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/
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
And the stupidest thing YOU'VE ever done?
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?
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?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Science Fair
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Ahhh, spring... Kinda.
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.
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.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Ooops.
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)