What Comes After Happily Ever After?

It was never mentioned in school or health class. My parents never mentioned it. The stories end with it, but....that's it. Happily Ever After. What comes next? That's not the end.

I thought I'd found the one man I wanted to spend my life with, raise my children with, grow old with...but honestly, I can't stand him most of the time. When things are good, they are good. He smells nice, he's clean, he cooks dinner, he helps around the house. The sex is good.

When things are bad though....they are bad. He has a temper-control problem and cannot handle his emotions when angry. He's never smacked me around, but that doesn't mean he's not abusive, because he can be. Emotionally abusive, verbally abusive...and yeah, on two occasions it has been physical. Each time afterwards he is sorry (of course) and we talk, and he resolves to "do better" and "be in control". When he's out of nicotine? Oh, better run, because the emotions coming from him are palpable...you can almost feel the anger from him.

There's always a next time. I never thought I'd be "one of those women". I took a class and was certified as a Domestic Violence outreach educator fercryinoutloud! I was not supposed to be one of those women.

But I guess I am.

Every Saturday morning he wakes up grumpy. Every Saturday morning he wakes up yelling and screaming "fuck" into his pillow. Imagine a three-year-old with a severe potty-mouth throwing a tantrum. That is my husband. Why is he so grumpy, you ask? Because it is 8am (sometimes 7:30am) and he "doesn't get any sleep". I see your confusion, let me explain. Because we live in a teeny tiny space, when the Toddler-Monster wakes up, so does everyone. And my husband apparently thinks that toddlers sleep until....9am? 10am? I'm not sure, because when I ask him what time he thinks is a good time to awaken, I get yelled at.

This morning was the same. It was 8:30am. I am elated, because I never get to sleep past 7am. Never. 8:30am was blissful heaven angels singing time. Not for long. The yelling started. Then the bad words started. He mentions he would like to get some sleep. (Ten hours isn't enough apparently). I told him that I would like to have this discussion "later, when the children aren't around". He flips a lid and he starts asking me what we need to talk about. I repeat that we can talk about it later. I am calm. I am not snotty, I am not a bitch. I have my son in my lap, we are constructing a Lego castle. My husband freaks and takes our son into his arms, yelling at me that we don't need to talk later, we can talk now and godammit what do we have to talk about that we can't talk about right this very second in front of the kids. I ask him to walk away, because he is not in control. He is getting up in my face, asking why can't we talk now. I try to explain that this is what I wanted to avoid, arguing in front of the kids, but now we are arguing about arguing...in front of the kids.

I can see my life without him. It is calm, no emotional upheavals and no nicotine addiction leading my emotions. There is blessed quiet. My daughter doesn't cry anymore over the arguing. My son doesn't hear his dad start yelling and squish over inch by inch until he is in my lap looking at me with wide eyes. The mornings are relaxing, coffee and some tv and some cleaning.

I can see my lonely nights of sleeping alone. I can see getting someone else to take the time to fix a broken something. Meals are one me, and I see nights of Ramen and burned rice-a-roni and tacos (the only thing I can make that's edible). I can see 50/50 custody and split holidays and missing my son like crazy when it's not my turn to be with him. I see daycare and less money and more to do.

Is marriage this difficult? I was never told that it takes work, that it's difficult, that sometimes you have to grit your teeth and smile when you don't feel like it. How do I know what is "normal" and what isn't?

If this is my happily ever after, I want a refund.

My Husband Smells

It's true, he does! Just not in a bad way.

No one else can smell it. When I first met him, I smelled it. He showed me his room, and the entire place smelled. I thought it was cologne or air freshener.

His clothes smelled of it, as did his pillow. It took me a few months to realize it was him. Not air freshener, not laundry soap, but him. It comes from him, from his pores...I stand next to him and just breath in because it smells like nothing I've ever smelled before. I stand in front of his side of the closet and smell his clothes. This smell smells GOOD. I mean, GOOD. Like, I want to bottle it up and sit there like a junkie and just sniff it.

It doesn't smell like anything I can describe. There's not a scent I can compare it to. It's just a delicious yummy smell that smells so DAMN GOOD that it makes me want to rip my clothes off and maul him. I know it must be some pheremone thing or whatnot, because I am more sensitive to it when I'm ovulating. It affects me more then, but it smells good all the time.

I lay awake in the morning and burrow my face close to him and just ....ahhhhh....breathe in. I will stand close to him in the kitchen and just breathe in. I will take a nap and lay my face down in his pillow and just breathe in.

I've never smelled anyone else before like this. I've never reacted so strongly to SMELL BEFORE. Certainly not the smell of a person! Sometimes I think I must be off my rocker....and then I go smell some more. That's me over there, in the corner? I'm holding on to that t-shirt and sniffing it?

Ahhhhh........

More For Me

I am really enjoying Trailer Life. I didn't know how it would be, how I would become accustomed to living there...but I am having the time of my life. I should have listened to Husband and done it sooner. (Don't tell him that though, I would never hear the end of it)

Yes, it's small, but that makes it easier to clean. Yes, I don't have a dryer, but I found myself enjoying the laundry I was hanging to dry this morning. I was humming. It's great exercise, and I certainly seem thinner to my clothes, so something I am doing is working!

I like that Husband and I work together on tasks, be it cooking dinner (I'm just the helper) or building the deck (again, just a helper). We are both making an effort to actively work on our marriage and not just shut down when things get tough.

We are making an effort to save money, pay bills on time, and will eventually be able to pay some of the waaaaaaaay past-due child support he owes his other kids. His ex-wife would, rather than come to an agreement we can afford, get absolutely nothing at all, but that is a story for another time.

My children will be better off with this life, my marriage is better, my self is better. I don't feel the need to question if I should start my anti-depressants again because I know I am ok. That's all I need....to be okay.

Whew!

Moving done! Cleaning done! Saving the money I *don't* need to pay rent? Uh....not saving really. More like spending. I love to indulge myself and my children, and why not? It's been so long since we were able to do that.

Loving my "little house". I am not really a cleaning type of woman (Husband does most of that), but I might be able to get into it somehow since there's not much space to get dirty!

I should have done this a long time ago. In two years we will have the money saved to build a Real House. That is, if I don't spend it all on new shoes...

A Quick Moment

Okay, so moving is SHIT. I HATE moving. I have also figured out that I am completely fucking psychotic and never throw anything away. Those do not go hand-in-hand. They are completely seperate problems, one of which I can fix. Guess which one?

A Very Important Part of Me

Part of me is very stubborn. Okay, quite a bit of me in fact. That same part of me also happens to very resistant to a change of routine. Not, to say, the routine of a normal day where breakfast is at 8 and the floors are scrubbed every Saturday, sex is at 10:45 Thursday evenings and Friday night it's Potroast Night. Always.

That kind of routine is not my thing. No no no. My routines are paying the bills every month at the same time and not balancing my checkbook (this works out better than you'd think), always take time for Messy when he hands me a book, keep the same boxes of crap around whatever garage I happen to be renting for years because I can't get rid of it (change! oh no!), and moving on when I am all done in a situation.

My Very Important Part is screaming inside because I am about to let go of my life as I know it and embark on something new and different. I made a permanant decision that affects my life, my children's and my husband's lives. Wait that looks like i have more than one husband doesn't it? Only one, I'm not in Utah.

After discussing it for quite some time, my husband and I reached an agreement. It was really me who agreed, he has been on board forever. We agreed to purchase a fifth wheel trailer to live in, on some property I own. Yes, all of us. All five. Upon agreeing on that aspect of it, we proceeded to purchase said fifth wheel in a 2009 edition that has all sorts of bells and whistles and contraptions that we will have to learn together, Internet and myself. After we did that, we had fifth wheel delivered and now we are scrambling for boxes in which to store EVERYTHING FROM MY WHOLE LIFE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FIT THAT MUCH LIFE IN A TRAILER! It only sleeps 8 (little people i think) so there is no room for anything else.

