MB4: When will lunch be ready?
MM: I don’t know MB4.
MB4: [insert screech] WHEN??? I’m STARVING!!
MM: In about 10 minutes. Stop using your 5 voice.

— 6 minutes later —

MM: Let’s eat!
MB4: It’s only been 6 minutes! You lied!
MM: I didn’t lie, I just didn’t know how long it’d take.
MB4: You lied, and I’m not eating.
MM: Then don’t eat.
MB4: YOU WANT ME TO DIE!??!!?? [insert loudest wail/screech possible here]

No reason for posting this other than to keep from thumping him in the head.
Or smashing mine into a wall.

MoodyMama is three years old today.
Time sure does fly when you’re having fun.

Batman just left. The strange aroma of cherries left as well. Coincidence? Of course not. This child found a car freshener last week and stuck it in his coat pocket. He is keeping it. He likes it.

I don’t know either.

You ever have a dream where your husband offers to take all the kids away and leave you to do whateverthefuck you want for 5 glorious days ?

Well, don’t.

Because after you waste your entire fucking dream helping him pack and get out of town – you wake up. And it really REALLY pisses you off.

MB1 was pissed at MB4 earlier over some stupid game. MB4 told him that he needed some happy pills.

What a bunch I’m raisin’, eh?

–

Went to pick up MB2’s friend to spend the night tonight. Kid comes out of the house and I damn near sped away crossing myself. This kid has always been unique – of course, he’s MB2’s friend – you know, the only child of mine to have — hell, to WANT — his ear pierced. Not to mention the white and orange hair, the tribal jewelry, and the art of not giving two shits who likes the way he is. But my son has a heart of gold, and it’s so very fitting for him to be his own person like this. So comfortable in his own skin. I don’t worry about him, oddly enough.

But his friend? Hoo-di-nanny. My gawd. This kid had on a full length leather coat, some biker’s boots, some high schooler’s jeans, some snow tire’s chains — wait, a LOT of snow tire’s chains — , every part of his body that could wear jewelry was wearing it – goth of course, his hair is jet black, his eyes are sporting a lovely smoke and shadow eyeliner combo, and he had a FUCKING LIP RING!!! He just kinda flew into the van like Batman and I damn near pissed myself.

Now, I found out later that the lip ring is fake, but still. It’s just so hard to believe that they’re friends. The only thing they have in common is that they’re weird and they like it. Ok, and they both play clarinet. Ok, Ok, and they both like the same music. And the same comic books. And the same games. I guess I’m judging a book by its cover, eh? Good thing my kid doesn’t. He’d be missing out on a really sweet kid.

Who I totally have to ask about that fantastic eyeliner color.

Seriously. Is it Wednesday? Thursday? I suppose I could look it up so that my lame ass title isn’t lame-er. But who really gives a shit anyway. Not me. Lame-er. Lamer. Is that a word? Not looking that up either.

I feel better today than I have in a long time. Lowering the dose of the depakote just a wee bit might have been the trick. I’m still not as … …….. …. alive? as I want to be, but it’s damn close. Damn close. And the wellbutrin bump next month should fix that right up. Wish my memory would improve, but they seem to think that it will get better once they aren’t OD’ing me on the meds anymore.

–

MB4 has had such a pleasant few days. Sense of humor is back, tantrums are less, he’s actually listening. Quite enjoyable to be around. I hate saying that because it suggests that there are times when I don’t like to be around him, but things get really shitty around here when he’s all wonky like that. I think this bout has convinced me that he is at least sensitive/reactive to bread products, but I am not about to bend over backwards to dive into a special diet either. He loves his breads and pastas too much to do that to him anyway, and I am not about to start buying $8 loaves of special bread. Besides, he is 100% better just by lowering his intake, so I don’t see the need to eliminate it altogether. I realize that it could blow my fucking mind to see him completely yeast free, but that’s a bridge for another day.

–

It’s 3 days after Christmas and I still haven’t seen my kids other than to feed their happy asses. No fights either. I did good. Real good. The wee one has even starting throwing his own tea parties. Very cute. And he’s such a good host. He always has real water in the cups for us. Too bad it’s from the toilet.

–

I’ve managed to lose 4lbs by simply drinking more water and switching to spray butter. I know 4lbs doesn’t seem like a lot, but considering that scale never fucking moves at all? I’ll take anything at this point – especially when I haven’t changed my eating habits or started exercising. But drinking more water has pushed my first dr pepper of the day back until around noon. Used to be 6am. I’m only drinking one or two a day now as well, instead of ……. 4-6. Yeah, I know. Bite me.

