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.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Isn't it Ironic?
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....
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....
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Please excuse my absense
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.
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.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Insurance? Who needs insurance?
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?
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?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Post-Holiday Blahhhhh, and More Evidence of my Insanity
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.
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.
Friday, January 18, 2008
So very tired....
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!
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!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Ummm, wow...
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.
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.
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