adults had ever been there. But Mr. Grumpy, as the driver, chose to just turn around and go straight back home, no stops, no nothing. Now, I can't say that he was right or wrong, but I can say the return trip was hell. About an hour into the drive home, the blowing snow started. Darkness had fallen, and visibility was down to next to nothing. The best part? There's nowhere to stop on these roads. No gas stations, no hotels, very few houses, in most places no cell phone service, and just a two-lane, extremely bumpy road stretching out in front of you. The snow started to accumulate, making the roads, already a hazard due to frost heaves, even more treacherous. Twice, we slid all over the place, even in four wheel drive. The first time wasn't to bad, we were going up hill, with a pretty good sized ditch on either side, but nothing a tow truck couldn't cure if worse came to worse. The second time however, we were going around a curve, no guardrail, and only a big partially frozen marsh on either side. Some areas of that marsh are over 20 feet deep. We approached the curve, everything was fine, and then all of a sudden, we aren't turning, even thought the wheel is pointed in the right direction. Thank goodness for the extra weight of the trailer behind us, it really is the only thing that saved us from going over the side. A very tense three hours later, the snow suddenly stops, like it was never there. We have reached the south end of Anchorage, and the rest of the trip home was completely uneventful. So now, no matter crazy we are all going in the house together, I ain't leaving my house again until May.

Ooops.

2008-03-17T10:30:00.003-08:00

Wasn't I just here a month ago, apologizing for my lack of blogginess? Ai yi yi, what a month it has been. Mostly, a lot of sick. I mean a LOT. As in, all my boys have pneumonia. Even my big boy, John. And it may be very stereotypical of me to say this, but my god, men are the biggest babies when they are sick. Other than a really annoying cough that wouldn't go away, I didn't even know the boys were sick at all, but John on the other hand, well... Between the whining and the PMS-like symptoms, it was pretty obvious something wasn't right. I think the thing that pissed me off the most, though, was the trip to the doctor.

John is currently laid off, meaning he is staying at home with the kids, while I work M-F, 8-5. I had been telling him for about 2 weeks that I thought the boys needed to been seen, the cough was really bad and getting worse. He argued that as long as they had no fever and were just as active as ever, they were fine. As he got whinier and whinier, and refused to do pretty much ANYTHING, because he didn't feel good, I finally just asked him why he wasn't going to the doctor too. His response, "I will, as soon as I find a babysitter for the kids." WTF? They are sick too, and their doctor and his are in the same building. He's sick with the exact same symptoms as them, and he'll take himself to the doctor, but not them? Needless to say, I was a little perturbed. After listening to my boss carry on for a week about the RSV epidemic that's hitting our area, especially those that use the Native Hospital (like us), I finally took a day off work and took them in. And what do I find out? No, not RSV - pneumonia. Two weeks, and two antibiotics later, Chunky is much better. Peanut, however, is about the same. I've taken him in twice, and they all say his lungs are clear, but every night he starts coughing again. He has huge circles under his eyes, and looks absolutely miserable. He's stopped eating for the most part, especially at night. So I'll be taking him in again later this week.

In other news, my mother in law, Dev, has moved back in with us. Last year, she came to visit in July, and stayed on as our nanny through October, when John got laid off. Now she's back, and will be staying until October again. God help us all. I love her, I really do. I even worked with her for 3 years at the same company, sometimes even as her boss. But living with her is a whole different animal. For starters, she smokes. I don't. My husband used to, but since we moved 2 years ago, he doesn't either (thank god). My son is allergic (we think, most of his breathing troubles/rashes cleared up almost instantly after John quit and we moved). She doesn't smoke in my house, but the smell clings to her all the time. And she smokes in my truck - she seems to think cracking the window a half inch is good enough. John thinks I'm crazy about this one, but it drives me insane - I fold up the kids clothes and put them away. I match up all the outfits that came together, shirt on top, pants on the bottom, on one half of the shelf. On the other side, I put all the pants in one pile and all the shirts in another that don't have "matches" but can be worn with anything. She picks out their clothes for the day by going in there and digging though all the piles until she finds something she thinks will work. Yesterday, my son wore the pants to his dinosaur outfit (complete with little dinosaurs embroidered down the sides) with his big red Elmo sweatshirt. GRRRRRRR. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it's a tiny thing. But it's not like she doesn't know that's how I put them away. I have even laid out their clothes myself, and she will completely ignore them. I don't get it. Part of the reason I do it that way is because it makes it easier. Just go pull the matching outfit off the top of the pile, and go. What is her freaking problem?

I have a feeling this blog is quickly going to descend into "my mother in law is crazy and let me tell you why" territory, so I will attempt to keep myself in check on this particular subject. But be forewarned, it may get worse before it gets better.

Isn't it Ironic?

2008-02-07T09:45:00.003-09:00

I started this blog as an effort to relieve my stress. An online diary, someone I can talk to the minute I start to feel overwhelmed, without judgement or differing opinion. Ok, so maybe my readers ( Hi guys!) will judge, and will have differing opinions, but really, this is all about me, so I can ignore you if I want to. Hmm, that sounded a little callous. But, jeez, it's not like I'm sleeping with you people, I don't have to be nice if I don't want to. So there. Anyhoo, the irony part is this... the second anything happens that causes me stress, the first things I do are panic, cry, analyze every single minute aspect of the issue with John, including every possible hypothetical what if scenario, and sleep a lot. In other words, I run screaming in the opposite direction from my poor neglected blog.

So what am I stressed about this week? Well, work for one. It's been a very busy week, which has been very nice, but it leaves me with brain-numbing exhaustion, making me not want to do anything that requires even the slightest hint of effort. Secondly, we got a gym membership this week. I am already feelign the pressure. Partly, it's an attempt at weight loss, which is good, but adds stress because all I can think about is failing. Partly, it's an attempt to aleiviate some of the depression. Everyone says exercise is good for that, so I thought I would give it a try. But so far, all it's done is trigger the social anxiety. I feel like everyone is watching me, and I'm fat, ugly, and stupid because I don't know how to use the machines. I know that it would have been easier to just get equipment for home use, but I know myself, and I know I'd never use it. This way, I'm forced to. John's emplyer reimburses us for the cost of our membership, but only if we go at least three times a week. Otherwise, I'm eating the $100 a month. So, no presure, right?

And for the grand finale of stressers, I got an interesting phone call yesterday morning. First of all, our phone rarely rings, and NEVER in the morning. And who should it be? Why, my ex husband's wife, of course. Wait a minute, what? I haven't talked to either one of these people in over 4 years, and I can't honestly remember a conversation I've EVER had with her. And, last I'd heard, they had separated and were filing for divorce a couple months before my last conversation with Jerk Boy. Well, it appears that she was calling for several reasons. First and foremost she was calling to warn me that Jerk Boy may be fixing to intrude in my life yet again. It seems she was filing for an annulment for him, because their separation was never legalized. Basically, he just moved out and they never talked again. In the course of trying to serve him, he told her he wouldn't give her anything, including his new address, until she sent him all the old files from OUR divorce and custody battle. What in the world that has to do with his and her relationship I have yet to figure out. So, she figured that he wanted all that stuff to start the battle all over again with me. Also, she was calling to apologize to me for not believing me and heling him drag us all through a year of hell over our daughter. To which I frankly replied, "Well, you're not the first. You're the third one of his girlfriends that has called me after you all broke up and said the exact same thing." And that's the truth. It's funny, he's very good at weaving a spell of bullshit, but he makes it smell like a rose. But once you get the slightest whiff of pooh pooh, you suddenly realize that you're living in a house made of cow patties.

Nonetheless, John and I both think that Jerk Boy's hesitation comes from another factor, and we are hoping it has very little to do with us, but who knows, really? People are unpredictable. And really, if I had thought him capable of even half of what he put me through last time, I would have at the very least went with the good lawyer to begin with. But, one of the benefits of having the good lawyer, even it he was late to join the party, is that he put us in a fantastic position if we ever need to fight again, so here's hoping any new battles aren't nearly as brutal as before. Wish me luck....

Please excuse my absense

2008-02-05T09:02:00.000-09:00

I have been incredibly busy at work the last week, and I was so freakin exhausted this weekend, I barely moved off the couch. I'll go ahead and throw a little something at you I started last week, and I'll finish it in a couple days. Bear with me, it's gonna be another busy week.