That is where we are right now. My Very Important Part is freaking, because I can't back out. I have trailer payments which happen to be 1/3 of my current rent, which sums up the main motivation of my move: money.

C'mere and I'll Tell You a Secret

That geeky looking guy on the Verizon network commericals? I totally have a crush on him.

The Cheese Stands Alone

Dear Internet,

I am in love with you, I am...but there's someone else right now. I am having an affair with Farm Town on Facebook. I know, I know what you are thinking, and you're wrong I tell you, wrong! I'll get bored of the mindless click-click of plowing and planting and harvesting. One day, I'll be back.

Love,
brokemom (who is really a broke mom with mounting pressure to shit-or-get-off-the-pot in a vicious circle of catch-22 fuckmylife situations while she ignores it by scwelching it with farmtown flava' and talking about herself in the third person)

P.S. FarmTown gives better head than you.

Last Day of School

J1 just graduated sixth grade. (With a straight 'C' average even! I blame the cell phone which has been confiscated for the summer!) I asked her about how her day had been.


She replied, "We were supposed to have 'Fun In the Sun' Day. Instead, we had 'Do Whatever You Want Because We Don't Care' Day."

Sounds like another great year is over and done with!

Sunday Quickie

The Bellagio Fountains were the most beautiful thing in Vegas. I love classical music, I love water, so combine the two together and I had tears rolling down my face. Just a few...very embarassing.

I'll bet you read this thinking I was gonna be dirty.

Pass The Pepah'. The Cayenne Pepah'?

I heard on the radio today that the average American household spends $140 on toilet paper a year. $140. That doesn't really surprise me, it seems like a good figure.

I spend about $10 a month on toilet paper. I buy the cheap brand, but believe you me, I get irritated at having to pay that $10. It used to be cheaper. Dammit.
So we know that $10 a month for a year is $120. And you know those two extra months out of the year when you get an "extra" biweekly paycheck? Like that. One must have to buy an extra package of paper. Easy, $140.

I'm driving home from work thinking to myself after hearing this on the radio. i could do that all in one swoop I think. $140 is not that much at a time for a whole year of shopping! I would never have to worry about running out again. Why hadn't I thought of this before?!

I share my news with Husband, what a great plan! He brings me back to reality with thoughtless questions such as:

"How are you going to get all of that toilet paper home?"

and

"Where are you going to keep all of it?"

Hmm..... I buy 24 roll packs. (Packs? Packs of toilet paper? Packages? Units?) They are pretty cumbersome.

Dammit. The toilet pepah'.

J2 Was Singing and I Wrote It Down

Ok, while you're reading this you must kind of hum the words along to a tune...but what tune? That wasn't really reflected in the song to me either, so just kind of hum any ol' thing that's not too busy. Think three or four different notes.

"Deep down...where I found your schooooool..
and where you make room for yoooouuuuuu...
In your house I find your poooool,
In your pool I find yoooouuuu...
You ask me if I want to come innnnnn
I say no but I would if I could
and you ask me whyyyyy
and I say because my mom doesn't let me go into poooools...
You say 'why not just this once?' and I say noooo
because I don't want to disapoint my mooooooom...."

I Take Pictures Of Bathrooms, Part II

I am intoxicated after a long night/morning of Vegas. Here is the hotel bathroom. ...don't judge me. I am not a drinker.







The lady in the middle is innocent. She just happened to sit in between Crazy One and Crazy Two while on the bus. Crazy One looks thrilled that Innocent is there. Crazy Two keeps fishing things out of her bag and saying things like. "Welcome to Las Vegas, plant a tree, duh! Over and out!" and "It was hash I tell you". The people-watching was the best part of Vegas.

We are on the top of a doubledecker bus called The Deuce. Here's the picture, I proved it. I take dumb pictures of stupid shit when I'm drinking, apparently.

The buffet had a Dessert area. I have been on a strict calorie diet since January. I took one bite of each dessert. The creme brulee was the best. I might have had five bites of the creme brulee, come to think of it.

The Other Bar. The Second Night. Those bottles were gone.

I Went To Vegas And All You Got Were Photos, Part I

We walked a lot in Vegas. A lot. Here are my feet, at some mall in some hotel.








This is the bathroom in the Bellagio Hotel.

The view from the Stratosphere Tower. I went on the rides on the top and didn't poop my pants.

This was an ugly bathroom. I didn't even get all of the ugliness. I was worried about taking pictures in the bathroom. I didn't want to be the strange woman photographing the toilet fixtures.

The Bar for Husband. Ghetto Fabulous.

Just As Things Were Calming Down...

This last year has been difficult, to say the least.

It has been a year since we moved in to our place. One dent in the wall, one broken window-blind, and some spray paint on the garage floor, all done within the last month. Pretty good for us, actually. I expected holes in the walls long before now.

Messy turns a year old at the end of the month. He has grown from a teeny-tiny (six lbs!) baby into a 25lb walking talking destroying almost-toddler. Learning to be parents together was difficult for Husband and I. We have been together for three years and are just now "figuring things out". We still yell and argue, but we know that it won't be absolutely detrimental to our relationship to slam some doors and talk some trash. We have grown closer as we coparent our son together.

J1 has a cell phone. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal or something to write about, but I was very very against it at first...until I really needed to get ahold of her one day and I couldn't. So I let her call up her dad and turn on the charm...and voila! Cell phone that mom doesn't have to pay for. Even better!

J2 has been on meds for ADD. I have waaaaaaaaaaay mixed feeling about giving my child prescription drugs for something like this. I was very very against it. (Wow, I seem to be against a lot of things, huh?) She was not doing well in school, and trying to have a conversation with her and answer the same question over and over again was affecting our everyday lives, my marriage, her social life...so I filled the prescription. I started her on Ritalin. I watched and waited and had the teacher fill out assessments each week on different doses. Guess what happened? She did better in school. She could concentrate. She could focus and sit in her chair and not blurt out things in class. She still says embarassing things while at the grocery store, but it' s not at the top of her lungs anymore. I don't give her the meds on weekends, because, well, I HATE giving my child drugs, hate it hate it hate it. She doesn't have to sit still on a weekend, so I let her be herself, and wonder if she can tell the difference inside when she's not on Ritalin.

Stepson arrived on a train last night to live with us (again). It has been almost a year since he left us from living with us the first time. He is almost 18, and got into some felony trouble back home. He has no motivation and no direction and no high school diploma, but he is a good kid. He just had a shitty mother and stepdad.

Me? I'm the same. I will continue to be the same when I turn thirty years old on the 17th of this month. A little thinner, a lot more exhausted, and some investments in really good skin cream will ensure that my 30th birthday will be nothing special. I don't want to end my twenties, I don't. I am spending my birthday in Vegas with no children. Do you know what I am going to do when I get off the plane in Vegas? I am going to arrive at the hotel and I am going to take a nap. Yes, a nap. And you know what? It's going to be a damn good nap.

Dear Breakfast

Dear Breakfast,

I'm glad you dropped in for a bite to eat. I was bored and lonely, having just woken up from a nice long nap. I attended to my wardrobe and decided to enjoy your company for a bit. It was sometime in my slither toward you in which I realized my true feelings for you. You're pink and white with beady eyes. You have a tail. You are soft and warm and I love you. I'm hoping you feel the same way about what happened as I do. How about you stay over for a few days? Then one night, I'll prepare dinner...

Love,

Copper The Snake

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.

Make Up Your Mind

There's a coworker of mine who bugs the everlovin' shit outta' me. She drives me batty. Her laugh even annoys me. You know how sometimes there are just people who rub you the wrong way? She's that person. I've talked about her before, she's the one who doesn't "do" birthdays.

She won't sign the birthday card or chip in for a gift, but she'll attend the birthday lunch.
She apparently also doesn't do potlucks! Guess what? She won't bring a dish, but she'll sure as hell eat at the potluck!