Did you know that water makes you piss a lot? I mean, a lot. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever pissed this much. Maybe my pisser’s broken. I sure as gawd better not be pregnant. Dick heads will roll.

Water also makes your face look different. I think anyway. Less zits. Less is good.

–

MD and I raked it in on Christmas. My parents spoil us rotten. So does my single friend. We’re her family, and she always go batshit crazy buying gifts. New stainless steel kitchen set. Salad shooter. Waffle stix maker. Perfume for me. Cozy COZY pjs for me. Vellox blankie. New planner. Book light. Socks/undies. Myst V. Boots for me. New dress coat for MD. Watch for MD. More Bucs shit than you can shake a pirate’s hook at for MD. Did I mention the warm cozy fleece pjs?

I love Christmas.

After my appt last Wednesday, I went to the pharmacy to drop off my new Rx’s. The new gal at the window told me that the computer wasn’t going to let them refill the wellbutrin until the 28th. I figured I had more in the cabinet somewhere and went home. But I didn’t. I called back and the same gal told me that there wasn’t anything they could do. I got pissed, hung up, and told MD that I would just wait.

My wonderful husband went out yesterday to pick up a few things at the store, and then stopped in to talk to the pharmacist. The lady that usually helps me was there as well, and they figured out the problem, told him they would fix everything, and gave him 5 pills to last me until I came back in. I love those ladies. I love him even more for doing that for me. Was a total surprise.

Still, the holidays found me dragging ass as a result, and I’m just now starting to feel better.

—-

The party was great. Family members crawling in out of the woodwork. Kids had a blast as well. They had no idea that their family was this big. We’re all supposed to meet up at another cousin’s house for New Year’s. Just like we used to – only the cousins are the grown-ups now. Funny how things change like that.

—-

And Christmas. Wonderful Christmas. I think it’s safe to say that the kids had one of the best years yet. I haven’t seen any of them in 2 days unless it’s for a battery change. Score for mom the shopper.

Few pics in the gallery.

Give ya three guesses as to who usually cooks the turkey and who usually cooks the ham around here.

gag

Whatever the reason that rocks your season, I wish you all the happy’s that come with it.

My blog reading runs in cycles. Sometimes I’ll go for weeks reading nothing but news. Then I’ll switch to trashy gossip for awhile. Then the brain changes gears and wants real life with real people. Normal people. People that I’ve grown to care about. I love it when I cycle back this way, ’cause it’s time to get cozy and catch up on everyone’s lives.

Then I click a link and discover that someone is gone. Closed up shop and I don’t know why because I haven’t been reading. And I’ll be left forever wondering how things turned out for them. I hate that.

If you’re reading this – you, who happens to share the same last name because the world is funny like that, and who also happens to be from Tampa because life is even funnier sometimes – drop me an email.

Please. I’d love to know how your children are doing.

Not really THAT exciting. It was a wedding mass, and I didn’t burst into flames upon entering the church – who’d a thunk it? Anyhoooooo – we endured that … lovely ceremony as the priest talked about obeying your husband and dying for your wife [you think I'm kidding, don't you?], so all night long J [ooops] MD would say obey wife and I would say die husband and we’d all laugh and uh yeah – I guess you had to be there.

It was cold as hell and snowing like mad and we rushed to the reception to get our drink on. Well, to get my drink on. MD doesn’t drink that much and we both benefit from my drunken state anyway – if you get my drift. We actually made a bet that night as to if we’d make it home first. And no, we weren’t leaving separately – you figure it out.

We sat at a huge table in the back, and before long, tables were being shoved together because we [the cousins] were doing something we hadn’t done in a long time — talking. And laughing. And the booze flowed. And the laughter grew. And we discovered that we all actually like each other and there’s been no good excuse not to get together all these years.

What’s more, people I invited to the xmas party out of …… obligation, came up and informed me that they wouldn’t miss it for the world. I was floored because these people never attend any family function. And yet there we all were, like no one had ever left the fold. And that’s ok, because that’s what family does. Roll with the changes.

Although I paced myself and had only a few drinks — and only the slightest of buzzes — I knew I was going to be ill about an hour before we left. Not for awhile, but eventually, and that killed all fun for me. We left so that we might indeed make it home first — before I puked, and it really killed all chances of freakish monkey sex. T’was a shame to waste good tequila like that. I guess I understand what the doc was talking about as far my alcohol tolerance now. Sucks ass.

On the bright side, we had a helluva lot of fun. I am so looking forward to tomorrow night when they are all here again and we can continue the party. Most are staying over so we don’t have to worry about taxis and crap. BYOB turned into BYOBandasleepingbag. Good times will ensue.

