My daughter has spent the past two days rushing to the toilet after yelling POTTY!!!! This is her first real effort at training, and I feel as though I might explode with happiness. It’s been almost 14 years of non-stop diaper changing joy for me, with 5 rounds of double diaper delight to boot.

My youngest son just finished a bottle of grape juice. His very first bottle ever. Would never take one before. Has never given two shits to consume anything other than breastmilk before. I was hoping to have him weaned within the month.

I am overfuckingjoyed right now. Seriously o-v-e-r-j-o-y-e-d.

Triops are dead. Creepy little suckers. Now we get to drain the putrid water from the tank, give the rest of the moisture a few weeks to evaporate, fill ‘er back up, and see if they laid any eggs. If not, I’m scrapping this ‘pet’, and going with the sea-monkeys. Much cuter. Much more fun. Both amazing, but these damn things scare the shit out of me.

MD might be headed to FL in a few weeks. If he goes, he’ll be gone most of Feb and March. Isn’t that special. Soccer season starts back up in March. And camp registration and candy bar sales will happen about the same time too. Not to mention that I just don’t feel like going it alone. My doctor appointment would be during that time. I need him here to watch the kiddos as I was warned that the initial one would take awhile. I would like to have him here to help guage how well any medication is being received by my body. His birthday. MB1’s birthday. MB4’s birthday party – first one with school friends invited. Was hoping it’d be a big deal and try to buy him a friend or two, as shitty as that sounds. I should just stop thinking about it, I suppose.

The truck bit the wiener, so I guess the days of no car payments were brief. Now we’re taking our time weighing our options. Shitty thing is, we only need a second car a couple times a month. Wish he worked a wee bit closer, and I’d just drive his ass there.

MB4 has his first appointment with a psych on Wednesday. We’ll see how it goes. Doctor sounded rather …. dusty. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just keep trying.

MB4 tried MG’s yogurt snack cup the other day and liked it. Had never been able to convince him to taste it before. He downed 2 cups as I watched with delight. I’d love for him to have a couple a day to help keep his system balanced, but those damn things are price-y. Anyway to make my own flavored yogurt?

MD is off working on my aunt’s computer, the little ones are napping, and the bigger ones are off playing football next door. I just finished making and freezing enough pancakes and french toast for two weeks for the boys’ breakfast. I’m such a homemaker.

We’re approaching 6 months of no smoking. Hold your applause until I can honestly say that I don’t miss it. Or will that ever happen? I can taste it. I miss it terribly. I know how crazy that sounds, and I don’t want to go through the hell of quitting again, and I know how better off I am now – but I still miss it. I still wait for the day I can smoke again – because I will. I will when it no longer matters.

Wish I had one now. I just want to smell it. Honest. Maybe lick it once or twice…..

I was listening to my friend rattle on and on last night about this and that, and then she paused as if to hint that I was to respond the way I always respond when she rattles on and on about this and that.

But I didn’t this time.

I sat there wondering how many people were sitting there responding to the same old bullshit with their own same old bullshit, and it suddenly made my head hurt to hear her speak.

I could hear the raised eyebrow in her voice as she again let her comments trail off, expecting me to bite the bait so she could reel me in for another hour of What’sMyFuckingProblemNow. But I didn’t bite because I didn’t want to play the game anymore and I honestly didn’t think I could come up with anything to say anyway.

Anything new, that is.

Something that was unused and understandable and unmistakably mine. Something worthy of speaking. Something worthy of hearing. Something that hasn’t been repeated and uttered and proclaimed and hollered a million times before. Something that hasn’t been cheapened with its common-ness or rendered powerless by dilution.

In the end, she gave up. Not losing, merely postponing the win.
She knows I can’t shut the fuck for long.

One of MB4’s recommendations was to have his eyes checked, so I had that done this morning.

Gawd.

Let’s forget the two little ones who were bored out of their skulls. Let’s focus on the child who has issues, shall we? Holy Hell. There hasn’t been one time in his life that I’ve let water get into MB4’s eyes while giving him a bath. Not one. Almost like I knew even back then that I wouldn’t survive the punishment from this violation. He keeps a towel at the edge of the pool when he swims just stands there in the water, and gawd help you if your water gun catches him in the eyeball. Drop that shooter and run. Quickly.

So when the gal whispered that he needed to be dilated today, that’s the advice I had for her. Drop it in and run sweetie. Send for your things later. Instead, she left and returned with NurseBrickhouse. I knew what that meant, and I did my best to prepare MB4. Took the three of us 5 minutes to get those drops in. Then I learn that those aren’t the RealDrops, oh no. Those are the drops to prepare for the RealDrops. Smashing.