Maybe she can't afford to bring a dish, you say? I can't afford to bring a dish, but I say so. I am not ashamed to say, "Sorry, not this time, no money." And if I don't contribute then I don't eat it, it's that simple.

Economy Woes

The welfare office is biiiiiiizzzzzzzzzeeeeeeee. Nothin' like a recession for job security, right?

Share My Joy

Goth Friday

We went to Walmart today to buy some Tylenol for Messy(J3). He has the unfortunate luck of teething and his first runny nose/cough. I swear, if it's not one orifice it's another.

J2 gets out of the car and adjusts her black jacket against her pants (also black). "Don't look at me and make me laugh in the store, Mom. Don't even make me smile. I want people to think I'm goth."

I'm getting Messy out of his carseat and trying to adjust the shopping-cart cover at the same time. She's completely serious, and I try not to snort with laughter. Is 'goth' even still a term used? I feel old.

J1 is behind me with the diaper bag. I turn to her and question with my eyebrows and my best is your sister on something, you can tell me look.

"Mom, I asked her today why she wanted to be goth, and you know what she told me?"

My oldest child look at me, not waiting for me to answer. "She told me, 'It's my passion'. Yeah, her passion."

Our eyes roll at almost the same time, and with Messy secure in the cart, we walk with Goth Girl into the store, making sure that we make her smile.

My Son, The Sissy La La

My son is eight months old. Maybe it's because he's sheltered, spending his days with his daddy (who is a great daddy). Or is it interacting with his older sisters, who, while way cool and funny these tweens are to him, are just sisters. Not like Real People.

Real People freak my son out. I know that this is the time where fear of strangers and seperation anxiety come in blah blahbety blah. But he gets really shy and wide-eyed. That's not all, I know that isn't even much!

My son is afraid of a book. He is afraid of Millie the Cow. On the first pages you meet Millie's Friends, and then you meet Millie, and she "moos" in greeting and Sissy La La FREAKS and doesn't cry, just gets really tense and doe-eyed and SAD and ohmygod I broke my baby's heart.

J2 and I tried to convince him that Millie was an OK Cow, but he wouldn't have it, even after our various cow noises (to get him used to wierd mechanical cow moos ).

Goodbye Millie the Cow.

Liar Liar Pants On Fire

Dear Internet,

I am living one big fat lie. Sure, I pretend to be happy and satisfied with my life, but the opposite is true. I am miserable.

Husband is a jerk. He's an addict (tobacco, weed, alcohol) and does not know how to communicate effectively. At all. He's critical and thinks he knows it all. He doesn't trust me (for no reason whatsoever because I have never violated that trust). He throws a fit when I want to go have Girl's Night. We argue CONSTANTLY ABOUT STUPID SHIT. I have tried holding my own. I have tried giving in and being a doormat. I don't know what in the FUCK to do.

Money is tight, and he refuses to look for a job. Yeah, the bills are all paid, but extras? Not likely. Don't get me wrong, there's enough, but not enough. Does that make sense?

I hate his guts. I definently do. I don't regret my son, never ever, but I certainly regret who I picked for his father. I regret not ending this sooner. I regret being selfish and entering into a relationship straight out of another horrible relationship. Fuck my life!

I love where I live, I love my kids, my job, my car. The only thing I have a problem with is HIM. But I am seeing that it might be more than I can handle to get rid of him. He's just such an asshole, it seems easier to stay.

How sad is that. That was a statement, and not a question.

Those Canadian Boys, Eh?

J2 was talking about a boy in her class and how he had nice penmanship. Oldest J interupts her to ask, "Is he cute?"

J2 looks apalled. "What?!" she replies. "He's from Canada!"

It Never Mattered So Much

I have never cried over a presidential election.

Sure, I've bitched and whined and complained.

But I have never felt such relief before over an election. I'm crying now.

My daughters want to know why I'm crying because the man I voted for won. Okay, now I'm giggling. Must look pretty silly to an 11 and 7 year old. I tell them they are witnessing history...I hope they remember...

What's Not To Love?

J2 informed me today that she can burp the alphabet. Her latest accomplishment?

She can finally make fart noises with her armpit. (Apparently this is something she's aspired to?)

I'm so...proud.

I Fucking Forgot Haiku Sunday Again

Knife stabs my pickles

Forks in the dishwasher

Too lazy to wash

I Am The Bad Influence

One day, the floor is clean, shiny mopped and empty of everything but the bathmat. Same with the next day. And the next. But then the day after that? That day is different. That's when Brokemom meanders throughout the day doing whatever it is she does, and then...leaves an article of her own clothing....on THE FLOOR! It obscures the bathmat. You can't see the shiny mopped floor! Brokemom promises herself that she will pick it up later. "It's only a shirt/panties/pants/skirt/whatever in the hell else ends up there" she thinks.

Something strange happens over the next two days. The clothing article on the floor where you used to see the bathmat seemes to be...multiptying. Breeding. Making little dirty-laundry babies. Soon there's a pair of panties and two dirty children's socks. A belt. A towel. These things are not Brokemom's, she only dropped one item for later. These forgotten items belong to someone else. Two someone else's!

Brokemom has to put down the law. "No more dirty shirt/panties/pants/skirt/whatever in the hell else ends up there" she says to the two. Brokemom will take away privileges if she has to!

Over the last day, the floor emerges triumphant. Shiny mopped and empty of everything but the bathmat, the floor will, for the next few days, be a new chance to live like a dirty slob.

Baby Brothers CAN Be Fun

J1: "Look, I can put you in this box and pretend like you're a puppy!"

It Irritates Me When People's Blogs Are Full Of Pictures Of Their Kids

Big Brother Has My Number

J2 wanted to know if she could visit The White House. I told her no, and I would google it for her so she could see how far away it is. Lo and behold, up came a map with an address and a phone number. I told J2 that she cannot visit the house that is white, but she could call it!
So we called The White House. And when somebody actually answered, we were both to freaked to say anything. I thought we'd get a recording, not an actual person.

Haiku Sunday Again

Napping lazy day
Woke up groggy and confused
the words will not come

Cute Babies? Ugly Babies?

All babies are not cute. You know I'm right, so hush up. We all think that "my baby is the cutest baby." Well, not mine, but yours. Ours. You know what I mean!

While perusing blogs I come across many many MANY photos of people's children in random poses/costumes. These photos are captioned with "Isn't he adorable?" or "What a Cutie!" or "Next Top Model". Okay, I haven't seen that last one, but I betcha it's out there.

My problem is this: we all think our kids are the most adorable freakin things ever. Some of these kids though, are not the most adorable thing ever.

And I wonder....I think my son is pretty damn good looking. But maybe I'm reaching.

Next Top Model

Haiku Wednesday. Because We Forgot On Sunday.

Low-carb diets rock
Stay away from bread, sugar
Or you will regret

Secondhand Smoke

When people smoke in their cars, why do they roll the windows down? I mean, you're already inhaling the smoke, why do you have to share it with the rest of us sitting in traffic?

Serenity Now

Eight Things I Don't Like

1. Hummis
I think hummis tastes yucky. I had a friend whose mother made it for a dinner party when we were twelve. Bleh! Or was that curry? No matter, I don't like curry either.

2. Hermit Crabs
These things freak me out. Seriously freaky icky creepy-crawly goosebump type of freaky. I hate the way the legs/claws poke out of the shell when you pick them up, I hate the way they crawl along the bottom of their home. I know they are harmless. I am not a squeamish woman. I like snakes and spiders, mice and fuzzy kittens. Oh wait, who doesn't like fuzzy kittens?

3. Hands-free Cell Phone Devices
I bought a Bluetooth compatable device when the new cellphone law went into effect. I got the salesman to turn it on and mess with my phone and make it "go". I haven't used it at all, but only because I couldn't get the damn thing to stay on my ear. Were my ears mutated? They must be, I've been trying to get it to stay on my ear since July! J1, in all her infinite tween wisdom, showed me how to wear the damn thing in the car the other day. I was doing it all wrong. And it took an eleven year old to show me.

