Sunday, January 25, 2009

You Don't Bring Me Flowers

I don't write anymore. I don't have any time to write.

I have a 12yo girl who thinks she's waaaaaay older than she actually is. I am hurt at the snotiness sometimes. I almost told her to stop being a bitch one day, can you believe that? I don't talk to my children that way ever, but I came so close. Did I treat my mom this way? Because if so, Mom, I am SORRY. A big truckful of sorry. The time you made me vacuum (sidenote: how does one spell vacuum? Vacume?) the same piece of carpet over and over until it was clean? I understand. I do! When you threw a basket of rocks at me? Okay, that one was fucked up. But holy mackeral is this teenager shit getting old.

My 7yo daughter is a middle child and now you can tell. We are getting her evaluated for ADD and are trying medications. THAT is another tale completely.

The 9mo little boy is the light of my freakin life, I tell you what. I cry at least once a week because he is growing up. I don't know if it's because my tubes are tied and I'll never bear another child, but I want to STOP TIME and just put the past 9 months on rewind/play so I can savor it. Every day I want to just slow down. He's walking now. He's climbing. He gets into everything. He has a personality and gets pissed off when he can't have something he wants, showing his displeasure by screeching at you.

I have a husband who I love, I do. But oh my freakin god can he piss. me. off. Like I've never known pissed off to be. He's the only man who's ever curled my toes and made my heart do that flippy-floppy thing though....and he cooks dinner. So I keep him for now.

I am annoyed to no end at work. I love my job and wouldn't trade it for another, but I work in a building full of bitchy backstabbing women who like to gossip and it irritates the living shit out of me. I put on my ipod and try to drown the world around welfare out, but it doesn't last long.

So I'm sorry Internet, for not being around more. I'm a crappy friend, I know. I don't call, I don't write. I read your diary when you're out. I'm sorry.