Then we’re left alone for 20 minutes while the drops take charge of his peepers. Sure would have been nice to be in playroom while we waited. MG was given my checkbook and an ink pen. Fuck it – I have my debit card, right? MB5 gnarled on my purse strap and made squawking noises whenever I tried to take it away. He won.

Turns out MB4 is extremely far-sighted. Like the end of his arm far-sighted [added later: what does this mean anyway? doc said this, but that distance doesn't seem to be THAT bad as I read about farsighted-ness?]. Like +8 when the cutoff is +3. Like holy shit I let him ride his bike and he couldn’t even see the sidewalk.

So we picked out his first pair of glasses, and we’ll spend the next week waiting for them to come in while trying to mentally prepare him for wearing them. Should be loads of fun.

Spend two days puking and gain a pound. C’mon, wtf?

Holy shit. I need someone to put me out of my misery.

I spent all of yesterday prisoner’ed to the bathroom floor, thanks to MrMigraine. Came on fast and furious, and I had no chance to run out and grab some nyqu!l liqu!caps – which I swear kills a migraine better than anything I’ve ever been prescribed, and I’ve had it all.

The boys went for me once they got home, and by 4pm, I was able to pick myself up off the floor and start the afternoon routine. By 5pm, I felt fantastic, and was even a bit excited that a day spent heave-ho’ing might have actually shed a few pounds and tightened up some abs in the process. By 7pm, I was in full swing of the night time routine, and the appreciative awareness of being pain free that always colors my thoughts after being ‘cured’ of a horrid pain was starting to subside. By 10pm, the headache was forgotten.

At midnight, I was rudely awakened by the knowledge that I MustMoveNow to avoid getting sick in my bed. No headache, just yuck. I was able to lay down and stay down about 4am. Alarm sounded at 6, and I have managed to go about the morning in my usual fashion – even did 60 crunches, although my gut muscles are sore as hell.

But now the bus is gone. The wee one was up and dressed and fed and then slowly drifted back off to sleep. MoodyGirl was up and dressed and fed and crawled onto the loveseat and fell back asleep.

I’m thinking that the couch has my name on it.

Migraines suck ass.

Why should I medicate myself? Wouldn’t it be a better service to this country if I just let the dragon out to play with these pukes that only live to fuck up our lives?

Went to run MB3’s friend home. I had told him 2 hours in advance, because while I want them to get the message that their minutes in my home are numbered, I don’t want them to feel like I’m pushing them out. I hated that feeling as a child. Dickweed parents. I try not to be a dickweed.

The children and I journey the 25-30 minutes to his house, only to find the driveway empty. We spend the next 5 minutes playing a nifty variation of 20 Questions entitled: Answer as unintelligibly and incompletely as you possibly can because the lady driving the van thinks it’s great fun to sit and listen to her brain make popping noises.

Where’s your mom? ……………………. dunno – boyfriend’s house?
Where’s your older sister? ……………dunno
Where’s your brother? ………………….dunno – oh wait, cousin’s house.
Where’s your aunt? ……………………….dunno – oh yeah, she went back to live at her house.
What am I supposed to do with you kiddo? …………….. I don’t know.

This is where we all sit and blink and listen to those popping noises……..

Can you call your mom? Does she have a cell phone? I’m not sure what to do here hon, I won’t be able to run you back here later on (big fat lie, but when you live 30 minutes from everyone else, who gives a flying fuck if I lie to you). Let me see if I can find a phone in this town (because said town isn’t even a town – it has no name – it’s county – CreepyCounty, that’s what it is – Creepy”ChildrenOfTheCornKindOfCreepy”County)…….

That’s when we see a young lady pop her head out the door and holler his name. His older cousin, who was stuck here to care for him until mom was done getting her boat floated. Whore. I wasn’t sure if I should leave him with her, but he said she was 19, and he hopped out of the van and waved and I really wasn’t in the mood to run after him and drag his ass back. I left.

And what lesson did we learn from this? When we discuss the details surrounding your child staying the night at my home, please pay attention. And if I generously offer to drive to BFE to return your child, kindly have the decency to have your ass at home when I get there.

Oh, but the tale of woe doesn’t end there, my pretties……..

Later on, I run MB1 the 25 minutes into town for a birthday party at the movies. After the show, they are headed over to the pizza joint next door. Fun times.

Not really. Not for me. I fought one helluva battle within myself over this party today. Still not sure I did the right thing, but how do you ever really know what that is? None of this teenage shit seems to be a matter of right or wrong anyway, but more of a suck more or suck less. In the end, I went with Option C – the combo deal. Suck more for me, and suck less for MB1.

Plan was, I drop him off at the movies, and return about 4 hours later to pick him up from the pizza place. Then on to this kid’s house for a sleepover. Somehow evolved into the exact same thing, but none of the other parents felt like driving their children back and forth to the party, so this mom offered to drive them all there and back so her son’s party wasn’t ruined.