4. HandJobs
No, wait. I don't mind those. I was just on an "H" kick.

5. Fast Food Restaurants That Charge You For Condiments
I get endless joy from making the drive-thru workers at Wendy's run my card again for the measly THIRTY-TWO CENTS they charge me for a sweet and sour sauce. The ELEVEN CENTS at the McDonalds. The world will be a sad, sad place when Taco Bell starts charging for mild sauce. It's coming...

6. Commercials That Get Louder
I'm watching a show at perfect volume. Then a commercial blasts onto screen and I have to scramble for the remote to lower the volume, which means when the show comes back on, the volume is all fucked up. Doesn't my television have a setting for this?

7. When My Children Play the Wii
I don't actually mind that they play it, I just dislike the "ohmygod she told us to wear the wriststrap again" look that they give me. If the damn remote flies into the tv, I will be pissed. It will only take one time.

8. Hazelnut Coffee Creamer
Hey, another "H" item. Coffee creamer that tastes lik nuts is yucky. Nutty. You know what I mean, don't pretend as though you don't.

A Moment Alone

In A Magic House, Where Willow Makes The Walls

Somebody Get This Girl Some Ritalin

I, uh, don't really know why anyone is, uh, wanting to actually, uh, vote for this lady because oh hey what what what the hell was I talking about?

8x365 Chris

This is a memory that resurfaced after a loooong time, seemingly out of nowhere. Do you ever have moments like that? Where it's like, "Holy crap, how could I have forgotten that?!"

Chris was a man I was contemplating sleeping with when I was...um...23? 24? I dunno'. He was pretty good-looking, but not the sharpest crayon the the box, ya' know? Anyhow, I remember sitting on my living room couch with Chris. We were watching tv, and all of a sudden he leaned over and blew in my ear. Not a forceful blast of air, almost imperceptible,but I felt it. And I asked him, "What in the hell was that?" Chris told me that he had heard women were turned on by a man blowing in their ear.

Needless to say, I did not sleep with him.

It's Haiku Sunday, Imagine That

The baby ate peas
and then he learned to zerbert
Mom ran for cover

You're Not Human

At work we were passing around a birthday card for a coworker. I walked it over to the desk of L for her to sign.

She holds up her hands as if she were warding me off and says, "Oh, I don't do birthdays."

What the fuck? You don't DO birthdays? How in the fuck do you not do birthdays? I am all agoggle over this, and it has been bugging me all day.

Everybody has a birthday. There is no possible way that one can not "do" birthdays.

Hope Springs Eternal or Something Like That

I have a secret.

I have a dream.

I've had a dream for awhile, not really a dream until now. More of a...moment in passing, a fleeting "what if?" moment. I finally reflected on how this passing thought makes me feel inside. Each time unrecognized, but finally it sprang into clarity a few moments ago...

I would like to write a book someday. I've thought about it. In college years ago, most of my free units were English or Lit classes. I read all the time. Books are my friends, an escape, it's always been that way. But to actually write one? Yeah, right. What would I write? I can read, fersher, but could I actually write a book? Do I actually want someone to read it? I know, I know, that's what books are for, but you know what I mean, right? The main concern being what in the freakin hell would I write about?! My thought of writing a book always ended there.

I did it. I know what I'm going to write about. I have a plan. An outline of sorts. There's a place inside of me, where my heart would be, I'm imagining. And in this place, as I'm thinking about this step that I took...the step where a fleeting thought becomes A Plan. My heart gets a fluttery and I want to smile. Just a tiny smile, but a good smile. No timeline, I might be fifty years old when I'm ready to share my creation with anyone.

I'm ready to dream again. I haven't wanted to in such a very long time. I wondered where I had gone, the real me. I'm still here, Me!

Seriously, The Bathroom Thing Again?

When I am standing at the sink in the ladies room washing my hands, I see you exit your stall. I see you rinse your hands in the water and then leave. I see you NOT use soap.

So when you offer me a baked treat that you made at home and I don't take one? That is why.

Ten Things 'Bout Whatever

1. The other morning at work I bitched about how fat I am getting. Then I ate four doughnuts. WTF?

2. I tell Husband we don't have any money, but then I buy myself a breakfast sammich on the way to work.

3. I don't participate in organized religion, but I would like my children to have godparents. Only I wouldn't want them to be called that. I just think it's a great way to honor a true friend.

4. I got my tubes tied a few weeks ago. I did something called Essure, and in three more weeks, I can have all the unprotected sex I want. Husband doesn't know what he's in for. Woohoo!

5. J3 is six months old. When he wants his bottle, he says "Ma ma ma ma ma". He is saying "milk", but I sometimes pretend he is saying "mama".

6. J3 is teething and he has caught the sniffles from his sister. He doesn't sleep, which means I don't sleep. I am super fun to be around right now.

7. J1 is a snotty snotty almost-twelve-year-old, but sometimes she is great fun to be around. When she lets her snotness go, she's pretty darn witty and we have a good time together.

8. I almost ate cookie dough for breakfast. Almost. Instead I had toast and coffee.

9. J3 is napping right now, and what the hell am I doing? Blogging. Not sleeping. Blogging.

10. I forgot to take my antidepressant last weekend, and the sides of my head started to...umm, what's the word...tic. Twitch. Right above my ears. I could put my finger on my scalp and feel the vein twitching. It was annoying and annoying. I didn't realize that it was the lack of meds until I started taking them again and it stopped.

11. I know I said ten things, but what the hey. Husband took my "let's conserve electricity" talk to heart and now he unplugs the cofee pot and toaster from the wall when he's done. I only realized this because I waited ten minutes for my toast to pop up this morning before figuring it out.

Wipe Yer Ass

I went to the bathroom at work the other day. I go to the bathroom a lot, actually. See, I decided to take up a bad habit, and I chose coffee. I don't like the smell of cigarettes, I cannot afford shoes right now, and being a tweaker doesn't have any appeal. Coffee was a good choice, yes? The caffeine to keep me a little more alert, the warm deliciousness on a cold morning, what could be the downfall? (I'm ignoring the voice that is yelling "caffeine headache! diarrhea!")
The downfall actually being that coffe makes me pee like crazy. I travel down the hallway at work every hour to pee.
The other morning I walked into the unisex bathroom to find....poop on the seat. Seriously, poop on the toilet seat? Who DOES that?!! Who takes a crap, does a shitty wiping job (like that pun?), turns around to flush, and doesn't wipe off the freakin toilet?! Not to mention what's on your ass!
Would you do that at home? Leave your poop on the seat? Nasty nasty. I did NOT use that bathroom. I have not used that bathroom since. I want to hang a sign that reads, "WIPE YER ASS". I wonder how that would go over...

From The Mouth Of J2

Husband: I'm going to the store, do you want anything?

Me: Ummmm....nope. I'm good.

J2: Where are you going?

Husband: To Guam.

J2: Oh. I don't want anything then.

So Sad

J2 looks sad. She stands in front of me and says, "Mommy, I'm sad. [J1] is going to tell her friends that I don't like cake. And I do like cake!! I don't want her to tell her friends that."


I tell her, "You know you like cake, right? So I wouldn't really worry about what your sister's friends think of your cake preference."

Then she nodded very solemnly at my sage advice.

Twelve Is Looming

J1 gets bigger and snottier and more like a teenager every day. I miss my sweet innocent baby girl...who is this tween full of attitude? Oh wait, this is the payback my mother said would happen one day. Okay, I get it now.