The boys made me proud as well. I think we’ve decided that we don’t need to pay that female to sit on her ass and flip through the channels while my boys make her life easy. Seems they each took on a designated younger child and everything went fine. They didn’t even have trouble getting MB5 to sleep — and I have a shitload of trouble myself. But MB3 was ‘watching’ him (yeah, the 10yo watching the 2yo – go figure), and he is so damn good with little ones. Even changed the diapers. Really pleasantly surprised with how it turned out. They are eager to watch the little ones again and earn cashola, and we’re jumping for joy that we might actually be able to go out more than once every 5 years.

Matter of fact, New Year’s is coming….

I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child – especially around the holidays. And how is that poor man going to give a shit about coaching at a time like this? I adored him since the day he stepped foot in Tampa, and I was upset to see him go. Great coach, even better person. Tremendous amount of class and calm.

I just hate it when things like this happen to good people.

Had a doc appt yesterday. First one since September due to cancellations and problems and whatnot. I felt like cancelling yesterday, but I’m glad I didn’t.

We talked about my concentration/memory problems and my flat existence. About the crying spells and the long low nights. He and I worked our way around my med taking schedule to see if I was suffering from too much depakote or not enough wellbutrin. He called in his boss, and they determined it to be both. So….yay me!! I get to back down on the depakote a bit this month and see what happens. Then they’ll jack up the wellbutrin in 4 weeks to give me that added boost. Going to put some spark back in my life, is what he said. Based on the smile that brought to my face, they immediately start putting together a list of phone numbers for me in case that spark turned into a fire. Sorry, but I welcome a bit of anydamnthing right now. Bring on the fire!!

They wanted me to give them examples of my memory problems. Trying to determine if it was memory loss or loss of concentration. Not sure if it matters, but they seem to think it did. As well, we were all trying to figure out if I was simply not making the transformation into normaldom well. That’s part of it maybe. Feels like my autopilot is busted, and that sucks ass. And as far as the depression, maybe I’ve been flying so long, that I no longer know what the ground feels like. Regardless, they know I’m not happy, and are making changes to fix it. That’s all I give a shit about.

I hope it’s a big spark.

This new kitten meows at me every night and drives me fucking batshit. I don’t know what he wants. No wait, I do. He wants my drink. Or my crackers. Or to walk all over the keyboard. Or chase the mouse. Or lick my fingers. I don’t think he understands MeTime. MeTime means no kids, no husband, and no cats.

—

We tried to fix the tree. Tried to retuck the lights and space out the ornaments, but it still looked like shit. I’m not kidding when I say that the tree drew blood when you touched it. It was that dry and sharp. Like a big fucking cactus in my living room. MD asked me what I wanted to do, and I told him to drag it outside and burn it. It’s not like it’d take more than two seconds to get that done. He gave me this odd look and started stripping the tree. Took everything off, and whisked that bastard out behind the house. Then he got in the car and left. Came back about 15 minutes later with a new tree from the grocery store. Small weird looking fucker of a tree, but soft and fragrant and soft, did I say soft? Yeah, soft. Too soft, in fact. Sumbitch won’t hold the ornaments. But that’s ok, I hung them on the light strands. I’m happy now. Leave it to the Moody family to change trees the week of Christmas.

–

MB4 asked for a snack today and when I said yes, he reached for the loaf of bread. I asked him how long he’s been having bread for a snack, and he simply said – I love it. I know he does. Bread, crackers, oatmeal – unfortunately, he always seem worse when he’s eating a lot of those type of things. I’m not sure where I sit when the whole yeast/autism issue, but damned if I can’t see the connection every time he starts consuming more than usual.

–

Wow, talk about the sleepies hitting you all of a sudden. I’ve more to write, but my time is being cut short by the sandman. Who knows when I’ll be back. Tomorrow is clean and cook day, Friday is our family party, and then the holiday weekend.

So if I don’t talk to you all – Happy Holidays – whatever they may be.

Binky finally gave up. Looks like Boots will be here until someone adopts him. And if that never happens, that’s ok too.

Gal pal of mine has been working through some changes in her life. Changes that I have been helping her with. We’ve gone round and round for months now. I’ve given her everything but a power-point presenfuckingtation as to why this is a good move for her.

Last night she calls. She’s feeling more secure about it — because she talked to another friend as well. A friend in the corporate world, like herself. Then I sat there and listened as she went over the same exact shit we had discussed two months ago. It made me want to kick her in the fucking head for all those wasted hours I spent on the phone. But this dumb little ole housewife didn’t say a word.