Great, except she didn’t have room for my son.

I spent a great deal of time this afternoon trying to wrap my head around the rudeness of others and the importance of taking the high road and the need to swallow a load of shit once in a while for your children.

I’m not mad at the mom, but I’m not all that impressed with her either. Perhaps a phone call was in order to personally explain things like why nice guys always finish last or maybe a thank you for not being a bunch of pricks or maybe just something – anything that would indicate an acknowledgement that we were the only parents willing to drive our child to attend this party. The only parents out of five. Five. 5. Yes, that’s five.

I wrestled with the anger I felt toward the other parents. Maybe they were busy. Maybe they had to work or couldn’t afford the gas or were suffering from a flu bug or or or…

But what happened to the days of calling the other parents and sharing rides? What happened to you take and I pick up? What happened to working it out and finding a way instead of a flat out fuck it? What happened to caring about your child’s friends and wanting their birthdays to be memorable? What happened to being parents?

I fought this shit all day. It’s not that MB1 wasn’t able to attend the party and sleepover, it was that he was suddenly the odd man out – through no fault of his own. It’s just not right to leave one kiddo out of the gang when there is a gang-like situation. The birthday boy is my son’s closest friend in this world, and his feelings were hurt that there wasn’t a spot for him in the car. That’s just shitty.

Maybe I shouldn’t be upset at all. Maybe the cuckoo bird has nested in my mind again, and is busy making moutains out of molehills. I don’t know. It just felt wrong – still does. I found it incredibly rude that more wasn’t done to include my son, when his only crime was to have parents that are willing to spend some of their day to make him happy.

I thought about not taking him, but he’d be the only one suffering if I did that. I thought about calling the other parents and not hanging up till I had them in tears, but MB1 would have hopped the next train out of town. I thought and I thought and I thought and I thought.

Ultimately, I drove him and picked him up and dropped him off at the birthday house and plastered a fucking smile on my face while I did it. I hope he had fun tonight. I’ve had one helluva shitty day, and I’m going to bed.

Gawd help any little shits that ask me to take them home when I pick MB1 up tomorrow.

“You are not wearing that shirt tonight, Mom.”

Like hell I’m not. What’s wrong with it? It’s my favorite shirt. I always wear this shirt.

“Exactly. You need to throw it out and find a new shirt to destroy. My friends are coming over in a bit, and I know you have decent clothes to wear.”

“Ummm, mom? My friend is coming over too.”

Et Tu, Brute?

They hate my shirt. I get it. Tough shit. I heart it. I really really heart it.

The boys tried to point out the fray around the sleeves and collar, but the’re just children! They don’t understand the time it takes to break in a shirt like this. They can’t appreciate how perfectly seasoned this garment is and how I could never let it go.

Those aren’t holes in the seams! Those are gentle spaces that allow for more give and take when I breathe! Those are pockets of air that make for a perfect companion to my sweaty cleaning days when a woman could use a good built in ventilation system. Lapses in time….ok, that’s a bit much.

But it’s not threadbare! I prefer SmartFabric. It simply discards the fibers that don’t have that oh how heavenly feel to them. What’s wrong with a little comfort? Aren’t I deserving of the softer life?

And do not speak to me of stains and puckered ends and dingy-ness. I’m not listening. This shirt is my apron, my woobie, my joy, my comfort, and my friend. It stays.

Besides, it’s one of the last shirts I have left that still covers my ass.

ATTN Classic Rock Internet Radio Station:

Billy Ocean is not classic rock.

MD has to work again this weekend. I’m trying to be thankful for the extra cash, but I miss him.

Thought I’d count my calories today to get a ballpark figure of where I am versus where I should be, and I realized that I’d better start learning to like Diet DP. Holy shit. Who knew it was possible to waste half of your fucking allowable calories on a beverage? Geezus.

I downed 72 ounces of water today, and I want a fucking cookie for it. I feel like a sponge. Are people supposed to piss every 30 minutes? That’s downright annoying. And what a royal waste of time. Time spent voiding. Nice. I’d rather be a dehydrated wreck, reusing my liquids over and over to sustain my life force. Nah, not really. That’s nasty.

The shrimp that was living with the triops isn’t living anymore. Pity. One triops is freakishly huge, and he scares me. His body is white, and his eyes are beady and black and haunting. He darts by and grabs the other triop and flips them both upside down. They eat upside down. I think he’s trying to eat him. I think the smaller triop knows it too. He gets real herky jerky, breaks free, and hides out in the house. I take that as my cue to throw in a few smelly balls – also known as food pellets. There’s a good chance I’m overfeeding the great white triop, but I’d much rather kill him off with smelly balls than to witness the carnage from a crunch and munch fest as he eats his roommate. E-yuck.

I have a throbbing pain right between my eyes. My left eye has been burning and watering for two days. I am sleepy and cranky and I’m pretty sure the dragon is waking up.

