Sense I Make None

May 24, 2006 Me, Unplugged

I quit smoking on Sunday. Again. Yes, I know I failed here and here, but I really don’t want to smell like crap, dole out $10 a pack, feel like I’m 50, or have my husband and son nag me anymore. So this is it.

I’m also sporting a highly fashionable fever, and a sore throat. Hooray! My head is throbbing, and my legs are hating me right now because of all the dancing I did this past weekend. You should see how great a dancer I am! Drunk dancing is SO much easier! I’m paying though. 3 frigging days later.

On top of all this bodily goodness, I’m hot one minute and freezing the next. It makes for an interesting day. I’m incredibly bitchy (really, who wouldn’t be), and I’m trying my best to wade through the 16 customers I have on the go and churn out good stuff. When you quit smoking, your focus turns into that of a toddler, so Thomas really should be doing this crap for me - I’m sure he would do a better job. Having said that, him and I are getting along quite nicely. You should have seen Blue’s Clues yesterday - dude, you think American Idol is good?

Hey - speaking of American Idol, what’s the attraction? I mean really. It’s so BORING. You know what is more boring - reading about it on every other blog. The only good things about that show are the first few episodes where everyone sucks, and Paula Abduls drug-induced antics. I mean, c’mon. Then I read all about how every blogger out there wanted Elliot to win, and before that there was a scandal about Chris’ votes and how they went to Katherine. You know how I know their names? From blogs! That’s how many people are blogging about this crap show. Told you I was bitchy.

One question though - how old is the grey haired guy? Is he even allowed to be there? He so does not look like an American Idol type. I’m going to get flamed for this: I hope Katherine wins.

Oh untie your panties - I don’t even watch the show. What do I know?

My writing sucks today. I’m so foggy and in pain, and it just sucks. Meh. I don’t care.

I have to tell you some shit Thomas said before I forget though. He is really talking these days - little sentences with that voice of strawberry sweetness. God I love that kid. And to think, only about 18 months ago, I was wishing I’d never had him. Post-partum depression does weird shit to your brain. I was Miss Anti-social back then, not wanting to talk to anybody. I’ve had to mend some fences with friends, trying to explain what I was going through. It isn’t easy to admit you were ill, to say to people, “I didn’t want to spend any time with anyone, because everyone made me feel inferior, fat, stupid, crazy and as though I was a burden.” You say that shit out loud and people think you’re still crazy. But that is how I felt at the time, and it consumed me. I cried everyday, about Daren working so hard, I felt as though I would be better off dead, so he wouldn’t have to support me. Uh yeah, then who would take care of the kids, dumbass? Post-partum depression makes your mind play nasty tricks on you.

Recently, Dylan got an invite to a birthday party from a child who’s mother I ignored during my rough patch. I didn’t return her calls for months and when I ran into her at the school, I acted as though I was really busy and hadn’t had time for her. What a bitch I was! Anyway, when Dylan got this invite, I thought about how I must have made her feel and I called her up and asked if she had a few minutes to talk. I explained what had really happened and I apologized. Turns out, she too, had gone through PPD, and we talked for a good half hour about it. I’m glad I bit the bullet and called.

I’ve talked about the anger of PPD before, but I don’t think I’ve mentioned the shame. The shame lasts far longer than the disorder, as you try to rebuild relationships that were damaged by the storm. Good relationships, like old sheds, that have weathered every other storm, they get shut up and forgotten in the yard, as you seemingly stay safe and secure in your own house of pain, never to venture into the yard for irrational fears keep you inside. Then one day the sun comes out. You realize that in that shed, therein lie the tools you’ve needed all along. Friends to relate to. Friends that will tell you the truth, propping you up when you need it. Friends who listen.

Sorry this post is all over the place. So are the contents of my mind. Oh what I was going to tell you about Thomas? I already forgot.

P.S. Stephanie A of Pickleness, you win the copy of Comeback! I’ll be in touch for your address. Congratulations!

All By Myself

May 23, 2006 family

And to think….

family

…..that I settled for Daren, when I could have married him.

Get the Door - It’s Preservation.

BlogPants

I’ve been thinking lately about where this blog will be in 5, 10, 20 years. I mean, it’s the best kept record of our children that I have. Sure, the kids have baby books, but mostly they are fancy shmancy books, stuffed with greeting cards, locks of hair, scraps of paper with measurements and other things that don’t matter nearly as much as the stories that are here. So I was thinking that perhaps I should begin printing out these pages every so often and gluing them into a scrapbook of sorts.