I did, however, do something that I have never EVER done. I closed up the opinion shop when she gave me signal to interject. I simply wished her well, and made an excuse to get off the phone.

Not sure if it’s the meds talking — well, not talking — or what, but I no longer feel like carrying such heavy ass burdens. For myself. For others. Either I don’t have it in me, or I simply want to shed the weight of it all – not sure. What’s more — I don’t really care either way.

That’s not to say that I don’t care, because I’ll still be here for my friends that need me, but I’m tired of getting bogged down with shit that people really don’t want help with anyway. I’ve always been able to tell who is really trying to fix their situation, and who is simply bitching to bitch, I just always felt the need to try anyway.

Not anymore. I’sa been cured.

MM: MG, go apologize to MB4 for wrecking his lego castle.
MG: Mom, you can’t say pollygize to MB4, he only takes sorry.

Straight from my 4yo’s mouth. Now if she can understand that he has certain language issues that translate into strict adherence to well-trodden ‘rules’ – why can’t the other adults in his life?

Mr. and Mrs. Smith – Shipping today

And how sad that seeing this makes me froth and dance about?

Stop blaming yourself for yesterday. The Bucs lost because ….

*MB1 didn’t wear his hat until the second half
*MB1 didn’t put his jersey on at all
*MD didn’t hang the flag until after the game had started
*I sat to watch the game with them and I NEVER do that
*I wished them luck and said I hope they win
*Jupiter is in the house with venus or some shit
*It was snowing somewhere the world

I cleverly pieced together this explanation as MD hollered and jumped on the furniture screaming obscenities. Obscenities that made me blush.

I know, eh?

When you still have a headache on Monday, that’s one helluva Saturday night.

to be continued after I feed this body of mine that would shrink to kibbles n bits yesterday when approached with food…

I hate it when netflix sends a shit combo. Well, shit for me. Everyone else was in heaven. Kid movie, kid movie, stupid ass will the ferret movie. I begged them to watch the movies tomorrow night, but everyone bitched. Fine. So we watched will the ferret. And one by one, everyone fell asleep. Except me. The one who didn’t want to watch the fucking movie in the first place. Chaps my ass.

MD and I are going out tomorrow night. Yes, you heard that correctly. First a wedding, then a reception, and then it’s party time. Not exactly sure where we’re headed to party just yet, but we’re headed somewhere dammit. We’ve only been out once in the past five years, and we were home by 10pm. We have a sitter lined up to come here and watch the kids till the wee hours. It’s costing us a small treasure, so I intend to make it worth every red cent. Can’t get drunk early on and accost MD in public — gotta pace myself.

I’m thinking about joining Curves unless someone gives me a good reason not to. I simply cannot stand the sight of my body anymore. I realize that I’m not overweight, but I am totally out of shape, and my flab is developing flab. Enough is enough. I bought some sexies to wear tomorrow, and when I tried on the panties, they were immediately eaten up by my ginormous asscheeks. They were supposed to be cute little lacy briefs – but because my body was squishing them here and sucking them in there, they ended up looking like some hideous g-string concoction. A g-String that was in a battle for its life – and losing. Barf. So, hi ho hi ho, it’s off to the gym I go.

Later. Right now I have a poptart calling my name.

CHRISTMAS CAROLS FOR THE DISTURBED

* 1. Schizophrenia — Do You Hear What I Hear?

* 2. Multiple Personality Disorder — We Three Kings Disoriented Are

* 3. Dementia — I Think I’ll be Home for Christmas

* 4. Narcissistic — Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

* 5. Manic — Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and…..

* 6. Paranoid — Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me

* 7. Borderline Personality Disorder — Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

* 8. Personality Disorder — You Better Watch Out, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Pout, Maybe I’ll Tell You Why

* 9. Attention Deficit Disorder — Silent night, Holy oooh look at the Froggy – can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away?

* 10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder — Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle,Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,

As always, if you find yourself offended — find the X and leave.

Good gawd. Is there a reason entrance doors cost more than the rest of the living room projects combined? Time to hit the new and used lot again. Starting to love that place.

Busy day tomorrow and I can’t sleep. I hate this miserable sleep cycle. Can’t close my eyes at night. Can’t open them up in the morning. I’m afraid to take something to make me sleepy. Maybe I won’t hear the alarm. Maybe I just flat out don’t need to add another pill to my life.

MB4’s shrink had to reschedule until January. Lovely. Past few days have been better though. Let’s hope that trend continues. I pulled out that 5 point scale book again to try and tackle this screech shit he’s got going on before he makes this entire family deaf. It’s not really working, but I can pretend.