Happy times…

[New pics of the creepy creatures in the gallery. And yes, the tank is supposed to be that nasty - they're bottom feeders, 'member? Hopefully, they've laid new eggs in that layer of crap in the sand.]

After trying the suggestions here and doing some more brainstorming on our own for new ideas, we just stopped trying. He wasn’t getting it, and was only growing more and more frustrated.

Then I sat down beside him and asked him what he did at school when he was thirsty. Told me they used the water fountain after recess, and that he didn’t need a drink other than that. So I asked if he was always first in line at the fountain. When he said no, I told him to show me how he waited in line behind the other kids. He stood and folded his hands together. I asked if he yelled and hollered and pushed and cried and told the other kids to get out of his way. His eyes bulged out of his head and he shook his head no. Said they wouldn’t let him back in school if he acted like that.

So I explained that he DID know how to be patient, because he waited patiently at school every day. In line for the water fountain, or for the teacher to call on him when he raised his hand, or for his turn on the swings… he got excited at that point, and added a million more examples from his school day. He was so damn proud of himself. Then those eyes bulged again, and he asked – patiently means normal!?!

To him, normal means no extreme behavior. No raised voices, no heightened emotions, nada. Just normal. So I told him yes – patiently means being normal while you wait for something. Then I found some social stories pertaining to waiting patiently/politely, and he seemed to understand a bit. Then he wanted to act out a few instances where he could show me how he could wait patiently after asking me for something.

This won’t automatically erase all tantrums stemming from his inability to wait a damn minute, but it’s a start. He will still have trouble if his needs aren’t met relatively quickly, so this little trick will actually only buy me a few seconds of peace before he hammers on me – but I’ll take it. And I know it’ll take a bit for him to get a handle on it, but I’m thrilled to death that at least the dots are in place – we can worry about connecting them later.

Saw a picture of a newborn this morning, and I could feel my ovaries trying to make the impossible possible.

Hope that doc tied ‘em tight. I’d hate to have to kill his ass.

I made four phone calls today. Three for MB4, and one for me. I allowed myself one T*yota leap after completing each one. Not because of anything that transpired during the phone calls, but simply because I was able to make them. I applauded myself because I used the fucking telephone. Pathetic, isn’t it? Happy because I was able to talk to strangers without garbling every fucking word that came out of my mouth – well, not until the last one, but I knew I hadn’t practiced enough for that conversation. And yes, I have to practice what I’ll say. And yes, I have to write things down so I don’t lose my place. And no, I don’t have any clue as to where my son got his troubles from.

Anyfuckingway. The doctor I had called for myself a few months back had never called to give me an appointment date. Their computers were down, and they were supposed to call me back with a day and time. Never did. And uh, Ang wasn’t about to call and remind them. Especially when I’ve felt so level lately. Why go when your shit is working fine, eh? Exactly. More excuses, and I know that. So I figured I would throw in a phone call to another doc on the list while I had my stones in hand to make the calls for MB4. March 3rd. 10am. Yay me.

As for MB4, I called our insurance company, who gave me the green light for whatever I needed to do. I then found a doc in this area who deals with OCD and such in adults, and is willing to step in and help me with MB4 so I don’t have to hike it to KC every week. However, I’m not ruling out that drive if I don’t mesh with this doc. Also found several places that will deal with his speech issues if they aren’t covered at school. And I think I’m going to go ahead and head back to Children’s Mercy for their autism clinics for everything else.

Still debating the social skills groups though. He doesn’t seem old enough for starters. And at $210 for each 6 week session, he’d better be getting every drop of benefit from it. I still think we are his best social group for now. Maybe that’s my ignorance, but I still think that simply going out and exposing him to life teaches him some amazing lessons.

Had a discussion with the school, and they assured me that their evaluation was almost complete. Dragging ass because they’ve only had 17 days of school since December 1st thanks to the holidays and the snow days. I hadn’t thought of that. Guess they have to have their own evaluation, but they will use the recommendations from the team to help formulate the IEP.

I also talked to his teacher. Oh man.

He’s having trouble. Can’t focus long enough to do the projects. Is really starting to show his compulsive side here at school for the first time. Mainly it’s his inability to relax his own pre-set rules. Like waiting until he’s finished cutting the entire circle before taking the scraps to the recycle box. He has to get up for every piece. Turns a 60 second task into a 30 minute fiasco. Getting/using a new tissue each time for his drippy nose – can’t use the same one twice. Being told the directions 3 times before just giving up, because he’s not listening. Or he’s not hearing, rather. Then the fog lifts, and he tries to hurry up and do what everyone else is doing, and he gets flustered and confused and mad at himself for not understanding, and it breaks my heart to see him frustrated with himself but I don’t know what to do help him.

