Day 56 of eating straight eggs for breakfast. Literally, 56 straight days of eating eggs. And only eggs. No toast. No bacon. Sometimes an avocado. One day I made coconut flour pancakes and pretended they were amazing. And one day I made chia coconut milk pudding, and decided that eggs were actually a gift from Jesus himself. "Oh but Foxy, chia pudding is amazing! So much health in one little cup." Yeah, well. did your pudding have delicious things? Like berries and chocolate wisps? And some honey or maple syrup? And some fairy wing sparkles and unicorn dandruff? Well, mine had some unsweetened coconut milk, chia seeds and a few twigs and 14 pebbles. I gagged most of it down, focusing on the health benefits. But it literally tasted like cow snot. So it's eggs over here. Tomorrow it will be day 57. Thank you Jesus for chickens.
I continue to poop. I continue to assume/makeup/wish really hard, that the white things I see embedded in the poos are the cursed wildebeest worms.
Yesterday my mood was significantly low and testy. I also didn't poop. There is a large and significant probability that holding onto all those toxins for an extra day did NOT help. I wish I had realized this before I went to bed. Next time, enema for sure. Guys, for real. Toxins don't just affect physically, but also emotionally. I also was dealing with a lot of anxiety. Because basically I'm going to die any second. The anxiety could be coming from thyroid, candida, wormlies, adrenal, just pick one.
Talking about adrenals. Do you guys even know you have something called your adrenals? They sit on top of your kidneys. They're a pretty big deal slash, important. I'm going to add this article. Because I think Dr. Axe makes it's pretty simple to understand. And then this article mainly because I liked the picture.
My poor poor adrenals. I think they're about as dead as doornail. I even read that it's really important to not watch tv shows that are exciting. That's like everything I watch. So I'm not watching anymore. I guess it's going to be me and Doc Martin for awhile. That and medicinal, unsweetened tea. And a granny bedtime of 9:00. And a silky soft pastel pink nightgown that goes down to the floor. With puffed sleeves and 17 pearl buttons that go up the front, clear to my adams apple.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Guys, my beautiful Queenie got married this weekend. Big D and I went sans babies. First of all, it was 401 degrees. And I was pleasered than a punch bowl that I wore a shorter dress. But it did make it awkward when beads of sweat starting running down my legs. That happened. Also, with my ridiculously ridiculous diet, I had to leave the reception to go eat a boring piece of meat at the local pub on the corner. . . ... .... . . So much fanciness I had to pass up. "Ma'am, would like a whole bunch of fancy drenched in something you can't eat, topped with the devil himself?" Oh the Self. Re. Straint. I had to maintain.
Also, one of the best parts happened all too quickly. Big D and I were trying to dance. I say "trying" because we're old. And this new music they have out there is stuff that makes dancing hard. For old people. But let me tell you, there were some not old people who were dancing just fine. Anyway, so we're out there. Clapping off beat. Clucking our tongues. Trying not to step on the 47th wine glass that got dropped. Attempting to shake our skeletal money makers. . . . .. And this magical thing happened. This drunked girl grabbed Big D and threw him into this mini dance circle. 2 guys and 1 girl and Big D crammed into the middle. There was so much grabbing and twisting and humping and grinding and touching. I thought it was the most spectacular event. And over all too soon. And Big D almost started crying.
I need to wrap this up because I'm starving.
Dinnner
A plain burger on a bed of greens topped with sauteed onions
Asparagus
Boiled potatoes and carrots drowned in butter - not for me, of course.
And on an ending note, a question for all of you from Ed. Who is 5.
"What's worse than fake rocks at San Diego?" His answer is bad angels.
The end.
Showing posts with label Ed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ed. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2016
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Day 2
I'm still alive.
But never have I ever walked around with tighter/flabbier clenched buns. The whole point of a worm infestation cleanse is to get rid of the worms. And I'm walking around keeping them in like they're the greatest. Or something special.
Petrified. To release my anal sphincter. I did it. Twice so far. I did find that having a stool under my feet (like the squatty potty) encouraged relaxation.
Poop 1
I got out of bed this morning feeling tired. And wouldn't you know, I'm stumbling around trying to find dirty clothes on the floor to put on, and a hairbrush to brush my remaining 103 hairs on my head - those worms start knocking. HELLO! Let the girl put on some deodorant before she has to face the fangs.
I clenched real good till I was ready for the day aka the worms. I even frushed my teeth. I was completely ready. Like, if the UPS man came - I was that ready. And then I answered the call of the wild worms.
It doesn't do anybody any favors to whip their body around after every ker-plop. It's a fine way to have to clean the bathroom a few times a day. Patience is a virtue. And a fine virtue to put into practice.
Alas, I saw nothing. And was completely relieved. And completely disappointed.
Poo 2
Every time my poo stalls, I imagine a long worm stuck, half in-half out, writhing wildly. Guys, fangs are real.
So, yup. Moving on.
But never have I ever walked around with tighter/flabbier clenched buns. The whole point of a worm infestation cleanse is to get rid of the worms. And I'm walking around keeping them in like they're the greatest. Or something special.
Petrified. To release my anal sphincter. I did it. Twice so far. I did find that having a stool under my feet (like the squatty potty) encouraged relaxation.
Poop 1
I got out of bed this morning feeling tired. And wouldn't you know, I'm stumbling around trying to find dirty clothes on the floor to put on, and a hairbrush to brush my remaining 103 hairs on my head - those worms start knocking. HELLO! Let the girl put on some deodorant before she has to face the fangs.
I clenched real good till I was ready for the day aka the worms. I even frushed my teeth. I was completely ready. Like, if the UPS man came - I was that ready. And then I answered the call of the wild worms.
It doesn't do anybody any favors to whip their body around after every ker-plop. It's a fine way to have to clean the bathroom a few times a day. Patience is a virtue. And a fine virtue to put into practice.
Alas, I saw nothing. And was completely relieved. And completely disappointed.
Poo 2
Every time my poo stalls, I imagine a long worm stuck, half in-half out, writhing wildly. Guys, fangs are real.
So, yup. Moving on.
Anyway, I consorted to patience this time. And when I was done I saw lots and lots of tiny, minuscule white line thingsies. Complete satisfaction knowing that something was dying. Smug. And pleased.
How I'm feeling:
Day 2 was when others started to feel gross from the toxins starting to multiply due to worm death. I am pleased to say that I feel no different minus being slightly more tired and slightly nauseous. Sounds like I'm pregnant. Maybe I am! (with worms) I've been following my tea and crumpet aka worm killer pills schedule like a kindygartner. And once again feeling smug that I have managed to stay on track for 1 1/2 days.
Dinner?
Lets talk about last night first. Chicken and beans are a common occurrence around here. But throw in some rutabaga soup and literally, batten down the hatches, secure your valuables, life is no more as it once was. Big D threw an entire chopped up jalapeno pepper in his small portion. Murn ate hers for breakfast with much lamenting. Ed cried and gagged his one required spoonful until daddy bribed him with a whole chicken leg if he finished his 1/8 of a cup serving. (Didn't you know that chicken legs are cool? And worthy of gagging and choking down 4 spoonfuls? They are.) WW wasn't even offered any. And I ate my bowl, pleased as punch, knowing that I was killing off candida.
Big D called me this morning (because we never see each other) to ask how I felt. Awkward, and what is that supposed to mean . . . ? Well, somebody had a tummy ache and wasn't feeling very well and wanted to know if it was the soup. *Why yes! You figured out my life squelching secret - I was trying to poison you all with rutabaga soup* 2 things: a) maybe your tummy doesn't like the entire pepper you crammed down your throat or b) maybe when I said you have too much yeast in your body, maybe I was right. Those are my best two guesses. All other guesses are not my best.
But dinner tonight? It's going to be equally as awesome. As dinner is, every night.
Sahwid with avocado green goddess dressing aka tear and gag-reflex inducing pig slop
Takeaways
1) When naming a blog, be wise. Never name it something you'll regret. Like, "Whispers of Love" or "The Witherhalls's Happenings" or "Bluebirds Sing the Beauty of the Earth". You're going to wake up someday and not want to talk about how love whispers anymore. Or fun zoo trips. Or how you gathered a whole bouquet of wildflowers on your evening walk. Maybe you'll wake up some day with your mind a fizzled mess of slow fog, and the best you can do is talk about poop.
2) Life is a continual of changing seasons. Really really embrace each one. I know that I won't be talking about poop forever. Someday I'll have life altering epiphanies and wisdom words and life giving faith speaks. But that's not today. And I'm ok with that. And you should be ok with the season that you're in too.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Homskul iz Grat
These are the days that I love, love homeschooling. These. This. It happens once every 5 million years - but in these very rare instances, when all the stars align in the most glorious way. When I can breath for two seconds. And love, grateful for most. I love homeschooling.
First it starts with the weather. And there is no set perfect "love homeschooling" weather. But today is the most perfect, most quintessential day of fall. Dark. Miserably dark. Turn-the-lights-on-so-you-don't-trip dark. Misty and sometimes rainy. Leaves still on the trees. But half on the ground. And cold. It must be cold for a quintessential fall day.
I have one lamp on in the house. I figured I would take my chances tripping. And haven't so far.
The kids: One is completely naked, one is wearing a swim suit cover-up, and one is properly clothed.
Me?: Yes, yes. Still looking like Miss Hannigan
This week, I have decided to take off from the drudgery. Take a break from the brow beating. We've worked for 11 weeks without a break. So, well deserved for all. But mostly me.
I have a 3 year old, naked man figuring out a 60 piece puzzle. He won't stop talking. And I dream about yelling with the all the strength of 1000 earthquakes, "please, please SHUT UP". But I don't. I don't know when the next magical moment is going to come. And what if I squashed it, and then it never came? So I let him talk, and say "mama" 14 times in a row before he forms the rest of the sentence. And 99 out of 100 times it's something like: "mom, do you think this piece goes here?" But that 1 out of 100 times is so worth it. "mom, when you were a little boy, did you have a big scrotum?"
Murnice, hiding in the corner with all 20 Beanie Babies we got from Great Grandmother. So much imagination in the corner.
And this, all this, is why homeschooling is so great. Always together. Naked or not. Imagination growing and working. We can move slow, or we can move fast. I can look like a swamp donkey and snuggle just as effectively.
Today, I choose to ignore the pee-laden bathroom. It will still be there tomorrow. I will drink another cup of tea. I most likely will ignore lunch time and just pull our a bag of chips for the naked man and half clothed girl to fight over. And they'll feel like kings and queens eating chips for lunch. I will strive to make dinner. And if not, we'll have toast. With lucky butter. And if the stars stay aligned, I will attempt to start my fall sewing. Fall is for sewing. And re-vamping. And freshing-up and re-decorating.
Also, I broke a knife on a head of garlic. The middle of the blade snapped. My birthday knife is no more.
Take Aways
1) Attempt to look like a swamp donkey more than not
2) Eat chips only more than not
3) Be naked more than not
4) Stay away from garlic more than not
5) Don't paint your lamp in Easter egg colors, ever
First it starts with the weather. And there is no set perfect "love homeschooling" weather. But today is the most perfect, most quintessential day of fall. Dark. Miserably dark. Turn-the-lights-on-so-you-don't-trip dark. Misty and sometimes rainy. Leaves still on the trees. But half on the ground. And cold. It must be cold for a quintessential fall day.
I have one lamp on in the house. I figured I would take my chances tripping. And haven't so far.
The kids: One is completely naked, one is wearing a swim suit cover-up, and one is properly clothed.
Me?: Yes, yes. Still looking like Miss Hannigan
This week, I have decided to take off from the drudgery. Take a break from the brow beating. We've worked for 11 weeks without a break. So, well deserved for all. But mostly me.
I have a 3 year old, naked man figuring out a 60 piece puzzle. He won't stop talking. And I dream about yelling with the all the strength of 1000 earthquakes, "please, please SHUT UP". But I don't. I don't know when the next magical moment is going to come. And what if I squashed it, and then it never came? So I let him talk, and say "mama" 14 times in a row before he forms the rest of the sentence. And 99 out of 100 times it's something like: "mom, do you think this piece goes here?" But that 1 out of 100 times is so worth it. "mom, when you were a little boy, did you have a big scrotum?"
Murnice, hiding in the corner with all 20 Beanie Babies we got from Great Grandmother. So much imagination in the corner.
And this, all this, is why homeschooling is so great. Always together. Naked or not. Imagination growing and working. We can move slow, or we can move fast. I can look like a swamp donkey and snuggle just as effectively.
Today, I choose to ignore the pee-laden bathroom. It will still be there tomorrow. I will drink another cup of tea. I most likely will ignore lunch time and just pull our a bag of chips for the naked man and half clothed girl to fight over. And they'll feel like kings and queens eating chips for lunch. I will strive to make dinner. And if not, we'll have toast. With lucky butter. And if the stars stay aligned, I will attempt to start my fall sewing. Fall is for sewing. And re-vamping. And freshing-up and re-decorating.
Also, I broke a knife on a head of garlic. The middle of the blade snapped. My birthday knife is no more.
Take Aways
1) Attempt to look like a swamp donkey more than not
2) Eat chips only more than not
3) Be naked more than not
4) Stay away from garlic more than not
5) Don't paint your lamp in Easter egg colors, ever
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Wonder No More
Oh, it's happened. The thing that parents - probably more so mothers, than fathers - expect, know, is bound to happen. Someway or another. That really awkward happening. Where you don't know how to prepare for it. Or even know how you're going to respond to it. You just hope that all the stars align and make it, the "happening", happen as smoothly as will allow.
This past weekend came straight out of heaven. The weather, that is. 80 F. With full sun. So much hope glittered that day. I was feeling needy, as usual. And Big D thought it incredibly appropriate to do his best at avoiding the fact that I needed a Dr. Pepper right then and there, on the spot.
You might be thinking I sound a little bratty at this point. But I can assure you - I was not bratty. At least in the beginning.