I know nothing about scrapbooking, except that you’re supposed to use acid free paper. Does that mean you have to use acid-free glue too? I wouldn’t want to lose my precious recipe for nipple cookies, the Shitty Day story, or the Cure for Cankles, which, by the way, people are STILL coming here for that. Seriously, stop eating, and gargle them in salt water people. You heard it here first.

Seriously, how are you preserving the memories you are making on your blog? Us Mommybloggers have broken much ground, and I want to know how to keep it forever.

Also, I’m over at BlogHer today too, talking about Blogging Addiction.

But Over The Hedge Looks Funny!

May 22, 2006 Me, Unplugged

Scratch that last post about the movies. It’s a holiday here in Canada, eh? I’m taking Dylan to see Over the Hedge this afternoon. It’s been an incredibly drunk and/or hungover busy weekend and I can’t wait to sit in the theater and laugh at a kids movie. Kids movies today are so much better than when we were kids. I love that they are laced with enough adult humour to make it fun for the parents.

This past weekend has been a blast. Friday night, Daren and I picked up my brother and his girlie friend and we went to the worst place ever to bowl. It’s one of those places that has pool tables, an arcade and the bowling alley - all well-lit, great food, and waitress who all look like Barbie dolls. Unfortunately, it’s over-priced, especially since we lost our Barbie several times and she brought the guys flat, warm, Rickard’s Red. For one game of pool, 3 girlie drinks, a pitcher of yucky beer, and one game of bowling, we were looking at an $80 bill. The little snot at the counter got all huffy with me as she explained the pricing. “I wouldn’t have a problem with the pricing if you improved your service, and your attitude, young lady.”

Damn I hate bad service.

Saturday Dylan and I headed up to a beachtown to celebrate my friend Nicoles 40th birthday. Her hubby Les had hired a band and we hung in the backyard, drinking beer and laughing. After the band left, the food was ready and holy crap, they had BEAR SAUSAGE! I’ve never tried it, but it was really good. It tastes alot like beef, but with more flavour. There were a few jokes rolling over the yard about big black bear sausage. You know that had to happen.

After dark, the rain sent us inside and we blasted the tunes and sang and danced the night away. Oh and the morning too. I haven’t had that much fun since college parties. We acted like total idiots, and it was great. Nicole and I belted out “Paradise By The Dashboard Light,” twice. I was the girl both times. I did a full rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and everyone was laughing so hard. We have pictures, which I may or may not post in a Flickr account later. I haven’t decided yet, especially after what happened last time. For those who don’t know, some Australian psycho stole my cousin’s pic (from my Flickr account - thinking it was me) and posted it on her blog, along with a bunch of my friends photos, which she had photoshopped into P0rn pics. Nice eh? Some peoples kids.

Anyway, the party. I think we finally turned in around 6 a.m. All I could find in my stupidity was my comforter and hardwood floor and that is where I slept. Ouch.

Yesterday, I hung an I.V. of coffee from the rearview and made the 3 hour trip home, only to pick up my brother and his girlie friend for another night of par-tay! We ended up eating too late in the night so actually want to party, so I subjected my brother and Daren to the Desperate Housewives finale while Mel played on the computer. Ha ha. I am SO the boss around here.

Okay if you’ve read this much, I’ve likely bored the shit outta you. Ah well. Daren has made pancakes so I’m outta here anyway. Have a great Monday! Oh and for all you non-Canadians that are working today:

Hahahahahahahahahaha!

The Duh Vin Chee Code

May 19, 2006 Me, Unplugged

Thanks to Susan, of Friday Playdate, for confirming my thoughts on The Da Vinci Code. Hubby and I were planning on going to see it tonight, and I really do not want to go. First off, it looks boring as all hell. More importantly, I hate going to the theater. I mean $6 for a bottle of water, $12 for the show, and another $6 for popcorn? WTF!? There’s probably $0.04 cents worth of kernels in that bag, and it isn’t even butter on that shit. On top of getting your wallet raped, there’s the stiff chairs you have to sit UPRIGHT IN, and your feet are sticking to the floor. I don’t even WANT to know what is all over that floor. If I wanna watch a movie, I want to be lying horizontal on my CLEAN couch like a sloth, eating homemade popcorn, with real butter and the water? It’s free. Ish.

Plus if you stay home, you won’t get a tummyache from holding your farts in for two hours. So I’m told.