I told her that I was sorry, because I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t really apologizing for his behavior, but for her position as my son’s teacher. She told me not to be sorry, that she just wanted me to know that she is pushing them to finish the tests as well. That she is trying to do the best she can until he gets the help he needs or she gets the help she needs or the tools that will work or the aid that will make it easier or whatever it takes.

Then she admitted that it’s getting harder and harder to justify having him in a mainstream class based on his academic potential and ability alone when everything else is screaming for a more appropriate environment.

I’ve never felt a sentence as powerful as that one. Hope I never do again.

I’m not usually wrong about people. I don’t like being taken for a ride or kicked in the fucking teeth, so I really try to listen to my gut. My gut knows. It always knows.

I didn’t listen to my gut a few years ago. It told me to beware, and I laughed and laughed and told it to simmer down and settle down and get real. I told my gut that I wasn’t born yesterday and I won’t get fooled again and that my village wasn’t missing its idiot.

And I thought I was right. I put my feelings and my trust and my person at risk because I thought I knew better than my gut. No, that’s not quite right. I thought my gut was overreacting. That’s it exactly. I saw the sheep while my gut sniffed out the wolf. I allowed myself to be duped and played and used up like a two bit whore.

I feel silly and pissed and incredibly amazed at how this all came to be. I’m still shaking my head. Still in shock that I didn’t see this coming. Still suffering from the dropped jaw disease.

I will never doubt my gut again.

MD and I were treated to an afternoon of shopping with just the two youngest kiddos yesterday. The older boys all wanted to stay home and play MarioParty6, so we grilled them for an hour about MB4 and emergency numbers and not burning the house down, and we left for about 2 hours.

We had a marvelous time. Just strolled and shopped and spent a few bucks on ourselves for once. We laughed and talked and could actually hear each other for a change. Was nice. Very nice.

Bought a hair color while we were there – for MB2. MD wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but we agreed to that whole pick yer battles bullshit. As long as the grades are good, the attitude is better, and chores are done without asking or bitching – we’re not going to raise too big a stink about something as easy to ‘fix’ as hair color.

I wasn’t too crazy about buying it either, but I did my best to push that stuffy grownup shit aside and tried to remember the need for individuality. I tried to imagine what it must be like to make a distinctive-ness for yourself when you have 5 siblings to share space with. I bought the white dye, and prepared myself to create the streaks with a smile on my face.

Last night, as I got ready to dye his ‘do, he told me he changed his mind. The smile wasn’t forced at that moment, and I let it spread across my face and shine out my eyes as I gazed proudly on my son who had come to his senses. And then he said he wanted the whole thing white and the structure under my smile collapsed and I had to call in the emergency crews to keep it up! keep up the smile!! don’t let him see the smile falter!

I did it. I kept on smiling and colored his whole head. The whole time I was trying to think of someone I knew that had white hair. Anyone. Best I could do was my late grandma, but it was hard to picture MB2 with a bouffant. I decided to just put it out of my mind altogether, and wait until I saw the mane masterpiece with my own eyes before I began to hyperventilate. Still, I couldn’t help but sweat a little as I watched the minutes pass and his locks grow lighter and lighter and lighter. This is a small town and all. He picked a helluva place to go freak.

Then he began to hop. He hopped right up and he hopped about and he hopped and he hopped and he hopped. Then he started shrieking. An oooooooeeeeee and an omgomgomg, partnered with a full body twist and some of the craziest dance moves I’ve ever seen. And the smile came back. Big and broad and solidly supported by a scaffolding of parental trickery.

Ohhh, yeah… that’s a reaction….You need to rinse immediately there bud…

Unfortunately, not enough time had passed for the dye to work its magic. My son rinsed and conditioned and towel dried and leaned into the mirror to view his new gorgeous strawberry blonde head of hair. I was prepared for goth. I can happily deal with surfer dude. Happily.

And yes, I will explain to him that hair dyes might burn or irritate sometimes and it’s usually no cause for alarm.

Someday.

We are trying to teach MB4 the word patient/patience. Any ideas on how to act that out …… correctly or properly or in a manner that includes all aspects of the word to define it as ‘patience’, and not simply waiting?

Have done 15 miles on the bike and at least 80 crunches every day for the past 5 days – till yesterday. Only got in 5 miles with 30 crunches.

Scale I bought is just a cruel de-motivator. I guess I don’t understand how it works yet. Wasn’t prepared for the weight to bounce around like this. As much as 5 lbs in two days? WTF?

Last night was the first time I’ve had the opportunity to wear this new little silky set that I bought for Christmas. I put it on and immediately took it off. In tears. This can’t be my body. I am so angry and disappointed with myself for not giving a shit sooner.

MD claims to like the new me. How can we see things so differently? How can he not be repulsed? I hate for him to see me without my clothes on. I hate for him to touch my stomach. He doesn’t seem affected at all.