We stopped at the grocer after church. (Yup, went to church) Big D needed to get milk and pickles.(another long, ridiculous story) I asked him to also grab some Dr. Pepper. My tongue was drowning in saliva, just from the thought of chemicals and cancer.
Now, I don't think it's very good natured of a wife to ask . . . *real whiney voice* "did you get milk? did you get pickles? did you get Dr. Pepper?" when he gets back to the car. It's 3 items. I expect that a grown, reasonably minded-man can remember 3 things. And I should really restrain all my nagginess.
So I restrained. And it wasn't even hard for me.
I even let him eat his lunch before I brought up my Dr. Pepper. And by bringing up, it was just a simple "where did you put the Dr. Pepper?"
And the next part, is the part in the story where I roared. And displayed everything so natural and unlovely that every woman possess. I think I stomped once or twice. And made some ugly faces. Maybe some curse words thrown in for good measure. And demanded. DEMANDED, immediate action.
Even with the fine display of displeasure and urgency, Big D still thought it was appropriate to ride his bike to fetch the forgotten beverage.
And what's a girl to do? He already made up his mind. He wanted to ride his bike. He knew I was beyond rabid tiger-like. There's only so much of a fit that can be thrown over something as childish as a drink.
So I chose to trust that Big D would move his very-out-of-shape legs, very fast the few miles and mountain he needed to ride. (I'm working on trust) (that's why I didn't naggy ask at the grocer, the first time, if he had remembered everything)
Let me tell you, I really think only 7 minutes went by before he was back in the house. Puffing, red-faced and slightly miserable looking.
And I looked as pleased as a spoiled brat on Christmas - waiting for my pony to be presented.
............................................................
Um..................Yup, the "pony" was left at the stable. Because somebody forgot to bring their wallet.
And then I shut down. Because you can only get so mad before it becomes too emotionally exhausting.
I felt a little bad for Big D. . . . .butmorebadforme.
The third time, he drove. And remembered. And by the time he got back, I was so relieved. And needy. He was so pumped full of anger, frustration, and testosterone - that we agreed to take care of business. Adult style.
To set the tone: 80 degrees, sunny and bright, middle of the afternoon, windows open, both kids outside - and had been outside for awhile - playing like kings and queens.
At this point, the adult as to make a choice. Go out and tell the children to NOT come inside unless there is blood oozing from some body. Or, believe in fairy tales and all things false and movie-like and just do "it" because the chances of the kids coming inside on this incredible day - are slim to none.
We chose choice B - believe in farty-tales.
And with that choice, we then had to make another choice. Close the bedroom door, and have no warning of when child A or child B or child A and B could come barging in. Or choose to keep the bedroom door open so that we could hear the little warning pitter-patters and apply appropriate coverage.
Once again, we chose choice B. Keep door open.
I also will preface the next part with the key point, that the consummation of our marriage, plan - was indeed going to happen fast. In other words, a "quickie". Two minutes - tops.
1:27 seconds - we hear the toilet lid slam down and the faucet turned on.
For those of you that have been to our mole-hole, you know very well that the bathroom door is directly across from our bedroom door.
List of thoughts and actions that happened in the next .005683 seconds:
1) How did any child walk by our door without me seeing them
2) It must be Murnice, because she can be stealth like
3) But that slamming of the lid was definitely boyish
4) Panic from Big D
5) Hysterical giggling from me
6) Very nervous "what do we do?!" from Big D
7) "They've already seen everything, so just hold still" from me
8) Audible yell from me, "nice job kids"
And then I found out it was just Ed. I really really think an angel carried him into the house, plopped him on the toilet, and caught his pee in his own angel hands - because there is just no other explanation as to how a bumbling, chatty-Kath, trippy-slap-feeted, pigpie - almost 3 year old boy could have walked through my house (hard wood floors) past my bedroom door, and peed without a scent of a sound.
When I yelled, "nice job kids", Ed interpreted that as "come into the bedroom and take a good peaksy. And while you're at it, lets talk for awhile."
"Hey dad, why are you snuggling with mom? Can you get Murny the gum down. She wants the gum. Mom, I see your ninnies. Haha, dad - you have a big butt. Can you get the gum. It's in the garage. It's too high." etc - for another 2 minutes. Just round and round. "Gum" - meaning Big D's cross bow. . . . . (I feel like I should be a disclaimer here that says, we have never allowed our children to play or use the cross bow. Or any cross bow.)
So I finally said, "Ed, daddy wants to spend time with mama's boobies" (earlier that week, he and Murnice got into a verbal altercation over what Dad liked better - boobies or nipples. I don't think that's ever a phone call, over lunch, you expect to get from your kids. . . . . . Dad picked boobs - for the sake of the children. Don't judge what happens over here in this family. I have bizarre children)
And then he snickered a few more times about things that strike a 2-year-old as humorous, and finally left.
Approximately 21 seconds later, I HEARD (this time) both blessings come into the house, and tramp down the hallway.
I start whisper screaming "THEY'RE COMING!!!!!!" And I'm not sure if Big D was taking the scripture of "doing everything as unto the Lord" aka giving it your all and applying it at that moment. Or . . . . if he just didn't care. Or . . . .if there was no level of comprehension of "they're coming" ...................................
. . . . . Yup . . . . . . .and then we had 2 kids in the bedroom with us. Giggling at the-picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words, display.
Things I am grateful for:
1) The modest position we chose to consumate
2) That we don't ever have to waste another speck of a wonder, dreading the "great reveal"
3) That the children do not seem to be struggling from any forms of PTSD, OR have asked any questions
4) That Big D and I were able to not "be weird" causing confusion and tears
And now I'm going to run away, and not make eye contact with anybody for awhile.
This past weekend came straight out of heaven. The weather, that is. 80 F. With full sun. So much hope glittered that day. I was feeling needy, as usual. And Big D thought it incredibly appropriate to do his best at avoiding the fact that I needed a Dr. Pepper right then and there, on the spot.
You might be thinking I sound a little bratty at this point. But I can assure you - I was not bratty. At least in the beginning.
We stopped at the grocer after church. (Yup, went to church) Big D needed to get milk and pickles.(another long, ridiculous story) I asked him to also grab some Dr. Pepper. My tongue was drowning in saliva, just from the thought of chemicals and cancer.
Now, I don't think it's very good natured of a wife to ask . . . *real whiney voice* "did you get milk? did you get pickles? did you get Dr. Pepper?" when he gets back to the car. It's 3 items. I expect that a grown, reasonably minded-man can remember 3 things. And I should really restrain all my nagginess.
So I restrained. And it wasn't even hard for me.
I even let him eat his lunch before I brought up my Dr. Pepper. And by bringing up, it was just a simple "where did you put the Dr. Pepper?"
And the next part, is the part in the story where I roared. And displayed everything so natural and unlovely that every woman possess. I think I stomped once or twice. And made some ugly faces. Maybe some curse words thrown in for good measure. And demanded. DEMANDED, immediate action.
Even with the fine display of displeasure and urgency, Big D still thought it was appropriate to ride his bike to fetch the forgotten beverage.
And what's a girl to do? He already made up his mind. He wanted to ride his bike. He knew I was beyond rabid tiger-like. There's only so much of a fit that can be thrown over something as childish as a drink.
So I chose to trust that Big D would move his very-out-of-shape legs, very fast the few miles and mountain he needed to ride. (I'm working on trust) (that's why I didn't naggy ask at the grocer, the first time, if he had remembered everything)
Let me tell you, I really think only 7 minutes went by before he was back in the house. Puffing, red-faced and slightly miserable looking.
And I looked as pleased as a spoiled brat on Christmas - waiting for my pony to be presented.
............................................................
Um..................Yup, the "pony" was left at the stable. Because somebody forgot to bring their wallet.
And then I shut down. Because you can only get so mad before it becomes too emotionally exhausting.
I felt a little bad for Big D. . . . .butmorebadforme.
The third time, he drove. And remembered. And by the time he got back, I was so relieved. And needy. He was so pumped full of anger, frustration, and testosterone - that we agreed to take care of business. Adult style.
To set the tone: 80 degrees, sunny and bright, middle of the afternoon, windows open, both kids outside - and had been outside for awhile - playing like kings and queens.
At this point, the adult as to make a choice. Go out and tell the children to NOT come inside unless there is blood oozing from some body. Or, believe in fairy tales and all things false and movie-like and just do "it" because the chances of the kids coming inside on this incredible day - are slim to none.
We chose choice B - believe in farty-tales.
And with that choice, we then had to make another choice. Close the bedroom door, and have no warning of when child A or child B or child A and B could come barging in. Or choose to keep the bedroom door open so that we could hear the little warning pitter-patters and apply appropriate coverage.
Once again, we chose choice B. Keep door open.
I also will preface the next part with the key point, that the consummation of our marriage, plan - was indeed going to happen fast. In other words, a "quickie". Two minutes - tops.
1:27 seconds - we hear the toilet lid slam down and the faucet turned on.
For those of you that have been to our mole-hole, you know very well that the bathroom door is directly across from our bedroom door.
List of thoughts and actions that happened in the next .005683 seconds:
1) How did any child walk by our door without me seeing them
2) It must be Murnice, because she can be stealth like
3) But that slamming of the lid was definitely boyish
4) Panic from Big D
5) Hysterical giggling from me
6) Very nervous "what do we do?!" from Big D
7) "They've already seen everything, so just hold still" from me
8) Audible yell from me, "nice job kids"
And then I found out it was just Ed. I really really think an angel carried him into the house, plopped him on the toilet, and caught his pee in his own angel hands - because there is just no other explanation as to how a bumbling, chatty-Kath, trippy-slap-feeted, pigpie - almost 3 year old boy could have walked through my house (hard wood floors) past my bedroom door, and peed without a scent of a sound.
When I yelled, "nice job kids", Ed interpreted that as "come into the bedroom and take a good peaksy. And while you're at it, lets talk for awhile."
"Hey dad, why are you snuggling with mom? Can you get Murny the gum down. She wants the gum. Mom, I see your ninnies. Haha, dad - you have a big butt. Can you get the gum. It's in the garage. It's too high." etc - for another 2 minutes. Just round and round. "Gum" - meaning Big D's cross bow. . . . . (I feel like I should be a disclaimer here that says, we have never allowed our children to play or use the cross bow. Or any cross bow.)
So I finally said, "Ed, daddy wants to spend time with mama's boobies" (earlier that week, he and Murnice got into a verbal altercation over what Dad liked better - boobies or nipples. I don't think that's ever a phone call, over lunch, you expect to get from your kids. . . . . . Dad picked boobs - for the sake of the children. Don't judge what happens over here in this family. I have bizarre children)
And then he snickered a few more times about things that strike a 2-year-old as humorous, and finally left.
Approximately 21 seconds later, I HEARD (this time) both blessings come into the house, and tramp down the hallway.
I start whisper screaming "THEY'RE COMING!!!!!!" And I'm not sure if Big D was taking the scripture of "doing everything as unto the Lord" aka giving it your all and applying it at that moment. Or . . . . if he just didn't care. Or . . . .if there was no level of comprehension of "they're coming" ...................................
. . . . . Yup . . . . . . .and then we had 2 kids in the bedroom with us. Giggling at the-picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words, display.
Things I am grateful for:
1) The modest position we chose to consumate
2) That we don't ever have to waste another speck of a wonder, dreading the "great reveal"
3) That the children do not seem to be struggling from any forms of PTSD, OR have asked any questions
4) That Big D and I were able to not "be weird" causing confusion and tears
And now I'm going to run away, and not make eye contact with anybody for awhile.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
You Can't Win Them All
It has been on my heart more and more - eating healthy.
I don't mean, drinking my milk and eating my greens. Because I don't do either of those things.
What I mean is, looking more into the quality of the food I'm eating. Going back to basics. Real material. Grandparent traditions. You know, junk like that.
Just because it's been on my heart, doesn't mean that I'm doing it all-together-now, style. I'm doing a lot of reading and researching. What will work best with my personality and our lifestyle. . . . .
I'd like to thank Mother Green Toes and The Prairie Homestead for kicking starting me. There are so many exciting things out there that I had no idea existed. Like eating dirt. And other things, that I did know about - but have never read an article that gave me the down-and-dirty (no pun intended), solid facts about - say, . . . . the health benefits of squatting while turding.
Moving on . . . .
With that being said, in the middle of all this exciting reading that I've been doing, Big D and I have really been get. ting. it. on. So much so, that there has been an alteration in my Ph level, leading to a collection of more yeast than normal. *ahem*
Ladies, let me encourage you to stop rummaging through your chemical drawers, and start looking on your kitchen counters. All's you need is a little of God's green earth crammed up into some-man's-land for relief and healing.
Healer of choice: fresh garlic cloves. Peeled of course. It smells incredibly divine. And makes me dream of fresh bread.
Midwife also suggested: taking shots of apple cider vinegar.
Ok, unbeknownst to the world (and Big D) I have been thinking about this for awhile. But it sounds overwhelming. And Easter eggish. And oh, so sour. And chore-ish.
But given the choice of being a walking bread machine, or not . . . .I'll take my shot. With a happy heart.
I have never (I say this with truth) felt more like a queen. The rush it provided. Screams came out involuntarily. Arms lost complete control, and flapped like a bird on crack. It gave me more of a rush than skinny-dipping at an illegal location with 3 male friends in the middle of winter. Would. (Did).
Yes. I will be doing this every night. And ANY time I need to feel alive.
So, with garlic cloves and apple cider vinegar under my belt (no pun intended) - I'm really starting to feel like I'm moving somewhere.
The next step was (yes, I said was) to take some fermented cod liver oil every day. It's such a small amount. And the benefits alone would want to make anyone open up and swallow.
The kind of CLO I got - recommended to me by none other than, M.G.T (she is the queen of CLO) ALSO had coconut oil (health) and butter oil (wealth) (not really, just more health - and a bonus of oral health - which is great, because I don't go to the dentist. Long story.) in it.
