Monthly Archives: May 2014

Shit My Family Says To Me, Round Two

My family is hilarious, as some of you know, and my memory is nonexistent.  So I have notebooks, journals, post-it notes, and random scraps of paper all over the house with quotes from my husband and kids.  I’m sharing their funny today, because my funny is still in recovery (but well on its way back).  Thing 1 is my oldest, a 15-year-old boy, Thing 2 is the middle child, an almost-12-year-old boy, and Thing 3 is the youngest, a 5-year-old girl.  They are all a mess.  Husband is old enough that his beard is turning gray but younger than me, which is why I get to be the boss.

Thing 1, trying to use an old school calculator:

Me:  I know this is ancient technology, but….

Thing 1:  I’m not an anthropologist, mom! I also don’t know how to work a trebuchet or a Game Cube.

Husband:  He doesn’t know how to use a catapult either.

Overheard:  Thing 2 convincing his sister that he was magic and he had turned her invisible.  She was amazed, and I was just glad he was speaking to her.  A few minutes later:

Thing 2: Now, if you want to be magic like me, all you have to do is smell my feet.  Yep. Just sniff.  HAHAHAHA!  YOU’RE MAGIC!

Thing 3:  I think I got a rash. Do I? Do I got a rash?

Me: What? No. But why are you all wet? Did you spill your milk?

Thing 3: No. I been at the pool.

Me: We do not have a pool.

Thing 3: It’s my new pool. I just got it.

Me:  I’m not going in the living room. I’m afraid of what I might find.

Thing 3 refuses to eat her vegetables.  She just came up to me, as sweet as can be, and said she could not eat her dinner because it “makes her boring.”

Me:  Haha.  Eat it anyway.

Thing 3:  I really need something else to eat, so I can like you.

Dammit. She’s only 5 and she already doesn’t like me. It took the other ones a bit longer.

You know you’re raising your child right when you tell her “not right now” and she says, “Fine. Then I guess monsters will just eat your brain and face.”

Thing 2:  MOM!  MOM!  I think I’m catching the puberty!

My cousin, about 15 years ago.  His dad was in the house getting ready to take him squirrel hunting.  Matt just went out in the yard and caught one.

My cousin, about 15 years ago. His dad was in the house getting ready to take him squirrel hunting. Matt just went out in the yard and caught one.

Me: Listen you, I have to have those invoices from last month. Or else.

Husband: I don’t think most secretaries are this indignant.

Me:  So they won’t put me to sleep, but I guess I’ll be sedated enough that I won’t know they are putting a camera down my throat, and I won’t remember anything.

Husband:  Let me get this straight.  You’re not going to be able to tell what’s going in your mouth, and you won’t remember anything?  I’ll drive you.

Me, getting ready to take a nap: Ok, so behave and don’t answer the door and if someone calls take a message but be polite, it could be my boss or something.

Thing 2, very seriously:  Oh, I know what your boss sounds like, I’ve hung up on her before.

Me: What are you doing?

Thing 2 (from inside a box):  Now, mom, don’t just jump to conclusions.

Husband:  Well, Laura said-

Me:  Wait, wait, wait.  You call the weather lady by her first name?  What are you guys, friends?

Husband:  There’s Laura, and Drew, and-

Me:  That is so weird, please stop talking.

Thing 3, to her teacher:  My mommy is making me a little brother so I can have a prince in my game.

Husband, embarrassed:  Um, no, she’s not.

Thing 3:  I NEED A PRINCE.  If the baby turns into a girl we will give it to another family, but if it is a boy who is nice and doesn’t eat his boogers, then we’ll keep him.

Written in one of my notebooks, don’t know why:

This shit is reasonable.

Poison mice with Tylenol!  (I’m a little worried about how excited I apparently was with this idea.)

Husband:  I’m not going to ask you to do anything today that you can’t do lying down.

Thing 3:  Momma, what’s your favorite thing for Mother’s Day?
Me:  Going fishing with my kids.
Thing 3:  I don’t believe you. You always say, “Just a minute” and that is NOT spending time with your kids. What do you really want?

Thank you, child, for calling me out on my parenting skills on Mother’s Day.  Awesome.

Oh, how I love those little smartasses.

Pt. 1: Is This Really My Life? Pt. 2: Yes. And that’s okay.

I wrote part of this yesterday and was so ashamed of it that I password protected the draft.

Last night was a better night; my kids have an amazing ability to  cut straight through to my core and remind me how love feels.  I guess they pull me out of my own head, and I need that, cause my head is not always nice to me.