Which leads me to wonder if I can trust myself. My watch doesn’t fit now because it’s too small. As much as I’m ashamed to admit that, I’m more ashamed to admit that I cannot believe it ever fit on an adult’s wrist to begin with. I can remember wearing that watch at a convention in Orlando, and glancing at my reflection in the window as we walked to the seminar. I was wearing a pinstriped sleeveless suit, and my eyes shot a disapproving look to my waist. I remember reminding myself to suck it in.

Geezus, what could I have possibly needed to suck in? Umm – skin? Pesky ribs getting in the way? Did I have a problem? Do I now? Is this what I really look like, or has my mind put a funhouse spin on every mirror I’ve ever looked into? Are my expectations realistic? Healthy? Is it possible to have an eating disorder without the follow through? The apathetic anorexic? Strictly a mental dysfunction? I’ve never once starved myself or made myself sick. I’ve never stopped myself from eating whateverthehell I wanted. But I can honestly say that I have never been pleased with my weight either. Even when I weighed 104 pounds. Even at 96.

And damn sure not now. 40 pounds heavier. 40 fucking pounds.

I just spent the past 15 minutes working out details with a 9 year old who invited MB3 over to spend the night at his house. I had to take the phone from MB3 to talk to this kiddo myself, as I absolutely hate playing relay race with messages. Talking to this child makes discussing the future with MB4 a breeze. Good Gawd.

We finally hammered out a plan that afforded me the time to run MB3 over there before dropping MB1 and MB2 off at their friends’ houses for the night. I hand the phone back, and MB3 says – ok, let me know.

Yes, you guessed it. His friend is just now going to ask his mother’s permission.

To this child’s mother:
Please put the telephone in your fucking pocket and never ever let your son use it again.

MB3: Man, that hill today was slick. Was almost too slick for sledding.

MM: Mmmm… Sounds fun kiddo….

MB3: I almost broke my neck when I came down the second time on my face.

MM: Wow! And the third time? …

MB3: Well, the third time I smashed into a tree and split my skull open…

MM: Weren’t you cold? I bet it was freezing out there….

MB3: Nope, not cold. I was bleeding from my severed skull. But then I called the SylvanLearningCenter and now math’s no problem.

MM: That’s great baby!

____________________________________

The snickers were the first indication that perhaps my days of multi-tasking are over.

I feel like I’m treading water where MB4 is concerned. It’s been two months since his diagnosis, and I don’t feel we’re any closer to getting the help he needs.

School claims to be finishing up their own assessment, and then we can sit down and work on a game plan, which is fine considering how well he’s doing, but damn – how long does this shit take?

MB4’s ped told me to give him some time to find some therapists in this area. Fine. I called every two weeks, and was told this morning – that sorry, there are no qualified people in this area. So, now I need to find help for him an hour or so away, on my own, and I feel like I’m way behind in the race.

Then again, he’s doing so well. He’s been doing a fantastic job of figuring things out on his own lately. He still gets stuck sometimes, but he will now look at me when he does, and I’ll hold up 3 fingers. That tells him he can only ask it three times. Seems to really help him visualize the end or something. I don’t know. He stops now most of the time, so whatever it is – it’s working.

Same with other areas. Is it just his age? He’s getting older and able to use his incredible smarts to fill in the voids where his instincts should be? Again, whatever it is – it’s working. Not all the time, but damn, has life been very sweet lately where he’s concerned.

Would it hurt to hold off on therapy and see how it goes? Is that ignorant and irresponsible of me to even consider? Yes, I know. I’ll start making phone calls.

No school till Tuesday. I’m going to feed myself to the triops.

According to the scale I bought today, I have lost 7 pounds the past two/three weeks. Not getting too terribly excited, considering part of that may be explained by AF’s departure, but I’m still glad it’s moving in the right direction for a change.

I tried Diet DP today. Anyone want the rest of this 12pack? Just can’t do it. I tried. I failed. Barf.

I appreciate the snack suggestions. I picked up what I could today, although our grocery store’s selection really sucks ass. Hopefully, I can find some of these items edible enough to satisfy the snack demon.

I sure was hoping that someone would tell me that caramel wasn’t fattening.

No school tomorrow either. Send calgon.

Kids are home again today. Stupid ice. Unfortunately, I still had wee one’s well baby appt. Just as I thought – he’s hanging in there around 17lbs. 16lbs10z to be exact. Doctor isn’t concerned – yet. Told me to relax and we’ll see how the next 6 months go. I don’t expect any increases though, given that’s about the age when they start walking and hauling ass. I’ll just keep trying to shove more food down his throat. I wish he’d wean. Maybe I’ll force it. I’d like to have my body back anyway.