Intervention

May 18, 2006 BlogPants

Are you the type of person to intervene when you see a child being belittled, or hurt, by their caregiver, in public? Recently, at a store, I witnessed a mother pushing a toddler in a cart, at the grocery store. The little guy was about Troll Baby’s age, his hair soft and blond, his pink, fat little cheeks filling his face, his big eyes darting in all directions at the colours of all the packages on either side of him.

The toddler was saying “Crackers! Crackers!” over and over, and reaching behind him to grab whatever he could reach in the upper portion of the cart. Mom was busy in the cereal aisle, probably trying to find whatever was on sale, just like some of us do. She absentmindly pulled her son’s hand away from the loaf of bread he was mauling, and placed it on the cart handle between her own hands. After the senario repeated itself several times, she grabbed his hand, and slapped it 6 times - hard. “Will you just STOP already!” she hissed at him.

He held his own hand, looked at his mother in shock and fear and as his bottom lip began to quiver, my heart was in my throat as she continued, “I can’t take you ANYWHERE. Stop being such a pain in the ass!”

It took everything in me not to tackle her to the floor and give her a good talking to. She hadn’t seen me witnessing this play out. She hadn’t seen me until after it happened. When she did turn, I walked over to her.

I can understand the frustration of a mother, busy with errands, distracted by money-woes, and tired. We are so very tired, aren’t we? I could sympathize with her sudden outburst. I’ve been that close to the brink, many times. Amazing how these little guys can get on your nerves. As much as they can fill your heart with love, they also push buttons that no one else can. I tried hard to swallow my anger towards this woman, and smiled at her.

“It’s hard, when they are still learning about running errands, isn’t it?”

She looked at me, meekly. I could tell she felt bad about what had just transpired. “Yes. We’ve been trying to do too much today,” she offered, “I don’t normally…”

I stopped her. “Hey, we’ve all been there. It’s just so important to try and breathe. To stop. I know we can’t scream in our pillows at the grocery store, or walk away, but we can try to just stop and breathe. Hang in there. They aren’t this little forever.”

She smiled at me. I didn’t want to sound like one of those meddling mothers, hell I didn’t even have my kids with me. I think she understood that although she had done something very wrong, she wasn’t alone.

No one ever talks about the anger, and the shame that goes with it.

Have you ever been in this type of situation? What did you do?

Gettin’ Pissy Wit It. Werd.

May 17, 2006 family

I worry how fast my kids are growing. Dylan has been smarter than me since birth, and Thomas is talking so much, it freaks me out every time he comes out with a new word, and now! Now! Now sentences!After pulling him out of the tub tonight, he wanted “Cute pips to keen Tonnas eawrs?”Tonight he pulled the same stunt he had pulled on my (kidless) kid brother the other night while Daren and I were at the hospital. We put him to bed, and an hour later, he is crying, “Mommy! Mommy!” I find the little monkey toad, soaked in urine, pajamas pulled down, and diaper half off. He has peed all over the crib. Again. Thankfully, less mess than another time.

I scooped up the piss-ant, and change him, making sure to put his diaper on backwards. He takes this opportunity to chat me up like I’m a cashier, only, you know, wiping his butt:

Thomas: “Nice outside?”Me: “No actually, it’s raining.”

Thomas: “Actuwawee, it waining.”

Me: “Yes, Thomas, it’s raining. Rrrrraining.”

Thomas: “Actuwawee, it wwwwwaining.”

After changing his sheets and blankets AND pillow, I tuck him back in, and say goodnight. “Nite nite buddy. Close your eyes. I love you.”

Thomas: “Actuwawee it wwwwaining. Actuwawee it waining.” He sounds like E.T. on crack.

Me: “Close your eyes baby. Nite nite.”

Thomas: “Actuwawee nite nite Mommy.”

Commence melting of heart.

Tapping My Red Sparkly Shoes, Like Dorothy

May 16, 2006 family

Tonight was so nice. Once I got home, Daren took Troll Baby to the grocery store so I could read blogs rest. I’m behind on commenting - sorry ya’ll.

When he returned, he cooked me a huge salmon steak, bbq’d potatoes and made a kick-ass salad. I ate like a frikken pig, lemme tell ya. All day without anything in mah bellah was hell. I wasn’t even allowed water. Anyway, dinner was amazing and what made it even more so was the chatter and laughter echoing through the dining room. Troll Baby was a delight, and he kept saying “Finger One,” (whatever that means) and bursting into great big baby giggles, which had Dylan in stitches and Daren and I looking on and smiling.