I wrote the second part this morning.  I am hoping that by sharing this post, maybe someone who is in the dark might see how quickly the clouds can pass. Alternately, I hope that those of you who do not suffer from depression and anxiety may get a little bit better understanding of the intensity of feeling, the fear, the anger, and the self-disgust that some of us deal with all too often.



Alternate title:  I’m fucking broken. 

I think that it is Mental Health Awareness month.  Or maybe it’s Fibromyalgia Awareness Month.  Or maybe it’s none of those things and I am just behind on my months the way I’m behind on everything else in life.  Who knows.

Anyway.  Things are not good in the brain here lately.  I’ve noticed that a lot of the bloggers I follow seem similarly out of order.  Seems like a good time for a Canvas of the Minds post, even though my head is telling me that it will be stupid, it won’t help me or anyone else, and I should probably just stop writing altogether.  Fuck you, head.  We are obviously not on the same team right now, so you can just shut up.

Without further ado, I present a day in the life of me, my chronic pain, depression, anxiety, and potty mouth.

Monday, May 19, 2014

6:06 a.m.  Wake up.  Hobble to living room.  Want to cry because everything hurts and there’s no coffee.  Make coffee.  Wake up kids.  Take meds.  Realize that because I was sick yesterday I did not take my meds and now today is going to suck really badly.  Realize that because I was sick yesterday I did not do any laundry and this morning is going to suck badly.  Try to find clothes for children.  SUCCESS! Kind of.  At least they are not naked.  Comb daughter’s hair even though it hurts and I can hardly hold the comb.  Get hugs.  Realize that because I was sick yesterday we did not do her project and I am a failure.  Write note to teacher that likely does not even make sense.  Realize that teacher probably already knows that I am a fuckup and send note even though it doesn’t make sense.  Realize that I don’t have any cash, so kids have no lunch money.  Think about all the things I had planned on doing yesterday and feel like a failure because I was sick and didn’t do any of them.

7:00 a.m.  Everyone leaves.  Drink coffee, smoke cigarette, curse at self.  Think about what I need to do today.  Get overwhelmed and cry.  Try to get someone to take lunch money to kids.  Get irrationally angry at doctor’s office for making me get up to answer an automated message.  Pee about 15 times.  Hold head in hands.  Stare at wall.  Feed cat.  Play Candy Crush. Watch video on Facebook that makes me cry.  Go outside, sit in shade, think that I should spend more time in the sun.  Go inside.

8:00 a.m. Check email, various messages, read blogs, prepare for phone call.  Do some other stuff which I can’t remember but I’m sure I did.

9:00 a.m.  Make stressful phone call.  Shake so hard I almost drop phone.  Cry.  Decide I should lay back down because everything hurts and I am sad.  Lay down.  Everything still hurts and I am still sad.  Clench teeth and try to go to sleep.  Get up because I have to pee.  Again.  Lay down under electric blanket even though I’m hot.  Cry.  Feel nauseous and worried.  Think about a million things that I should not think about if I want to fall asleep.  Bills, kids, failure, bad mother, bad mother, bad wife, bad person, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.  Pee again.  Curse at self because I can’t even sleep right.

10:30 a.m.  Get up.  Make more coffee.  Put on bra.  This doesn’t help.   Take medicine.  Everything hurts.  Ponder how I can live the rest of my life feeling this shitty.  Think about doing laundry.  Drink more coffee.  Look at bills.  Read blogs.  Get feelings hurt for no reason.  Get irrationally angry at cat toy.  Worry how I will be able to act happy when the kids get home.  Feel bad because I know they know I am sad.  Practice smiling.  Cry.

1:00 p.m.  Decide to write this stupid blog.  Arms hurt so bad that I can’t type after first paragraph.  Curse myself, silently this time because I think I’ve been upsetting my cat with all the yelling.  Wonder how the fuck I am supposed to get anything accomplished when I feel so shitty.  Think if I was going to kill myself, I would eat a lot of meat first.  Read article about stupid meat allergy.  Eat a cup of peaches.  Smell a funny smell in kitchen and think I should clean the kitchen so it looks like it did Saturday, but then I got sick Sunday so maybe I should rest.  I hate resting.  Wonder how come I only feel like a worthwhile human being if I have accomplished something.  Wonder if just existing is this hard for anyone else?