I’ve been exercising like a good girl. My sister left her ProformCrosstrainer970 here. Basically, an exercise bike with some gadgets on it. Combine that with the crunches and arm lifts and squats – I hope to slim down some of these curves I’ve acquired lately. I wouldn’t mind keeping some of them – but the days of devouring an entire bag of Rolos are gone. I’ve also cut back – way back – on the DrPepper. Kidneys were throbbing anyway. Still need 3 a day, but it’s better than 6. Or 10. Stop looking at me like that.

Any ideas for healthier snacks? And please do not mention vegetables or shit like that. No rice cakes. I mean real food. I’m a muncher by nature – a muncher who recently quit smoking and now NEEDS to munch. Something like pretzels or marshmallows? Things that still taste like food. Good food. I’ve had a lot of cheese and crackers – is that bad? And what should I be looking for on the labels anyway? I’ve never given a shit before.

Speaking of – time for a bike ride…

Either be who you say you are, or expect me to be what I warned you about.

This blog is mine. All mine. MineMineMine. If I want to have a nervous fucking breakdown on it – I will. And please feel free to keep your critiques to yourself. I do not write to please you. I do not write to entertain you. If I want to discuss how many times I’ve picked my underwear out of the crack of my ass today, I will. If I’d like to sit here and breathe heavy and not write one fucking word, I’ll do that too. Last time I checked, I haven’t and will never accept one fucking dime for the words I put on this site. That means I decide. Me. It’s my fucking journal.

jour·nal Audio pronunciation of “journal” ( P ) Pronunciation Key (jûrnl)
n.
1. A personal record of occurrences, experiences, and reflections kept on a regular basis; a diary.

If you don’t like what you read here – move along. You won’t hurt my feelings, I swear.

MD had to work today, which pushed wee one’s little party till this evening. MB5 never quite understood what he was supposed to do with the cake, but he remembered how to unwrap presents. He still seems so damn tiny. Way too tiny to be a year old already. His well baby check is Tuesday. I bet he’s still hanging in there around 17 or so pounds. Hell, if that. My little runt.

I put a few pictures in the gallery. He about mauled that stupid dancing BooBah. I knew he’d like it. I hope he doesn’t drive me batshit with it. I’ll have to remind him what happened to dancing Elmo if he doesn’t give it a rest once in awhile.

Have noticed things about MB4 lately. He is starting to vocalize more what is going on in his mind before letting a rage take over. He told us last night that he was just having a hard time, and it put us all on alert to give special care to his feelings when dealing with him.

He’s done that a lot lately. Telling us that he’s just in a bad mood and to leave him alone. Or that he just wants to be alone. Or that he just wants everyone to start acting and talking normal. He sure is a hoot.

I’ve noticed he’s also actively making his own rules for situations. I haven’t noticed this as much before. Or maybe he’s never asked for our input as much before. Or maybe he’s just getting older and the heavier exposure to social instances has placed a need for him to have rules in place. WHichever. And not just rules – everything. He wants to know everything all of a sudden. Like his major exam is next week and it’s cram time.

As much as I want to help him and his anxious mind, I don’t want to set him up for failure later on down the road. I don’t want my answers now to be meant as mind relaxers, only to find out 15 years from now that he still remembers how I told him to handle the situation – incorrectly. I need help with this shit, and the school and his doctors are dragging ass. I have an appointment with the doctor Tuesday, and the school is supposed to call me back today. We’ll see.

He wants to know the rules for cussing. How old he has to be to say the SH word. Who he can say it to. Will he go to jail. Will his wife get mad. How many times can he say the D word in a day?

He wants to know when he’ll get married. When he’s six? Four more birthdays? When he’s taller? What will his wife wear? Will she be older or shorter? Does he have to buy her clothes? Will she make him oatmeal?

We’re still helping him figure out meanings to certain words. The older boys acting them out seems to work best, but it takes awhile. They must do it over and over, and then I must try to draw the connections for him as to what he saw them do and how he needs to recognize the same behavior in himself. So far, we’ve worked on interrupting, ignore, and annoy. Gee, what a great list. Mother of the year, eat your heart out.

He seems to be doing very well in school as well. Teacher adores him, but is worried that he doesn’t exhibit the same behaviors when she isn’t there. She was ill a few weeks ago, and he had notes from the substitute. Not sure how much changing teachers every year is going to affect him. I know he’s not going to like it, but I hope to gawd the next teacher is as wonderful as Ms. K is.

Speaking of…. I hear the bus.

J.A.S.O.N. hopped in and installed lots and lots of plugin-y goodness to stop those spam fuckers from taking over the comments.

So far, so good. Thanks Jason.