Weddings......

Can I make a confession to you all? I read romance novels. Yes, I know, they are the literary equivalent of SPAM, but you know what? I don't care. I love them. Especially the Regencies, circa early 1800's. I don't know if it's just because, as an adoptee, I have never really felt like I belonged anywhere, and so it was easy for me to imagine myself somewhere (and someone) else, but maybe because I have never had the restraint of saying "Yes, those are my real actual parents and there's nothing even remotely fantastic about them," I've been able to easily imagine myself as a long lost princess, or duchess, or whatever. Even knowing some of the story behind my adoption, it just gives me more ammunition for my little fantasies. For a long time though, I stopped reading them, because I stopped believing in love, and romance. And all I read for years were sci-fi and fantasy novels. Still full of imagination, but not so sappy and predictable. And then about 6 months ago, my local bookstore was out of anything I had any remote interest in, so I picked up another romance novel. And instantly spiraled right back to high school. I now have a slight obsession (OK, fine, a big obsession) with them again, in particular those by Christina Dodd, Julia Quinn, and Anne Gracie. We're talking staying up until 3:00 because I can't put it down, reading 2 books a day or more, hiding them under my desk at work and reading at the dinner table obsession. What does all that have to do with weddings? I'm getting there, bear with me. I recently (OK, about 5 minutes ago) discovered the website of Christina Dodd, and as I was going through her old blog entries, she had one discussing weddings, and what funny, highly entertaining things have been known to happen at those events. And it invited her readers to respond with their comments, and all I could think of was that I have never been to a wedding.
I guess that's technically not accurate. I have never been to a wedding as an adult. I was a flower girl in several weddings before the age of 5, and I attended my cousin's wedding when I was 7 (which, by the way, was the biggest, most beautiful event I had ever seen at such a tender young age, and set the bar for the wedding I wanted to have when I grew up). Oh yeah, and I was the maid of honor at my mother's third wedding, when I was 14. A marriage, by the way, that lasted less than 6 months, and I had actually forgotten about until just now. Other than that, the only weddings I have ever attended have been my own. And those were such spectacularly horrifying events, I really try not to think about them very often. And being the little drama queen I am, here are the stories, in all their gory detail, for your enjoyment:
Wedding number 1 -
When I was 16, I had a "falling out" with my parents. I was living with my dad at the time, and when he told my mom what I had done, she insisted on putting me on the next plane back to her. I disagreed, but there was nothing I could do about it. So to Colorado I went, with my little 16 yr old heart full of hatred for the world, but most especially for my mother. A few months after my move, I met a guy through an online bulletin board system (this was back before the "internet" was really popular, I am older than dirt, people). My mother hated him, with an irrationality that was actually kind of distrubing. She refused to be introduced to him the first time he came over to meet me in person. She refused to speak to his face when he picked me up for our second date (she just screamed at the back of his head as we were getting in the car "You better have her back in time or I'm calling the cops!"), and I think it was after two months of dating that she finally would look him in the face, but even then, she wouldn't talk to him if she didn't have to. So why did I date him? Well, obviously, because she didn't like him. Isn't that why any girl dates an inappropraite boy? So we dated for several months, before I finally had enough of his crap and dumped him. Mom and I started getting along again, and all was well. Then she went on vacation by herself. And by chance, somehow the word got to him that I was alone at the house, so he showed up, got me in world's of trouble and I ran away with him because I didn't know what else to do. Long story short, we were broke, stupid, and stuck 2000 miles from home with no food, no shelter, and no way home. So we called home, admitted what idiots we were and begged for permission to come home. And my mom refused. She told me that I had my choice, I could either move back in with my dad, or marry Loser, but no way could I move back in with her. So, expecting sympathy and tears, I got rejection. And I made the worst decision of my life - I said "Fine, I'll marry Loser. So there." So we got the money to come home from his aunt, and three days later, my mom picked me up, took me to the courthouse, otained a special license, and marched us both down the street to the little wedding chapel and told them I was there to get married. I was wearing jeans and a Western dress shirt, which, while nice, was not exactly equal to the Cinderella style wedding dress I had planned. And the chapel? Ummm, let's just say, not quite equal to the big beautiful church. As we trudged apst the rather startled patrons of the video store to the back room, I heard several people wonder what on earth was happening. Then the video store owner announced to the store she would be back in 10 minutes to check people out, but she had a weddin' to perform first, and anyone who wanted to watch could. So surrounded by my mom, his parents and his cousin, and all the strangers who wandered in wanted to rent a movie, I exchanged vows with the boy I really didn't even like, all to get back at my mother. And as I watched the minister/video store owner read the sermon, little white flecks of spittle flying out of her mouth and onto my hand, all I could think was "Wow, this is one crazy dream. I never have nightmares, what's that all about?" And then, she said "You may kiss the bride," and I kept thinking, "ewww, lady don't touch me," and Loser grabbed me and kissed my check in this pathetic little peck (he said later he couldn't kiss me on the mouth in front of his parents), and out the door we went. We walked about three casinos down to the Midnight Rose, went downstairs, and for our wedding feat, we ate lunch at Wendy's, and then everyone left. The end.

Insurance? Who needs insurance?

2008-01-24T14:26:00.000-09:00

I certainly don't. I would so much rather plunk down anywhere from $200-$350 to go to a doctor, have me tell them what's wrong with me, and have them hand me a piece of paper that I then give to someone else, and hand over another $100 or so for the privilege of getting my happy pills, that may or may not work but I'll have to give it a go for at least 3 weeks before I can go back and pay ANOTHER $200 and do it all over again. Oh yes, the joy that inspires in me. And I am so frustrated about all the different medication options. All I want is a simple, easy to understand web site that shows all of my choices, and all of their side effects, in a nice, easily comparable form. Is that so fucking difficult? Yes I know I should be letting my doctor decide which medicine is best based on my history and symptoms and blah blah. And maybe it's too much to ask that the medicine with the particular side effects I want to avoid would also coincide with the particular symptoms I have, but geez, I just really don't want to be stuck taking a medicine that causes more problems than it fixes. Most of the meds I have looked at list sleepiness/drowsiness and weight gain as the side effects. Well, I hate to say it, but if it's going to make me fatter and lazier than I already am, I'm better off just saving my money and sleeping without pharmaceutical aid. Yes, I'm irritable (OK, or in the words of my darling husband, "a raving fucking lunatic"), and I don't want to do anything, but frankly, having to spend that much money to feel as crappy as I already do is going to make me just as cranky, and if I'm broke, if won't matter if I want to do anything - I won't be able to afford it. Grrrr.

And to top it all off, John wants another baby. I do too, I just really wonder if this is the right time for it. Then again, this whole depression thing is something I've been dealing with for years, and it didn't really get any worse with the pregnancy and birth of my youngest, when I was the deepest in the pit of despair, so maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. And it would solve my insurance problem. The minute the line turns blue, I get free health care from the native hospital. Gotta love being married to an Indian. But if I go that route, then I really have depression issues, because I really really abhor the idea of taking a daily medication, of any kind, while pregnant. Maybe it's a completely irrational fear, but I was taking various types of medication (pain pills at one point, and allergy pills at another) during the year that I suffered through 3 miscarriages all in a row. That, and no one really knows what causes leukemia, and I just don't think I could live through having to bury another child, especially if it could in any way be linked back to a drug that I took while I as pregnant because I wanted to be a little less grumpy.

Why is it that there is never such a thing as an easy decision in life?

Post-Holiday Blahhhhh, and More Evidence of my Insanity

2008-01-21T09:40:00.001-09:00

Is it just me, or has the blogging world seemed a little, I don't know, quieter lately? I don't know about the rest of the world, but I wonder if it's because of the typical after-holiday let down. Even without the alleged depression thing, I always feel like crap in January, after psyching myself up for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I almost always get sick this time of year, and I have no desire to do ANYTHING. I don't think I'm the only one, though, am I?