1:30 p.m.  Realize kids will be home in three hours.  Think I should listen to some music or go for a walk to cheer me up.  Don’t do either of those things.  Think about calling my dad but know I will just cry.  Mom calls, points out that I haven’t eaten anything but one cup of peaches in the last two days.  Eat another cup of peaches.

That is as far as I’ve made it today, and looking back over that, it’s disgusting.  I don’t know what I expect to accomplish with this.  I think my initial thought was that maybe someone who didn’t have depression, anxiety, or pain could read it and get an idea of what it is like, but now that just sounds like the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.  I’m pretty sure I told myself I was going to post it anyway, because my brain can’t be trusted right now, but what if the bad idea was writing this in the first place?  This is just so stupid.

After I wrote that, I proceeded to have a full-blown, hunker down in the floor, shaking, heart pounding, terrifying panic attack.  Laid in floor and practiced breathing exercises until I could get meds, then laid in bed and focused on breathing in the good, out the bad.


Part 2

When the kids got home yesterday, things got considerably better.  Thing 2 came home from school not feeling well and after a big hug, he went straight to bed.  I hope he is not feeling the same way I’m feeling.  My mom made us dinner and talked to me for a while and also gave me a big hug.  Thing 3 fell asleep on my lap watching the Bachelorette, after we chose some pictures of her to send to school and picked a favorite book for her to take.  Thing 1 is so funny.  He cracks me up all the time.  We made some jokes about the guys on the Bachelorette, and he offered to carry Thing 3 to bed; so sweet, always watching out for me.  Husband came home and I filled him in on the Bachelorette and then we watched Jimmy Kimmel.  Godzilla, people?  Really?  Oh, that was hilarious.  Then I went to bed and it only took me probably an hour to fall asleep.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

6:25 a.m.  Husband wakes me up.  I don’t speak to him.  Go get coffee and meds.  Everything hurts.  Get Thing 3 dressed and brush her hair, wake up Things 1 and 2, and am happy to tell them they have clean clothes in the dryer.  I am happy that we did Thing 3’s homework last night.  Husband shares video of movie trailer — I will watch anything with a talking raccoon, especially one who has to adjust his balls.  (I’ve got issues.)

7:15 a.m. Everyone leaves. It was a good morning.  I drink coffee, look at email and Facebook and messages.  Get sleepy.

8:00 a.m.  Go back to bed and sleep like a baby for 2 hours, even though the phone woke me up midway.

10:00 a.m.  Drink coffee.  Think about stuff I need to talk to the doctor about.  Think about making a list.  Play Candy Crush.  Think that maybe it’s okay that my brain is so fucked up sometimes, since a lot of highly creative, talented people struggle with mental illness.  Decide to add this to my post from yesterday that I never posted and even password protected because I was so ashamed of it.  Marvel at the difference a day makes.  Feel thankful that the tide turned once again and that I am still here on the beach.  Think about trying to build something stronger to hold onto for next time.

Wild Things and Some Animals Too.

A couple of weeks ago I agreed to go with the Pre-K on their field trip to a drive-thru safari.

I know.  I’m insane.

Anyway.  Parents weren’t allowed on the bus (thank god), so I had to drive myself.  Since it was about a two-hour trip, I told the teacher I’d have to stop and stretch a few times.  Luckily for me, it turned out to be a big craft fair weekend, so my stretches took place at little yard sales along the way.

After that, I got lost once and had to wait for a train twice, so I ended up missing the bus tour of the drive-thru part of the safari.  I made it just in time for lunch and walking around what basically amounted to a huge farm with one bathroom and about 500 kids under 5 years old.

The kids had an absolute blast, the animals seemed used to all the fuss, and I learned a few valuable lessons.





1.  If a monkey has a pacifier in its mouth, there is probably a good reason for it.  We thought this little guy was so cute…until he started pulling on his monkey penis right in front of all the little kids.  Try explaining that to a 5-year-0ld girl.  I think I said something like, “What the — oh, look, a giraffe!”


Degenerate Monkey.


2.  Giraffes have the longest, prettiest eyelashes I have ever seen.  Also, they seem very dainty for something 20 feet tall.


Also, I think she’s British. We were feeding her lettuce, but I feel like she really wanted a cup o’ tea.


3.  This tiny monkey is wearing a diaper (and I guess we all know why).  I think generally he gets to be held and petted, but much like the kangaroos, was not up for the horde of little people who descended that day.


A baby monkey, tearing your heart out with his tiny sad face.

A baby monkey, tearing your heart out with his tiny sad face.