Blue Eyeshadow

I used to be a very put-together women. I used to match and accessorize very very well. No longer am I that women, due to two big factors. The first, I have gained too much weight to wear my clothes, and my feet either grew with this last pregnancy, or I'm just too fat for my shoes. Which is sad, because when I lose the weight and cannot fit into my shoes, I will have to buy all new shoes. The second factor? I'm just to damn busy. I work 40 hours a week, I have three kids, a husband, and a house to take care of. I don't have to do dinners, but laundry has my name on it. So does homework, reading logs, Back To School Nights, doctors appointments, making formula for the baby, and making sure the older two don't whine and tattle each other to death. I wake up a 5:45am and I don't stop until about 9:30pm. And even then, J3 wake up once for milk at about 1:00am.

My routine is much simpler these days. On a good day, I get a shower. My husband asks me why I take so freakin long in there, it's because I am cramming two days worth of not showering into one morning. After I get out of the shower I put expensive potions on my face. (My one of two "me" things I still have. The other is my hair appointments.) I put on my clinical strength deoderant, because for some reason regular deoderant doesn't work so well for me anymore. If the baby is still happy, I will apply some eyeliner, pale tan sparkly eyeshadow, and then a green sparkly shadow along my lids. I like green. I look good in green.

That's it. I get dressed, deal with the baby, and leave for work. Do I brush my hair? Mmm...sometimes. More often than not, nope. I don't mess with a lot of the stuff I used to...hairbrushes included. Anyhow, back to the topic at hand. The eyeshadow.


My friend Laura was over a few weeks ago. She has a daughter a little younger than J2, and her son was born just two weeks of J3's birth. Her husband and mine can get together and watch UFC fighting on tv, so it all works out well. One night, we were having Girl Night. The meant that Laura did weird stuff to my face while I panicked and asked her things like, "What's that gooey stuff? Does that hurt? Does that burn? Why are you putting that on my face?! Ow, my eye!" Laura asked me, "Do you wear green eyeshadow every day?"

....."Um....yeah? Why, does it look bad?"

Laura replied that it didn't look bad, but maybe sometimes I could do something different with my eyeshadow.

"Why?" I asked. "If it works for me, then why stop?"

She then said, "Do you remember the eighties? Have you seen the women at WalMart who wear blue eyeshadow? They once said to their friend 'If it works for me, why stop?'."

So I dug out some other eyeshadow the next morning. Every day that I actually care enough/have time I apply something not green.

But only sometimes. Because green really does work for me. At least for a few more years...

Kick-Ass Hangy-Thingy

At two months, J3 loved his kick-ass hangy-thingy. I know it's called a mobile, but to him, his kick-ass hangy-thingy was "his friends". We would ask him, "Do you want to go hang out with your friends?" He was infatuated by it. The black and white images kept him entertained for hours. Okay, not hours, but precious minutes fersher. You could almost see his mind working out how in the heck to move his hands so he could grab at those things!






















At five months old, J3 finally figured out that he was now Big Enough...and oh! The delight in him finally getting to rip down his friends was a joy to behold. He has discovered that his friends actually taste pretty good too, so no problems there.

Another Year of Childhood, Gone

J1 started middle school this year.

J2 started second grade.

I cry on the first day of school as their bus pulls away...every year. This year it was twice because they now go to different schools. In a few years, it will be three times in one morning!

I'll just have to call in sick on that day.

My Eleven Year Old With Cholesterol Problems

J1 is almost twelve years old. She eats Cheerios for breakfast every morning. While watching a commercial on tv this afternoon, she looks at me and says, "Mine must almost be gone!"

I'm like "Huh?" I don't even remember what the commercial was about.

J1 says, "That guy's cholesteree was down. I eat Cheerios every morning, and the box says my cholesteree is lowered every time I eat it. So, mine must almost be gone!"

I said, "CholesterOL?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's what I said. Cholesteree."

Things My Husband Said

Me: "Do you ever regret marrying a woman who can't cook?"

Husband: (after pondering a moment...) "No. It wouldn't be up to my standards anyway."

Spite You

How fucking mean is the person who stole my pen??!!

Very very mean.

It was a good pen, a great pen! Someone took it out of spite, I know it.

Do you ever wonder who doesn't like you at work but is nice to your face?
I do.
And I know they took my fucking pen. And it pisses me off.

Rubber Ducky, You're The One

J1and J2 are home from a month at their dad's in Oregon, the longest I've ever let them go, HOORAY!
J1 seems to have developed the habit of waking up early. Every morning for the past four, she wakes up and comes and hangs out with me. Keep in mind that it's usually 5:30 or 6:00am. This morning I ask her, "Why in the heck are you up so early?"

She replied, "Uh, Mom, you're really loud when you get up."

Wha? I get up and go to the kitchen and warm up a bottle for J3. The microwave opens/closes, beeps three times and then opens/shuts again. Husband can sleep through it. J2 sleeps though it and her room is the closest to the kitchen. How is it that the preteen with the bedroom furthest away and door shut can hear it?
No matter, I will take advantage of the situation. J1 sat in my room and played with J3while I... (get ready....are you ready??)......

....took.....

A SHOWER. In the morning! I brushed my teeth! I shaved my legs! Both of them! I am getting so excited!
If she keeps getting up early, I might be able to take one EVERY MORNING without a baby in the bathroom with me.
Holy crap. It's almost too much to contemplate.

Smokers Suck

The lady across from me, B, doesn't wash her hands anymore when she's done smoking. All day long I had to smell her stale smoke. It gave me a headache and made me sneeze.

Her mother died recently and B was out on leave all last week to go scatter ashes and whatnot. I feel like it would be rude to again ask her to wash her godamn hands. The woman is mourning and all. Maybe a small subtle can of air neutralizer might do the trick?

Phone Call Numero Uno

A client called me today crying. She could not get affordable Welfare Healthcare, due to an abundance of income. (Which, by the way, the government says is anything over $600 dollars a month for one person.)
She sniffled to me that she couldn't afford to go to the doctor!! She didn't make that much money!! She needed the other kind of Welfare Healthcare, the kind that only pregnant women get!! Or the kind that people with children get!!

Her reason for needing to do away with her $250.00 monthly share-of-cost?

She needed to see a fertility doctor because she couldn't get pregnant. She couldn't get pregnant because of the expensive Welfcare.

I wanted to explain that babies cost a zillion trillion dollars more than that each month, but I held my tongue. But I gave a good long sigh when I hung up the phone.

Answer The Phone

I sit in a "unit", which is a medium-sized room with desks and chairs, computers and a printer, and eight other Welfare Workers. Our areas are personalized; pictures, plants and whatnot littering the desks. Each desk has a phone and the unit has a Community Line, which is a phone line that is mandatory that somebody answer it. The phones ring quite a bit. I'd say that the ringing phones are a big part of the overall Unit-ness. So much, in fact, that I titled this post as such.

Each Unit has a Supervisor. Some Supervisors are great, some are shit. Thank goodness I've never had a shit Supervisor. It can make the job way more stressful. Anyhow,

N~ my Supervisor. She's fair and knows her stuff. She likes her job, enjoys helping people, is an overall good person with one fault. She refuses to take initiative with the members of her Unit when there's a problem. She tends to not be very assertive if there's a skirmish amongst the others. I love that word, skirmish.

SM~ fellow Unit Member. He's a funny guy, older man, married. He loves to answer the Community Line. The is because answering the CL allows him not do anything else. Like, working. And he smells.

L~ is an okay worker. She has a chip on her shoulder about something. But I'm not interested enough to get to know her any better. She was a bitch one day about the ones that are "supposed" to answer the CL, and pissed me off. Whatever. She fades into the background. Nothing great is on her desk.

Y~ is misunderstood. She doesn't seem to have any friends, and everyone in the building is superficially nice to her. Her marriage is a sham, her best friend is her dog. She makes snide comments. For some reason, I really like her. I think she's funny, and I think she feels sad. There's something about her that people just don't like, but it doesn't seem to bother me. She knows her stuff, works hard, but her people skills leave something to be desired.

T~ is whiny. She whines about her life in a trying to be nonchalant attitude way, and I can see through it. She's nice and always willing to help when somebody needs it, but she's a complainer and a gossip. If someone is willing to gossip to me about others, I wonder what she says behind my back.