Or maybe it's just a girl thing, because John is the exact opposite of me. He has apparently decided that now that the holidays are over, he can start working on all of those house-cleaning and organizing projects he's been wanting to get done since we moved in August. Which essentially translates into ME doing all those house cleaning and organizing projects he wants done. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and he's a great guy. He was raised in the very rural South, in the heart of the bible belt, and while he is very enlightened for his breed, he just doesn't have an organizational bone in his body. You should see him pack. Seriously, it gives me nightmares. I guess I am kind of a strange person, in that I don't care how much of a mess my house is (most of the time), but all hidden areas must be organized to the point of obsession. Toys, laundry, blankets all over the floor, couch and any other available surface? Sure, no problem. Dishes out of place inside the cabinets? I can't sleep until it's fixed. And so, when he says things like, "Let's go clean the garage," I know I'm in for a long weekend. His idea of "clean the garage" is clear a walking space by taking everything and shoving it in the first available box and sticking it in the crawl space. My idea of clean the garage is to bring all of the Christmas stuff back in the house, sort it out by type and pack neatly into the appropriate box (he took it all down, not me, or it would have been done right the first time). Then go under the house and move all the stuff around down there until I have a space large enough to fit the two new boxes we added this year, and bring up some of the other stuff needed for other cleaning projects he wants done. Then pick up all the hats, gloves, boots, and other winter ear, sort by size, style, and child, and find a nice, neat storage solution, appropriately labeled, for each item. Then, sort all of the food on the pantry shelves by type. Then, break down and throw away all the boxes left over from the large Christmas presents. Then sort all of the stuff I had been planning to either sell of Craigslist or give away on Freecycle and set them aside in neat, sorted piles, take new pictures, and repost. Then, clean out and reorganize the freezers. Then, go through the paints and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous fluids stored in the garage and check for expiration dates and empty cans, then resort by type and size and put back. All of this while my kids are in the house, throwing toys at each other across the living room, ripping any paper they find to shreds, and chasing the cats through the house. I swear, it's a disease. I can't help it though, if it's a space no one is going to look in but me, it HAS to be organized. All the clothes hanging in the closet are arranged by type and color. My sock drawer has dividers so I can arrange by type. I have separate containers for the pens and the pencils on my desk, because pens CANNOT be in the same cup as pencils, they might crossbreed and then I would have some mutant pen/pencil hybrid, and the world would come to an end. So my weekend, yeah, it sucked. Because I have this post-holiday blah thing, and I didn't want to clean the garage. So I did some of it. And then I couldn't sleep all night, because I could hear the pantry shelves calling to me, begging me to come put them back in order. And I could hear the Christmas angel, under the house, crying, because I just shoved her in a box mixed with Christmas lights and placemats. And this is why I found myself up at 3:30 this morning, sneaking out into the garage to sooth all my precious shelves with a plan of attack and a promise to finish it all tonight when I get home. As long as John stays far, far away from me.

So very tired....

2008-01-18T13:25:00.000-09:00

Well if today and yesterday's jumping up and down jubilation is anything to judge by, my depression is a thing of the past. Who knew comments and links would cause such extreme joy? Thank you Kim, Jeni T and Christie so much for making this week so excellent!

On a more serious note, I did call around to different doctors to see about getting some medication advice. Unfortunately, because I am between insurances at the moment, I am looking at a $300 office visit, plus the cost of whatever prescription I get, so I am holding off a little bit longer. Insurance should be up and running again by March, but depending on how I feel over the next couple of weeks, I may just bite the bullet and pay for it sooner. It truly sucks being the only person in the house without reliable insurance. My husband and children are covered all the time, because they are part Native American, but I have to rely on my husband's insurance plan, and since he only works half the year, I'm just not allowed to get sick or hurt during the winter. Oh well.

And on to the bone-crushing exhaustion - Chunky decided that when we told him to go to bed last night, that was just a suggestion, not an order, and he had other plans. We put him to bed at 8:30, he and Peanut were still up giggling and playing with the lights until after 10:00. They finally fell asleep, John went to bed at 11:30, and I laid on the couch reading a book until 1:00. I had just gotten to the point where I was so sleepy I kept dropping the book, when all hell broke loose up in the boys' room. Chunky started screaming at the top of his lungs like he was dying, so I race up the stairs and get him out of bed. He has a very soggy and very stinky diaper, and a raw, sore tushie. So I fix him up and his cuddles with me on the couch, but apparently, he couldn't get comfy enough to sleep because he kept flipping around, kicking me in the face, the stomach, and any other part of me he could find. After fishing his foot out of my nostril for the fourth time, I finally gave up and made him go back to bed. All is good until 3:00am, when the screaming begins anew. No bad diaper this time, just a very upset baby. After calming him down, he decided this time, heck with that sleeping business, it's time to play! So despite all my best efforts, the little demon was awake until 5:00. Finally get him back to bed, and guess what? 6:00am it starts all over. At 7:30, I call into work to be late because I need a nap, forgetting that our bookkeeper has a meeting this morning that will prevent her from being able to fill in for me too. Oops. Luckily, it was a really dull morning. At 10:00, I wake up to a very wet baby patting my face with his very wet hands, and a very annoyed 3 year old informing me "Chunky bwoke TB, Mommy, fitsit PWEEEEEEASE." Apparently, Chunky woke up feeling just fine, and decided to go fishing in the toilet, his new favorite pastime (you through in a truck and fish it back out, sounds fun, doesn't it?), after pushing every button on the remote he could get his fat little fingers on at the same time. And where was John during all this you ask? Well, I THOUGHT he was outside working on the truck, and although I wanted to kill him for leaving the boys essentially unattended, I thought at least he's in the driveway, and probably going back and forth from in to out hunting tools and other miscellaneous stuff. So I get ready for work, and walk out the door to inform him I'm leaving, and I notice something funny about my driveway. What could it be? Oh yeah, there's a car missing! So I try calling him. 4 times. No answer. An hour later, he strolls in, saying he had gone to the library and the parts store, trying to find a repair manual for the truck, and that he had told the boys where he was going and to go wake up Mommy before he left. Umm, excuse me? They are 18 months and 3 years old. Somehow, I don't think they've quite got that whole relaying messages thing down pat yet, but thanks for trying! Idiot. So now, I am sitting at work, trying to look busy while avoiding any possibility of real actual work, and all i really want to do is crawl under my desk and take a nap. Oh yeah, and my head hurts. But hey - the good news is Chunky learned a new skill this morning - he can now fish for TWO trucks at the same time. Go baby!

Ummm, wow...

2008-01-16T09:10:00.000-09:00

I got my first ever, shiny, pretty link in someone else's blog. Holy cow, can we say excited? Yay me! Umm, but wait, I haven't written anything in weeks... and ummm, all my whining over here is kinda, I don't know, whiny. Umm, must post quickly and pore over previous entries to make sure nothing too horrible has been said...

So anywho, how was Christmas and all those over lovely holiday type events for you? Mine was surprisingly, not too bad. A little disappointing, considering my dad decided to take advantage of the 4 day weekend by getting so completely drunk he didn't even sleep for 3 days, forgetting my daughter's birthday completely, and falling on the ice numerous times, but not really feeling anything until he sobered up, briefly, Christmas morning (by briefly, I mean he woke up in horrible pain, and by 10am was trashed again), so he didn't show up for Christmas either. And all of our friends that come over last year for Christmas had their own plans this year, so we didn't have any visitors. In a way though, it was nice, not having to get dressed and look nice for anyone, not having to worry about wrapping paper strewn all over, not having to make a meal because we said we would by any particular time, just whenever we got hungry. The boys loved their beds, Princess loved her litter box, and all was right with the world. I was incredibly spoiled this year by John - he is really good at the Christmas thing, I however, suck at it mightily. At least I'm consistent I suppose.

New Year's was kinda crappy. We don't normally do anything anyway, but John was in a lot of pain and was incredibly cranky, so he was in bed by 9, and I stayed up and read until 3. That was pretty much the extent of the day. Exciting, no?

For the past few weeks, everyone around me has been in pain or sick, so that's been fun. John fell down the stairs and dislocated his ankle. My dad ended up in the ER New Year's Eve on a morphine drip because of his back pain. I got some funky headache/laryngitis thing that made me miss 3 days of work, and I NEVER take time off for being sick. So that was fun.