Started taking a couple of AZO’s every day, and my kidneys feel great.
Just thought I’d throw that in there.

Damn, just not enough juice to sit here and crank out the tales of my day. Not tired, but not energized either. Just a pile of blah shit. I sure hope my doc doesn’t cancel on me again. I need a fucking jump start.

If :

1) The man in your life needs work boots.

&

2) He has very small feet.

Then :

Sierra has another great deal, this time on Wolverine boots. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch it in time, and they are sold out of MD’s size. But I thought I would pass it along just in case someone else can squeeze their man’s foot into a 7, 8, or 8 1/2.

Manic depression:
Alternating moods of abnormal highs (mania) and lows (depression).

Bipolar disorder:
A psychiatric disorder marked by alternating episodes of mania and depression.

Why wasn’t I given the memo that these two are one in the same? I mean, I knew it on some level. Maybe not even a level, more like a sub-level. But here? On my functioning, day-to-day realm? Not a clue.

Would have been a handy piece of info to have so that when I read the endless news about the airplane guy — bipolar, mentally ill (wow, hello), bipolar, mental illness (ouchie), bipolar, manic-depressive…. whaah? It didn’t punch me in the face like that.

Trivial? Perhaps. But when I think about manic-depression, the first image that comes to mind is a mental institution. I know I’ve got Hollywood and previous lack of exposure/ignorance to thank for that, but that’s what I see. But when I think about bipolar disorder, I see me. See the problem? I’m suddenly rethinking my flappy lips and their tendency to spatter out to anyone that asks about my dx. It didn’t bother me who knew about it before. Now? Now I’m wondering what people REALLY think.

I asked MD, and he admitted that before the doc dropped the b word on me, he had always ranked manic-depression/bipolar disorder on the same level as schizophrenia. Even multiple personality disorder. It blew my mind to hear him say that. Then I realized that if I’m being honest, I did too.

—

I’m now seriously starting to cringe at the words mental illness. Didn’t bother me a week ago. Probably doesn’t help that the only time I feel even halfway normal is about an hour after taking the wellbutrin, and it doesn’t last that long. And it’s still a very flat existence at best.

—

I was lurking at a bipolar forum, and they were mourning the loss of one of their members. She had taken her own life. They posted pics and told stories and she seemed so vibrant and put together and loved and loving and it’s really hard to believe that someone like her could slip so low as to think that suicide is the only solution out of the pain. That she could leave her children and husband to deal with something like that.

Then someone mentioned that sick people don’t know they’re sick.

That scared the shit out of me. Not that I’m worried about suicide. I maybe a little low lately, but I haven’t had any thoughts like that in a long time.

It’s simply the not knowing part.

You don’t know if you’re manic and thinking with a rational brain.
You don’t know if you’re depressed and thinking with a rational brain.

You’re just fucked. You literally have a damaged mind. Your brain is broken. Does it get scarier than that?

—

Not going anywhere with this. The power of the brain just wows me sometimes.

MB4’s evaluation has been set for the end of March. This should provide us with a ‘real’ label, so his advocate can help us with the school. He’s still doing ok grade-wise, but there are a few other issues that could be handled better. Like the library book problem. I received notice after notice, and wrote back note after note. After I received the 6th notice, I wrote a pretty nasty letter to the librarian and the teacher asking what exactly they would like me to do since the books aren’t allowed to come home. I told them that even though the school might ignore his spectrum disorder, it remains a part of who he is and it’d be wise to take it into consideration when dealing with things like this. Like magic, they figured out a solution.

I’m looking forward to the appointment I get with the evaluation team. I have a shitload of questions to ask, and they are wonderful at giving answers – it’s just harder than hell to get in to see them. Wait time is about 8 months.

I’ve been writing the questions down in the form of situations, hoping that way the intent isn’t lost on what I’m trying to say. It’s so hard to pinpoint the issues sometimes. When you try to translate it into words, it comes out sounding like a problem any normal child could have – but there’s always that piece missing. A piece that I can see so clearly in my mind, but my brain just can’t articulate. The one thing that turns it into a I don’t know what to do anymore issue.

Because I don’t.

I don’t know what to do. Oh yeah, blah blah. He’s so smart and such a joy in class and never bothers anyone and the teacher never has any problems. Umm – duh. Does he play with the other kids? Well no. Have you got him to work in a group yet? Well no. Does he even TALK to the other kids? Well, not really. Does he do anything at all other than exactly what you tell him to do in class and swing on the fucking monkey bars during recess? No, that’s about it.

Yeah, he’s just swell.