Today was the day to crack open the bottle. No reason why I chose today. Probably because I was feeling so brave from my shot of ACV.
I did take a whiff before scooping my spoonful, (It was a solid, because of the coconut oil) which caused me to stare long and hard at that spoonful. Thinking all sorts of encouraging and positive hogwash. And then I said, "it can't be that bad." And crammed it into my mouth.
At that precise moment:
a) I thought I was going to die
b) The phone rang
c) I started to gag and dry heave
d) Ed started screaming
I refused to spit it down the drain - because it cost so much money. And so I started to frantically flail around the kitchen looking for a suitable dish to spit it into. Now, once the offensive rotting fish liver is out of your mouth - it really isn't out of your mouth. CLO mixed with coconut and butter oil - makes the thickest, most liquid-resistant coating known in the scientific world. It also, somehow, swims up into your nasal passages.
You can gag and dry-heave all you want. Blow your nose. Cram your mouth full of chocolate cookies. It's there to stay. And you just have to go with it.
I answered the phone while cough-gagging. Took care of screaming Ed. And had 17 nightmares. About what to do with my daily allotment of CLO.
I decided the next step, was to make a smoothie. All sorts of yummy things. Liver juice included. I mixed it real good. Smelled it multiple times. I didn't gag. I tasted it. Didn't gag. In fact, I couldn't taste Nemo's guts at all.
Oh, I was feeling real proud. Until I got to the bottom of the barrel. Only to see that the oil had hardened onto the bottom of my blender. You know, with all the frozen fruits and ice cubes. . . . (idiot)
Two tries for a day equaled enough turmoil. And so I melted it with hot water and dumped it down the drain.
Except, when you mix fermented cod liver oil with hot water - you get a fine blast of death, in the face. That permeates throughout the entire kitchen. And fresh mingles with the old minglers - up your nose.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 2.
The cold water only hardened up the oil, which clogged the sink. Leaving me to have to reinstate the hot water.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 3.
I finally dumped about a gallon of clorox down the drain. And that seemed to neutralize the air enough to breath some.
I can honestly say:
1) I'm not giving up yet. One more recipe to try - and if that doesn't work, I'm going to choose to be ok with throwing it in the trash.
2) That was the worst thing I have ever, ever tasted and or smelled. It had me begging for my old offensive list of: coconut water, beets, fish eggs, and . . . . splooge. (TMI?)
3) You can't win them all.
My health-aware goals for the next couple of weeks/months:
To make my own bread
To make my own yogurt
To make elderberry elixer
To make vanilla extract
To make dishwasher tablets
To continue to be aware of what I'm eating. How is it being made? What the heckity heck is in it?
P.S. I can still taste fish lube. It must be stuck to my lips. They feel extraordinarily smooth.
I don't mean, drinking my milk and eating my greens. Because I don't do either of those things.
What I mean is, looking more into the quality of the food I'm eating. Going back to basics. Real material. Grandparent traditions. You know, junk like that.
Just because it's been on my heart, doesn't mean that I'm doing it all-together-now, style. I'm doing a lot of reading and researching. What will work best with my personality and our lifestyle. . . . .
I'd like to thank Mother Green Toes and The Prairie Homestead for kicking starting me. There are so many exciting things out there that I had no idea existed. Like eating dirt. And other things, that I did know about - but have never read an article that gave me the down-and-dirty (no pun intended), solid facts about - say, . . . . the health benefits of squatting while turding.
Moving on . . . .
With that being said, in the middle of all this exciting reading that I've been doing, Big D and I have really been get. ting. it. on. So much so, that there has been an alteration in my Ph level, leading to a collection of more yeast than normal. *ahem*
Ladies, let me encourage you to stop rummaging through your chemical drawers, and start looking on your kitchen counters. All's you need is a little of God's green earth crammed up into some-man's-land for relief and healing.
Healer of choice: fresh garlic cloves. Peeled of course. It smells incredibly divine. And makes me dream of fresh bread.
Midwife also suggested: taking shots of apple cider vinegar.
Ok, unbeknownst to the world (and Big D) I have been thinking about this for awhile. But it sounds overwhelming. And Easter eggish. And oh, so sour. And chore-ish.
But given the choice of being a walking bread machine, or not . . . .I'll take my shot. With a happy heart.
I have never (I say this with truth) felt more like a queen. The rush it provided. Screams came out involuntarily. Arms lost complete control, and flapped like a bird on crack. It gave me more of a rush than skinny-dipping at an illegal location with 3 male friends in the middle of winter. Would. (Did).
Yes. I will be doing this every night. And ANY time I need to feel alive.
So, with garlic cloves and apple cider vinegar under my belt (no pun intended) - I'm really starting to feel like I'm moving somewhere.
The next step was (yes, I said was) to take some fermented cod liver oil every day. It's such a small amount. And the benefits alone would want to make anyone open up and swallow.
The kind of CLO I got - recommended to me by none other than, M.G.T (she is the queen of CLO) ALSO had coconut oil (health) and butter oil (wealth) (not really, just more health - and a bonus of oral health - which is great, because I don't go to the dentist. Long story.) in it.
Today was the day to crack open the bottle. No reason why I chose today. Probably because I was feeling so brave from my shot of ACV.
I did take a whiff before scooping my spoonful, (It was a solid, because of the coconut oil) which caused me to stare long and hard at that spoonful. Thinking all sorts of encouraging and positive hogwash. And then I said, "it can't be that bad." And crammed it into my mouth.
At that precise moment:
a) I thought I was going to die
b) The phone rang
c) I started to gag and dry heave
d) Ed started screaming
I refused to spit it down the drain - because it cost so much money. And so I started to frantically flail around the kitchen looking for a suitable dish to spit it into. Now, once the offensive rotting fish liver is out of your mouth - it really isn't out of your mouth. CLO mixed with coconut and butter oil - makes the thickest, most liquid-resistant coating known in the scientific world. It also, somehow, swims up into your nasal passages.
You can gag and dry-heave all you want. Blow your nose. Cram your mouth full of chocolate cookies. It's there to stay. And you just have to go with it.
I answered the phone while cough-gagging. Took care of screaming Ed. And had 17 nightmares. About what to do with my daily allotment of CLO.
I decided the next step, was to make a smoothie. All sorts of yummy things. Liver juice included. I mixed it real good. Smelled it multiple times. I didn't gag. I tasted it. Didn't gag. In fact, I couldn't taste Nemo's guts at all.
Oh, I was feeling real proud. Until I got to the bottom of the barrel. Only to see that the oil had hardened onto the bottom of my blender. You know, with all the frozen fruits and ice cubes. . . . (idiot)
Two tries for a day equaled enough turmoil. And so I melted it with hot water and dumped it down the drain.
Except, when you mix fermented cod liver oil with hot water - you get a fine blast of death, in the face. That permeates throughout the entire kitchen. And fresh mingles with the old minglers - up your nose.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 2.
The cold water only hardened up the oil, which clogged the sink. Leaving me to have to reinstate the hot water.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 3.
I finally dumped about a gallon of clorox down the drain. And that seemed to neutralize the air enough to breath some.
I can honestly say:
1) I'm not giving up yet. One more recipe to try - and if that doesn't work, I'm going to choose to be ok with throwing it in the trash.
2) That was the worst thing I have ever, ever tasted and or smelled. It had me begging for my old offensive list of: coconut water, beets, fish eggs, and . . . . splooge. (TMI?)
3) You can't win them all.
My health-aware goals for the next couple of weeks/months:
To make my own bread
To make my own yogurt
To make elderberry elixer
To make vanilla extract
To make dishwasher tablets
To continue to be aware of what I'm eating. How is it being made? What the heckity heck is in it?
P.S. I can still taste fish lube. It must be stuck to my lips. They feel extraordinarily smooth.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Why I Feed my Kids GMOs
Back when I was responsible, I got up at 6:30 am. That's what they tell SAHMs to do. Its "key" to staying on top of the day. And the demands. That's how you know you're a "good" mom. If you get up before your kids. Put clothes on that don't stand up by themselves. Or reek of musty arm pits. Clothes that say "good morning beautiful children. I am eager to begin this special day with you. And later, I'm going to do your dad. On the kitchen table." And don't forget, your first cup of tea - by yourself - it's vital to good momship. And if we're really striving for greatness, a moment in God's word, to refresh our spirits.
Yes, those are all key to being a good mom. Personally, I didn't know this until I started reading other people's blogs.
I tried it for a while. It was nice. But it made the day longer. And quite frankly, this season that I'm in - cold, winter - calls for sleeping. As long as the children allow. I get up with the sun still. (I can't help it that the sun wants to sleep too. And doesn't get up until almost 8.)
A key component to a longer, more peaceful sleep, is to provide cereal in the cupboard and milk in the refrigerator. Murnice is becoming more independent by the day. (With much encouragement, as she likes to be served on all levels.) (She is also learning the fine lesson of serving others - her brother.)
Her getting breakfast for them both is magical. It allows for so much more peace and love to reside in my heart.
But three things have entered into the picture.
#1 I'm getting more and more skived out by GMOs.
#2 There remains only $6 left in the food budget for the next 1 1/2 weeks.
#3 We have officially run out of all cereal, that doesn't resemble and taste of rotting air and cardboard remnants.
All of this means that pure terror and havoc have replaced my once beautiful wake-up moments. These children are waking up like hibernating bears. Who is that hungry upon immediately waking up?
The heart-shattering roars of "FEED US!!!!!!" make me only want to crawl under my mattress and dig a secret passage to the neighbors house.
I try to squash their hollering, if only for a few minutes, by playing sweet games with them in bed. Like "kitten". Kittens snuggle quietly. And purr. I do get the occasional lick though.
And then the two of them see through my games. And decide together, silently, to begin the upheaval. To begin the overthrow of the peace that did once reign.
The children care nothing for any living being, besides themselves. They could care less if I was stark naked standing in the ice-box of a kitchen, while peeing my over-night load all over the floor. Just as long as I was serving them. Flipping eggs. And pouring morning juice. Putting their slippers on.
I am not allowed the luxury of throwing something on my ever-growing, hibernating bottom - without getting a tongue lashing. The screams and squawks that come from such small, selfish creatures. They send me straight to the hell-hole of insanity.
This morning I decided, there are just some things that are needed to keep the queen somewhat subdued. And it may not always be the healthiest choice. Or the choice that we feel good or proud about. But it's a season. And. Seasons. Don't. Last. Forever.
We have to weigh. What's a healthy choice for mom? For right now. For this season. And choose to be confident in our choice.
And I guess I'm choosing to be confident in a morning bowl of GMOs.
Yes, those are all key to being a good mom. Personally, I didn't know this until I started reading other people's blogs.
I tried it for a while. It was nice. But it made the day longer. And quite frankly, this season that I'm in - cold, winter - calls for sleeping. As long as the children allow. I get up with the sun still. (I can't help it that the sun wants to sleep too. And doesn't get up until almost 8.)
A key component to a longer, more peaceful sleep, is to provide cereal in the cupboard and milk in the refrigerator. Murnice is becoming more independent by the day. (With much encouragement, as she likes to be served on all levels.) (She is also learning the fine lesson of serving others - her brother.)
Her getting breakfast for them both is magical. It allows for so much more peace and love to reside in my heart.
But three things have entered into the picture.
#1 I'm getting more and more skived out by GMOs.
#2 There remains only $6 left in the food budget for the next 1 1/2 weeks.
#3 We have officially run out of all cereal, that doesn't resemble and taste of rotting air and cardboard remnants.
All of this means that pure terror and havoc have replaced my once beautiful wake-up moments. These children are waking up like hibernating bears. Who is that hungry upon immediately waking up?
The heart-shattering roars of "FEED US!!!!!!" make me only want to crawl under my mattress and dig a secret passage to the neighbors house.
I try to squash their hollering, if only for a few minutes, by playing sweet games with them in bed. Like "kitten". Kittens snuggle quietly. And purr. I do get the occasional lick though.
And then the two of them see through my games. And decide together, silently, to begin the upheaval. To begin the overthrow of the peace that did once reign.
The children care nothing for any living being, besides themselves. They could care less if I was stark naked standing in the ice-box of a kitchen, while peeing my over-night load all over the floor. Just as long as I was serving them. Flipping eggs. And pouring morning juice. Putting their slippers on.
I am not allowed the luxury of throwing something on my ever-growing, hibernating bottom - without getting a tongue lashing. The screams and squawks that come from such small, selfish creatures. They send me straight to the hell-hole of insanity.
This morning I decided, there are just some things that are needed to keep the queen somewhat subdued. And it may not always be the healthiest choice. Or the choice that we feel good or proud about. But it's a season. And. Seasons. Don't. Last. Forever.
We have to weigh. What's a healthy choice for mom? For right now. For this season. And choose to be confident in our choice.
And I guess I'm choosing to be confident in a morning bowl of GMOs.
Monday, January 6, 2014
A Few Words from FoxyBigLittleBits
Don't wizzle in your pants - or anything. I know I've been slacking horrifically. And have had many tongue lashings by "those" who feel they are allowed to give tongue lashings. . . . . . But the holidays are so distracting. And I've been slumped on my couch. And it's hard to have anything interesting and of worth to say when you're slumped and distracted.
So this will be a boringesque-Christmasesque letter type of update.
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving at Mother's is always hectic, frantic, and somewhat overwhelming. Loads of people. Mostly family. But there are always some guests whom I've never met before. I always wonder in those situations what "they've been told". Because you know they've been given the run-through of who is who and all that nonsense. I know this happens, because I do it.
Everybody is required to bring some food contribution. And that's always fun cooking on a stove that has 2 burners that work (the small ones) and a poor oven that's over worked and under paid.
This year we fed the kids first and then sent them to watch a movie. It was also the first year that both I and Big D ate in peace. Full peace. I don't think I'll ever forget that meal. (I'm definitely getting excited just thinking about all the gravy I ingested.)
