Do NOT read any farther if you have any idea, whatsoever, of getting offended.
This is my space. For me to rant. To praise. To whine. Whatever.
Do NOT send me bitchy emails or messages about what you read here.
You don't have to like it and you don't have to read it either!

Monday, November 29, 2010

Christmas Bliss...

So it's that time of year and already the hubs is Grinching. Let me explain...he HATES how commercialized Christmas has gotten. He HATES shopping. He HATES how things like Black Friday bring out the ugliest in people. While watching the news and witnessing a man get TRAMPLED at a Target, I thought he was going to bust a vein. Whilst he stood there spluttering I removed all throwable things from his vicinity. We then had a discussion about the true meaning of Christmas. I LOVE shopping for my family. I LOVE finding the perfect gift and giving it. I LOVE baking and decorating and singing carols and making cards. AND spending time with my husband and kids whilst doing all those things! He Grinches me every year. EVERY.YEAR. He gets all pissy and scowly and is a general pain in the ass. I understand how much he HATES the bullshit. I HATE it too. But that is not what it is about for me. I am closest to my mom at this time of year. I feel her in every ornament on the tree, every sugar cookie cut out, every carol sung. I LOVE the look in my children's eyes when they see lights on houses and Santa in a chair asking if they have been good and giving them a candy cane. I LOVE putting up my North Pole Village houses and getting them just so and lighting them up. We decided to SEVERELY tone down the gift giving this year. We bought some things the kids REALLY wanted. Like the 11 yr old asked for an "AM/FM alarm clock with 6 soothing sounds" No lie. He asked for that. So we got him an AM/FM alarm clock with 20 soothing sounds. That should be interesting! The little one wanted a few video games so that was cake. Every year they pick out and purchase an ornament for each other. It takes forever but it is great to watch them search for the PERFECT ornament for their brother. It's the little moments. The laughter. The singing carols. The flour coating every surface in my kitchen. The sugar highs from the icing. THAT is what my Christmas is.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


My husband has a GINORMOUS family. So big that they rotate Thanksgiving every year. Like it's in a different house, sometimes a different state. (only PA which is like 20-30 minutes so relax!) One day we, in our teeny little love nest, may be thrown into the fray. I am hoping that will be a LOOOOOOOONNNNGGG time off. ANYWAY... we got a free turkey from the grocery store. Which really wasn't free seeing as how I had to spend $300 on groceries in a specified time. But since we are not in the fray...into the freezer it went. Now I am sad. I LOVE turkey. Like LOVE LOVE. So the fact that there will be no turkey smell in my house nor leftovers for creamed turkey, turkey potpie, turkey sandwiches, etc... has me sad in the bits. So I have decided that we will be doing Thanksgiving PART DIEUX on my birthday. That's right a week and 1 day after Thanksgiving I will be spending my 34th baking a turkey and making all the sides. My egg donor and her Bill (I love them both but it's complicated...and by egg donor I hope you know I mean my biological mother. It sounds better than Bio-Mom. That just sounds weird.) are flying in from FL to see us and his family so I want to make a turkey. Why? BECAUSE I LOVE TURKEY! And Scott LOVES turkey and candied yams and dirty mashed potatoes (skins on...get your mind outta the gutter...just because that's what he calls...NEVERMIND!), and pumkpin dutch apple pie, and homemade cranberry sauce...and hot buttered rolls! Wow...this is my food porn. Yep.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Resistance is futile?