And then, on the ride home on the bus, he sits next to a 4th grader who calls him a boob and then they play this game when this puke face spits on him and MB4 laughs and defends this puke face because they’re friends and friends make each other laugh and MB4 is laughing and this puke face is laughing and why can’t I just shut up?

Yeah, no problems there.

And then I ask him to clean him room before snack and he growls at me to make him and I can see it in his eyes that he’ll test me physically when he’s older. And he’ll probably win. I can barely handle him now when he rages. He’s a strong, strong, strong little boy. Like he feels no pain. Well, until his sister throws a feather on him and he screams that scream to make your ear drums melt and his face turns red and I’m reminded of that horrible close encounters movie again.

I’ve lost control of the situation. I can’t fucking win this, and at this point, I don’t even know where to go to finish the race. I feel like I’m drowning. It’s hard because he DOES look so normal. Then I’ll say something or hear someone say something and immediately we’ll all freeze because we know it’s too late and he’s going to be set off. Maybe someone used a graphic metaphor that he’s never heard or jokingly chased MG around the house while chanting I’m gonna eat you my sweet as she giggles because he just doesn’t get it. He’ll either scream or cry or ask 2 million questions and maybe it’ll start a fight with another kid and maybe it’ll have me and him at each other’s throats or maybe he’ll just cry until he finally believes me enough to calm down.

Or we have a good day and we play like today and he laughs and we laugh and then we say playtime is over and he can’t just shut it off like that so we have a code word but he still never listens and he jumps on your back and it damn near causes a black out and you fall onto the couch and he laughs and you get frantic because you can’t breathe and as you undo the vice grip he has on your neck, he gets angry and screams because you hate him and don’t ever EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER want to play with him. And he hates you. And he’s never EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER going to be your friend. ANd when he’s your boss, he’s not going to play with you. And that, my friends, is a scary fucking thought. Not the fact that he won’t play with me, but that he thinks he’ll be my boss someday.

Of everything I’ve ever done as a mother, this is the hardest. The most tiring – mentally and physically. The most challenging. And I’m ashamed to admit that some days I don’t think I’m up for it. That I resent it. And then I feel like an ass because it could be so much worse. He’s still a healthy and beautiful little boy. All of my kids are, and I’m very very blessed. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks and I needed a pity party.

Sorry for myself time is over.
New day tomorrow.
Fresh pills.

Woke up at 4am to find that my lovely little girl had crawled into bed with us again. And had thrown up in our bed again. Only on me this time.

I love being puked on.
I love taking a shower at 4am.
I love redo’ing sheets and blankies at 4am.
I love bathing and redressing my sick baby girl at 4am.

Ok, I lie. I fucking hate it.

MD is indeed working today. My house is clean as a result. Nothing else to do. I can’t get motivated to go anywhere or do anything if he’s not here. And that really sucks, because he’s never fucking here anymore.

MD is 99% sure he has to work (again) this weekend.
MG just puked all over my bed.
My van is making a strange crying noise.
The kittens are still biting each other.
My head has hurt for a week now.
My tree is ugly and it depresses me.
I want the house redone now!now!now!
Netflix sucks monstrous ass these days.

Speaking of monstrous ass, there is a chocolate cream pie calling my name….

I don’t know what’s worse…

Being corrected —incorrectly— by a snotty bitch who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about but thinks they do because they are convinced they know everything.

Or having a dumbass try to help you when they are not only clueless to the situation, but also as to just how fucking dumb they really are.

I guess at least you can bitch at the bitch.
To point and laugh at the dumbass is just plain mean.

Need help here. Want to get MD a sander for Christmas. Well, that and I need one to sand the walls in the kitchen.

I know, how lame. I need a sander, so he gets one for Christmas. Whatever works people. The man is still getting tools.

I am getting ready to start on the walls in the kitchen. Rip off the panelling, filling the holes left behind, etc. So, I need one that will go up and down the wall to smooth it out, and MD said there are certain kinds for that purpose? I know nothing about this. Help me out please. I don’t want some junky one, and preferrably, one that is easy enough for me to handle would be great.

Why is it that no matter how many toys they have or what I do to stop them, the kids and the kittens always —ALWAYS— go for the tampons?

I sat for a long time yesterday listening to MG. She wasn’t talking to me, but I listened all the same. She was lost in the world of pretend. Something about a puppet show and her cousin and a tea party and zoo animals and the whole thing just had me smiling from ear to ear. And not only because of her ’story’. As cute as she was huddled under the table with her animals, I was just as thrilled with the fact that she was pretending in the first place.