At Mother's, there is no such thing as sitting-and-letting-your-meal-digest. No. It's straight to work. Mother promptly starting handing out "work cards". This is where she wrote down all the jobs that needed to be done, in order to clean up from dinner.
Now this brought me great pleasure. NOTHING gets me more excited to see some lazy bottom, sitting around and letting "others" clean up a mess, that THEY have contributed to. And I don't mean to sound too sexist right now . . . . but it's mostly the men folk who participate in this rudely behavior.
So Mother passes these cards out. Well actually, we got to pick our own card (blindly). Some people got off real easy. Wipe off counters. Others had more challenging tasks. Wash all the pots and pans.
The most glorious part - everybody had to participate. The most laziest of lazys, new and old.
Then the fliers come out (black friday). And everybody gets a little frantic, and the breathing gets heavy. And with all the heavy breathing - somebody gets hungry. And they pull out all the dessert. And I think, "so soon?"
And that's Thanksgiving.
Christmas
I did all of my shopping online, from my couch. It was the most perfect decision I've made in a long time.
Big D and I don't give each other anything. So many less emotions to deal with that way.
Although, I did buy Big D some beer soap. Because it makes me feel crazy thinking about the chemicals he smears around his body in the name of cleanliness. So I found some homemade manly soap. But chose to give it to him immediately, instead of waiting for Christmas morning. His rate of appropriate approval is greater if I just give it to him versus wrapping it up and making a big "special" deal about it. And it worked in my favor. He likes his beer soap. And feels like a dragon king smearing it all over his manly bits.
The kids open their gifts on Christmas eve. Which frees up Christmas day of tears and anxious hearts of not wanting to leave their new junk at home while we visit all of the hometown family.
Christmas day is not my favorite. Although I love the spirit and preparation of it. Music included.
Ed
Ed is starting to play by himself. Key word - starting. It really is a Christmas miracle. He still prefers to sit on top of me on the couch. He poops in the pot like a champ. He is also a lazy pee-er. Which means that he squirts 42 pee dribbles on whatever he's wearing BEFORE he decides he should use the restroom. He is still sleeping on our bedroom floor in his "nest". And he'll be there until he's 17. He sleeps soundly through all adult activity. (I sleep through all adult activity too) (Kidding) When he's mad at somebody or something - he will call them or it a "stupid beagle". Yup, too much Merry Christmas Charlie Brown. And I think it's hysterical. But I don't let him know. I am somewhat of a responsible mother.
Murnice
Don't really have a lot to say about Murn. Once they reach a certain age . . . . it's like . . . . .she's hates everything. And everything is a fight. . . . So, a few months ago, Murnice thought it was funny to scare Ed. On multiple occasions. Let the punishment fit the crime I say. (And it's a punishment that will last many years) She is now responsible to go with Ed anywhere and every time he's "scared". It's magical. She's is also learning the hard lesson of showing grace and a generous spirit. And thank the Lord, she is starting to love reading. (But I still have to force the reading time)
Couch
The stains never end. I had a Norwex party a little bit ago. And Couch got a scrubbing for the guests. She looked pretty for 1/2 the night. I've also decided that Couch smells musty and uninteresting. And somewhat disgraceful. So she'll be getting a flushout soon. In the meantime, she's still super sweet and inviting to me. And never judges.
Words Spoken by God
It's really easy for me to get wrapped up in other people's misfortune. And then I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm not going through something horrific or that I don't have any hardships right now in my life. So I was chatting with God about all of this - I can't remember in what context - but I remember just feeling guilty that I have such a pleasant life. And then God said to me, "don't feel guilty for the things that I've blessed you with."
God is not the God of guilt. Guilt does not come from God. He brings truth and understanding. And I'm really thankful for his permission to be glad in what he has given.
For those of you that don't struggle with all of that - stop judging this baby truth.
And that's all I'm going to write. And hopefully soon, I'll feel the need to have another episode of diarrhea of the mouth.
So this will be a boringesque-Christmasesque letter type of update.
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving at Mother's is always hectic, frantic, and somewhat overwhelming. Loads of people. Mostly family. But there are always some guests whom I've never met before. I always wonder in those situations what "they've been told". Because you know they've been given the run-through of who is who and all that nonsense. I know this happens, because I do it.
Everybody is required to bring some food contribution. And that's always fun cooking on a stove that has 2 burners that work (the small ones) and a poor oven that's over worked and under paid.
This year we fed the kids first and then sent them to watch a movie. It was also the first year that both I and Big D ate in peace. Full peace. I don't think I'll ever forget that meal. (I'm definitely getting excited just thinking about all the gravy I ingested.)
At Mother's, there is no such thing as sitting-and-letting-your-meal-digest. No. It's straight to work. Mother promptly starting handing out "work cards". This is where she wrote down all the jobs that needed to be done, in order to clean up from dinner.
Now this brought me great pleasure. NOTHING gets me more excited to see some lazy bottom, sitting around and letting "others" clean up a mess, that THEY have contributed to. And I don't mean to sound too sexist right now . . . . but it's mostly the men folk who participate in this rudely behavior.
So Mother passes these cards out. Well actually, we got to pick our own card (blindly). Some people got off real easy. Wipe off counters. Others had more challenging tasks. Wash all the pots and pans.
The most glorious part - everybody had to participate. The most laziest of lazys, new and old.
Then the fliers come out (black friday). And everybody gets a little frantic, and the breathing gets heavy. And with all the heavy breathing - somebody gets hungry. And they pull out all the dessert. And I think, "so soon?"
And that's Thanksgiving.
Christmas
I did all of my shopping online, from my couch. It was the most perfect decision I've made in a long time.
Big D and I don't give each other anything. So many less emotions to deal with that way.
Although, I did buy Big D some beer soap. Because it makes me feel crazy thinking about the chemicals he smears around his body in the name of cleanliness. So I found some homemade manly soap. But chose to give it to him immediately, instead of waiting for Christmas morning. His rate of appropriate approval is greater if I just give it to him versus wrapping it up and making a big "special" deal about it. And it worked in my favor. He likes his beer soap. And feels like a dragon king smearing it all over his manly bits.
The kids open their gifts on Christmas eve. Which frees up Christmas day of tears and anxious hearts of not wanting to leave their new junk at home while we visit all of the hometown family.
Christmas day is not my favorite. Although I love the spirit and preparation of it. Music included.
Ed
Ed is starting to play by himself. Key word - starting. It really is a Christmas miracle. He still prefers to sit on top of me on the couch. He poops in the pot like a champ. He is also a lazy pee-er. Which means that he squirts 42 pee dribbles on whatever he's wearing BEFORE he decides he should use the restroom. He is still sleeping on our bedroom floor in his "nest". And he'll be there until he's 17. He sleeps soundly through all adult activity. (I sleep through all adult activity too) (Kidding) When he's mad at somebody or something - he will call them or it a "stupid beagle". Yup, too much Merry Christmas Charlie Brown. And I think it's hysterical. But I don't let him know. I am somewhat of a responsible mother.
Murnice
Don't really have a lot to say about Murn. Once they reach a certain age . . . . it's like . . . . .she's hates everything. And everything is a fight. . . . So, a few months ago, Murnice thought it was funny to scare Ed. On multiple occasions. Let the punishment fit the crime I say. (And it's a punishment that will last many years) She is now responsible to go with Ed anywhere and every time he's "scared". It's magical. She's is also learning the hard lesson of showing grace and a generous spirit. And thank the Lord, she is starting to love reading. (But I still have to force the reading time)
Couch
The stains never end. I had a Norwex party a little bit ago. And Couch got a scrubbing for the guests. She looked pretty for 1/2 the night. I've also decided that Couch smells musty and uninteresting. And somewhat disgraceful. So she'll be getting a flushout soon. In the meantime, she's still super sweet and inviting to me. And never judges.
Words Spoken by God
It's really easy for me to get wrapped up in other people's misfortune. And then I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm not going through something horrific or that I don't have any hardships right now in my life. So I was chatting with God about all of this - I can't remember in what context - but I remember just feeling guilty that I have such a pleasant life. And then God said to me, "don't feel guilty for the things that I've blessed you with."
God is not the God of guilt. Guilt does not come from God. He brings truth and understanding. And I'm really thankful for his permission to be glad in what he has given.
For those of you that don't struggle with all of that - stop judging this baby truth.
And that's all I'm going to write. And hopefully soon, I'll feel the need to have another episode of diarrhea of the mouth.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Life is Never Pretty
I felt hope. I felt grateful.
And it came sweeping over me with such gentle surprise.
You see, I've been sinking. We haven't been in the best health over here for a little while. I shower once a week. Literally. I don't get dressed. Heaps of dirty and clean laundry are scattered. I think I vacuumed last in 2011. The bottom of my white porcelain sink is orangy/brown. We eat food out of boxes. A new herd of fruit flies have moved in. Big ones. Twice the size of normal ones. And they don't like my fruit fly trap.
My bathroom is ripped to shreds. It has a functioning shower and toilet. But no sink. Which means nobody washes their hands anymore. Nor do we brush our teeth.
The sheets on the bed? Thank goodness Big D hasn't brought me "down-town" in awhile. Otherwise we'd be sleeping in crunch. Because that's how much I'm sinking.
There is no dinner. There are no thoughts of dinner.
And sometimes I sleep. And sometimes I don't. It all depends on how gracious Ed is. And if the stars align in their magical pattern. And if "cozy" (his blanket) is perfectly perched upon body. And if he can find his "hole" in blue. And if pink cat is present, but not hogging his personal space. And whether or not he needs to pee or have a drink. Or a snuggle.
And that's just during the night.
The days are far worse. With so much screaming and crying.
And Murnice fights me every second. If I take two breaths, she's off and playing. Because there is nothing more fanciful, than to play when there's school to do. Elaborate and thorough games.
But today, as I was sitting, taking my daily, convulsive, diarrhea-squirt session, I felt it. I felt a wave of gratitude.
I don't know where it came from. Or why it decided to show up. Or why it thought I was worthy. But I really liked that fleeting moment. I really liked feeling hopeful.
Honestly I didn't realize I was sinking this much, until I breathed fresh.
I wouldn't mind a prayer or two.
The end.
And it came sweeping over me with such gentle surprise.
You see, I've been sinking. We haven't been in the best health over here for a little while. I shower once a week. Literally. I don't get dressed. Heaps of dirty and clean laundry are scattered. I think I vacuumed last in 2011. The bottom of my white porcelain sink is orangy/brown. We eat food out of boxes. A new herd of fruit flies have moved in. Big ones. Twice the size of normal ones. And they don't like my fruit fly trap.
My bathroom is ripped to shreds. It has a functioning shower and toilet. But no sink. Which means nobody washes their hands anymore. Nor do we brush our teeth.
The sheets on the bed? Thank goodness Big D hasn't brought me "down-town" in awhile. Otherwise we'd be sleeping in crunch. Because that's how much I'm sinking.
There is no dinner. There are no thoughts of dinner.
And sometimes I sleep. And sometimes I don't. It all depends on how gracious Ed is. And if the stars align in their magical pattern. And if "cozy" (his blanket) is perfectly perched upon body. And if he can find his "hole" in blue. And if pink cat is present, but not hogging his personal space. And whether or not he needs to pee or have a drink. Or a snuggle.
And that's just during the night.
The days are far worse. With so much screaming and crying.
And Murnice fights me every second. If I take two breaths, she's off and playing. Because there is nothing more fanciful, than to play when there's school to do. Elaborate and thorough games.
But today, as I was sitting, taking my daily, convulsive, diarrhea-squirt session, I felt it. I felt a wave of gratitude.
I don't know where it came from. Or why it decided to show up. Or why it thought I was worthy. But I really liked that fleeting moment. I really liked feeling hopeful.
Honestly I didn't realize I was sinking this much, until I breathed fresh.
I wouldn't mind a prayer or two.
The end.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Bigger is Better, But Wisdom is Best
I knew it was going to happen. Or at least I was prepared for when it did happen.
You see, one of my spiritual gifts happens to be intuition and discernment. It's a blessing and a curse. And maybe I'll talk more about that another time.
I became "aware" about two weeks ago. It was a Friday night. Friday Friend party night!!! . . . . . except I had a nervy feeling in my stomach about work the next morning. (I run a swim lesson program) I wasn't sure if I was just being a wench or my "feelings" were legit.
So I went exploring. And my mind's eye came up with a picture.
In my home town there's this really neat family. It's a pastor and his family. And a couple of years ago they adopted 3 teenagers from the Ukraine. Two of the kids come to swim lessons on Saturday, and one of those kids is a daredevil on the diving board. He's good. And fearless. All the makings you need to be a diver.
My mind picture was of this daredevil hitting the diving board with his head. He would need to be backboarded. And it was going to happen right at the end of swim lessons, when the whistle was blown.
I hated it. But I prayed over it. Asking God to please let that not happen. But if he did, to please cover me in wisdom, as I would be the one to be making the calls.
I prayed real hard. And I went over and over, in my head, the drill for backboarding a victim. And nothing happened that Saturday. And I breathed.
Fast forward to last night. Having moved on from my nervy feelings . . . . I wasn't thinking about diving board accidents anymore.
Tuesday night is homeschool swim. I bring Murnice and Ed for a lesson. Mother runs the program. Sometimes I lifeguard. Sometimes I teach a lesson. Last night I lifeguarded. Mother was playing with Ed in the shallow end while she chatted with me. The whistle blew to signal the end of class. And the divingboard made a horrific sound.
I looked up to see 3 adults rush to the divingboard. I knew somebody had hit it. And then saw that it had been B.B. Bobby. He was at the edge of the pool. Which was a good sign that he could move. I started yelling "DID HE HIT THE BOARD" as I ran down to the deep end.
After about the fifth time of asking the question, somebody finally said "yes, he split his head".
B.B.Bobby is out of the pool at this point, bent over, blooding running down his face. I take this all in as I grabbed the backboard and start ripping the velcro to shreds.
