Monday, December 29, 2008

It's all getting better...

Over the past 6 months to possibly even a year, I’ve become so disgustingly relaxed regarding the cleanliness of my house that it reached embarrassing levels of filth. I’ve contemplated the possibility that I could be actually experiencing a real bout of depression, because never in my life have I allowed my home to get this horribly out of control while not even giving a shit about it the whole time it was happening.

Even in times of great stress and sadness, I’ve found solace in a shiny clean toilet bowl. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m one of those obnoxious cleanliness/godliness folks. But those days suddenly disappeared. I’m sure it all happened slowly over time. I don’t think it was a dramatic date that I decided that we should see how many layers of soap scum could build on the surface of the tub before we could scrape through it with our toe nails and leave our initials for the next bather to see.

And so to get my ass in gear and “STOP THE INSANITY” as dear Susan Powter would say, I devised a plan to slowly ease myself back into the land of the clean and respectable population. I have a schedule written in a notebook wherein I tackle one or two rooms of the house every night. Each day shouldn’t take more than ½ hour and if I stick to the schedule, my house should get and remain clean the way it should be and the way that I used to take pride in.

I didn’t tell anyone about it – I just set out to do it and I finished my first weekly cycle last night. This morning’s conversation with Ziggy:

Ziggy: “Damn, did you clean the bathroom mirror or something? The whole bathroom looks all bright all of a sudden. It’s hurting my eyes.”

*I move to the tub and slowly peel back the shower curtain*

Ziggy: “Holy shit! The tub is WHITE! Jesus, woman, welcome back!”

And then he hugged me.

And the more I mull over the whole experience, the more I realize that yes, YES, I think that the sadness, the fog, the dense matter hovering over my head for the past 6 – 12 months could truly have been depression that normally would require an Rx and a pat on the back…but this time…I just lived it and mucked through it and am very slowly, oh so slowly, coming out of the fog. It’s still very hazy around me, but the brightness from the tub and the inches of dust removed may be helping to push me along.

Shoot, if I keep this up, I might actually cut my toe nails and eat a vegetable or two!

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Open Letter

Dear Husband,

Please understand. Please understand that I cannot take your humor tonight and that your dancing around to cheer me up is only reminding me that I am in need of cheering up and why I am in need of cheering up.

I miss my son. Christmas is a time for family and with 50% of my immediate family missing and 100% of my offspring missing, I just can't seem to get into the mood to "blow up the air mattress and sleep next to the tree" as you so romantically suggested, though I will, for you, but I just can't smile about it.

I'm on Day 1 of an extremely heavy period forced upon my body unwillingly by man made drugs. My son is with his father.

I am sad.

Allow me to wallow just a smidge and please stop taking it personally. If you need a blow job to get it out of your system, I will willingly oblige...anything to get me back to my silent ache that only I can understand tonight.

I love you, I truly do. I know that you need me just as much as I need him, but I just need you to please...just...please. I will be so much better for New Year's, when both of my men are by my side and the house is filled with love and laughter...just not tonight. Please.

Always,

Your Wife

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Didn't mean to lead you on...

My ex-husband has a cat. He needs to get rid of the cat and has decided to tug at the heartstrings of two fierce animal lovers, yours truly and Ziggy, to help him find the cat another home.

The cat is the most lovey sweet cat on earth, but at night, he goes around the house and pisses on everything (yes, he's neutered). They have no idea why, and in true style of my ex-husband, he just wants to get rid of it.

So my husband and I developed a plan to convince my mother-in-law to take the cat. We were over there tonight opening presents with Luke since it's not my year to have him for Christmas.

Erick called him mom over to a quieter room in the house to talk to her about the cat. As soon as he pulled her into the room, she got this goofy grin and teared up and hugged him...and that's when it hit him...she thought he wanted to have a heart to heart to tell her that she would FINALLY be a grandmother in 9 months.

Ouch.

Sorry mom...we just want you to have a cat is all.

The woman has 3 kids between the ages of 34 and 22 and has probably been dreaming of her big grandmother moment for at least a decade now. Ziggy's sister's brief stint at being a lesbian nearly crushed her dreams, but with sis now flying straight again and Ziggy being married for almost 2 years and youngest bro being engaged...she's probably getting beyond the point of antsy about becomming a grandma.

Poor ole gal. I'm so so so sorry that our bodies SUCK ASS and that we can't make that dream come true for you. In the mean time, she's known Luke since he was four and gets to kinda pretend with him...but we all know it's just not the same.

I feel like shit and so does Ziggy. Sometimes we forget that the intense desire to create life isn't only our own and that others in our family could be hurting over it just as much as we are.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Brilliant!