I can think back to the older boys and how they used to do the same thing. Mainly cars and fights and blow ‘em up stuff, but pretend all the same. They would be lost in that world for hours – oblivious to anyone else. I didn’t pay much attention to it though, because it was so……. normal. All kids chatter to themselves and their action figures and hole up in the corner to fight the big fight or hog up the entire couch for their pokemon battles.

But when MB4 didn’t do those things, well, I didn’t notice that either. It didn’t seem odd or out of place that he wasn’t pretending. He never showed an interest in anything other than cars and books – and only to line them up. And balls – gawd, the ball fetish. That boy loves him some balls. He could, and still can, bounce ‘dem balls for hours without growing bored. But I never noticed that either.

I’ve felt guilty about this for a long time now. Like maybe I could have done something to magically reverse what was happening to him if I had been paying more attention. But I’m not going to do that to myself anymore. Not going to take the blame for something that wasn’t my fault. Well, other than what part the gift of my genetics played. I’m going to cut myself a break and admit that I didn’t catch the clues because I didn’t know they were being thrown.

But I am going to be thankful for this gift of awareness. Not only do I feel armed to watch out for the remaining two little ones and their development, but I also get a second chance to experience the world of pretend from the eyes of my children. I’ll not take it for granted again.

Maybe I need to hand in my parenting id card. Throw in the fucking towel and start over with ferrets. At least then I could give them away if they nipped at me.

MB1 is pissed at me now. Not that I care, mind you. He deserves it, he knows it, but it doesn’t stop his pubescent brain from wishing a piano would fall from the moon and squash me. I get that, really, I do. Doesn’t matter that the parent is right – and maybe it’s because the parent is right that incites the fury – but it’s still a fucking headache to deal with.

He was allowed to walk to a friend’s house after school yesterday and play football. I’ve been letting him do this for a few weeks now, as long as he calls first to make sure I don’t need him home for anything. He knows to call around 4:30-5pm to let me know if he needs a ride or not, because it gets dark as hell early nowadays, and I don’t want him walking home in it.

Well, he didn’t call yesterday. And I waited. When it was full on dark at 5:30 I went out to warm up the car. My stomach was twisted like it always is when that fucking voice whispers to me all the nasty things that nasty men like to do to young boys on cold dark nights when those young boys do stupid shit like walk home alone in the dark. It was then that he called. Can mom pick me up, I ate dinner at my friend’s house….

He was lucky his brother answered the phone.

I waited until we got home before I fired upon him. Told him that there were only two reasons kids fuck up like this – stupidity and disobedience. Either they lose track of time or forget or get pressured by peers …. or you have a kid that would rather ask for forgiveness later than permission now. And I made it crystal clear that I ain’t having that shit in my house.

He had no answers, which infuriated me more. At least admit that you blew me off. Or fucking LIE and say you forgot. Don’t say I don’t know over and over and think it washes as an excuse. I think it was a mixture of both on his part. He runs with a group of about 9 kids. I know some of them don’t have the kind of restrictions that he has, and he takes a lot of shit because of it from the asshole-ish ones. I honestly do try to minimize that as much as possible. I don’t set him up to be fodder for their bullshit. But I refuse to back down and let him roam loose just because their parents would rather be at the bowling alley than home making sure Johnny has done his homework.

I tried to explain how much trust is going to come into play in the very near future when he has that drivers license in hand. The more I trust him – the more he gets to do. Period. I know he gets it – he really is a good kid. But he’s so fucking wrapped up in what these other kids say. Most of them are great kids, but there are two real dickheads in the bunch that have some magical powers over the rest.

I’m worried he’s not strong enough to go against them. I’m worried it’ll take something major to make him understand how important it is to do the right thing even when the right thing is the last fucking thing you want to do. I’m worried that I’m going to get a phone call from the police station – or have a cop show up at my door. I’m worried I’m going at this parenting a boy thing all wrong. I’m worried that I’m really going to screw him up.

I’m worried I should apologize to Society now for the havoc my spawn will wreak later.

MB2 dropped a contact this morning and we couldn’t find it. As well, he had forgot to tell me that he was on his last pack of them, so he had no spares. We looked and looked and looked for that damn thing, but no dice. He did NOT want to wear his glasses, but in the end, the bus came and he had no choice. He didn’t even tell me goodbye, just huffed out the door, pissed off at the world.

I went back downstairs after I saw them board the bus, and recreated his morning as he had described it. It was then that I saw the contact, sitting on top of the tub of toothpaste, cleverly disguised as a bead of water.