The hell you say! I am tired of folks trying to make me like them. I am pretty damn happy with things the way they are. I mean aside from the obvious 25 pounds that seem permanently attached to my ass, gut and thighs. I am happy with the way things are turning out for the most part. There are some serious things I would change both past and present, but I don't see that EVER happening so I have to move on. I have to push through it and hope desperately that there is an end to the tunnel. I have TONS of hope. Hope that my oldest will conquer whatever demons are eating him up with doubt and devouring his confidence faster than he can climb the mountains in front of him. Hope that my little guy continues on the path he is on. Hope that my husband will find a job he can be happy at. Hope that people will see me for me and think I am pretty rad as I am and not try to change me or tolerate me with barely disguised contempt. It really shouldn't be so hard. I think I am pretty easy to get along with. I hope that people will stop trying to change my mind about homeschooling. Will stop giving me advice on how to raise and school my kids. Worry about what you are doing or not doing. I have enough to deal with thanks. Don't need you making me feel bad and second guessing my decisions. Support me. If you don't that's ok. But then you need to shut the AY-EFF up. You are not the one homeschooling so it really isn't any of your damn business. I know I cannot protect my kids from everything forever, but I can shield them from the nastier things for a little bit longer. Because they are still children and should be allowed to enjoy it for as long as they can. Without fear. Without danger. Without horrible things being said to them. Without threats. Because they are 11 and 8. And I want them to enjoy being 11 and 8 and then 12 and 9 and so on until they are old enough to tell me they are ready. I know it will come and I want them to be as equipped to deal with the ugly as much as they can. it will come soon enough, but until then...they can be kids and revel in every dirty, sweaty, wormy, buggy, tree climbing, ball throwing, bike riding, lego building second.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Grey hairs and Lady Fingers...

I realized today after my haircut that I have a few grey's popping up. Not a ton...just a few, but where there are a few there will be more! And you know what? I could care less! I am actually happy to see them. It's like a badge of all I have been through. My trials. My victories. My failures. I am also hoping that with the coarse nature of grey hair that I will FINALLY have the hair I've always wanted! I know it's delusional, but a gal's gotta have something!
Enter the Lady Fingers... I LOVE them. Almost as much as cake. Not as much...but almost. Lady Fingers means Tiramisu...which we will be making tomorrow... you know Italy...Colombus...New World? Oh, wait... that was Spain. Shit. This homeschooling thing is harder then I thought... ;)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

And now for something completely different...

We are new to homeschooling and I am only exploring this new world with my 11 year old since my 8 year old is a social butterfly and LOVES school, which is totally OK. I home school my oldest because he was miserable. We are some of those strange parents that actually give a rat's rear what our kids are watching, reading, and listening to. My oldest was in crisis. He looks like every other kid except he has a conscience. ( not that others don't but I think you get me here.) So he was bullied relentlessly and the school stunk at helping. They shoved him in a behavioral disorders class because they didn't want to take the time to help. we are. New and scared senseless and loving every single second. We made bread the other day. From scratch. With cinnamon AND raisins, he HATES raisins. But he ate it because HE made it. And his smile nearly broke my heart.
It's the little things people. I can get as pissed as I want at the Hubster for his random acts of MAN (read: Incredibly selfish, stupid, insensitive...yadda yadda yadda), but it's the fact that he remembers that I LOVE owls and snowflakes and got me little necklaces of each yesterday. Nothing fancy, but the most beautiful pieces of jewelry because he thought about it. (He was ALSO in BIG trouble so he is almost forgiven.)
It's the joy of my son finding a subject he adores and reading about it for like TWO HOURS and then telling me ALL ABOUT IT. Because everything he does is in capital letters. It's realizing that my 8 year old is ME at 8. Terrified of dying but so joyful in his life! Weird! We watched My Sister's Keeper yesterday and he asked me if he could catch leukemia...poor kid. He comes from a LONG line of worriers! It's spending an hour raking leaves into a huge pile in the backyard we always wanted for them to spend two seconds destroying it by jumping into it howling like two crazy puppies. I get pissed and I get frustrated and I drink more than I should, but it's the beautiful faces and the heart stopping laughter that makes it all worth it. Remember that , y'all. It's the little instances of beauty and wonder and CHILD that count.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Proof that God and Ikea hate me.