And now, nothing much new happening, the kids are back in school, everyone's pretty much healthy and mostly pain free, and Murphy continues to slap me in the face every chance I get. My car broke down in Anchorage yesterday, not once, but twice. The first time, I was halfway in a parking lot, halfway in a small side street, and sat there for 3 hours before anyone could come rescue me and get my car running again. The second time, I was at a light in the middle of town, just barely outside of rush hour traffic, and it took another 20 minutes to get moving again. I had been on my way to make a delivery for work, and by the time the car was running again, the business I was delivering to had closed, so I figured I would do it today. Turns out, it had to be there yesterday to make it on an emergency flight to the Bush last night. So now I'm in trouble for not getting it there. And the best news? I didn't have to deliver it at all. The company had sent a courier to us to drop off some stuff and pick that up, but they didn't do it until after I had left to go deliver. And someone was supposed to have called me to see what the delivery status was. If they had, I would have been able to have the courier come to my broken down car and pick it up. But no one called, so here I am today wondering how deep of trouble I'm going to be in. Sigh.

In case you were wondering, the reason I am linked in someone else's blog today is because of a post about depression. I have been struggling for the last two years, mostly since my son died, to deal with this overwhelming case of blah that just never really seems to go away. Don't get me wrong, I have good days. But most days, I'm just exhausted all the time, and I really don't care about much of anything. And I'm angry, so freaking angry all the time. And for the longest time, I have thought, well, maybe it's just the grieving process, and then I had a baby, and I thought, well, I've never had PPD before, but maybe I do this time, and then I thought, maybe I'm just sick or something. But I think I need to face that this just isn't going to go away. And to be completely honest, this isn't the first time. Granted, it's worse now than ever before, but when I was younger, I had a lot of issues like this, times when I could barely get out of bed every day, times when I was so angry at everyone and everything that I did really incredibly stupid stuff, just to feel SOMETHING. But I always pictured depression as something different. Literally being unable to get out of bed, crying all the time, not being able to eat, or even hold a conversation. I'm not like that. I get out of bed, just really reluctantly. I rarely cry, and never for no reason at all. I function, I just feel nothing most of the time. So when I read Kim' description of depression, especially her "death by a thousand paper cuts," I thought, well, hmm, maybe there is something to this depression thingy after all. So now I am researching medication. And I'm just waiting for the day I have insurance again so I can go to the doctor. Which should be in about 2 more months, so we'll see what happens between now and then. I think I'm going to try to find an alternative before then though, I just feel like, if this is what's really wrong with me, I want to fix it now, I don't want to wait. So I'll update as soon as I'm able.

And now, back to work I go.

Awesome movie

2007-12-21T15:00:00.000-09:00

John came home the other night with a movie that he said he got just for me, because it looked "girly-ish," and therefore, I would watch it and love it so there. It was a movie I had never even heard of, but apparently just came out of video this week. And let me tell you, it was excellent. I even paid laid fees on it so I could keep it an extra days and watch it again. And now I must go buy it. How is it that I never heard of this movie? I never saw previews for it, never saw it advertised at our local theater. But it was sooooo good. It's called Stardust, and it was so reminessent of The Princess Bride, but better, that it was just incredible. So go, watch ti now yourself!

Worst Gift Ever

2007-12-19T11:25:00.000-09:00

OK, can I make a confession to you people? I am the world's worst Christmas shopper. I hate it, the pressure to find the right thing, the desire to buy what you KNOW will be appreciated, but you can't afford it so you find some cheap alternative that almost but not quite is the same but it's just not as good as what you wanted to get... It's enough to drive a person crazy. And my poor children. I feel so sorry for them, because they have to go to school after Christmas and hide their heads in shame whenever anyone asks them "So what did Santa bring you?" Arrrrghhhh. And it doesn't help that my John is the cheapest man on the planet. I mean he makes Scrooge look like Santa. (Seriously, we bought a car once, paid less than HALF of what the guy was asking for it, didn't like it, so resold it for halfway between what we paid and what the guy asked for originally, even after it had a major mechanical fault. And he was mad, because he didn't get "full price" out of it. Imagine this man Christmas shopping. Go ahead, I dare you.)

And so for Christmas this year, my children will be getting the following items:

The boys made out very well, they both got new beds. (Peanuts' toddler bed was just plain ugly, and Chunky has been fighting his brother every night to sleep in the big bed instead of his crib.) They are very cool beds, the Little Tikes toddler beds, one in the shape of a train, one in the shape of a fire truck.
Tons of movies. There were a lot of really cute movies that came out this year, so we bought a bunch (namely, the Spiderman trilogy, Ratatouille, Surfs Up, and many more I can't remember). We don't have cable, and the kids rarely watch TV, so I have a pretty big video collection. I'm pretty sure my daughter has caught on to what I've done though, because we usually buy a couple of movies a month at least, and lately I haven't bought any in their presence. She keeps asking to get different movies and we keep telling her no, with no reason. Unfortunately, she's not stupid, so I'm betting she's figured it out.
Socks. Everybody got new socks for Christmas. I HATE folding the boys' socks, because they have 50 pairs of socks that are all different, so it takes forever to match them up. So I bought each boy 2 jumbo packages of matching socks, and I'm giving all their old ones to charity. No more sock matching for me. Yay! (Socks - the gift that keeps on giving... not only do they get new stuff, I get less stress. It's a win win!)
Stocking stuffers. John bought a bunch of crap to put in their stockings, you now, the kind of toys you get out of vending machines, or buy for 88 cents at Walmart? I HATE these things, the sponge animals that "Magically expand!" in water, or the cheesy glow light bracelets, but this is the crap he picks up every year. He will get about 5 items per kid, and then stuff the rest of their stocking with fruit. An odd tradition, but one I do actually agree with. It just makes the stocking so heavy we can't hang them after they're full.
A video/MP3 player for my daughter. Not an Ipod, I can't afford that nonsense, but a very cute little reasonably priced mp3 player. It's way better than the one I have, darn it.
And now, for the worst gift ever - John has decided that at 10, Princess has reached the age where gifts can no longer be toys, but must be useful in some fashion. And so, since the animals are her responsibility, and we now have 2 cats, he got her one of those automatic self-cleaning litter boxes. I have mixed feelings about this. For one thing, I have been begging for one of these things for over 5 years, ever since we got the first cat. So it seems as though this should be a gift for me, rather than her, but she took over litter box duty about a year ago, so maybe not. She also has decided that the cats need gifts this year, so it seems as though this should be a gift for them, not her (but over $100 for a gift for a cat just seems obscene). I don't know why, but for some reason, I just cannot wrap my head around getting this as a gift for a kid.

So, what do you think? Am I the worst parent ever? Or at least, the worst gift giver? What are some of the worst gifts you have ever received?

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

2007-12-12T13:46:00.000-09:00

I haven't written in a while because I've been dealing with something at home that just has me floored. I really, really don't know how to cope with this one, so I am putting it to you, the blogging world, to help me out here.

My daughter is a liar. She lies about EVERYTHING. I expect a kid to lie to get out of trouble, but she will lie about what she ate for breakfast, even if you made it for her. And she's persistent. Even faced with irrefutable proof that she's lying, she'll stick to that story. I can find no rhyme or reason for the lies - the only thing I know is that 90% of the time, you can't believe a word she says. Always in the past, these lies have been about mostly minor, inconsequential things. Until the BIG ONE.

A few weeks ago, I'm sitting at work, doing my thing, when my cell phone rings. "Charly Brown? This is Holier-than-thou Snob at Children's Services. We'd like to advice you that your daughter has filed a complaint." Umm, what kind of complaint? "She claims to have been sexually abused by her step brother." OK, pardon me for a few moments while I pick myself up off the floor. And I'm sad to say, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Why would she lie about THAT?"