I wondered if I should run them to school, but decided not to. Maybe I’m a shithead, but he has to learn to be more responsible. Not saying that dropping a contact is irresponsible, but not having a spare is. In my opinion, anyway. He knows that he is B-L-I-N-D without glasses. He knows that he has to wear something. He knows how much he hates his glasses. He should have known better than to run this low with his supply. I refuse to feel like bad about making him wear his glasses today.

Ok, I feel bad, but not enough to take his contacts to school.

MD worked all weekend, which put me in a funk. But I seem to be ok this morning. Tackled this house like a sumbitch. Revised my cleaning list for the 40th time. Cleared a todo list from hell. Finished most of my Christmas cards. Made out the new todo’s for December (yeah, I was behind a bit) and January. I feel real good today.

I have a doc appt Wednesday. Head doc. Haven’t been there in awhile. I need him to help me out with this flat feeling, but other than that – I’d say he’s just about got it. If I’m to be normal, that is. Still not sure this is for me, but I know my family is, so that settles that. Maybe just a bit of an increase in the wellbutrin. Dunno. That’s for him to figure out.

I’m off to take a peek at the benefit packet for the new year. New plans, so I have to dig around and make changes. I hate this shit. They need to leave well enough alone so I can just chuck the packet in the trash when it comes.

MB2 brought home a 7 week old kitten from ‘work’ today. We’re going to foster it until it gets adopted. (If it ever does.) Problem is, kitty #1 isn’t too pleased. In fact, she’s down right pissed. I don’t know what to do about it. I had dozens and dozens and dozens of animals growing up – all kinds, and they all got along. Or if they didn’t, at least they were…….civil. As civil as animals could be. But she’s swatting and growling and pouncing and batting and chasing and nipping and I just can’t leave the baby alone with her. Not sure if the new kitty will be able to stay. I told MB2 that we’d give it a few days. Maybe they’ll become fast friends once the baby no longer smells like a medicated stray straight from the vet. I hope so. Any ideas?

Am I the only one on the planet that hates dvd’s and cd’s? One scratch. One tiny little scratch and the damn things are trash. $20 … $50 ….. $70 – instantly not worth a fucking thing.

At least you can splice a vhs. You can fast forward over the shitty warbled spots. You can open them bitches up and do your best to salvage it. Same with cassettes. What was so WRONG with cassettes?

You can blow into the workings of a nintendo cartridge and resuscitate it. And that’s only necessary when the damn game is 10 years old, the sticker’s long gone, and you only know what game you’re playing because of the shit scribbled on the front with a permanent marker. THAT’S a game worth spending $50 on. You can drop kick them fuckers into the lake and in three days it’ll dry out and play good as new. Hell, you can pull a nintendo 64 off an entertainment center in a fit of rage when you get your ass kicked by your 6 year old son because the cord didn’t break free when you chuck the controller across the room. THAT’S worth buying.

I don’t give a damn about better graphics. I need to be able to throw my shit and have it survive. Duh.

*Post inspired by a 20 minute ass chewing by MG when we discovered that her beloved Nemo dvd was garbage. Her FOURTH Nemo dvd. Fucking technology.

Last night wee one dropped a bit of spaghetti sauce on the floor. A very tiny drop. I always sweep and mop after the table gets cleaned, so I ignored it and went over to help MB1 load the dishwasher. MB5 walked over, grabbed the mop, walked back to the table, pulled back his chair, and pushed that mop over the drop. Then he pushed the chair back, walked back over, and put the mop away. We all just stood there in shock. He’s going to be a keeper ladies.

Or the psycho from that sleeping with the enemy movie.

I had to take off my wedding rings when I gained that Zoloft weight. I put them back on when I lost it. I took them off again when I developed a nasty rash. I went to put them back on again to see if the same thing would happen – and I can’t find my band. The rings were together, so I don’t know what happened. Maybe it got lost in the move? My stomach is in knots.

The older boys just brought MB5 in here to show me the lastest trick they’ve taught him. He hiked his leg and made a hissing noise. Good gawd. But shouldn’t every toddler know how to emulate a pissing dog? I’m so proud.

The cat has knocked the tree down twice. MG has knocked it down once. We now have what’s left of the motherfucking tree tied up with a cable which has been hammered into the wall – but we can’t fix the leaning no matter what we do. The wee one decided to play Let’s Smash Shit Starting With The Ornaments and now the small amount that survived have been moved to the top of the tree and it looks pitiful as hell. And the cat has decided to rearrange the lights and bat at the bulbs and now only 3 strings work and the rest are hanging down like saggy balls and I just want to chuck the whole fucking thing out the window.

Nothing like a Clampett Christmas to brighten the holidays.

Wee one is almost 23 months old, and he just called me mama for the first time.

It was worth the wait.