A~ is a larger woman, sweet and knows her resources. She's not afraid to get to the bottom of any bullshit a client is telling us. I have no problems with her. Scratch that- she keeps her radio a little louder than I like. Mine is on the same station, but softer. Why don't I turn mine off, you ask? Because I shouldn't have too, dammit. Moving on.

K~ is a quiet man, does okay work and keeps to himself. Frequently he says amusing things and we all have a good laugh.

U~ is a helper, a do-gooder. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders and she likes it, it fuels her.

B~ is a newbie. She's a smoker. She sits right across from me and when she comes in from her break she always smells like smoke. It bothers me. It bothers me so much that I asked her to start washing her hands when she comes in from her breaks. She apologized and agreed, but sometimes she forgets and it bugs the shit out of me. I really really hate the smell of smoke. I write suggestions to the Suggestion Box that read, "The law says smokers must stay 20 feet away from doorways. Let's reinforce this, shall we?" and other snide remarks. I sign my name.

Then there's me, Brokemom. I have a rubberband ball on my desk. I have pictures of my husband and children on my bulletin board. I am organized. I answer my damn phone.

The Stupidest Thing I Heard Today

Scenario: I am speaking with the AT&T Customer Service Representative. Let me just add (before I continue) that these people are robots. They say the same things over and over and fucking over. I get frustated and annoyed and I want to cry and hang up the phone.

Me: Can you explain this part of my bill blah blah etc?

Robot: "The section amounts here are different than other people's amounts because different amounts are there."


WTF? No kidding.

The Lie

I've been lied to. Such a simple, small thing...but with such huge ramifications.



They always look so happy, mooing and chewing cud and joking on about this and that. Green grass, sunny skies, all is well in good ol' cee ae ell aye eff oh are en aye ae. It's real! It's the real deal!

Such falsehoods!

I tried cheese from Wisconsin and it was BETTER. Creamier, tastier, it was the best cheese I've ever eaten in my whole life. No joke.

I feel betrayed.

Not Even Close To Yum

I ate eel. It was not yummy in the slightest. It looked funny, too.


I am so not adventurous.

Yum?

I ate moose meat. It probably would have tasted like beef, except for the fact that I knew it was moose. I only ate a little bit. I didn't really care for it...again, because it's moose. Not that there's anything wrong with moose, mind you. I almost wish I hadn't been told what it was before I ate it, so I could have eaten moose with an open, clear perspective.

Things I Like About Where I Live

It smells good when I walk in. And it's cooler, and airy, so I always breath in one breath deeper when I walk in. I get a very satisfied feeling while doing so. As a result, I keep the place clean. Not just cleaner than before or cleaner than usual because people! People! I have never really been a great housekeeper. I'm very cluttered. I have my own organizational method. So the house is clean and smells good.

The kitchen is larger than any kitchen I've ever had. I hadn't realized up until now how small the previous kitchens actually were. This kitchen makes me want to try new things. That's a good kitchen.

The bedroom is cold and has a fan that makes a noise that drowns out the world when I'm trying to sleep. The bed is huge and when I take a nap it's all mine. I can stretch out and snore and forget about the baby for just a little while. Husband will entertaining J3 and I am out.

J1 and J2 each have their own rooms which are kept clean. (The bathrooms are clean too. I can't get over the Clean Feeling.) They are happier with their own space, and as a result they bicker and argue all the freakin time because that's what siblings do! But at least I can send them away from each other sometimes.

I can take a walk outside with the stroller and J3. J2 tags along and we talk about which neighborood cat will let you you pet it, and why don't clouds talk, and if we should taste the cherries from the tree along the road. (We do. They were sweet! And you could just spit out the pits in the street!)

The backyard has grass and roses and trees. Okay, two trees. It's not 13 acres worth of trees, but at least there are trees. The backyard roses also include my favorite kind, not sure what they're called, but they're purple and smell fabulous.

Finally, I have a porch where I can stick my turtle collection. They're keeping the house safe. Keep on truckin', Turtles.

7x365 Leonard

Leonard was an elderly man who lives across the street with his wife. He had the nicest lawn on the block.
I was an industrious child, and I liked to be creative in the kitchen. This usually involved a recipe from a cookbook that I would tweak to "make it better". This resulted in foodstuff that the dog wouldn't even eat.
I had a plastic wagon that I would cart around the neighborhood filled with my Flourless Cookies and my Beer Muffins. I would go door-to-door selling my treats for .50 cents a pop.
Leonard always bought one. I hope he never ever actually ate them, but what a good sport!

6x365 Mr. Robathan

Mr. R was my math teacher in my sophmore year of high school. I wasn't a great student, but I was cute and charming. My friend Kristi and I would sit in the back of the class and make fun of the day's lessons, write notes back and forth, and decorate our binders with stickers.
We could tell that we exasperated the crap out of him, but we kept his class interesting, and he never really did get angry.

5x365 Mrs. Hyatt

Mrs. Hyatt was a the Speech Therapist at my elemetary school. I had a lisp, and in third grade I was told to go every Tuesday to a small trailer at the back of the school. In this trailer I would sit with Mrs. Hyatt and practice my 's' and 'z' sounds until I could thay, I mean say them properly. I got star stickers on each level of sounds that I made.
I still lisp sometimes, but only when I'm excited or angry.

4x365 Mrs. SF

Mrs. SF lived a few houses down from us. She had a daughter named Amy who was in college. When Mrs. SF would go out of town, she would ask me to care for her dog, Sassy. Sassy was a Dalmatian, and had a tail that, when whipped across my legs, hurt like a bitch.
Caring for Sassy including walking her, putting out food and water, and picking up her poop in the backyard. For this I was paid $5 a day. Pretty good wage for a 12 year old.
One day while caring for Sassy, I was bored. I starting snooping around in their house. It felt wicked then, but looking back on it now it wasn't very bad...wrong, yes. I watched 'Pretty Woman' on the VCR and then it wouldn't eject! I picked through Amy's clothes and found a bikini top that I actually borrowed for a few days and then returned. I didn't actually have the boobs for said top, but I was hoping for some encouragement from the top.
I think that Mrs. SF figured out what had happened, because she never asked me to care for Sassy again.

Things My Husband Said

"This isn't pot. Your dad just smokes high-grade oregano."

3x365 Lisa Tripp

I was in third grade, she was in second. Lisa lived across the street in an ugly house with a kick-ass cement pond in front, where we would collect frogs eggs and tadpoles. We would play Barbies together.
As a third grader, I was very proud of my Barbie collection. I had lots of them, clothes, jewelry, etc. One Barbie even came with her own little makeup case/purse, which had real eyeshadow in it!
One day while we were at her house playing Barbies, I had to go home for something, so I left my Barbies there with Lisa. I was going to pick them up the next day. Lo and behold, when I came to get my suitcase of Barbies, things were missing. Earrings, fancy dresses, a turquoise fur wrap...a turquoise fur wrap, people!
I asked her for my things, and she claimed she had no idea what I was talking about. She wouldn't budge from her story. I never got my Barbie items returned. And we were never really friends after that either. Huh.

2x365 Mrs. Gregory

Mrs. Gregory was my third grade teacher. I don't remember much about her teaching style, other than learning to love to read. I still love to read, any book, any time, and I credit Mrs. Gregory for forging this bond with books.
She would read to us during class, after lunch. She would read books like A Light In The Attic by Shel Silverstein and The New Kid On the Block by Jack Prelutsky. I remember her reading aloud The BFG by Roald Dahl. When I see these books I think of her.
I wish I had taken the time years ago to find her (she's retired) and let her know how much she influenced my life. I'm afraid that she's dead, honestly. I remember her as old, and that was over 20 years ago.