I'm yelling out commands, "CALL 911" and "HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BACKBOARD".
Immediately about 5 adults surrounded me and start yelling at me, "HOW DO WE HELP?"
This is funny to me. You know how in fast moving events, its blurred? So I wonder if what I was saying was actually making sense to bystanders? And then I wonder if I even answered their questions? Or if I just did it myself?
I remember throwing my hands up in the air at one point because I couldn't even get to all the straps because there were so many people surrounded him - supporting and gauzing and evaluating.
And then he was finally on the board, properly. Strapped. Immobilized. He was nauseous and dizzy. And then there's ice.
B.B.Bob was breathing and conscious. The ambulance was on their way. And then I realized, Ed was missing. I didn't see him anywhere in the mass of people. I yelled real loud. Three times. "WHERE'S MY SON".
And there he was. Wrapped in a towel, sitting. By Murnice. Guarded by the lovliest mom. She shared herself. Her time. While others took care of her children.
And then we waited.
I kept going over check lists in my head of what needed to be done. I not only needed to observe the happenings with B.B.Bobby, but there was paper work, and disinfecting, and kids that needed to be taken care of, and dazed parents that needed to be walked step by step through simple directions - such as how to get dressed, a pool to generally organize and lock up, cars and belongings to collect and be driven back to Mothers - since she was going on the ambulance ride, and organizing helpers to stand in the parking lot to direct the ambulance to the correct door. Since Father wasn't answering the phone he needed to be personally got, along with warm clothes and cell phones. And phone calls to later evening funs had to be cancelled.
I am amazed. I am grateful to the helpfulness of all. From sitting with smaller children to lending underwear. Standing in the cold outdoors with just a bathing suit to guide the EMS to cleaning up the blood bath. To covering in prayers and not leaving his side with jokes.
I was covered. I had already prayed 2 weeks before. Wisdom. It was the most perfect, worst accident the pool of 30+ years has seen.
8 staples. No headache. Nothing broken/fractured/sprained. Bloody and bruised, yes. His hands are very tender and swollen. And they are the worst of it, pain wise.
I believe with all my heart that that accident was meant for the daredevil diver. I believe with all my heart that my prayer changed what was meant to be. And God was gracious and so perfect.
My heart is full of Thanksgiving.
You see, one of my spiritual gifts happens to be intuition and discernment. It's a blessing and a curse. And maybe I'll talk more about that another time.
I became "aware" about two weeks ago. It was a Friday night. Friday Friend party night!!! . . . . . except I had a nervy feeling in my stomach about work the next morning. (I run a swim lesson program) I wasn't sure if I was just being a wench or my "feelings" were legit.
So I went exploring. And my mind's eye came up with a picture.
In my home town there's this really neat family. It's a pastor and his family. And a couple of years ago they adopted 3 teenagers from the Ukraine. Two of the kids come to swim lessons on Saturday, and one of those kids is a daredevil on the diving board. He's good. And fearless. All the makings you need to be a diver.
My mind picture was of this daredevil hitting the diving board with his head. He would need to be backboarded. And it was going to happen right at the end of swim lessons, when the whistle was blown.
I hated it. But I prayed over it. Asking God to please let that not happen. But if he did, to please cover me in wisdom, as I would be the one to be making the calls.
I prayed real hard. And I went over and over, in my head, the drill for backboarding a victim. And nothing happened that Saturday. And I breathed.
Fast forward to last night. Having moved on from my nervy feelings . . . . I wasn't thinking about diving board accidents anymore.
Tuesday night is homeschool swim. I bring Murnice and Ed for a lesson. Mother runs the program. Sometimes I lifeguard. Sometimes I teach a lesson. Last night I lifeguarded. Mother was playing with Ed in the shallow end while she chatted with me. The whistle blew to signal the end of class. And the divingboard made a horrific sound.
I looked up to see 3 adults rush to the divingboard. I knew somebody had hit it. And then saw that it had been B.B. Bobby. He was at the edge of the pool. Which was a good sign that he could move. I started yelling "DID HE HIT THE BOARD" as I ran down to the deep end.
After about the fifth time of asking the question, somebody finally said "yes, he split his head".
B.B.Bobby is out of the pool at this point, bent over, blooding running down his face. I take this all in as I grabbed the backboard and start ripping the velcro to shreds.
I'm yelling out commands, "CALL 911" and "HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BACKBOARD".
Immediately about 5 adults surrounded me and start yelling at me, "HOW DO WE HELP?"
This is funny to me. You know how in fast moving events, its blurred? So I wonder if what I was saying was actually making sense to bystanders? And then I wonder if I even answered their questions? Or if I just did it myself?
I remember throwing my hands up in the air at one point because I couldn't even get to all the straps because there were so many people surrounded him - supporting and gauzing and evaluating.
And then he was finally on the board, properly. Strapped. Immobilized. He was nauseous and dizzy. And then there's ice.
B.B.Bob was breathing and conscious. The ambulance was on their way. And then I realized, Ed was missing. I didn't see him anywhere in the mass of people. I yelled real loud. Three times. "WHERE'S MY SON".
And there he was. Wrapped in a towel, sitting. By Murnice. Guarded by the lovliest mom. She shared herself. Her time. While others took care of her children.
And then we waited.
I kept going over check lists in my head of what needed to be done. I not only needed to observe the happenings with B.B.Bobby, but there was paper work, and disinfecting, and kids that needed to be taken care of, and dazed parents that needed to be walked step by step through simple directions - such as how to get dressed, a pool to generally organize and lock up, cars and belongings to collect and be driven back to Mothers - since she was going on the ambulance ride, and organizing helpers to stand in the parking lot to direct the ambulance to the correct door. Since Father wasn't answering the phone he needed to be personally got, along with warm clothes and cell phones. And phone calls to later evening funs had to be cancelled.
I am amazed. I am grateful to the helpfulness of all. From sitting with smaller children to lending underwear. Standing in the cold outdoors with just a bathing suit to guide the EMS to cleaning up the blood bath. To covering in prayers and not leaving his side with jokes.
I was covered. I had already prayed 2 weeks before. Wisdom. It was the most perfect, worst accident the pool of 30+ years has seen.
8 staples. No headache. Nothing broken/fractured/sprained. Bloody and bruised, yes. His hands are very tender and swollen. And they are the worst of it, pain wise.
I believe with all my heart that that accident was meant for the daredevil diver. I believe with all my heart that my prayer changed what was meant to be. And God was gracious and so perfect.
My heart is full of Thanksgiving.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
A Typical Day With Ed
My day with naughty Ed as gone like this:
6:58 am
*SCREAMING* "I want to get up" repeatedly. Loudly. With lots of "moms".
I said no. Because it wasn't quite 7. And that's the rule. And one more extra second I have to spend with Ed . . . .
I really thought he fell back asleep. There was so much quiet for the next 20 minutes. And I thought it was my lucky day. And the sleep fairy came to give me a gift. And maybe it was a Christmas miracle.
But then he started yelling again. And Witherhall-legally, I had to say yes.
And then there was much fawning over my breasts. Lately Ed has become very much in need of my breasts in order to snuggle properly. And the term he uses for a breast snuggle is "snuggle buggle". He's woken me up out of a dead sleep, on more than one occassion to ask if he could snuggle with my "boos".
Now, not to brag or anything. But my breast size gift is about on par of a 90 year old tortoise. I'm not really sure what he thinks he's snuggling with. But it's not soft. Or squishy. Or, lovely. On any level. But I do have nipples.
And then the morning screams for "he-de-ohs" (with a small roll of the tongue at the end of "he") began. I smiled nicely, and with as much love in my heart, I filled up a bowl (that was the wrong bowl) with cheerios and milk. I placed the bowl so lovingly on the table. In the wrong spot, of course.
And then more screaming. Because he wanted to be spoon fed.
Now not to be rude, but I do not think it's necessary to move from my warm spot on the couch to spoon feed a very capable child. My belief is, if you are hungry enough . . . .you can manage.
Well, that attitude really got him going. Ed grabbed his spoon, and all while roaring - he thrust his spoon in and out of his bowl with as much vim and vigor as his arm allowed. Disappointingly, only a small amount of cheerios and milk landed on the table.
In order to get a true reaction from mother, since I was ignoring the smallish, rude animal that Big D had let in while trying to leave for work . . . he put his spoon down. Picked up his bowl with both hands. And dumped his cheerios and milk - all out. Every last bit. And with a pleased as punch attitude, he put his bowl down with authority and looked at me.
That was how my day began. And THAT is why I demand Big D to yell from the closing front door, every morning - "YOU HAVE THE HARDER JOB". It fills my heart with pleasure, knowing that the father of these children know that staying home is 74 times more miserable than sitting in a boring suit-tie meeting.
I also had the privilege of holding down a flailing, kicking boy at the library. Which just sounds boringly naughty. It was. But it adds.
He also thought it was funny to reminisce about pulling "Murny's" hair at the grocer, while pooping on the pot. Followed by snickers and chuckles.
And then he asked me to sing "the big frog penis" while I put him down for his nap.
And then I find him at the table, thanking Jesus for showers.
I'm am becoming more and more horrified with this small ungrateful fleabag/screaming panther child everyday. #1 - It's kinda funny. #2 - how do I raise such a pig-headed, prideful monster that has the tenderest of hearts (sometimes still) and a sense of humor?
Take Aways
1) greet everyday with a pleadful prayer of grace.
2) and then stay home, forever.
3) I think all of my take aways are "stay home".
4) I haven't worn makeup in months. I just don't have the gumption to, with all the naughtiness in my life.
5) Today I'm wearing polka-dots and stripes. But in a really bad way.
6) I'm feeling self pity towards my lackluster closet.
7) Wah!
8) Maybe I'll have an extra glass of wine tonight.
6:58 am
*SCREAMING* "I want to get up" repeatedly. Loudly. With lots of "moms".
I said no. Because it wasn't quite 7. And that's the rule. And one more extra second I have to spend with Ed . . . .
I really thought he fell back asleep. There was so much quiet for the next 20 minutes. And I thought it was my lucky day. And the sleep fairy came to give me a gift. And maybe it was a Christmas miracle.
But then he started yelling again. And Witherhall-legally, I had to say yes.
And then there was much fawning over my breasts. Lately Ed has become very much in need of my breasts in order to snuggle properly. And the term he uses for a breast snuggle is "snuggle buggle". He's woken me up out of a dead sleep, on more than one occassion to ask if he could snuggle with my "boos".
Now, not to brag or anything. But my breast size gift is about on par of a 90 year old tortoise. I'm not really sure what he thinks he's snuggling with. But it's not soft. Or squishy. Or, lovely. On any level. But I do have nipples.
And then the morning screams for "he-de-ohs" (with a small roll of the tongue at the end of "he") began. I smiled nicely, and with as much love in my heart, I filled up a bowl (that was the wrong bowl) with cheerios and milk. I placed the bowl so lovingly on the table. In the wrong spot, of course.
And then more screaming. Because he wanted to be spoon fed.
Now not to be rude, but I do not think it's necessary to move from my warm spot on the couch to spoon feed a very capable child. My belief is, if you are hungry enough . . . .you can manage.
Well, that attitude really got him going. Ed grabbed his spoon, and all while roaring - he thrust his spoon in and out of his bowl with as much vim and vigor as his arm allowed. Disappointingly, only a small amount of cheerios and milk landed on the table.
In order to get a true reaction from mother, since I was ignoring the smallish, rude animal that Big D had let in while trying to leave for work . . . he put his spoon down. Picked up his bowl with both hands. And dumped his cheerios and milk - all out. Every last bit. And with a pleased as punch attitude, he put his bowl down with authority and looked at me.
That was how my day began. And THAT is why I demand Big D to yell from the closing front door, every morning - "YOU HAVE THE HARDER JOB". It fills my heart with pleasure, knowing that the father of these children know that staying home is 74 times more miserable than sitting in a boring suit-tie meeting.
I also had the privilege of holding down a flailing, kicking boy at the library. Which just sounds boringly naughty. It was. But it adds.
He also thought it was funny to reminisce about pulling "Murny's" hair at the grocer, while pooping on the pot. Followed by snickers and chuckles.
And then he asked me to sing "the big frog penis" while I put him down for his nap.
And then I find him at the table, thanking Jesus for showers.
I'm am becoming more and more horrified with this small ungrateful fleabag/screaming panther child everyday. #1 - It's kinda funny. #2 - how do I raise such a pig-headed, prideful monster that has the tenderest of hearts (sometimes still) and a sense of humor?
Take Aways
1) greet everyday with a pleadful prayer of grace.
2) and then stay home, forever.
3) I think all of my take aways are "stay home".
4) I haven't worn makeup in months. I just don't have the gumption to, with all the naughtiness in my life.
5) Today I'm wearing polka-dots and stripes. But in a really bad way.
6) I'm feeling self pity towards my lackluster closet.
7) Wah!
8) Maybe I'll have an extra glass of wine tonight.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Half-Way to Snow Bird Land
I left Big D again.
That's why I haven't been writing. I've been sitting on a different couch. With no gumption to say anything. Even though there are things to be said.
But this morning I've gathered my gumption.
I'm on my annual trip down south. (Ok, it's only the second time that I've done it. But I think two times in a row makes it annual.)
Big D gets really nervous with my driving. He'd like to preserve the family for a bit longer, so he drove us down. Actually, I kind of manipulated him into driving us. I say things like: "I'm really fine. There is no need to drive us down. But you can make the call, being the family protector and all". And then he feels guilty without me being needy and whiny. And he takes care of his manly business and I get to be chauffeured. And I let him chauffeur me in style. I always wear my biggest granny panties. (There is nothing worse than having a wad of underwear stuck where you can't reach it for hours and hours) And without fail, I choose the sweat pants that Big D has vowed to never have intercourse with me again - if I wear them. (They're just so cozy and perfect) And I smile gleefully. And my butt is happy.