I must brag - my son is JUST as obnoxiously astute as his mother! WOO HOO!

Luke came home from Christmas at my sister's house with a copy of the Time for Kids 2009 Almanac. He read the 2008 one cover to cover - we all did, to be honest, it's GREAT toilet reading! (hey, metformin gives you the craps - I spend ALOT of time on terlits!)

Anyway, while pooping and flipping through his new Almanac, he starts shouting from the bathroom - MOMMY, ERICK COME HEEEEERE!

So we run to the bathroom and he says, "LOOK! I found a mistake in this book!" He was so proud.

And yes, he did find an error. The book was describing the State of Missouri on one page, and on each state page, they have a blue USA with the state they are discussing colored in yellow so that you can see where it is on the map. In the Almanac, for the State of Missouri page, they actually had the State of Mississippi in yellow.

Wow. BRILLIANT. I'm so proud.

Heck, at least now I know I won't be the only one who has a notebook filled with notes regarding errors found in every book I've read over the years from the Bible to the Louisiana Notary Study Guide to my son's Religion textbook.

Yep, I'm that dorky.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The bully

My bully's name was Elton Simpson. It was 5th grade and I had to ride the bus. It wasn't actually a bus, but rather a huge green van that held 15 kids easily, and was driven by Mrs. Stamply, a moody 30 something lady...I never understood how she couldn't hear what was happening to me...or did she just not care?

My sister had just gone to high school, so I was alone on the bus.

In 5th grade, I was chubby, already developing my soon to be size D's, had greasy skin, my parents had just gotten divorced, we had moved into this tiny rented piece of shit house in a horrible gang banger neighborhood in New Orleans East that I wouldn't even consider driving through these days without a loaded gun for protection, and I was miserable.

Elton made fun of my weight, my skin, my hair, my house, my "poor ass whore of a mother" - just about anything you can think of. He literally terrorized me from the second I got on the bus until the second I got off and even shouted insults at me out the window as the bus drove off...for two years...it didn't end until I decided to start walking to and from school in 7th grade.

I was the only white kid on that all black bus and I experienced a type of harrassment that social norms would lead you to believe would only occur if the color scheme were reversed...oh but it occurred.

His dad was a doctor and my newfound poverty level since my parent's divorce, along with my weight were his favorite targets.

Screw him - to this day, I hate him and I hope he is living under an overpass somewhere eating rats for dinner - and yes, I totally mean that from the bottom of my heart. He was pure evil.

My boy has been acting out ALOT lately. His grades have had a mild downward shift. His behavior at home has been outrageous. I attributed it to the baby sister he doesn't want, but will be getting anyway in February when his stepmom gives birth. I've read the books so I expected some behavioral or school issues when the baby's arrival got close.

In a total panic attack type melt down tonight over doing his homework, we finally learned the truth - my baby has a bully.

Oh god...oh god...oh god....NOOOOOOO! Just the thought of him having to endure even an ounce of what Elton did sends shivers down my spine and has put me in attack mode.

I took Luke tonight out to go see Christmas lights after dinner - just me and him. We drove through neighborhoods known for having lots of lights and stopped in 2 lighted parks to walk, and he unloaded the whole story. My son will talk and tell me everything...but I have to do it carefully or he'll clam up - it's an art I'm just learning since he outgrew the "freely and exhaustingly telling mommy about every minute of his life" stage.

Thankfully, it doesn't appear to be nearly as bad as Elton, but you can see his heart hurting in his eyes and his fear screaming for me to fix it - just fix it mommy, please! And you can see very easily how this situation could escalate too quickly into something much more.

So his father and I are going in tomorrow to meet with his teacher and begin the process of hopefully "fixing it". Some people may criticize me for stepping in and not just letting him work it out on his own - and even I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing yet - isn't parenting 99% jumping in without testing the water?

So, if you stuck through this post for this long, I love you and now I hope that you'll share with me your thoughts - is going to the teacher the right thing to do? God, parenting a 4 year old is so much easier than this drama filled 8th year. Help!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

I suck

Why haven't I posted? Mainly because I suck. Other than that, the reasons are many. (Prepare for ridiculously long run-on sentence)

I thought life would calm down with football ending, but then basketball started, on top of work being hella crazy nuts lately, on top of being the Room Mother for my kid's class which during Christmas is like having a whole other part time job, on top of me taking a class and being a dork who demands upon herself that she MUST read the textbook completely before the class begins, on top of extreme moodiness from fake progesterone, on top of the whole Christmas hullabaloo of buying gifts, wrapping, visiting, planning, tree putting upping - AHHHHHHH!!!!!