Here's the thing, as I have said before, I have had some trauma in my life. I was molested when I was 12 by a man who I called Papa for years, and had known sine I was in diapers. While his wife was in the house, and my mom was across the street at the grocery store. I remember going to the police station, and the humiliation of telling that story, over and over and over. And I remember sitting in court at the preliminary hearing, having to tell that story again, to him, while he smirked at me and his wife mouthed treats at me behind him. It was horrible. I wanted to die. And I damn sure didn't tell anyone about it. None of my friends knew what had happened, and when I had to go to court, they all thought it was because I had done something wrong, and I let them believe that rather than correct them. I accepted his plea bargain just so I wouldn't have to do it again at the trial. When I was 15, I was raped by a man I babysat for, while his daughter was sleeping in the next room. I never told anyone, because I didn't want a repeat of last time. And the one thing I have always tried to drill in Princess's head is that NO ONE has the right to touch her, and she should tell me if anything like that ever happens. She's never said a word to me, so the first thought I had was she was lying. And then I immediately felt horrible, and rationalized that there's no way she would lie about this, never. So I get a little more of the story from Children's Services lady, and she makes it pretty clear that she thinks it was a lie. Her only concern right now is to make sure that she has no contact with the alleged offender. Well, that's not going to happen anytime in this lifetime - her step brother lives 4000 miles away. He came to visit us for a few months a year ago, made our lives living hell, and went back home to his mom. I have never in my life felt anything close to the anger I feel every time I think of what that kid did to our family while he was here. Long story for another day, though. Part of the Princess's story though, was that this happened very very recently, like a few weeks ago. First tip off some thing's wrong. Second tip off, in her story, she said she told me and John about it, and we told her it was no big deal, it happens a lot and just to get over it. WTF???? I would NEVER say anything like that. Another tip off - we never left him alone with any of the kids, specifically because we didn't know what kind of person he was. (We don't have a lot of contact.) We had heard he was violent, so while I wasn't looking for this particular type of abuse, I did have a lot of concerns about him beating up on the littler kids, especially her because while the boys are able to entertain themselves for the most part, she has to be the center of attention all the time, and will annoy people endlessly when given half a chance.

So she gets home from school, and I ask her if there's anything she needs to tell me. I can see the panic on her face, the desperate "Oh god, which thing did I get in trouble for this time?" as she searches for an excuse. Eventually, I tell her that I got a phone call from a lady who said she had a very important story to tell me. You can see the little light bulb go on, and then the tears start. Between gasping sobs, she tries to tell me something about Jerkboy and being scared, but I can't understand a word of it through the fit. So I stop her and tell her that I can't understand her and if she wants to tell me the story, she needs to compose herself a little so I can understand. It's like someone flipped a switch. I've never seen tears cut off that quick outside of a drama class. The tone of voice completely changes, the tears are gone like they never happened (which, honestly, I don't think they did, there's no wetness, no sparkle, to nothing). Then she says, "Well, really, I just made it up." And I am flabbergasted. I wonder if she's just saying that because she doesn't think I'll believe her. I wonder what kind of sick, twisted kid I am raising that could just nonchalantly make up a story like this about someone. She goes on to tell me that she chose Jerkboy as her target because he lives far away, so he couldn't get in trouble, and that she never really thought they'd do anything about it anyway, she thought that telling someone at the school was safe, but if she had told me, I would take it to the police. And she tells me that she had to use the tears when she was telling me the story because I'm not "soft" like her teachers at school, I don't believe her all the time so she had to make it more dramatic. So I ask her why in the world she would do something like this. Her answer? Because her teacher doesn't call on her in class often enough when it's time for them to share stories about the topic of the day. She raises her hand every day, but her teacher only calls on her about once a week. So she was jealous. And not very many others were raising their hands on this particular day, so she figured she'd make the best of it.

What kind of monster am I raising? I swear, she has no conscience. I am scared for her, I really am. She has no impulse control. It seems like the second a thought enters her head, she acts on it, without ever stopping to think it through. I know a lot of kids this age are like that, but not like this, not to this extreme. She doesn't care about anything in this world but herself. She is so smart, and a beautiful girl, but it's never enough for her. She has to be the center of attention all the time, and she will do ANYTHING to be there.

So my dilemma has been, what do I do with her? How do you punish this? How do you force a child to see that everything they do affects the people around them, when they just don't care? I kept her home from school for a while, made her sit at the kitchen table by herself all day and write lines (the old "I will not tell lies" drudgery). I grounded her from everything I could think of. I took every toy, book, CD, everything but clothes and school supplies out of her room. And none of it matters. She still acts like nothing ever happened. Every night, she would still attempt to lie about something else before she went to bed. I seriously don't know what to do here. I am failing as a parent, I know that, and I don't know how to make it better. I've read every book I can find about discipline, and attention seeking children. I've put her in counseling, and TWICE she has been removed, by the therapist, because she wouldn't participate. As they put it, it was a waste of their time and a waste of my money until she decided she wanted to put forth the effort to understand and change. And she certainly doesn't seem to want to change any time soon. I've looked into military schools and intervention boot camps. (There's nothing in this state for her age though, I can't do anything til she's 16, which is going to be way too late, if it isn't already.) So here I am, asking for help. Does anyone have any ideas? Anything? Any insights? Please help me, before I raise a sociopath.....

Dear Charly (OR I Should Have My Own Advice Column)

2007-11-30T09:23:00.000-09:00

Ok, I read today's "Dear Margo" article, and I am absolutely steaming mad. No so much at Margo, although her reply was wishy-washy at best, but at the jerk who wrote in about his wife. I'm paraphrasing here, but basically, the guy works out of his home, and his wife is a stay at home mom to FOUR kids, with another on the way. And he's bitching because their house is always a mess, and instead of cleaning in her downtime, his wife just sits and watches TV. It doesn't list the ages of the kids, or whether any of them are in school, nor does it state whether or not he ever helps with the kids. It also doesn't state what his thoughts are on having all four of those kids running screaming through the house while he's trying to work, but from the tone of the letter, I would be willing to bet the guy won't tolerate it. So we have some poor woman who is desperatly trying to keep 4 kids corraled while hubby is working, because if he isn't able to work, they aren't able to pay bills, and then he wonders why she's tired all the time and doesn't have the energy to clean up. So here's my response, long-winded though it may be. What do you think?

In response to the letter from the gentleman "Living in a Mess," I would just like to offer my view as a former stay at home mom. I had three children home with me most of the time (the oldest was in school) and babysat one of my daughter's classmates after school. My husband works varying shifts, so he would be home sometimes for days on end, sometimes would work days, and sometimes nights. Whenever he was home, it was a constant struggle to keep the kids quiet so he could sleep, a situation I'm assuming this housewife can sympathize with if he is working out of their home. It is nearly impossible to engage young children all in the same activity at the same time, so while you are trying to read with one child, you may look up to see another child move his finger painting project from his paper to your wall, or perhaps while you are changing a diaper, you may look up to discover a different child climbing a bookshelf to get to something at the top (yes, this one has actually happened to me, and I left the diaper right there on the floor - the baby pushed it out of the way when he got up to check out what I was doing, and I forgot about it until I vacuumed the next day - leaving diapers on the floor is not always a sign of laziness, sometimes it's simply extenuating circumstances). Some days I would vacuum, only to have my toddler coat my living room floor in baby powder. Some days I would pick up every toy in the house, only to have the boys race each other to see who could pull the most toys back out of the box 30 minutes later. All of this being said, I want it made clear that my children are not little demons, they are happy, and extremely well behaved. My son that climbed the bookcase? That was the first, and only time he ever did that. The baby powder? That was an accident - my oldest boy was helping me change his baby brother's diaper. They are simply curious, and they are young, much as I imagine their children are. Like the wife in that letter, I constantly was reassuring my husband that I would catch up on the housekeeping, but I never did. I was exhausted all the time, and during the time I did have to myself, after the kids were in bed, it took all my energy to turn on the TV and veg for an hour or two before bed. My husband felt much the same as this husband does - that if I was not working, then I should be taing care of the house. My solution may not work for everyone, and may not work for this couple at all, but it saved my sanity, and it prevented loads of stress - I got a part time job outside of the home and hired a nanny/housekeeper. I only work while my oldest is in school, and this year, my older son is in a local half-day preschool program as well. So in the morning, I get up with my children, send my daughter off to school and go to work. I work 4 blocks from my house, so I come home at lunch and help out with getting my son ready for school. As soon as he gets on the bus, I put the baby down for a nap and go back to work. My nanny goes into housekeeper mode while the baby is sleeping and does all the deep cleaning of the house - bathrooms, mopping the kitchen, vacuuming, etc., as well as the maintenance items, like laundry and dishes. When I come home in the afternoon, at the same time as both of my older children, we make dinner together and when my husband is home, he takes care of either getting the kids ready for bed, or cleaning the kitchen after dinner. We trade off, usually every week, but it's pretty flexible. Once he had a better understanding of just how difficult it was to wrangle all three of them at the same time into one activity, he had a better appreciation for what I had to do every day, all day. And once I had some time away from my kids, among other adults, and away from my messy house, I became more motivated to keep the house clean and to spend more enjoyable time with my kids - not just chasing them down to pick up their messes, but actually spending time with them again. My house is still messy most of the time, but it's just toys and art supplies now. And since we are both contributing to the family income, my husband and I are also both contributing to the family upkeep, which to me, is ideal. In comparison, however, let me offer up one of my husband's friends, also a stay at home mom. Her house is always spotless, you could literally eat off of any surface in her home at any time. She spends her entire day scrubbing and disinfecting. Her 4 children, some of which are now in school, are terrors - she has had to take them to the hospital multiple times for broken bones (once from the oldest swinging a baseball bat at his younger brother, breaking his arm, once from the two middle children building a ladder to the top of the house, a venture that took them several hours to complete, and climbing up on the roof and jumping off, one of them breaking an ankle). They are rude to everyone, they are constantly in trouble in school for fighting, yelling at the teachers, and refusing to follow school rules. She spends all her time cleaning that house, but little to none with her children, and they have suffered for it. When her daughter broke her ankle jumping off the house, she literally had no idea what they had been doing all day. She sent them outside so she could clean, and never once bothered to check on them after that. In the house, they fling food at each other at the table, and deliberately spill drinks on the floor, because they know she will tell the to get outside so she can clean it up, and outside, out of her sight, they can do whatever they want. So even if a nanny or housekeeper is not practical for the letter-writer, perhaps he should be thankful that even though his house is a mess, his children aren't.