A few years (read: 5) ago we bought the baby his BIG BOY BED. From Ikea. Whom I <3 with every fiber of my being. At least until today. Now, we all know that children will wet a bed. It happens. Whatever. It's why I keep a shit ton of baking sode on hand. Sprinkle a nice pile on the pee spots, cover with a towel and heavy things and leave it for a day. Vaccuum it up and the smell and wet is gone! TA-DA! Frickin magic shit I tell ya! Well, it does not, however, remove the stain every time. SO I, in all my sweatpanted wonder, decide it's high time to take the cover off the foam matress and wash it! YAY! Productivity! So I wrangle it off which took like 5 minutes cause it is a FOAM matress and the cover has a FLEECY lining. W.T.F?! What idiot thought that was a good mix?  Oh well. It's off and headed to the laundry. I start spraying it with spray and wash and then I see the tag...NO WASH. UH.OH. Upholstery shampoo only. should fine, right? I wash it and put it in the dryer with NO HEAT so it won't shrink. Guess did. Only a little thank GOD! So now it's time to get it back on... remember the fleecy lining? HA! It took me an hour. NO LIE. There were a few moments whree I was actually half in the cover cramming the FOAM mattress into the other end. There were a few moments where I was straddling the matress and jumping up and down because it kept sticking to the inside of the cover and folding in half. Which would have turned me on exceot ya know, I was pissed. Oh and the material is cotton but more like sandpaper as my bloody knuckles will attest. No shit...BLOODY KNUCKLES. After an hour of wrestling with the matress I stood it on it's end trying to get the last inch to slide in and the damn thing flopped over and hit my in the face. Which put my tooth into the soft flesh on the inside of my bottom lip. MOTHER.FUCKER. It was like wrestling with a giant whale penis, not that I would know personally, but it was big and floppy and grey and kinda sticky. So maybe? Whatever. I will NEVER be the good mommy again. He pees that bed one more time I am going to remove his bladder!
So, Ikea, if you are reading this...PLEASE, PLEASE, make a matress cover that is machine washable, has a zipper that goes at least halfway down the sides, and will not make my knuckles weep. Thanks! Still <3 you.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Because I drink too much...

I TOTALLY just realized that I CANNOT spell at all or remember to use THE SPELL CHECK when I've had a few. But boy, stuff sure does seem funnier! Like the hubs doing a hockey dance. Which is kinda a mix between the Big SHoe Dance, a REALLY bad Brit porn (which FYI was free in Germany! Have I mentioned how much I miss Germany?),  and a cat horking up a hairball. I've seen all 3 and would <3 it if some video savy person would do a video mash up of the them! I don't think he appreciates my hyena/monkey screech laugter though... or the fact that I keep re-reading my blog here and correcting my bad, drunk spelling. Or the fact that I am laughing hysterically at shit I find on THE YOU TUBE. Like Annoying Orange. My kids <3 it. Me- not so much. But that shit is funny when you are drinking! I am having a few cause it's been A.DAY. Don't judge...join me. Hae a few and say "Piss off, YOU DAY!" Cause "Piss off" is the 11 yr old's FAVORITE swear. He was TOTALLY born in the wrong country. Now I am laughing how he got suspended off the bus for a week for telling a kid that called him a faggot that fucks dead people (NO LIE, y'all!) to piss off. And people wonder why I am homeschooling...

Is it bad that I drinkl so much?

Today was a DAY. The homeschooler decided to not school. AT.ALL. lie, but 30 problems (like SUPER simple) should NOT take 4 HOURS! Talk about procrastination. So now I am full of THE GUILT and am therefore drowning it. In beer. And whiskey. DON'T YOU JUDGE ME! I love this kid more than myself and yet...I can't friggin stand him at the same time!!!! Why? Cause...he is me. Which terrifies me to the point of self medication. He is so funny. And so thoughtful...except to his immediate family. And such a beautiful, old soul. I bought his first Christmas present the other's a ceramic plaque that says "All who wander are not lost- J.R.R. Tolkien" It seriously made me cry becasue it was him. Completely. He seems lost but I think he knows where he is going. He wants to be a photographer for National Geographic. He loves animals and critters of all shapes and sizes. Just like his daddy. He gets teary eyed at ASPCA commercials. And Kay jewelers. Except that dumb one with the girl afraid of thunder cause it's STUPID! He is my gentle little asshole. He kinda sucks sometimes. And then...he leaves me breathless with his compassion. And then... he kicks his brother under the table. Damn.