*Note:  I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.  When we went to a different zoo-like place about a month ago, I asked my husband if he noticed that a particular ape-creature had gigantic balls.  He was horrified and claimed not to have “been looking.”  I don’t know how you could have missed them.  Also, have you seen a rhinoceros up close?  Jesus Christ.


4.  Goats can be very judgmental.  This goat is judging me right now.


The fuck is wrong with you, lady, walking around looking at monkey privates?

What the fuck is wrong with you, lady, walking around looking at monkey privates?


All in all, it was a fun day, even if I did learn a bit too much about animal anatomy.

People of Walmart Fight Back

Today has been overly eventful. I feel like a fretful child who has just come from a birthday party (with clowns) where she ate too much cake and is now crying because she is tired and sticky and has to bathe.

Except I didn’t go to a party, I’m not a child, and I’m not planning on bathing.

My day started with a two hour drive to see an allergist who actually knows her ass from a hole in the ground. It was refreshing. The actual allergy testing, not so much.

And I did this voluntarily. I told you I was crazy.

Believe it or not, I actually have a normal-sized arm. Pictures can be deceiving.

I was early for my appointment because I underestimated how awesome I am at directions, so I ended up with some free time to explore the town. I deduced that the citizens of this place would be fancier and in better shape than my unkempt self, basing this solely on the ungodly amount of gyms and hair, nail, and tanning salons.

This would later prove to be an utterly false assumption.

I’m sure you’ve all seen People of Walmart. If not, you better go take a peek. I’ll wait.


And you thought I was weird.

Anyway, I was super tired by the time I got to the store. I gathered up my few purchases after searching all over that motherfucker for mothballs just like I do every single time (they are by the ironing boards, just like always), and went to the checkout.

I chose Express Checkout 20 Items or Less based on the cashier. Not too old, not too young. The old ones are slow and follow every single rule. I don’t have time for that price check bullshit. I’ll give you a dollar for it. The really young ones are the same way. What you want is a checker who has been there long enough that the brainwashing has worn off, or one who just loves people so much that they will do anything in their power to make your shopping experience end well.

There was a group of three shoppers in front of me; Dad in an electric cart, and a grown man and woman who in my mind became brother and sister, but in reality I have no idea.  Anyway. I knew we were all fucked when my perfect cashier up and left. The young man who replaced her was one of those guys who you know just loved telling people, “I’m sorry. It’s store policy.” while staring at you blankly even though you have a binder and obviously know how to fucking coupon, dude!

The lady in front of me didn’t like it either. He was screwing up her coupons, the line was getting all long and shit, and her face was getting red and blotchy.  Next thing, Checker-Guy walks off with a coupon, presumably to verify something, but I think he was just gassy.

At this point, my legs were killing me. My cart happened to be next to the empty checkout which, had it held another cashier, could have saved us all some grief, Walmart. So I took a seat on the bagging carousel and opened my Coke. The cashier finally returned and never said a word about the delay. Let me remind you that we were in the Express Lane. He finally gets all the lady’s coupons in and…she thinks he messed up. She requires a printout and then verifies each and every coupon, I assume for each of her 20 items BECAUSE THE SIGN CLEARLY SAID 20 ITEMS OR LESS. She was obviously very flustered and I felt for her, I really did. It wasn’t her fault she was trying to save money and her dad is disabled and her brother wears funny pants. Goddamn it, life.

She goes to pay (finally) and drops her debit card. Of course, since this is a fucking comedy of errors, it falls between the motorized cart and the counter. She can’t reach it and Dad seems oblivious, or maybe he just wasn’t moving fast enough for her. Next thing I know, she grabs the basket of the motorized cart with both hands and shoves it backwards, Dad and all, directly into my shopping cart, which slams into me, knocking me off my perch in the bagging area and into the wall of the checkout behind me. All this happened so fast, I didn’t even have time to curse. It was like a row of dominoes, and I was the last one.

Or get your ass kicked; either way.

Or get your ass kicked; either way.

Doesn’t-Give-A-Shit-Cashier didn’t even look at me. Violent Coupon Lady paid for her stuff and stomped away.  Silly-Pants Brother laughed at me (I laughed back) and asked if I was okay, and Dad In the Cart said “Whoa. This thing has reverse?”

I was over my limit on interacting with people before I even went in the store.  Then I got assaulted. With a shopping cart. Today I have been poked, scratched, told my nose is crooked and has a crease in it and that I have dark circles under my eyes, was covered in itch dots, had blood drawn, talked to 11 strangers, and been knocked ass over teakettle in a grocery store.


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