After dinner, I cleaned Troll Baby up, and took him upstairs to put his jammies on. On our way up the stairs, I said to him, “I missed you today baby.” He looked at me, touched my cheek with his chubby little hand and replied, “I missed you today Mommy.” Then I pretended I was going to tickle him on the change table and we laughed some more.

Daren was coming in from taking the garbage out when we got back downstairs and I handed off the baby while I turned to get his sippy cup ready. Then Troll Baby says, “Mommy’s Cute Bummer.”

“Did you teach him to say that?”

“Say what?”

“That Mommy’s got a cute bum?”

“He said ‘Mommy’s cucumber.’”

“Oh. Dang!”

After Troll Baby was off to bed, I came downstairs and Daren had started on the kitchen. I surveyed the mess, and the groceries that hadn’t made it to the fridge yet, and offered, “I’ll do the dishes if you put this stuff away. I mean, you ARE the ultimate fridge packer.”

“Watch how you pronounce that!”

We burst into laughter, and cleaned up together. It’s so nice to be home.

Anticlimactic

Me, Unplugged

That has to be the best word to describe today. I arrived at the hospital at 8, was admitted right away and given a room, a gorgeous blue gown, and instructions to change. Daren had dropped me off since we had no one to take Thomas, and I figured I’d be in and done by noon. Yeah right.

I waited, and waited, all the while trying to get comfortable. Even lying on my side was painful. I would have considered hanging upside down to aleviate the pressure.

At least I had entertainment. There were FIVE psych patients in my pod, when I arrived. Yes, they are called pods. I felt like a caterpillar. A caterpiller with a damn sore vagina. Dude, the pain.

Two hours into my lovely stay, gynecology finally came to see me, assess the situation and they said I would be in surgery by late afternoon, pending any emergency surgeries that would take precedence over me. As the doctor started to explain the procedure, I piped up, “Marsupialization?” She was impressed. I don’t know why I get a thrill about being the good patient, but I do. I asked about after-care and she said I would have to take sitz baths, and Percocet for the pain (Tylenol 3’s make me ill). Woo hoo! A drug I haven’t tried! How exciting!

After she left, I got to listen to some of the funniest conversations between staff, but my favorite lines came from the pysch patients:

Homeless Man: “That Marg Hellenburger should be here. She would do a better job of this scene then all of you people. Plus she is gorgeous and I wouldn’t mind her C.S.I.’ing the hell outta me.”

Crazy Wacked Out Lady: “DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! DON’T SHUT THE DOOR! ”

Crazy Women-Hater Man: “I don’t want a nurse. If she is a she, I won’t let her touch me because she’s a woman. I FUCKING HATE WOMEN. If she is a he, he must be a fruitcake if he’s a nurse.”

Drugged Out Cokewhore: “JUST SUCK MY DICK!”

(This is the part I wanted to yell out, “Look down, honey! You don’t have a dick!” but I didn’t want to be labelled as Impatient Sarcastic Bitch with a Raging Cyst.)

So I waited. A little while after gyne had been to see me, I was heading to the bathroom, when I realized that I was no longer in pain. Nature had taken it’s course and the cyst had drained itself. It wasn’t at all how it was described on the horror stories page I had read. It was more like a light period. No biggie, and hey, I wasn’t in pain. Hooray!

The nurse phoned gyne back right away to tell them, and that was at about 11:30. She then came in to start my I.V. and I slept for 2 hours. When I woke up, the nurse told me I had to move since they needed my room to accomodate one of three more pysch patients that were on their way in. She was not happy to have eight under her care. “You’re my only normal patient!” Oh lady, if you only knew.

So I was moved and waited some more. Three and a half more hours to be exact, but who’s counting? Gyne FINALLY came back, and I was all prepared for surgery. They assessed me again, and sent me home. No antibiotics, no Percocet, no apologies for the huge delay in my re-assessment. “Think of it as a day off!” the resident beamed.

Thanks honey, why don’t you just suck my dick.

Truth be known, I’m much more grateful to let nature take it’s course then to have surgery. I was pretty scared. Now I’m not in pain and I’ll be okay. There’s a chance this thing might recurr, but that risk is less then the risks of surgery, so I’m okay with that.

Thank you for all your kind comments and sweet emails. It was so nice to come home to all the love and I really appreciate it. You guys are the BEST!