1x365 Courtney Owens

Courtney was in my fifth grade class. She had a blonde pageboy haircut and a snub nose. She was mean mean mean to me. She would insult me, taunt me, get the other girls and boys to get in on it and laugh at me together. I hadn't considered myself to be any less popular or any less pretty or any less smart than anyone else ever until she came along.

The fifth graders took a week-long trip to Environmental Camp every year. Before we left, we were asked to write down on a piece of paper the five people we would want to share a cabin with. I wrote down my friend's names and was so excited. The teachers put me in a cabin with Courtney and her chummy group, all who had a great week making me miserable.

I would cry after school when I got home. My mother would tell me that Courtney was jealous of me and that's why she was so utterly mean.
I didn't believe her then and I don't believe her now.

Sometimes I wish we would meet accidently. Would I have the nerve to ask her why she was so hateful to me? Would she remember? Would she even have a reason?

My House In The Middle Of My Street

Don't you wish you had a washer and dryer like these? No, you don't! Because if you did, you'd have a backache from all of the bending it requires to load and unload the damn things. Water saver, pish!






What's that under the foil in my fridge? I'm certainly not going to peek and find out....

Don't you wish that while on maternity leave I had gone and organized the garage like I said I would? Fersher.

A Day In The Life of J3

Mmmmm....milk. Milk milk milk, I love milk. (burp)

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Milk! mmmmm (burp)

Oh no naked aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Hey, milk! I love milk, milk milk. (burp)

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


Hey! Hey! I'm awake now! Where's my milk?! Gimme my milk!! No Daddy, don't eat my toes, I want milk!

No, I don't wanna be naked again!! Dammit, where's my milk?!!!

Mmmm, milk! (burp)

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

My son, my third-born, my last child, my "baby" for always, is the cutest freakin darn baby, I tell you what. Let's brag about him finally!
Ahem.
He has the softest baby hair, brown in color. His eyes are sooo dark, I have to call them "maybe brown" because they're definently not blue, but is it me just wanting him to have his daddy's eyes? Who knows! We'll wait and see.

When he is hungry, he cries this cry that sounds like, "Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh" like he's agreeing with you. This comes in handy when you ask him a question, any question! Example:
"J, do you want one of those 'baths' that you absolutely hate? You do? Great!"

or

"J, do you want to go to the Titty Bar? You do? Great!"

I have been peed on more now than ever before methinks. It's like a little sprinkler, just watering away! Oh look, pee I mean there it goes again oh dammit pee everywhere! And I hate it because then I have to change his clothes and he cries (which is the only time other than bath time when he does cry because we hold him all the time!) but I always laugh because how can you not laugh at that? I can't lie down and pee all over my neck, now can I?

It's strange to me the circumcision talks we've encountered, on a side note. We elected to not have J circumcised. (okay, I just agreed with what Husband said because I left that decision for him. I don't have have a penis, not my decision to make.) When the nurse at the hospital mentioned it, then the pediatrician, then the Appointment Giver Lady at the pediatrician's office, fine whatever not a problem. But they almost seemed like they were trying to push me into it. They kept talking about it even after I replied to their, "Are you having him circumcised?" with a polite "No, thankyou!" They kept on about the procedure and how much they were and under 10lbs blah blah blah. I already said no! Leave his penis alone fercryinoutloud!

Anyhow. He is just so so sweet. I just sit nursing him and stare into his eyes sometimes. He has a dimple in one of his cheeks, not the same side cheek as the dimple on his Daddy,however. And he has to squinch up his cheeks just right for me to see it...but it's there and I get excited every time I see it, because in my visions of Future Unborn he always had that dimple! His nose is kinda big, but I think his face will grow into it. He can put his thumb in his mouth and his middle finger up his nose at the same time!

He's too small for most of his clothes still, so I like to grab his empty footie jammies at the end and say, "My feet, where are my feet?" And I laugh and know that he is laughing too, but on the inside.

Loathing the Loafs

You've seen it, I know you have. Don't deny it.

"Dad, I want a Go Phone!" says unattractive Loaf Jr.

"Lemme sleep on it!" sings older-than-old Mr. Loaf.

Mrs. Loaf comes in carrying...what is that, meat? Mrs. Loaf chucks a leg of lamb or whatever into the freezer singing about no surprise bills to pay.

Loaf Jr. wrinkles up his face in a way that utterly annoyes the shit out of me, and he and Papa Loaf sing about the joys of getting the Go Phone.


GO away, Loaf Family commercial, I cannot take much more!

Waiting Game

I had forgotten about this...the waiting for a new person to enter your life.
Knowing that this little person will change everything, will disrupt routines and throw everything into uproar. Knowing that everything will change, my life, my daughter's lives will forever be touched by this moving entity in my womb, whom I cannot see or hear, but I instinctively know. I know he doesn't like me to "push him around", because when I try to poke a foot or baby butt, he moves away from my touch. A little personality all his own, and not even born yet...

This little miracle, as every child is, who forever ties two families into one.

A little boy who will hold my heart in the palm of his hand, my forever youngest child. So much change, but I am in limbo, waiting....knowing he will arrive soon, but when?
The last few weeks are the hardest.

Δεν το συμπαθώ

I am not finding this pregnancy to be to my liking. That's a nice way of saying that I really don't love it. Heck, I'll be honest. I don't even really like it.



My other pregnancies were different, I really enjoyed them. So what if I was 17 with my first? And had a cheating drunken husband the other? Is that why it's different? I'm older? More out-of-shape? Testosterone floating in this unborn Boy Child, whereas my two Girl Children and I were blissfully floating the estrogen sea?



I dunno'. But, for lack of a better term, it sucks. Here, let me tell you all about it, since it seems I've been suffering some creative block lately.



First Trimester: I'm nauseous all the freakin' time and I never throw up. I nibble on crackers all day long, and as a result of this carb overload, I gain a singnificant portion of my total weight gain. My breasts are huge and painful in an omg gethtefuckawayfromthemori'llkillyou kinda' way. I cannot handle the least bit of sugar. I've never been a really big sugar eater, but I sure notice when I eat "too much", and that is just about everything. A soda. A piece of candy. I feel my glucose levels soaring and dipping with each meal or snack I eat. I am uber-emotional and I cry and I cry over everything. I am exhausted. I am not tired, but just plain worn out. Walking across a parking lot is more than I can handle some days, to do something that requires more, like grocery shopping? Nuh-uh. The bouts of "holy shit what am I doing having another baby at this point in my life" talks to myself are broken by sonograms of an...alien thing. Yes, it is a baby, but....not yet. I am pushy and demanding and I don't take any shit from anyone. I yell at strangers at the gas station who piss me off. I am brisk with coworkers and clients at work. Strangely enough, they chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. I go through two bottles of Tums.

Second Trimester: By god, first day into it I feel better. Day two into this trimester and I am still feeling good. My energy? It's back. I am able to walk around with friends and The J's and trick-or-treat on Halloween. Sugar levels are balancing and don't seem so noticable. At about day five I stop marvelling at how damn good I feel, I just go with it. I feel normal again. My breasts are still huge and sore, but tolerable most days. My ass has almost doubled. My feet swell and look like puffy bread rolls. Sonogram picture shows a penis, which is what we want, what we long for to complete our blended family. I don't have cravings, except for ice to crunch, which has been with every pregnancy. The cold crunchy ice satisfies me like nothing else. I drive my coworkers nuts with the crunching. I have to pee all the time, which the ice does not alleviate. I buy my Tums at Costco.

Third Trimester: This is now. I am feeling tired again, I want to come home and take naps. I am grumpy and emotional and I cry. I am constipated and my legs cramp and I get heartburn from absolutely nothing. I feel heavy and turning over in bed is a chore, as is getting up five times a night to pee and dealing with my cat who will get up on the roof and then forgets how to fucking get down. This baby is twisting and turning and kicking and wiggling and it annoys me sometimes...but when Husband puts his hand on my belly and talks to Boy Child, my annoyance melts away. Three more months of getting bigger and peeing more and then the thought, the reality of actually giving birth again...I am considering tubal ligation, because I never want to do this again. My family will be complete.