58 Hours and counting...

2007-11-19T14:44:00.000-09:00

... Until John comes home. Normally, I can't wait to kick him out the door, but this time, it's different. I think having the biggest stressor in my life gone for the moment has relaxed me to the point to where I realize it's not all about me, all the time. I also read a book last night, a really lame version of a trashy romance novel (which I detest but will read when I've read everything else in the house and just want mind-numbing escape), but it actually made me think about some things. Mostly about my weight, but also about how in general, any changes I want to make in my life have to start with me. Whining about wanting to lose weight while stuffing in another McDevils cheeseburger really isn't going to get me anywhere. I would like to lose some of these pounds, but really, I'm content the way I am too. Whining about how my husband is a jerk and only wants sex from me isn't fixing our problems. Being comfortable enough with myself to WANT sex again, and therefore giving him (and me!) more of it, which in turn relaxes him to the point where the rest of my insanity doesn't bother him, so we stop fighting all the tim about stupid bs that means nothing, well now, THAT is going to get me exactly where I want to be. So here I am, counting down the hours until he comes home and I can share with him my newfound attitude... hopefully, naked. ;o)

Ahh, Thanksgiving... Time of spending ridiculous amounts of money on over-priced food...

2007-11-16T09:25:00.000-09:00

...that's going to go bad in the fridge because after that magical day of family hell, no one wants to ever look at turkey again.

When I was younger, I loved the holidays. My mom was the world's biggest bah-humbug for Christmas (one year, she made me wrap my own presents because she just didn't feel like it - it became a tradition after that). I always knew if I wanted to go all out for the holidays, my mom would buy the stuff, but she wouldn't do anything with it. If I wanted our house festive, it was all up to me. I always decorated for Halloween, Easter, Valentine's, 4th of July, etc. And in mom's defense, she never skimped on the gifts, especially the ones we made ourselves - she's incredibly crafty, and would always help me make gifts for everyone I knew if I wanted to. The one holiday I never got into though, was Thanksgiving. I don't know why, but I have always had a sort of animosity towards that particular holiday. I think part of the reason might be because my birthday is so close (several years, it's been on Thanksgiving - this year, it's the Saturday after). I never really was able to have much of a birthday party as a kid - everyone was out of town for the holiday. That, and my mom was never really all that strong on history, or tradition, or being thankful for anything, so to me, it just seemed kind of silly. That, and I'm not a big fan of turkey, especially dry, over-cooked turkey, and I was the youngest (by almost 10 years) in a family with very few children, so even the obligatory family gathering was pretty lame to me.

When I met my husband, he was not exactly as big of a humbug as my mom, but not far from it. He wasn't really into the holidays, or birthdays for that matter, especially Thanksgiving. I think he saw it in much the same light as I did - boring with crappy, expensive food. That, and in small town Oklahoma, hunting season falls right over the holiday weekend, so no one was ever around to eat all that turkey anyway. Neither one of us is a hunter though, and after we had a family of our own, we started looking at Thanksgiving as an opportunity for all of our "orphan" friends (the ones without families close by) to gather for food, and cards, and a few drinks, and kids to gather together. The first year we tried, it was a pretty big success. We had 1 close friend and family over, and my MIL, and my SIL and her husband dropped in after hunting. The next year, we added a few more friends, and lengthened the time - instead of a formal dinner time, we just invited people to come over any time after 3, and stay as long as they wished. There was invariably 1 or 2 people with a plate of food, 3 or 4 people playing cards or dominoes, a few people out on the porch watching the kids chase each other around the yard. Even in our tiny house, there was still room for everybody, and the fun lasted all day. We never came close to running out of food though, and always had huge piles of leftovers in the fridge that went bad long before we could eat them all - and that was after sending plates home with everyone. So our Thanksgiving gathering became a tradition, one we followed for 3 or 4 years.

Then, after our son died, suddenly all the holidays seemed... flat. That first year, we didn't even try to have it at our house - we went to my MIL's and cooked there, for just us and her and my SIL. A couple months after that, we picked up and moved 4000 miles away. Last year, we attempted to renew our holiday gathering here. I honestly think the only reason I did it is because a friend of my husband's from work was moving over the holiday weekend and wouldn't be having a Thanksgiving of their own. Something about that bothered me, I don't know why, so we invited them and their 5 kids over for dinner at our house. His wife and me became fast friends that day, and our kids all got along great. It was a horribly stressful day for me though. Partly, I was ashamed to have anyone in our home (you would have had to see it to understand - let's just say that when it was hauled off to the dump, it disintegrated before it completely the 5 mile journey), and partly there as the stress of meeting new people. But mostly, there was this memory of my little boy, and I missed him so much it took everything I had not to kick everyone out and just bawl my head off. Which is really unfair to him, because I know he wouldn't want that. But it's so hard to participate in family events when he's not there. It's like there's something missing - you know the feeling when you have a dinner party, and all night, you keep thinking you've forgotten something, and then after everyone leaves, you realize you left the appetizer in the fridge, or the place mats in the washer? It's like that, just a nagging disquiet, like something needs to be added to make it perfect. It works as is, but it's just not quite right.

So this year, we have moved into a new home, one I'm proud of, so I actually WANT people to come over. We have a few friends, more than last year, so we are going to attempt the day-long food fest again (last year, we just had a sit-down meal, followed by a card game). We also decided to have our Thanksgiving on Friday instead of Thursday, kind of a combo dinner/birthday party for me/housewarming party. So now I am in all out frantic clean mode. And I am on my own - John has been out of town all month, and won't be getting home until early Thursday morning. He can, and will, help with the last minute cleaning, but the deeper stuff is all on me. Like our garage, that is so full of stuff that there's just barely a walkway through it - all stuff that needs to go under the house, be sold on craigslist, or go somewhere in our already overstuffed house. (Yeah, I know, who cleans the garage? But our entryway sucks, and we have brand new light colored carpet, so in the winter, we use the garage as our entrance to keep the snow and dirt to a minimum. Plus, that's where the extra fridge and freezer, and pantry shelves are, so I need to be able to have a clear path to them. We don't actually park in it, our car is 2 inches to long to fit without taking out an added on closet in the master bedroom. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to live in Alaska and NOT be able to park in your garage in the winter?) So, my nanny is staying over late tonight to watch Peanut and Chunk, and Princess will be assisting me in scrubbing every surface in the house. Then on Saturday, my mom is coming over (thank god she's in town right now) for a Shrek movie marathon with the boys while Princess and I tackle the garage and crawl space. On Sunday, I will be converting our guest room into a kid-friendly space, so the entire third floor will be a kids-only zone - three bedrooms and 1 bath for them to tear apart, all full of kids (read: non-breakable) stuff. The guest room has it's own TV, with VCR, DVD, and 3 different video game systems. Hopefully, that will keep all 10-15 children occupied. My bedroom/office will be converted for the teenagers to use the computers (we have three set up in there), which is my plan for Monday and Tuesday night I think, after the kids go to bed. Then I have 2 other bathrooms to clean, because there isn't a bathroom on the main floor, so I have no idea which one is more likely to be used by guests. The kids will have the bathroom off the guest room all to themselves, but we'll have plenty of adults too, so maybe it's best to go ahead and open up both baths for use. I've never had a house this big, so I really don't know what I'm doing here.