So I suck. I'm sorry. I'm still reading all of you guys though - your blogs are my sanity!

I will think of something that is actually interesting to read very soon!

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Too good to not post:

I emailed this out to many of you, my readers, but this is just too good not to post here also for those of you who I can't email, but who stop in and read...

See if this makes you scratch your head too. I've been battling with the "Room Mother Leader" lady over how many pizzas I should order for Luke's school Christmas party.

I told her I need 4 pizzas (20 kids, 2 slices per kid, 12 slices per pizza, should leave 8 pieces left for me, teacher, a helper and a fat kid who wants more).

She keeps telling me I need to order 5. When I got aggravated and asked her why, here is her exact reply, copied and pasted below:

"Got your pizza order. I personally would order 5, just to be safe 12 x 4=36 and if each child has 2 slices, that’s 40). Whatever pizza is left over, you can take home so it won’t go to waste."

Um, yeah - see that? I didn't know that 12 x 4 was 36. Shoot, I must be an idiot! I hope she didn't graduate from my son's school!

Sunday, December 7, 2008

March?

For those who are asking about the whole fertility thing and why I haven't done more to take charge of the situation, I wanted to let you know that it looks like March may be it!

I went to a Reproductive Endocrinologist back in June. I walked in scared and clueless and I walked out loaded with pamphlets, prescriptions, test procedure prescriptions, condoms, cups, birth control pills and pages of handwritten notes. All of these things were hilariously placed into an Enfamil plastic bag for me so I actually looked like I was walking out of my first pregnancy appointment.

The descriptions of the procedures and their cost scared the shit out of me. Her "plan" was to give Ziggy a sperm analysis (hence the condom and cup), put me on progesterone to bring a period, then put me on birth control and antibiotics for a month, give me an hsg in that month, then after we got all of the tests, barring no further findings, we would proceed with a highly monitored injectibles cycle (daily shots of fertility drugs) once my period came after the birth control pill cycle ended.

Total cost over those two months of tests/procedures - about $4,000 out of pocket since lovely Louisiana does not have mandatory fertility coverage like more progressive states do.

I was scared to even dicuss the "plan" with Ziggy. It was then that we decided to wait at least 6 months, give God a little more time, before proceeding.

So here we are at the 6 month mark. In the car tonight, out of the blue, Ziggy asked me if I could pick up a small pack of condoms at the store. He said that he wanted to practice with the feel of a condom so that he wouldn't be all freaked out by it and not be able to "perform" and waste the $13 condom that we got from the RE.

I looked at him and said, "um, sure, so does this mean?" And he said, "yes, it means that I'm ready for the testing." So we agreed to go au naturale through March since we have a lot going on with birthdays, holidays, Luke's 1st Reconciliation, Mardi Gras, sports, taxes and all that stuff.

So, March, it is. I can't believe that we're going to actually do all this. I'm scared and excited all at the same time. We're going to go ahead and knock out his SA in January. That's the easiest part of the whole process anyway and hearing that he is "normal" will both help us breathe easier (IF he's normal, oh please God let him be normal).

It would be so much easier for me to deal with being the "problem" than it would be for him.

So that is that. Now...if only God would intervene in between now and March??? Please???

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Grass

I was never able to give Luke the gift of grass when he was a baby. When I found out that I was pregnant with him, I lived in a tiny efficiency apartment. I moved into a large one bedroom apartment where I remained with Luke until I was able to buy the condo when he was two and a half.

So he never got to be laid down as a baby, tummy down, in his own fresh green fragrant squishy grass. I've always thought that grass must be the most amazing thing for a baby. Even for me now, at the age of 31, I very regularly take off my shoes in my backyard and just - walk. I let my toes squish into the thickness and imagine a whole world underneath my feet.

Of course Ziggy thinks it's strange when I do this, but I just love my yard. It was my one and only demand when we were house hunting. He would be staring at foundations and roofs while I would be searching every window to catch a first glimpse of the yard. We passed up many a house nicer than the one we have now only because the yard was inadequate.

Grass has always amazed me. I guess it may be because I didn't have it as a child. I grew up in an amazing place - a camp out on a lake. My house had shells for a front yard and waves crashing as the backyard. I loved it. But, no grass.

And so it took me 7 years of his life, but I got my son a huge backyard with fence to fence grass and we spend a lot of time out there. It's the first grass for the both of us.

From the first step that I took into the backyard when we first came to view this house, my mind immediately envisioned me gently laying a baby, tummy down, in this backyard. I've envisioned first wobbly steps, and then plops bum down on the green carpet with the sunshine kissing our cheeks while we both giggled. Almost everytime I walk in my backyard I have these dreams.