Healing

The man I love is a complicated man...but who isn't "complicated" in some way, right?
He cares for animals. He likes babies. Animals and babies seem to...gravitate to him, it's weird and I'm jealous. Old people like him, men and women both. I could go on and on of the things I love about him, but I won't. Who wants to hear that? (Rhetorical question)

There has, however, alwyas been something about him that worried me. He was always a little angry. Always a little unhappy with his cards in life...always walking and testing and missing something. Always just not calm enough. Rarely enough to really seem scary....but I say "rarely". And "rarely" happened. And it was. But this something was never enough to really point out what was the main problem...never enough to demand a change, a more equal give-and-take reather than just 'take'.

The man standing in my living room is a very different man. Same good qualities, same delicious smell and his kiss that takes my breath away...but he's melted somehow. (Are visions of The Wicked Witch going through your head now?) It's as if he's just softened, mushed up around the hard edges. I could use analogies. Like a big weight has lifted. An empty glass partly filled up. But I won't. (But I just did!)

And again, the melting (melting!) is not enough to pinpoint, nothing to comment on yet. The sense of haste, of urgency in everything this man did, everything he had in life, has gone. Poof. Poof! It's only been two days, and I can see it. I'll be cautious. But I'm relaxing myself, and I can see where I can do a little less "take" also. I'm giving just a little more, listening and discussing and just enjoying what we have, not enough to pinpoint. But enough.

As a mother, my heart and my children are the same. When they get stiitches, so does a little part of my heart. My heart tears up when one of them cries, with every retelling of schoolyard snubs, it bruises.The same heart, it sings along with my daughters at every bedtime song, and dances in each ballet recital. I had never thought about how a Dad would feel without his children. But now that I wonder...well, it seems stupid to even wonder.

I won't dare to hope that my life and relationship will be perfect from now on, I'm not expecting rainbows and sunshine and faeries all the fucking time, fersher.

But I can hope for the healing that happens when a Dad hugs his children for the first time in over five years, when he and his son watch a ppv UFC fight on a Saturday night. The healing that happens to every parent's heart when they put their child to bed at night and they know that tomorrow will bring more.

"Pretend" Story Number Two

A woman came in to apply for food stamps. This woman looked awfully familiar...hmmm...where had I seen her before? Ah ha! She looked exactly like a woman who had worked here a few weeks ago, but with a different hairstyle.
Let's backtrack a little bit. I was in a training class with a few new people. One of the women, we'll call her Threnody, did not seem the type to be working here. She was very verbally abrasive and bias and opinionated. Don't get me wrong, I love opinionated people, even if their views are different from mine. It's just that in this job, one has to be unbias towards clients. And Threnody was not. Threnody worked there for a month or two and then quit, stating she was "headed for greener pastures".
Okay, so as I was saying, this women looked like Threnody's twin sister in a bad wig. She had a different name and a social-security number to go with that name. She had a story of woe. Well, guess what a person needs to get food stamps? A story of woe, and a picture ID. Yep, you guessed it. The worker who was interviewing her gave her food stamps.
When the interview was over, we clued Worker in on who we thought it was. All was not lost, part of the interviewing process in being fingerprinted. Guess who's also in the fingerprint database? County workers. We all waited with bated breath.
Lo and behold, this woman and Threnody had matching fingerprints! Amazing! The Welfare Police were called down. After Threnody was questioned (and claimed not to know how she got there) and her husband was called from work to come down (who she refused to recognize), Mental Health was also called over.
We're not sure what happened after that. Confidentiality and all that. We workers have our theories though...was she crazy? Having a bad day? Or something else?

"Pretend" Story Number One

An older lady walked into the Welfare Office. She looked to be about in her late fifties maybe? Anyhow, she had a belly on her. (I'm not making fun of older fat people here, gimme a sec.)
The lady announced to everyone that she was...pregnant! She was very proud of this news, kept boasting and talking about, how, "even though I'm old, I'm keeping this baby!"
She seemed a little strange, but it might have been the fact that she looked like a grandma and she was pregnant. Huh.
Before the woman could continue with her application interview though, she left. Where did she go? Why, she went to the bus-stop right outside to catch her bus. What did she do before she got on the bus, you ask? She bent down and gave birth to a pink pillow "baby" before she got on the bus.

Something Nice

After reading a comment posted from my last entry, I got to thinking...I never do post anything nice about work. I never talk about the good stuff that happens, or the parts of my job that I actually enjoy. So, here goes:

1. I like sitting at a desk in an air/heat controlled room.

2. I like asking nosy questions.

3. I like weekends off, and working a set 8 hours a day.

4. My typing skills have improved considerably since I started working there.

5. I enjoy how many different types of people I meet. I meet old people, young people, ones with families and ones without. I see people who have lost, and people who have found. I am an observer of different events in people's lives, be it deaths or births, new jobs or new opportunities. Everybody has a different story, no two are the same. I have learned tolerance and to be patient.

There are more reasons, but I'm not going to list them yet. I'll save those for when I'm haivng a bad day, just to take a little look on the brighter side of things.

The Stupidest Conversation I Had Today

Scenario: Welfare Worker (me) at desk answering phone and talking to Clients

Ring! Ring!
WW: "Government Land, this is Welfare Worker!"
Client: "Hi, this is WhinyMom. How come my cash isn't what it was last time?"
WW: "Well, rules change over time, as do budgeting methods blah blah just because."
Client: "Yeah, but how come it's not what it was last time?"
WW: "Income was used in your case, and that amount is averaged over blabble blabble and so you got eleventyten dollars."
Client: "But how come it isn't how much it was last time?"
WW: "You.have.income. You.have.a.job. The whole point of welfare is to get.a.job. so your cash aid goes down, and then you are what we call being self-sufficient. You've done what you're supposed to do!"
*click* WhinyMom hung up on me.

What Your Food Stamps Won't Buy You

Your food stamps will not buy you a Vanilla Bean whatever with whip at Starbucks. You can try, but your card will not work. You can slide your card again, but it won't work the second time either.

They will not buy you a hot sandwich at the deli. If you order a hot sandwich, and then are told you cannot use food stamps to pay for it, you either pay for the sandwich or you have to forfeit the sandwich. The cashier will not ring it up as a cold sandwich "so's you can use them stamps".

Can't buy beer. Or cigarettes. Asking the guy in front of you in line if you can pay for his stuff if he'll "buy you some cigs in trade" is called welfare fraud. If I knew your name I would report you.

Take-n-bake pizza? Sure thing. As long as you take it and bake it. At home. If you have them bake it for you, you forfeit the pizza. Take it...and bake it.

Food stamps are for food items, people. Food. Not diapers. Not aluminum foil. Not birthday candles! Yes, I know they're to put in the cake, but a candle is not a food item!

Following these simple rules, guidelines even, will save us all some time in the checkout line.

Happy Colombus Didn't Discover America Day

Columbus Day is here again! Good! Great! Let's celebrate a day about a man who sailed around in a big boat and found a new land for the people!

What. the. fuck.

Let's celebrate a day for a man who sailed around until he "discovered" a land where people were already living.
Then he pretty much stole their land, took all their shit, and gave them new diseases which almost wiped out an entire population.
Super. Happy fucking Columbus Day.

Five Things We Learned At Work Today

1. Joel and I are both anti-banana.

2. If I wear my flat brown shoes I will shock the bejeesus out of myself on the copy machine. Every time.

3. Crying will get you what you want. No, not really! Tricked you! You can try though, whatever.

4. Watering the plant after it is dead will not help. Giving it away to a coworker, however, will magically bring it back to life...if you can explain to coworker why you are gifting them with a dead plant, that is.

5. Talk sweetly to the IT man and he will crawl under your desk to plug back in your moniter. Talk snippy to him and he will...well, I think he still has to do it, but maybe not as fast.