My favorite is when I take the kids into the restroom stops. Big D never shows his face with us. He pumps gas. But I can see right through his antics. He's horrified to be associated with us. So he pumps and we pee. And then when we're half way into the parking lot, he bolts from our car, straight into the rest stop - without a glance our way. And nobody would guess for a second that he is our hired chauffeur/father of the sewer rat children/husband of this hot piece of eye candy.
For this trip, I was a real mom. I made food for the car. And it was 100 times better than "packing food" sounds. Like - I imagine, smooshed, car-warm pb and jelly. But I was way fancier than that.
I made poo-tang sandwiches in mini pita pockets. And they rocked our world. So so tasty. And made our trip 3 times happier and 2 hours shorter. The chauffeur was happy. I packed other things too - but nothing was quite so trip-changing as those samiches. (That's how Big D says it.)
And we listened to books on tape. And stopped in the middle of a busy busy highway in the dark, to rush Ed to the edge of death - so he could pee.
Before we knew it - (only because I packed sandwiches) we made it to B.B. Chuck's house. And the kids ran around and screamed and squealed like banshees for an hour. And the adults looked at each other and smiled and wished so hard that it was bed time.
And then Big D woke up a few hours later and flew back home.
So in actuality, Big D is the one that left me. And wouldn't you know - he's missing me. Wishing he could catch a glimpse of this plush bottom in a pair of granny panties.
Take Aways
1) My gumption has left.
That's why I haven't been writing. I've been sitting on a different couch. With no gumption to say anything. Even though there are things to be said.
But this morning I've gathered my gumption.
I'm on my annual trip down south. (Ok, it's only the second time that I've done it. But I think two times in a row makes it annual.)
Big D gets really nervous with my driving. He'd like to preserve the family for a bit longer, so he drove us down. Actually, I kind of manipulated him into driving us. I say things like: "I'm really fine. There is no need to drive us down. But you can make the call, being the family protector and all". And then he feels guilty without me being needy and whiny. And he takes care of his manly business and I get to be chauffeured. And I let him chauffeur me in style. I always wear my biggest granny panties. (There is nothing worse than having a wad of underwear stuck where you can't reach it for hours and hours) And without fail, I choose the sweat pants that Big D has vowed to never have intercourse with me again - if I wear them. (They're just so cozy and perfect) And I smile gleefully. And my butt is happy.
My favorite is when I take the kids into the restroom stops. Big D never shows his face with us. He pumps gas. But I can see right through his antics. He's horrified to be associated with us. So he pumps and we pee. And then when we're half way into the parking lot, he bolts from our car, straight into the rest stop - without a glance our way. And nobody would guess for a second that he is our hired chauffeur/father of the sewer rat children/husband of this hot piece of eye candy.
For this trip, I was a real mom. I made food for the car. And it was 100 times better than "packing food" sounds. Like - I imagine, smooshed, car-warm pb and jelly. But I was way fancier than that.
I made poo-tang sandwiches in mini pita pockets. And they rocked our world. So so tasty. And made our trip 3 times happier and 2 hours shorter. The chauffeur was happy. I packed other things too - but nothing was quite so trip-changing as those samiches. (That's how Big D says it.)
And we listened to books on tape. And stopped in the middle of a busy busy highway in the dark, to rush Ed to the edge of death - so he could pee.
Before we knew it - (only because I packed sandwiches) we made it to B.B. Chuck's house. And the kids ran around and screamed and squealed like banshees for an hour. And the adults looked at each other and smiled and wished so hard that it was bed time.
And then Big D woke up a few hours later and flew back home.
So in actuality, Big D is the one that left me. And wouldn't you know - he's missing me. Wishing he could catch a glimpse of this plush bottom in a pair of granny panties.
Take Aways
1) My gumption has left.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Some Days are Good. Some Days are Bad. This Week has Been Awful.
I wish there was something great to say to the world. ... I guess the greatest thing there is to say is: I'm still alive. And so are the kids. Big D . . . . . barely hanging on, ready to move into his own bachey pad.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
You're probably wondering what the "stupidest event of the year" is. And I would be pleased as punch to tell you all.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Struggles of a Couch Lover
I'm doing this virtual bible study called: Good Morning Girls. Admitted - worst, cheesiest, run-away name ever.
But I'm doing it because . . . . um . . . . lots of reasons. My current house of worship does not have something that makes my toes sing, I don't feel like paying money to go to community bible study (cbs), I hate packing the kids up and then spending 17 hours to do something that appears and feels holy but only gets my crunchy panties in a twist and makes me feel like drinking before lunchtime.
So this seemed to be the perfect solution. They provide me with everything I need - minus the bible, binder, and actual paper to be printed on. And I can participate when I want. How I want, with no panty twisting.
After you join, you can decide if you want to do the study on your own, or with a group of people. And you can choose your own group through their forum. Facebook, email, text, instagram. Some groups actually get together face to face. I love how it is so form-able to all different lifestyles.
At first, I had my wall built up 14 cubits tall and 16 cubits wide. (That was a bible joke) Because remember, I struggle with women. But being on week 3, hearts are becoming apparent. I don't feel the need to be so guarded. And I like that a lot. I also like that I don't have to actually talk. Because talking is the worst for me. I can just write. And writing is good.
What I really wanted to talk about today, is something that I struggle with. Something that's been on my mind awhile. Something that maybe other SAHMs struggle with. Or maybe I just do. Because I'm such a wench. (Actually I'm not a wench, I just wanted to say "wench".)
So - being in the work world, it's easy to feel like you're doing things for God. You're generally around people all day long. Doing things for people all day long. You have this sense that you're helping and giving and sacrificing. And the opportunity to share God's love is prevalent. The opportunity is ALWAYS in your face.
When I was off my couch working in hospitals, going to school, massaging, etc - I was always in prayer. Seeking direction and blessings. I was able to do hard, gross things - in the name of "love". And it felt good. And rewarding. And I felt like I was accomplishing things for the kingdom of God. And earning extra jewels for my crown. (That's an inside joke - the jewels part)
But now I live on my couch. Unable to leave it for more than 17 seconds before the world falls apart. I do nothing but break up fights, and hold hands to help poop come out better, and make 8 year olds repeat every word they say like an 8 year old, instead of like a baby, and fight and fight and fight over concepts that were learned 4 years ago, and sing Pippi Longstocking songs that I don't know the words to, except "squish squish". I wash dishes with food rotted on and drink tea with backwash in it, because Ed needs his daily tea almost as badly as I need my daily tea. And my new chore is cleaning pee off the back of the toilet 34 times a day, because somebody doesn't understand the dire importance of holding their peener down while urinating.
I feel worn out and disgusting most moments of everyday. I do not feel close to God. Nor do I feel that I'm doing anything for the kingdom. But I know this feeling is a lie. This job is just more trying for me than my other jobs. I can't leave this job. Not for a second. I'm tired. I'm not EVER doing anything new or fresh. The fights I broke up yesterday, are the same today, the same song, the same dirty dish, the same pee dribble.
But because my life and days feel so monotonous, I wanted to know if there was something else that I was supposed to be doing Something a little more exciting. Some other way to be giving, honoring. I wanted to know if I was missing the boat. I feel so lazy - just sitting on my couch, holding hands.
He said, "I want you to know me".
As great as it was to hear his voice so fast, that's not the answer I was looking for, or expecting.
You see, "doing" makes us feel worthy. Because we still hold on to this belief that we have to earn God's love. And acceptance.
And above all else, he merely wants our heart. Our attention, to be part of our day. Not our acts or services. He wants to be friends. And he wants to share his love with us. Because he thinks we're that great.
The end. Minus the part where I say - I don't need any comments from anyone that says something stupid like: being a mom is the most giving, hardest job there is. And other things on that same note.
Take Aways
1) When we don't feel like we're doing anything, maybe it's a sign that it's a new season. And relationships need to be renewed.
2) A book that has been blowing my mind. lately. It has a wah wah write up that makes it sound like only women with bleached coiffed hair in their 50s should read it. But not so. Ladies who wear 3 day old rotten underwear can read it too. And like it.
3) While typing up "number 2", Ed took such a big swig of tea, that he erupted into choking coughs, which spewed tea everywhere. School books. Couch. Clothes. Carpet. Nay Nay. Computer. I drink black tea. My heart is leaping for joy at the moment.
But I'm doing it because . . . . um . . . . lots of reasons. My current house of worship does not have something that makes my toes sing, I don't feel like paying money to go to community bible study (cbs), I hate packing the kids up and then spending 17 hours to do something that appears and feels holy but only gets my crunchy panties in a twist and makes me feel like drinking before lunchtime.
So this seemed to be the perfect solution. They provide me with everything I need - minus the bible, binder, and actual paper to be printed on. And I can participate when I want. How I want, with no panty twisting.
After you join, you can decide if you want to do the study on your own, or with a group of people. And you can choose your own group through their forum. Facebook, email, text, instagram. Some groups actually get together face to face. I love how it is so form-able to all different lifestyles.
At first, I had my wall built up 14 cubits tall and 16 cubits wide. (That was a bible joke) Because remember, I struggle with women. But being on week 3, hearts are becoming apparent. I don't feel the need to be so guarded. And I like that a lot. I also like that I don't have to actually talk. Because talking is the worst for me. I can just write. And writing is good.
What I really wanted to talk about today, is something that I struggle with. Something that's been on my mind awhile. Something that maybe other SAHMs struggle with. Or maybe I just do. Because I'm such a wench. (Actually I'm not a wench, I just wanted to say "wench".)
So - being in the work world, it's easy to feel like you're doing things for God. You're generally around people all day long. Doing things for people all day long. You have this sense that you're helping and giving and sacrificing. And the opportunity to share God's love is prevalent. The opportunity is ALWAYS in your face.
When I was off my couch working in hospitals, going to school, massaging, etc - I was always in prayer. Seeking direction and blessings. I was able to do hard, gross things - in the name of "love". And it felt good. And rewarding. And I felt like I was accomplishing things for the kingdom of God. And earning extra jewels for my crown. (That's an inside joke - the jewels part)
But now I live on my couch. Unable to leave it for more than 17 seconds before the world falls apart. I do nothing but break up fights, and hold hands to help poop come out better, and make 8 year olds repeat every word they say like an 8 year old, instead of like a baby, and fight and fight and fight over concepts that were learned 4 years ago, and sing Pippi Longstocking songs that I don't know the words to, except "squish squish". I wash dishes with food rotted on and drink tea with backwash in it, because Ed needs his daily tea almost as badly as I need my daily tea. And my new chore is cleaning pee off the back of the toilet 34 times a day, because somebody doesn't understand the dire importance of holding their peener down while urinating.
I feel worn out and disgusting most moments of everyday. I do not feel close to God. Nor do I feel that I'm doing anything for the kingdom. But I know this feeling is a lie. This job is just more trying for me than my other jobs. I can't leave this job. Not for a second. I'm tired. I'm not EVER doing anything new or fresh. The fights I broke up yesterday, are the same today, the same song, the same dirty dish, the same pee dribble.
But because my life and days feel so monotonous, I wanted to know if there was something else that I was supposed to be doing Something a little more exciting. Some other way to be giving, honoring. I wanted to know if I was missing the boat. I feel so lazy - just sitting on my couch, holding hands.
He said, "I want you to know me".
As great as it was to hear his voice so fast, that's not the answer I was looking for, or expecting.
You see, "doing" makes us feel worthy. Because we still hold on to this belief that we have to earn God's love. And acceptance.
And above all else, he merely wants our heart. Our attention, to be part of our day. Not our acts or services. He wants to be friends. And he wants to share his love with us. Because he thinks we're that great.
The end. Minus the part where I say - I don't need any comments from anyone that says something stupid like: being a mom is the most giving, hardest job there is. And other things on that same note.
Take Aways
1) When we don't feel like we're doing anything, maybe it's a sign that it's a new season. And relationships need to be renewed.
2) A book that has been blowing my mind. lately. It has a wah wah write up that makes it sound like only women with bleached coiffed hair in their 50s should read it. But not so. Ladies who wear 3 day old rotten underwear can read it too. And like it.
3) While typing up "number 2", Ed took such a big swig of tea, that he erupted into choking coughs, which spewed tea everywhere. School books. Couch. Clothes. Carpet. Nay Nay. Computer. I drink black tea. My heart is leaping for joy at the moment.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 4
It was a Saturday. Sunny and perfect and cozy. We were sitting on the couch together. Happy. I got up to use the bathroom. And my baby came out. No warning. And because I'd never had a miscarriage. Or thought about a miscarriage. Nor did anybody ever really talk about miscarriage. I was in shock. So much blood. And chunks and chunks. I remember being emotionally removed. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of having something that you've created, die. And then empty out in the toilet. The disrespect for human life, with no other choice. I pulled chunk after chunk out of the toilet. Not sure what chunk was my baby. I stuck all of it in a bag, and then in the freezer. Desiring to put it in the ground at some point.
I don't remember anything else about that day.
The next day was my massage school graduation. The two things I didn't tell you: 1) my graduation was pushed 3 weeks later than it was supposed to be. So yes, I was pregnant when I was supposed to graduate. 2) For weeks leading up to my graduation (possibly even a few months) I had the feeling that I would not be attending my graduation. But had no idea why..
I contacted my classmates Saturday night to let them know that I would not be at graduation on Sunday. They were so sweet to me. During graduation they called so I could listen to the ceremony.
Over the next few days I spent a lot of time studying. I had to take the LMT boards in a few weeks.
I went to work like normal - pool job. That was weird.
I also had to get a bunch of blood work done. Make sure all of the baby came out. That was neat. They handed me grieving pamphlets and told me about circle groups. Asked if I was ok. It's weird to have that question asked so close to losing someone. They should wait a month or two before asking.
I didn't really tell anybody what happened. Just went on with life. Felt sad on and off. I wanted to talk about it with Big D, but he didn't want to talk about it at all. That made me mad.