As much as I am looking forward to starting up my own Thanksgiving tradition again, I am floundering. I'm not really sure I want to do this. As much as I want to show off my house, and my family, and actually relax with friends I haven't really been able to see since I started working again this summer, I'm just not sure I'm up to this. I don't know if it's lingering sadness from yet another birthday and Halloween without my Pumpkin, or if it's knowing that this year is officially my last 20-something birthday, or if it's just work blahs and tiredness, or if it's stress left over from this summer's extremely extended visit by my MIL, or if 'must losing my mind in general. Not to mention the cost - I made up my menu/shopping list last night, and it's two pages long. Even hitting every sale I could find, it still comes up to over $200, just for one meal. Maybe that's not a lot to some of you, but to me, that's an astronomical amount of money. We usually only spend about 400-500 a month on groceries, so to blow half of our monthly food budget on one meal is nuts to me.

Does anyone else do this every year? How do you deal with holiday stress overload?

Blog ettiquette

2007-11-12T11:38:00.000-09:00

Being new to all this blogging, I have to admit I have no idea what the rules are. Generally speaking, I know most people try to post once a day, or every couple of days. I would love to do that too, but as already evidenced, it ain't happening. So my question is, can you save it up for a couple of days and then flood the blog with 15 entries in one day? Or is that info overload? I don't know how this works really, and while I would love to have other people read this, I highly doubt it's ever going to happen. In that case, I guess the rules are whatever I want them to be, so I say "15 posts in one day? Bah - make it 20!" This bunge and purge cycle is how my life seems to run itself - all or nothing, all the time. If by some miracle, I do end up with the occasional reader, just let me know if that annoys you.

In other blog ettiquette concerns, what is your take on archives? Here's my deal - I find a new blog that I like the first page worth of entries, so I mark it. When I go back to it, I start at the beginning, and work my way forward. Sometimes it takes a couple of days, sometimes a lot longer. There's a lot of posts I would like to comment on, but I feel funny doing it. First of all, I don't know anything about how the commenting service works. Are you notified every time someone leaves a comment, like on MySpace? Or do you just check and see how may comments are there? Because what would be the point of commenting on a post from 2 years ago if you don't ever see it? Also, what is the point in commenting on something from that long ago? Is it more trouble than it's worth? Does it bring up too many bad memories (if it's an unhappy post), or have you forgotten the good feeling you had when it was posted (if it's a happy one), making it no longer relevant?

Fuzzy love

2007-11-12T11:33:00.001-09:00

I have noticed that for the most part, all I have done so far is whine about my crappy life. So here's a spot of happy - my new kitty. I have always been a lover of all things furry, and while I would rather have a dog, I like cats too. I have one cat already, a fat, lazy, 5 year old ball of fluff named Dragon. But he doesn't do anything anymore except sleep. 22 hours a day. So, to liven things up, I got a new kitty, Phoenix. We'll see what happens, but so far Dragon is NOT appreciating his new roommate. But, at least he's not sleeping all day any more. Or all night for that matter. I'm hoping John comes home soon, though - Dragon sitting at the top of the steps, glaring at me as I laid in bed last night was kinda creepy. I'll post some pictures as soon as I figure out how.

Murphy loves me

2007-11-12T10:22:00.000-09:00

Ever heard of Murphy's Law? Of course you have. Unfortunately, I have not just heard of it, it follows me around like a love-sick puppy. Examples, you say? Oh sure, here's some from just last week:

1 - After missing more days of work than I could responsibly afford the week before due to a nasty (but thankfully short-lived) stomach virus that passed through each member of my family (unfortunately, one day at a time), I planned on missing nothing this week. Then my daughter called me at work and said she broke her tooth and her mouth was bleeding. WTF? 5 hours and one very boring dentist visit later, we find that her adult molar had been stealing nutrients from the baby molar, and had been pushing it up and out, loosening it just enough that when she bit down, it started breaking chips off of the baby tooth. Apparently, a pretty common experience. However, never in my life had I heard of anything like that. And that baby tooth, the one that never has had a cavity, is so thin, you can almost see through it. Weird stuff.

2 - My husband works a seasonal job, which means he gets laid off every winter. No big deal Last year, he had kind of a weird year in that he got the job in the early spring, did the training, was laid off for a few weeks until they did their full recall in the summer, worked all summer, was laid off for a few weeks again, was sent through another training program, and then was laid off again for a few weeks in the spring. All these lay-offs kind of suck, but we plan ahead for them, based on the amount of unemployment he receives while laid off. The fist lay off was no problem at all, other than, because we had moved from a different state, we had to file with the old state for last year. So we did. Except some of his wages the year before had been earned in yet another state (we lived really close to the state line, so he worked for a construction company that did work in both states). So we had to file a claim with the other state too. Which didn't come through until 2 months after he was no longer laid off. So, they said they would just reimburse us the next time he was laid off, since it would be in a few months. We said OK. Then, when we tried to file again in the fall, they said, "oh, sorry, you can't do that, you are a resident of a different state." We said, "Duh. We told you that already, 5 months ago." Long story short, we ended up having to pay back everything he was paid the first time around, so that it could be reimbursed to us for our new home state. But they screwed up yet again because they were supposed to send part of the money to us, and part of the money to one of the other states. They sent the whole thing to us. Good for us, right? Wrong. At that point, we were broke, so we kept it, with the understanding it had to be paid back before we could file again. No big deal, we paid it back with our tax return. We didn't even bother filing for the spring layoff, it wasn't worth the effort. So here we are in the fall again. And we have been told that there is NO WAY any more screw ups can happen. Everything has been taken care of. Fantastic. So after two months off of work (unpaid, of course) due to medical leave, he finally gets laid off and we file again. And hear nothing for a month. Then we get this letter in the mail that says, "We're sorry, your check is being held to correct an overpayment to another state." ARRGGGGGHHHHH!!! So we call. And basically, get told that they have "fulfilled [their] legal obligation" and it is now up to the state that withheld the money to correct it, and it will take approximately 4 weeks for them to do so. Are you fucking kidding me? This was not our mistake to begin with. The only thing we may have done wrong was to keep the overpayment for 2 extra months because we had so many late fees to catch up on because of THEIR screw up to begin with. Sigh. I love dealing with the government.

3 - After all that, my darling husband, who is out of the state right now, attempting to move all of our crap up here that we didn't move the first time around, says to me, "Well, if anything wrong was going to happen, I'm, glad it was that. We're better prepared this year, so money-wise, we will be fine if we have to wait a month or more to get that money back." And then he invoked Murphy by saying, "At least now, I know nothing will go wrong with my trip. After this mess, nothing else bad will happen for a while." Shouldn't he know better than to say something like that by now? I mean really, in the 36 years the man has been alive, nothing good has ever happened after saying something like that. And wouldn't you know it? I get a call at 3 am on Sunday informing me that the truck he borrowed is broke down on the highway, and it will cost almost $300 to tow him to the nearest station because they have to tow the trailer also. Then, because the only service place that's open on a Sunday is a dealership, it cost over $800 to replace a part that costs $65 at a parts store. I know, because we replaced the exact same part on our car at home 3 weeks ago. He did the work, it took him 2 hours to do it. But he has never worked on that model before, and it wasn't his truck, so he wanted it done right. Sweet, but seriously expensive. And the best part? The guy he borrowed the truck from refused to pay for any of it, even though it was a part that could not possibly have been damaged by anything John did.

I really would like to know just what it is that I did in a past life that was so reprehensible that I am paid back for it a little at a time every day.