I've had all I can stands and I can't stands no more!

It's funny. I just had this HUGE blog talking about all that is wrong with the hubs and me. And I deleted it. I even asked my friends to remove the networky thingy so it wouldn't post on a group page. Then turned around and deleted it. Why? I have no fucking idea. It hurt so much to write. But it would hurt even more if certain folks got ahold of it. Why should I care? This is MY page after all, right? Because I'm nice like that. I want it to stop hurting so much every single day. I want to be seen. I want to feel like I matter. BY HIM. Maybe it's just a bad week year. I don't know. It's just steady been headed south since we left Germany. Which is funny cause we went there on shaky ground. The best times of my ENTIRE marriage where in Germany. I would give just about anything to have that feeling back. To be surprised by a rain soaked man carrying the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen. To feel cherished. To feel like I am the only person he sees in a room full of people. To have him hold my hand or put his arm around me IN PUBLIC again. Why is being here so different? There are a million little reasons bound to a million little daggers for both sides to that story. A story I can't even give a voice to. A story I want to scream from the rooftop and whisper so no one hears at the same time. I am tired of the weight of what I carry. And the shitty thing's not even my burden. It's his and yet I carry the bulk. Why is that? I really thought I had lain it down. But it feels shackeled to me. It feels like a parasite that is slowly eating me alive and I cannot stop it. Some days I am strong enough. Not today. Not this week. Not this year. How do I come back from having everything I hoped for, dreamed of, trusted in, ripped from me? I can literally feel my heart break some days. And it takes my breath and leaves me raw and empty. I should talk to someone. Get some help. But at the same time I am tired of talking about it. So what now?

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Sometimes I make my own self sick.

Here I am bitching about the absolute rivers of bullshit in my life and there are so many out there the are literally swimming upstream in it. I have two healthy children. One has "issues" but I am REALLY beginning to think that all "medical diagnoses" were just more turds to the flow. I know in my little mommy's heart that most of his "issues" are really my fault. DON'T tell me otherwise. You don't know the story. I was a grade A, shitty mother for the better part of his little life. There were other factors at work but the basis is I failed him. I am working OVERTIME to repair the damage. I pray every single day for the grace of God to help me fix him. He is so beautiful. And I love him so much that I hate myself. Really. I see myself in him and it scares the shit out of me. Thankfully my little one came when he did. I still regularly screw things up but I am NOT who I used to be. I am lucky enough to have been given a second chance at this. I am trying not to screw it up more than would be considered normal. I am thankful that I have two beautiful boys that are RIDONKULOUSLY funny. I am trying to be the mother they deserve. God give me grace!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug... A letter to the man that will NEVER read this.

And sometimes you're the poor schmuck that has to scrape the gut goo off of the windshield. Some weeks even. I really just cannot understand what gets in a man's head sometimes that makes him think that acting like a RAGING asshole all week would make me WANT to have any kind of intimate contact with him. EVER.AGAIN. No, really. Not attractive at all. The frowning face when you walk in the door. The slamming of doors, cabinets, whatever. The ,not so subtle, muttering under your breath about the way the house looks, or the laundry pile creeping out of the basket, or the fact that NO I did NOT feel like cooking today. I mean, I am only homeschooling a child that is determined to watch me rip my brains out and bash them with my coffee cup every morning. I am only responsible for his education, getting the 3rd grader ready and fed and on the bus, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, the grocery shopping, the everything under the sun I do EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.TO.KEEP.US.ALL.DRESSED.AND.FED. But now I am supposed to be a mind reader, knife juggler, jumper through fiery hoops, therapist, 5 star chef, animal wrangler, chaffeur, and playboy bunny? Screw that. I am tired. Exhausted. Like to the point I want to check myself into the hospital just so I can take a nap. So you coming home acting like a caveman hellbent on being a dick....well, it just doesn't do it for me. Does the sight of me on my period, in my fuzzy purple bathrobe, crammiong chocolate in my face, guzzling coffee, and farting do it for you? No? Well, there ya go. Your period sucks too.