On a happy note, I was so relieved that I could get pregnant. Now the challenge was just going to be, growing a baby.
Friends kept getting pregnant. And due dates would come around. Reminding me that I didn't have a due date anymore.
Early that spring, a job opportunity opened up. A director position for a pool at a fancy golfy club. I applied and looked fancy. Interviewed twice. And they offered me the assistant position. I declined after a smooshing dinner. It was a crap offer and they were trying to wrap it up in pretty bows. The awesome part was, the new director who was smooshing me, butt dialed me after I declined her offer. I called her back and she answered, and was horrified when she realized it was me. (That actually didn't sound as incredibly awkward as it actually was when it went down)
The beginning of July I got pregnant again. But I had been burned. And once you have a miscarriage, you don't look at any pregnancy with such simplicity.
As excited as I was, I just couldn't connect or bond with the thought of me being pregnant.
And I'm done for right now. While writing this blog - I also multi-tasked by chasing Ed back to bed for the past 35 minutes. I know that sounded cute, because I used the word "chase". But it was not cute. And now I am livid. And hot. And beyond fuming. And Big D is at work - working late.
So many blessings tonight.
I don't remember anything else about that day.
The next day was my massage school graduation. The two things I didn't tell you: 1) my graduation was pushed 3 weeks later than it was supposed to be. So yes, I was pregnant when I was supposed to graduate. 2) For weeks leading up to my graduation (possibly even a few months) I had the feeling that I would not be attending my graduation. But had no idea why..
I contacted my classmates Saturday night to let them know that I would not be at graduation on Sunday. They were so sweet to me. During graduation they called so I could listen to the ceremony.
Over the next few days I spent a lot of time studying. I had to take the LMT boards in a few weeks.
I went to work like normal - pool job. That was weird.
I also had to get a bunch of blood work done. Make sure all of the baby came out. That was neat. They handed me grieving pamphlets and told me about circle groups. Asked if I was ok. It's weird to have that question asked so close to losing someone. They should wait a month or two before asking.
I didn't really tell anybody what happened. Just went on with life. Felt sad on and off. I wanted to talk about it with Big D, but he didn't want to talk about it at all. That made me mad.
On a happy note, I was so relieved that I could get pregnant. Now the challenge was just going to be, growing a baby.
Friends kept getting pregnant. And due dates would come around. Reminding me that I didn't have a due date anymore.
Early that spring, a job opportunity opened up. A director position for a pool at a fancy golfy club. I applied and looked fancy. Interviewed twice. And they offered me the assistant position. I declined after a smooshing dinner. It was a crap offer and they were trying to wrap it up in pretty bows. The awesome part was, the new director who was smooshing me, butt dialed me after I declined her offer. I called her back and she answered, and was horrified when she realized it was me. (That actually didn't sound as incredibly awkward as it actually was when it went down)
The beginning of July I got pregnant again. But I had been burned. And once you have a miscarriage, you don't look at any pregnancy with such simplicity.
As excited as I was, I just couldn't connect or bond with the thought of me being pregnant.
And I'm done for right now. While writing this blog - I also multi-tasked by chasing Ed back to bed for the past 35 minutes. I know that sounded cute, because I used the word "chase". But it was not cute. And now I am livid. And hot. And beyond fuming. And Big D is at work - working late.
So many blessings tonight.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
List of Gratefulness/Things I Love - But Only For Today
Things that I love love love - or possibly don't love, but am grateful for.
1) A story to tell that hopefully brings something good to others. (I was lying in bed last night and realized that it's going to be a never ending story - mainly because I'm writing every blue-dog detail of 5ish years.)
2) Ed saying to Murnice, "Murny, you wanna make babies?" - Meaning, draw babies. Um, I fell in love with him 31 pounds more.
3) Sister Bear calling me at quarter of eleven last night to ask what my message was that I gave B.B. Bobby. (Seriously!) The message I gave to Bobby was, "tell S.B. 11 o'clock at the beach". And Bobby couldn't remember that? And then S.B. has to call me when I'm fast asleep? I guess at this point you're all thinking, "don't answer the phone." But I have to keep my phone 3 inches from my head at night because I've had just enough late calls that have to do with spousal fights and cockroaches and smashed Tupperware and tinker on the edge of having to call the SWAT team in to diffuse.
4) Ed has been telling Big D for a few weeks now that he loves him. It's very sweet. But Ed hasn't shared his love with anybody else, and being the person who pushed him out of my vagina - I feel I should be the first that he loves. Out of pure devotion. But yesterday, when I was scrounging in the fridge, Ed saw a whole bowl of hard boiled eggs. And he told me he loved me. a) I am thrilled he finally found it in his heart to utter those words to me. b) I am horrified that the only reason he loves me is because I boiled some eggs for him.
5) Getting a text from S.B. saying that she was going to McDicks. (for coffee). Um . . . "mcdicks" cracks me up. Or maybe I'm over tired from less than important phone calls in the middle of the night. Yes, quarter of eleven is the middle of the night.
6) Ed obsessed with his "nest" in our bedroom. Ok, so Ed has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. And it's so sweet and not snugly with very little sleep. Big D gets very hateful over this topic. And I'm getting grumpier night by night. So I ended up making a "nest" on the floor by our bed that he is, can we say - in love with. I made it so when he woke up in the middle of the night he could come to his nest. But his nest is the only place he's sleeping. And for quite a few nights in a row, it has greatly impinged on Big D's and my very adult time that was supposed to go down.
7) Finding some "workout" clothes at TJMAXX that I can stomach wearing. AKA - Big D hates them. I say they are "workout" clothes because I found them in the workout section. I legitimately will feel like a queen wearing them. You may find me wearing workyouty clothes every once in awhile. But you will NEVER find me wearing sneaks. EVER. Or if i do, it will be a very hidden and private affair.
8) Watching B.B. Wensleydale twirly grow into man. He recently became a believer, and his maturity has just blown me to the moon. And possibly the stars. I'm so excited to see what this next year has for him.
9) I recently became privy to some very disheartening/angering/appalling/shocking/wear-my-boxing-mitts, information. And I want nothing more than to yell it from the roof tops. Shedding light where the darkness is. Bringing truth to the deceived. Letting the world know what's happening to a blind eye. So I prayed about it. Asking God what I was supposed to do with this information. And he IMMEDIATELY said, "use it for good". Not fully sure what that means, but I'll do my best. P.S. have I ever mentioned how much I love getting an answer, not to mention an immediate answer from God?
Take Aways
1) I think there are 13 more things I want to chat about - but I must get ready for the leachy beach.
2) I'm not quite sure why I'm in such a grateful mood this morning.
3) Also I said a blessing over Big D has he walked out the door to work. He got really weirded out. And left real fast.
4) Can you believe today is Thursday?!
5) Now that's good news. I love Fridays best.
1) A story to tell that hopefully brings something good to others. (I was lying in bed last night and realized that it's going to be a never ending story - mainly because I'm writing every blue-dog detail of 5ish years.)
2) Ed saying to Murnice, "Murny, you wanna make babies?" - Meaning, draw babies. Um, I fell in love with him 31 pounds more.
3) Sister Bear calling me at quarter of eleven last night to ask what my message was that I gave B.B. Bobby. (Seriously!) The message I gave to Bobby was, "tell S.B. 11 o'clock at the beach". And Bobby couldn't remember that? And then S.B. has to call me when I'm fast asleep? I guess at this point you're all thinking, "don't answer the phone." But I have to keep my phone 3 inches from my head at night because I've had just enough late calls that have to do with spousal fights and cockroaches and smashed Tupperware and tinker on the edge of having to call the SWAT team in to diffuse.
4) Ed has been telling Big D for a few weeks now that he loves him. It's very sweet. But Ed hasn't shared his love with anybody else, and being the person who pushed him out of my vagina - I feel I should be the first that he loves. Out of pure devotion. But yesterday, when I was scrounging in the fridge, Ed saw a whole bowl of hard boiled eggs. And he told me he loved me. a) I am thrilled he finally found it in his heart to utter those words to me. b) I am horrified that the only reason he loves me is because I boiled some eggs for him.
5) Getting a text from S.B. saying that she was going to McDicks. (for coffee). Um . . . "mcdicks" cracks me up. Or maybe I'm over tired from less than important phone calls in the middle of the night. Yes, quarter of eleven is the middle of the night.
6) Ed obsessed with his "nest" in our bedroom. Ok, so Ed has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. And it's so sweet and not snugly with very little sleep. Big D gets very hateful over this topic. And I'm getting grumpier night by night. So I ended up making a "nest" on the floor by our bed that he is, can we say - in love with. I made it so when he woke up in the middle of the night he could come to his nest. But his nest is the only place he's sleeping. And for quite a few nights in a row, it has greatly impinged on Big D's and my very adult time that was supposed to go down.
7) Finding some "workout" clothes at TJMAXX that I can stomach wearing. AKA - Big D hates them. I say they are "workout" clothes because I found them in the workout section. I legitimately will feel like a queen wearing them. You may find me wearing workyouty clothes every once in awhile. But you will NEVER find me wearing sneaks. EVER. Or if i do, it will be a very hidden and private affair.
8) Watching B.B. Wensleydale twirly grow into man. He recently became a believer, and his maturity has just blown me to the moon. And possibly the stars. I'm so excited to see what this next year has for him.
9) I recently became privy to some very disheartening/angering/appalling/shocking/wear-my-boxing-mitts, information. And I want nothing more than to yell it from the roof tops. Shedding light where the darkness is. Bringing truth to the deceived. Letting the world know what's happening to a blind eye. So I prayed about it. Asking God what I was supposed to do with this information. And he IMMEDIATELY said, "use it for good". Not fully sure what that means, but I'll do my best. P.S. have I ever mentioned how much I love getting an answer, not to mention an immediate answer from God?
Take Aways
1) I think there are 13 more things I want to chat about - but I must get ready for the leachy beach.
2) I'm not quite sure why I'm in such a grateful mood this morning.
3) Also I said a blessing over Big D has he walked out the door to work. He got really weirded out. And left real fast.
4) Can you believe today is Thursday?!
5) Now that's good news. I love Fridays best.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Worst Idea of the Year Thus Far
I'm derailing from doom and gloom today. Just need a little break.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Just Call Me the Poop Cleaner
I started writing this post a few weeks ago when I was at Mothers - and am just now finishing it up. What I'm trying to say, this is old news.
****************************************************************************
I finally made it to the local creamery this week. It was much anticipated - and when things are much anticipated, they taste 31 times better.
A friend and I sat on a table and watched Ed play with the trucks. And then we watched him poop. (he was wearing a pull-up) And we cheered him on, it being the 4th day of no poo. And we were so thankful that he wasn't wearing his man-unders. Win win for everyone.
We were finally done licking and chatting, and I decided it was time to go - put Ed to bed since it was dusk.
Now, my friend and I drove separately, and she scurried off - not having a child to drag behind her and such. But I had a child to drag behind me. And so began the process.
In my prideful heart, I decided that I was going to have much more success with having Ed obey and come to me when I called to him that it was time to go. (When we went to get ice cream a few days prior, Big D did not have much success with looking like he was in charge)
So, I authoritatively called Ed to me - and we all know that pride goeth before a fall . . . . which ended up with me chasing him around like a typical woodchuck brat. Eventually I grabbed his hand and began the long march to the car which also entailed a tongue lashing.
But my tongue lashing was interrupted when I happened to glance down.
Just to help with the visual - Ed was wearing these shoes and pants.
****************************************************************************
I finally made it to the local creamery this week. It was much anticipated - and when things are much anticipated, they taste 31 times better.
A friend and I sat on a table and watched Ed play with the trucks. And then we watched him poop. (he was wearing a pull-up) And we cheered him on, it being the 4th day of no poo. And we were so thankful that he wasn't wearing his man-unders. Win win for everyone.
We were finally done licking and chatting, and I decided it was time to go - put Ed to bed since it was dusk.
Now, my friend and I drove separately, and she scurried off - not having a child to drag behind her and such. But I had a child to drag behind me. And so began the process.
In my prideful heart, I decided that I was going to have much more success with having Ed obey and come to me when I called to him that it was time to go. (When we went to get ice cream a few days prior, Big D did not have much success with looking like he was in charge)
So, I authoritatively called Ed to me - and we all know that pride goeth before a fall . . . . which ended up with me chasing him around like a typical woodchuck brat. Eventually I grabbed his hand and began the long march to the car which also entailed a tongue lashing.
But my tongue lashing was interrupted when I happened to glance down.
Just to help with the visual - Ed was wearing these shoes and pants.
And when I glanced down, I was startled to see a brown glob, the size of a doughnut hole just sitting nicely on top of his shoe. Upon further investigation and smell, I discovered that it was a shit bomb.
All in about 3.0487 seconds I went through an array of emotions. Horror, helplessness, hysteria, disgust, and gumption. I looked up in just enough time to see my friend's tail lights turn on as she sped away. And realized that I had to go into no-man's-land by myself, with whatever tools I had in my car.
I'm outside, which is a good thing. But there is no bathroom to hide the unpleasantries of what's going to happen next, which is a bad thing. This ice cream shop is a business after all. And the only thing I can do to help save all the other guests stomachs, is to open a car door and try to hide behind it.
The problem being:
1) Ed thought it was now a game of peek-a-boo.
2) I was not hidden from all the new guests driving in, since we were in the fielded parking lot.
I ended up finding a few half-dried wipe-ups, a bag, and diaper in the car. For you parents out there, you know how pleasant and lovely it is to take a pair of pants off that is filled with poop. The sort-of gross mess turns into a full-fledged mud slide. It's one of those things where it gets worse before it gets better. And by worse, I mean stooping to the lowest level of humility and humanity.
As I peeled his pants down, it was as if I was in the middle of a boulder avalanche. Except they were poop boulders. Flying and splattering. And then I had to make the awful moral decision of using my few dried out wipe-ups to clean up the poop pies in the grass where lots of customers park and walk, or use them on Ed who needed to get into my car to get home.