Good Intentions

2007-11-02T13:15:00.001-08:00

I have noticed some things about myself, what with all the introspection and blah blah blah. One thing in particular that I have noticed is that while I have great intentions, I rarely follow through. Take this blog, for instance. I had this great idea to make my very own all for me blog to spew forth some of the craziness that inhabits my world daily and to therefore help me keep a tiny little hold on my sanity. And I haven't updated in a week. Sigh. Not only am I just completely incapable of keeping promises to anyone else, now I can't even keep them to myself. I blame this on my increasingly Swiss-cheese-like memory (thank you Quantum Leap - all hail 90's TV). Does anyone know what the early warning signs of Alzheimer's are? Or adult ADD? For the longest time, I've been blaming my horrible memory on "pregnancy insanity" or just general mommy-hood, but I am really starting to think there's something wrong with me.

In other news, this past week has been full of the crazies, so maybe I can be forgiven for forgetting and having to reset my brand new shiny blogger password, twice. My mother in law, who I shall call Dev (short for The Devil), had finally given up on trying to reform my poor housekeeping ways and returned to her very own home in Redneck Hell. After 4 MONTHS in my house. Oh, the tears of joy. That was last Saturday. Then, my mother decided to fly into town. After not speaking to me for over 2 months because she is off her meds and in her own personal Insanityland. Thankfully, she is not staying in my house (I love the woman, really I do, but her mood swings are just too much for me). She did come over for dinner with the friend she is staying with, a very sweet lady I've known since I was a baby and whose children (also adopted) I was very good friends with. I haven't seen her or her kids in 17 years, so that was different, but nice. Her kids no longer live up here in the frozen tundra, but I did get to see pictures. Then on Tuesday night, my husband decided to cash in our last travel voucher and take off that night to go back Outside to take care of some moving and such that wasn't done when we moved here 2 years ago. So my mother stayed with me for two days (shudder), and I had to find a last minute nanny. Which actually worked out surprisingly well - I love love love this girl. She is so exceptionally sweet, and Peanut loves her, which is amazing. He is so shy and completely shuts down around new people, but within 30 minutes of her arriving at our home, he was sitting in her lap, stroking her leg and saying she was "All mine, my Nanny." Since my boy hardly ever talks, and I've certainly never heard that phrase before, I just about fell over in shock. She was hired immediately.

So, things are relatively settled. I'm looking forward to a quiet-ish weekend. I will be moving some furniture around, setting up our (thankfully empty for now) guest room again, and other general housekeeping chores. And watching the entire 2nd season of Bones. Honey, I love you, but you'll just have to watch it yourself when you come home.

What inspires? I'm glad you asked...

2007-10-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

I have one main motivation for blogging here - therapy. I am a recent convert to the wonderfulness that is blogs, due mostly to such fantastic bloggers as Flea, Orange, and Squid. As soon as I figure out the links thing, you guys will be at the top of my list. I wish I could begin to match the wit and intelligence displayed on those blogs, but I know my attempts will be sadly lacking. However, it will make me feel better, and that's all I really care about. When I was a kid, I used to write letters to imaginary people, telling them how crappy my life was, and making up stories about what it could be. Well, the Internet blogging community has become my imaginary friend. Whether anyone reads this or not is really irrelevant, it's the act of writing that's therapeutic to me.

There's not a whole lot about me that's truly special, or different from anyone else. I have had my share of ups and downs (seems like a lot more downs, but I think everyone feels that way), and in no way are my ups and downs any better or worse than yours. But they are mine, and I really don't know how to deal with them. Frankly, I think there is something wrong with me. Depression? Almost assuredly. But something else too... I don't process emotion the way other people do. And I have crap for memory. Some people are forgetful - I border on Alzheimer's. So, this blog is my attempt to straighten out all the crazy thoughts that whirl around in my head like mini-tornadoes. Hopefully, it makes sense.

So, what all do I have to whine about in my life? Well, here's a list of the highlights:

Adopted at birth, given some limited information, just enough to drive me crazy, but not enough to find my birth family with. Here's the kicker - I just found out last year that both of my adopted parents know very well who my birth mother is, and my dad at least knows where to find her, but he won't tell me because (and this was taken from a drunken rambling, so it may or may not have been heard correctly) I was a product of a step-parent rape and he doesn't want me to know all the gory details.
My alcoholic and drug addicted father and (untreated) bi-polar mother divorced when I was 6, prompting a series of moves across the country, resulting in me never staying in one house or school longer than 2 years.
At 12, I was molested by a friend of the family I called Papa.
At 15, I was raped by a man whose 2 yr old daughter I babysat.
At 17, I hated both of my parents so much I ran away to Canada with the first guy who would go with me. He turned out to be the world's biggest control freak and an abusive asshole. And btw, I didn't make it into Canada, they stopped us at the border, so we ended up stuck in Michigan for a week until we could beg bus tickets from family.
Also at 17, I dropped out of school a few months shy of graduating. Why? Because control freak wouldn't let me go to school because then I would be out of his sight all day.
At 19, I had my first baby, becoming the teenage parent I said I would never be.
At 21, I got divorced from said abusive asshole and met hubby #2 (still current, although some days I wonder...)
Also at 21, I began my criminal career as the worst bounced check offender ever seen in that county (and the 4 surrounding counties). Did I do it on purpose? Kind of. I had really good intentions of paying it all back "later." I just had needs right then that had to be met (like food and rent, and the occasional shopping trip for my severely spoiled daughter). After a couple nights in jail, and a felony conviction that will haunt me the rest of my life, did I learn my lesson? (And pay it all back, x10?) Oh, yeah.
At 22, I had baby #2, out of wedlock (another thing I said I'd never do). I married his dad 2 months later, but still not the same thing.
At 24, my asshole ex kidnapped my daughter, warping the legal system in two states, and kept her away from me for almost 6 months. Yes, I did get her back, and yes, I did get his visitation rights permanently revoked. Not before he put us all through a year total of hell and over $12,000 in legal expenses though.
At 25, I had baby #3. I also found out that my second marriage was not actually valid because my divorce papers from my frst husband were never filed by my incompetent ass of a first lawyer.
At 26, my oldest son was diagnosed with leukemia. He died 2 weeks later, after I spent 3 hours arguing with some fresh out of med school prick that yes he really did have a fever, and yes, goddamnit, it really was vital he be put on high dose antibiotics right away. 3 hours later, when his heart failed for the last time, I saw that same moronic little prick sobbing to my son's regular doctor that he didn't think it was that bad. Do I wish divine retribution/karma/whatever to bite him in the ass? Oh hell yeah. Did I pursue a malpractice suit? No. It wouldn't bring me back my baby, no matter how much money I got, so what's the point?
At 27, baby #4 was born. Oddly enough, I found out I was pregnant on what would have been my son's 3rd birthday. And I went into labor on the anniversary of the day he was diagnosed. Does that mean anything? Probably not. Do I pretend it does anyway? Yeah.

So, here I am now, at 28 (almost 29). I haven't accomplished much in my life, and I feel like I'm always just barely hanging on to that last little thread of sanity. I have days when I wonder what would have happened, if.... There are days when I want nothing more than to run away. "I can't be a mom today, sorry! I need to go lay on the beach in Mexico or somewhere... See ya!" Those days seem to come more often lately. I love my kids, I really do - but sometimes I thik they are literally going to drive me insane. So, you ready for a road trip?

Welcome to the craziness that is me :o)

2007-10-25T11:17:00.000-08:00

Ok, so here goes my first attempt at this new blogging thang. Let's get a few things straight, right off the bat, shall we?

I am lazy.
I am a horrible typist, usually ending up with all kinds of grammatical and spelling errors. I rarely fix them before I post, but will occasionally edit later. If this bothers you, stop reading now.
I indifferent to lots of things, namely politics and religion. I'm all for doing what makes you happy, but I'm also not going to expend any effort to do something about it. Gay marriage? Go for it, hell, I'll even sign your petition, but don't ask me to get up off the couch and take it to my friends too. Democrat? Republican? Hey, whatever floats your boat. Personally, I think Bush is a moron and is draggin our country down with his general suckiness, but don't ask me for specific examples of his idiocy, because that would require effort on my part, and it just ain't gonna happen. Baptist? Catholic? Jew? Muslim? Pray to whatever God (or gods, or goddesses) you think are listening. Don't preach at me, and I won't preach at you. Everybody wins.
I have many reasons for wanting to write this, some of which I'll dive into right away, and some I won't. For now, let's just leave it at it's theraputic, and cheaper than a shrink. So, be nice, please.

Ok, ground rules in place? Check. Let's begin...