Went in to check on the kiddos, and heard MD sawing some ridiculously loud logs. Snoring drives me batshit. It really does. It hunches my shoulders and causes me to snap necks. I can’t help it. That sound penetrates my dreams and robs me of my sleep. Has for almost 15 years now. Nothing stops it. Nothing helps. He won’t go see a doctor, so we suffer. We all suffer. There is no way he can be getting decent sleep either. There’s just no way. Simply too loud.

I was debating his demise as I walked into our room. Couldn’t decide if I was going to end it quick, or make him suffer as much as his ear-wearing family members have done over the years. But as I walked over to the bed, he sat straight up with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, and asked me if it was time to go back to work. I told him no, laid him back down, and kissed his head. He was snoring again before I left the room.

I’ll learn to love it.

I heard around town that it’s De-Lurk Day, so say something.

Hi. Bye. Fuck off. Shut up. Drop dead. Bite me. Punch me. SendCashNow.

Whatever. Just say something.

Today we hit 5 months on our quit. Had some gal ask me the other day when I was going to stop with the countdown already. Whore. It’s not like I walk around spewing it at people all day. Someone asked, and I answered. It’s not even a pride thing for me. I’m not asking anyone to bend over and smooch my ass over how long it’s been. I’m just in awe that I’ve made it this far. Every day that goes by, it gets easier and easier and easier – and I just never thought I’d be here. On the other side of smoking. A non-smoker.

So fuck off bitch.

MD made it home just fine. I even ran and did the shopping for the week when he got here. Not too bad out yet. His boss is picking him up tomorrow in a big ass truck, so my mind is at ease.

These triops are getting bigger. And oh so nasty looking. There’s only two left, and we aren’t discussing what happened to the others. There are two other critters in there, which we have determined to be some type of shrimp, but I wouldn’t put money down that they’ll be there much longer. Poor MB3. He had no idea that these creatures would act this way.

Neither did I though. These are billed as triops. Sea-monsters. Whatever. But are they the same things I used to beg mom for? Sea-monkeys? Always wanted them. Was always told no. If they aren’t the same, then wtf did I get my boy? And if they are the same – then are they ALL as mean and vicious and predatory as these suckers are? My gawd. Chompsville.

Speaking of snacks, I made a doozy this evening. Cinnamon dippers. Mmmmm. Fried tortillas dipped in cinnamon/sugar and then served with ice cream and chocolate sauce. Defuckinglicious.

I’m going to try and take some pictures of these ugly ass monsters now before anyone reminds me that I’m not supposed to be eating shit like that anymore.

Kids are home the next two days thanks to an ice storm that moves in later on today. The warning runs clear on through till tomorrow evening. Sounds like a nasty motherfucker. And how wonderful that MD is working out of state right now. I get to sit here while the fear suffocates me waiting for him to arrive home safely tonight. Lather, Rinse, Repeat tomorrow as well.

I hope they’re smart and tell the guys to stay home.
I hope they remember the last ice storm.
I hope they remember how dangerous they are.

I hope it’s not as bad as they’re predicting.

As much as I love the holidays, I find myself very glad it’s over. House is way too damn small for this monster tree we have, and no amount of water stopped it from dying a horribly crunchy we-don’t-dare-turn-the-lights-on death faster than any other tree we’ve ever had. I took the decorations down by myself this morning, and lugged everything to the basement. I somehow managed to drag that fucking tree outside without causing too much damage on the way out. It’s lying there on the porch for MD. I didn’t even take the stand off.

He’s working in NE again this week. Means more hours, but it also means one helluva drive home, and it’s dangerous outside today. Nothing but ice. I’ll be worried sick until he pulls in the driveway.

MB4 lost a tooth yesterday. Turns out that both his bottom centers were loose, and we had no clue. Wasn’t something he thought he should mention, and I guess we never thought to sit down and prepare him for it. Kids just …. know, ya know? I expected a meltdown, but it actually didn’t bother him at all. He was even excited about getting a visit from the tooth fairy, and it was the first thing he remembered after waking up this morning.

After relaxing a bit that there wouldn’t be any drama, I allowed the sadness to find me. Just another kiddo leaving his baby years behind. I’m really not thrilled with the idea of wee one turning one this week either. Then again, I’ll soon have my body back. And my bed. And more nights out with my husband. And more sex.

At least it’s a decent trade-off.

We did end up going out that night. Fantastic dinner with a fantastic date.
I wore my regular old blue jeans and still ended up getting lucky.

New Year’s Eve was full of tequila and laughter.
New Year’s Day was full of motrin and rest.

It took exactly 1 hour to break my one and only resolution – to get fit.
But in my defense, that bag of tortilla chips really did kill my hangover.

Today we shopped for the wee one’s upcoming birthday.
This evening we prepared ourselves for the Return to Normal tomorrow.

This blog turned 2, and our second marriage hit the 5th year.
I’m still learning. I’m still happy. I’m still very aware of how blessed I am.

All in all – helluva way to start the new year.