I hate making grown-up decisions. Especially poopy decisions.
I poopied-scooped the parking lot and then smeared and smeared Ed's butt with my 2 remaining dried wipe-ups. Not a corner remained white. I reduced, reused, and recycled those wipes. Al Gore would have been proud.
It was awful. Poop was everywhere. Including up to my elbows and under my fingernails. And Ed was laughing and still playing peek-a-boo. And I then had to pack up all that poop and put it into my car. And pray that the cops weren't called on me. And cross my fingers that I found all the BM boulders. And keep my eyes down to not make eye contact.
And I slithered into my car where I grumbled and roared all the way home. Because this WAS going to be a night where I didn't have to give Ed a bath. . . . . And all because he bomb shot himself . . . .
I think I was grumpier about the bath giving then the poop cleaning.
Take Aways
1) Always make sure that you have diapers, wet wipes, and bags if you go ANYWHERE with children.
2) Never expect to not have to do something. Because it is inevitable that you'll have to do it anyway.
3) Also, carry elbow-high rubber gloves with your diaper supplies.
4) And maybe a privacy curtain.
5) A power washer?
6) Or, just leave the babies at home.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Q: Do Actions Speak Louder Than Words? A: Correct
You know in the Bible where Jesus says something to the effect: If you love me, then obey my commandments?
Welp, this statement has been on my mind for a few years. There are so many commandments. I get boggled. Then grumpy. Then overwhelmed. Then I throw my arms up in the air (wave them violently) and say negative statements, like "how in the world am I supposed to remember all of those commandments???!!!" And then I think "I hope Jesus doesn't think that I don't love him because I forgot a commandment." All in that order.
It gets gnarly.
Oh, but then beauty happened today. I was talking to one of my goodest pals, and she was chatting about husbands *ahem, cough* and how they say things like: "I love being married to you" and "you're such an amazing mother" and other unoriginal statements - but then they have the audacity to forget special days. Unacknowledged that is. And where does that leave us, the mothers. The wives? Believing your words of praise and love? Or believing your actions?
And in that moment I got my answer. Jesus said, "it's your actions, love me through your actions".
Um, phew!
I know our actions go back to the commandments, but it's so easy to get overwhelmed and wrapped up in the magnitudeness of the word, "commandment". Especially when there are a lot of them.
It's so much simpler staying in tune with my day to day actions. Moment to moment. Focusing on now.
On a side note: This happened.
Ed chewed off the back-tail. And ate it like a potato chip.
Take Aways
1) Search for truth, and the truth will set you free.
2) My hair salon won't call me back. I think they're avoiding me. But I have officially entered the Sewer Rat pageant - and I have a good chance of winning.
3) I'm going out tonight with Queen Bee, and I can't wait and Big D will miss me because he doesn't know how to handle being by himself AND the children.
4) That wasn't true at all.
5) Murnice asked me if sometimes I tell tall tales on my blog - I said, yes.
6) I can't wear any makeup tonight because of my wanky eye. Feeling even more sewer ratish.
Welp, this statement has been on my mind for a few years. There are so many commandments. I get boggled. Then grumpy. Then overwhelmed. Then I throw my arms up in the air (wave them violently) and say negative statements, like "how in the world am I supposed to remember all of those commandments???!!!" And then I think "I hope Jesus doesn't think that I don't love him because I forgot a commandment." All in that order.
It gets gnarly.
Oh, but then beauty happened today. I was talking to one of my goodest pals, and she was chatting about husbands *ahem, cough* and how they say things like: "I love being married to you" and "you're such an amazing mother" and other unoriginal statements - but then they have the audacity to forget special days. Unacknowledged that is. And where does that leave us, the mothers. The wives? Believing your words of praise and love? Or believing your actions?
And in that moment I got my answer. Jesus said, "it's your actions, love me through your actions".
Um, phew!
I know our actions go back to the commandments, but it's so easy to get overwhelmed and wrapped up in the magnitudeness of the word, "commandment". Especially when there are a lot of them.
It's so much simpler staying in tune with my day to day actions. Moment to moment. Focusing on now.
On a side note: This happened.
Take Aways
1) Search for truth, and the truth will set you free.
2) My hair salon won't call me back. I think they're avoiding me. But I have officially entered the Sewer Rat pageant - and I have a good chance of winning.
3) I'm going out tonight with Queen Bee, and I can't wait and Big D will miss me because he doesn't know how to handle being by himself AND the children.
4) That wasn't true at all.
5) Murnice asked me if sometimes I tell tall tales on my blog - I said, yes.
6) I can't wear any makeup tonight because of my wanky eye. Feeling even more sewer ratish.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Empty on Love
On a scale of: keep me forever and I will snuggle you 3 million pounds OR you're getting fed straight to the chickens - Ed is getting thrown in the feeding trough. I'm not even going to give him the chance of the scratching yard.
It is painful that he is being so horrifically turdable at Mothers - since there is no wine. I would be a severe alcoholic at this point if I was living at home. I have never wanted to drown my sorrows so terribly and so thoroughly.
Its just constant screaming. And yelling "no". And the blatant disobedience. Have I mentioned his pride issue?
I have the brat that still screams in the shopping cart all the way through the store. Yup, and he's 2 1/2. Screams. The aisles clear faster than tsunami running.
And all I can think about, is picking him up like a hot torpedo, and launching him. And hopefully he would then land in the ravenous feeding troughs of the chickens.
He's been shit-bombing his underwear too, lately. (The "shit" was to emphasize how excited I am of late) Now I don't want to be grumpy that he's actually pooping - because of his hoarding history. But really? I used up that kind of patience 3 explosive squirts ago.
And to make matters worse - our bedroom at Mother's is 3x3, and the fan HAS to go in the window. But at the end of last week the temperatures traipsed down into the 50's. And do you think Ed would sleep under the blankets? Nope. Completely on top. And he complained all night about being cold. But as soon as I did a sneak-attack cover up, he kicks everything off.
Yesterday, he sat on Mother's lap for 20 minutes refusing to say goodbye to her. Screamed the whole time. Really exercised his pride.
And then Big D has the audacity to argue with me over the phone about getting 2 bowls of pho versus 1. (He's set up on the launch pad with a one-way ticket in his back pocket. Destination: feeding trough, chicken coup)
Take Aways
1) Trade boys in for new shoes.
2) Buy grape juice, dump down drain and refill with wine.
3) Put Ed in snowsuit for sleeping.
4) Pop a deliciously MSG bag of popcorn to munch on while watching Big D get launched.
It is painful that he is being so horrifically turdable at Mothers - since there is no wine. I would be a severe alcoholic at this point if I was living at home. I have never wanted to drown my sorrows so terribly and so thoroughly.
Its just constant screaming. And yelling "no". And the blatant disobedience. Have I mentioned his pride issue?
I have the brat that still screams in the shopping cart all the way through the store. Yup, and he's 2 1/2. Screams. The aisles clear faster than tsunami running.
And all I can think about, is picking him up like a hot torpedo, and launching him. And hopefully he would then land in the ravenous feeding troughs of the chickens.
He's been shit-bombing his underwear too, lately. (The "shit" was to emphasize how excited I am of late) Now I don't want to be grumpy that he's actually pooping - because of his hoarding history. But really? I used up that kind of patience 3 explosive squirts ago.
And to make matters worse - our bedroom at Mother's is 3x3, and the fan HAS to go in the window. But at the end of last week the temperatures traipsed down into the 50's. And do you think Ed would sleep under the blankets? Nope. Completely on top. And he complained all night about being cold. But as soon as I did a sneak-attack cover up, he kicks everything off.
Yesterday, he sat on Mother's lap for 20 minutes refusing to say goodbye to her. Screamed the whole time. Really exercised his pride.
And then Big D has the audacity to argue with me over the phone about getting 2 bowls of pho versus 1. (He's set up on the launch pad with a one-way ticket in his back pocket. Destination: feeding trough, chicken coup)
Take Aways
1) Trade boys in for new shoes.
2) Buy grape juice, dump down drain and refill with wine.
3) Put Ed in snowsuit for sleeping.
4) Pop a deliciously MSG bag of popcorn to munch on while watching Big D get launched.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Receive-Me-Not Lines
I do indeed have major issues regarding my bubble. Bubble of space. Space that is mine. All mine. No sharing. I think my bubble is a good 4 feet on each side/all around me. When my bubble is invaded I either:
a) sweat like a hairy toe in a polyester sock
b) panic and can't hear a word that is being said
c) am unable to comprehend words and or actions
d) suffocate
e) think violent thoughts
f) become statuesque
All big people - take note, STAND BACK. And I will be much more pleasant. I might even say something nice to you. Tell you that I like your socks, er something. If you want to chat, you should get out of my bubble. I like talking to people through my bubble windows, not in my bubble house.
Oh, and I don't like being touched. But I do accept massages. Only the professional kind. Because I'm a professional and I don't appreciate nonprofessional touches. (just being real) (aka - I am a LMT, just not practicing)
Also, I hate. HATE - kissing, making-out, pecking, smacking nobs, exchanging saliva, rubbing faces and touching chin juice. Major invasion of bubble. I seriously feel like I'm suffocating. Actually, I was kicked out of a boy's house one time because I wouldn't kiss him anymore because I felt like I was suffocating. (hehe) (for real) (his nickname was: Morgasm) (stop judging)
I don't like seeing kissing in movies. I start suffocating, just thinking and seeing what's happening to their bubble space.
Hugs are hard for me too. But I can survived them. And have never been kicked out of somebody's house because I refused to hug. Actually I'm pretty critical about hugs. Maybe another post for another time.
Moving on . . .
But one of the WORST occasions for me to have to endure, is the receiving line. Wedding, funeral, and highschool shows. I actual writhe just thinking about them. I purposefully ignore them. They are awkward and more awkward. And what are you supposed to do with them? (them being the people in the lines) Hugs? Talk? Whatever happens in these lines = bubble invasion on the highest level.
So how does a grown woman go about these lines? (in case I ever feel like being a grown woman and trying out a line)
Do you go through the whole line ignoring those you don't know? Acknowledge ONLY the people you do know? What about the people you know, but not that well? Is there a level of acknowledgment? Strangers = ignore (look straight ahead), Acquaintances = high five, Good friends/family = hugs?
But what if you know them, and they don't know you? Then what?
So, here's what I did at the latest receiving line: walked out of the line, made a BIG half-moon shape and walked straight to the person I came to see. Exchanged a few words. Then panicked, because the people standing next to thepersonIcametosee was expecting some sort of congratulatory acknowledgement. So I gave them a thumbs up. And then ran away. (they didn't like the thumbs up) (even though I smiled)
Take Aways
1) It is never appropriate to grow up when you feel as awkward about life as I do.
2) Stand back.
3) Children don't bother my bubble boundaries.
4) Ok, the truth is, I panic about hugs too.
5) Big D is welcomed into my bubble. But no mushy face. Not joking.
Fun Fact
The time we went to Friday Friends house for their 6-year-old's birthday party, and Ed pooped a few logs in the grass. And then their 6-year-old told her mother that next year she was going to ask that nobody pooped in the grass at her birthday party.
a) sweat like a hairy toe in a polyester sock
b) panic and can't hear a word that is being said
c) am unable to comprehend words and or actions
d) suffocate
e) think violent thoughts
f) become statuesque
All big people - take note, STAND BACK. And I will be much more pleasant. I might even say something nice to you. Tell you that I like your socks, er something. If you want to chat, you should get out of my bubble. I like talking to people through my bubble windows, not in my bubble house.
Oh, and I don't like being touched. But I do accept massages. Only the professional kind. Because I'm a professional and I don't appreciate nonprofessional touches. (just being real) (aka - I am a LMT, just not practicing)
Also, I hate. HATE - kissing, making-out, pecking, smacking nobs, exchanging saliva, rubbing faces and touching chin juice. Major invasion of bubble. I seriously feel like I'm suffocating. Actually, I was kicked out of a boy's house one time because I wouldn't kiss him anymore because I felt like I was suffocating. (hehe) (for real) (his nickname was: Morgasm) (stop judging)
I don't like seeing kissing in movies. I start suffocating, just thinking and seeing what's happening to their bubble space.
Hugs are hard for me too. But I can survived them. And have never been kicked out of somebody's house because I refused to hug. Actually I'm pretty critical about hugs. Maybe another post for another time.
Moving on . . .
But one of the WORST occasions for me to have to endure, is the receiving line. Wedding, funeral, and highschool shows. I actual writhe just thinking about them. I purposefully ignore them. They are awkward and more awkward. And what are you supposed to do with them? (them being the people in the lines) Hugs? Talk? Whatever happens in these lines = bubble invasion on the highest level.
So how does a grown woman go about these lines? (in case I ever feel like being a grown woman and trying out a line)
Do you go through the whole line ignoring those you don't know? Acknowledge ONLY the people you do know? What about the people you know, but not that well? Is there a level of acknowledgment? Strangers = ignore (look straight ahead), Acquaintances = high five, Good friends/family = hugs?
But what if you know them, and they don't know you? Then what?
So, here's what I did at the latest receiving line: walked out of the line, made a BIG half-moon shape and walked straight to the person I came to see. Exchanged a few words. Then panicked, because the people standing next to thepersonIcametosee was expecting some sort of congratulatory acknowledgement. So I gave them a thumbs up. And then ran away. (they didn't like the thumbs up) (even though I smiled)
Take Aways
1) It is never appropriate to grow up when you feel as awkward about life as I do.
2) Stand back.
3) Children don't bother my bubble boundaries.
4) Ok, the truth is, I panic about hugs too.
5) Big D is welcomed into my bubble. But no mushy face. Not joking.
Fun Fact
The time we went to Friday Friends house for their 6-year-old's birthday party, and Ed pooped a few logs in the grass. And then their 6-year-old told her mother that next year she was going to ask that nobody pooped in the grass at her birthday party.
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