And then lately, only very recently, new thoughts have been playing in my head. Scary thoughts. Thoughts that I try to push out quickly before they are allowed to take over. But more and more often the thoughts are coming and I'm feeling this serious need to really sit in a quiet place and allow them to come.

And I did, tonight.

The thought is this - I've spent the past 8 years sure that Luke's sibling would come one day and that the only question was "when". The question was always "when" and the dreams were always attainable. And now the "when" is beginning to fade not just into an "if", but all the way to a "won't".

In other words, my mind keeps suddenly telling me that I need to explore the possible reality of Luke's sibling never coming. Not every dream comes true. I know this. And I may be one of those people - one of the ones that I never imagined being, who simply cannot conceive.

And then I look at this great big house that we bought with all the extra rooms that remain empty that we figured we would need for our growing family, and I look at my grass and I'm beginning to think - well, you know.

Luke asked me last week if he could have the front room for a playroom and my first thought was NOOOOO, THAT'S THE BABY'S ROOM! But I smiled and held back the tears and said, "you know what, buddy, that might be a good idea. What color to you think that we should paint it?"

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

I want a box.

Being the child of a recovering Alcoholic Bipolar dad and then also being married to a recovering addict bipolar man makes for interesting blogging and I really should talk about the crazy men in my life more often.

Just to recap for newbies and for the oldies with bad memories:

Dad = recovering alcoholic, sober for 21 years this coming June, diagnosed bipolar for 17 years and VERY active in 12 step programs.

Husband = recovering addict, clean for 3 years on 12/11/08 and diagnosed bipolar for 2 years as of November.

I can recite the 12 steps better than you can! LOL!

Anyway, I was talking to my dad today who lives in TN and he was telling me that he was in Walmart buying gift bags for his friends to give them the "worry boxes" that he had made them.

Apparently, he has a tradition of creating handmade boxes for his fellow AA buddies every Christmas. The worry boxes are for you to write down your worries/fears/problems/dreams/needs, place them in the box and leave them for your Higher Power (in our case, this is God) to deal with and sort through.

Nice. Where's my worry box, dad? Always like my dad to treat AA more like his family than his own family, but I will not turn this into a temper tantrum over my dad's attention or lack there of. I've already given that story to a handful of therapists along the way - no need to rehash.

I told him how nice I thought that was and then mentioned that I had a particular problem that I've been worrying about for 15 months now. His reply was, "well boo, maybe you need to put that worry away and finally just walk away from it and stop trying to control how God handles it."

Having a 12 step parent must be equally as rewarding and maddening as having a psychotherapist parent...since every 12 stepper that I've ever met seems to moonlight as self taught therapists.

My dad is always game for deep thoughts and meaningful conversations in the middle of Walmart.

So my thoughts are this - I want my own dang worry box and we all know the worry that I want to put in there. I'm going to mull this over and maybe do my own worry box type deal (since I'm sure I ain't getting one for Christmas, right dad?) Oh, sorry, there's that neglected child temper tantrum again.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Mrs. Scrooge

Sorry I haven’t said much. I’ve often thought of posting, but I’ve had a “case of the Mondays” for about 2 weeks straight now.

Maybe it’s the cold, which I LOATHE. Anything under 50 degrees is my own personal hell. Maybe it’s work which has been particularly busy/stressful lately.

I have no clue, but every time I think of posting, I just shrug and say, “blah”.

News? Well, we decorated the house for Christmas this weekend – everything except the damn tree (that’s just for you Ames) I’m so not holly jolly yet this year and normally I am by now.

I mailed off my Christmas cards already, because I’m THAT person who mails them right after Thanksgiving and annoys the shit out of the procrastinators. And then I sit and obsess the rest of the season wondering if person X sent me a card because they planned to, or just because I sent them one first and now they feel obligated?

How’s that for sick thinking?

Yes, I know. I would go to a therapist, but they all say that I’m perfectly healthy. Weird.

So let’s give some shoutouts – in no particular order to peeps who may read this and have been on my mind today!

Lan, I MISS you and I LURVE you and if you were here I would give you big smooches and hugs and eat snacky cakes with you.

Ames, you don’t Tweet nearly enough lately and I need your witty spontaneous type of humor to help me get through my day. Start tweeting because I need you, lest I bust a cap in one of these bitches at work for pissing me off.

Rissa, you’re becomming my first ever Internets BFF and I can’t wait to hopefully meet you AND rub all over that belly for Mardi Gras.

So that’s it for now. I gotta run. Moms is coming over for dinner and I get to spend the evening watching her nail herself to her cross…again…

I’ll write more soon, I promise.