Author Archives: Steph

About Steph

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I like words. I suspect I would like sanity, but I really have no way of knowing. I can be reasonable, but not often.
December 31, 2015

Shit My Family Says, Kind Of.

By Steph

So. I’m still feeling pretty shitty, but I’ve thought about it and I don’t want my last post of 2015 to be the angry, sad, mess that I wrote the other day.

This is going to be a “Shit My Family Says” post, but with cheating. Cheating because it’s shit I’ve already posted on my blog’s Facebook page. But maybe *gasp* you haven’t liked me on Facebook! Then, ALL THIS WILL BE BRAND NEW. Lucky, lucky you. Now go like my page.

If you have already liked my page, some of this might be new to you anyway, because Facebook has this stupid trick they call an “algorithm.” (I just gave up trying to spell that word and the red line went away. Huh.) Anyway, they want to show you what you want to see…and they guess what you want to see by what you “like” or share or comment on. So maybe THIS WILL ALL BE BRAND NEW TO YOU TOO.

And now, I present you with the Best Shit My Family Said in 2015:

And now, I change the title to the Best Shit From August to December 2015, because I am tired and I guess I post a lot.

 

“The other day I was attacked by a horsefly and it bit me three times. I was seriously wounded with blood and everything. Yesterday I was looking at it to see if the swelling had gone down and my sweetly concerned son said, “Ohmygod, put that away, it’s so fat and gross!” So that’s how I found out that it is still swollen and he is a dick.”

 

I bribed my daughter when the doctor had to give her a shot.

 

6-yr-old: If you see any slime – stuff around here, don’t touch it because it’s my boogers.

She’s so considerate.

 

Husband: Sorry for being a pain in the ass.

Me: It’s okay.

Him: You always say okay. You never say, “You’re not a pain.”

Me: Yeah. Cause it’s okay.

 

6-yr-old hid a bunch of old Easter eggs in my bed. Under my pillow. Everywhere. This morning I woke up to discover that they weren’t all Easter eggs. Some of them were Silly Putty eggs. I now have silly putty all over my head. *Note: I was able to get the shit off my head, but there are still spots on my comforter that look really gross and NOT like Silly Putty if you know what I mean.

 

“I know that I have allergic reactions. I know they are sneaky. I know they can be dangerous. I know what they feel like.

But I just spent a damned HOUR absolutely CONVINCED that 6yo had brought home head lice, because my head was itching so bad.

It wasn’t until my entire body broke out with hives that I stopped giving her the side-eye.”

 

Haven't Folded laundry in so long, even my kids forgot what it was called.

 

“So, you guys know how I don’t know how to use my phone? Well. Yesterday was a Very Bad Day. I was laying in bed, just sobbing, completely losing my shit, and I hear these clicking noises. Click click click click click. I look over and find MY PHONE TAKING UNAUTHORIZED PICTURES OF ME. Unbelievable. I have like 10 pics of my red, snotty face. This thing is out to get me.”

 

6yo: Wow, that’s really melted.

Me: You have to eat ice cream cones fast.

Her: I wasn’t even eating it! I just sat it down here to save for later.

 

My Facebook ‘memory’ from a year ago today:

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

 

Last night we were playing this Head’s Up app where you hold your phone up to your forehead and people try to make you guess what’s on the screen. We’ve played it for hours, two nights in a row, and I just can’t stop loving it.

Then.

It was my turn, and my husband shouts a clue at me. “Our 20s! What we were doing in our 20s! Where we spent most of our 20s!”

My children looked at me expectantly while everything, EVERY SINGLE THING I did back in the day flashed before my eyes. I could NOT think of EVEN ONE THING that I wanted to say in front of the kids.

I’m not good under pressure. I did lots of good-person things in my 20s. I just can’t think of them when you put me on the spot like that, jerk.

The answer was “a bar.”

 

Original snack with name pc cropped

 

“I literally just said, “you’re not sleeping in my bed with a box on your head.”

What has happened to my life? I’ve turned into a foul-mouthed Dr. Seuss.”

 

“I am so screwed. I just made a new rule and my 6-YEAR-OLD daughter replied with, “Eh, you’ll forget about that by tomorrow.”

 

Today my husband told me a lot of things, as he does often. “You’re beautiful.” “You’re a great writer.” “Taking care of yourself is the only thing you *have* to do.”

My favorite?

“She reminds me of you. Wears a black leather jacket and boots and is an asshole to everyone.”

I love that man.

 

“Stats as of 9:45 a.m.

Inanimate objects screamed at/threatened: Approximately 34.

Times I’ve cried: Once

Tasks accomplished: Two, because I put both “scream” and “cry” on my to-do list.”

 

In case you’re wondering if my state of mind has improved, I just looked in my t-shirt drawer and yelled, “Fuck you, you sneaky bastards!”

 

I’m not used to people being at my house during the day.

I had just taken a bath, opened my bathroom door a crack, and said, “I hope no one is in here, cause I’m coming out and all I’ve got on is sneakers and a little bit of cheese.”

Either they didn’t hear me or I’ve found a very effective child repellent.

***I found the cheese in my shoe, if you were wondering.

 

Things my 13yo has said to me in the last 30 minutes:

Me: GET IT IN GEAR!

Him: *sitting in the floor, not dressed, banging a spring against his bed, looks up, with a completely straight face*  MOM. I’m in 5th gear.

Him: *screaming like a maniac.*

Me and everyone else: *running* What happened?! Are you okay?

Him: Oh, man, it was awful! I tried to put this tube top on the cat and–

And that’s when I walked away.

 

“Omg, my 6yo has like a hundred million presents under the tree.

You know what she’s crying about this morning?

She’s afraid that after Christmas I won’t let her have the bowl of pinecones on the table.

I could’ve saved so much money had I known the little shit just wanted seeds.”

 

6yo is playing with Barbies, all dressed up in their finery. I assume they are attending some ball, or maybe a wedding. I walk by and hear this:

Barbie #1: I never liked him. It was all part of my mission.

Barbie #2: We’ve got him now. Good job, agent.

 

Annnd, that’s all I’ve got in me right now, folks. Happy New Year. I love you guys. ❤

 

 

 

 

 

 

21 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in Just Being Awesome, parenting, shit my family says, small humans

December 20, 2015

These Dark Days.

By Steph

This is not going to be a good post. A funny post. A nice post.

“Leave while you still can.” I feel like that’s from Indiana Jones or some shit.

I don’t know, I can’t even remember to put the taco seasoning in the taco soup.

That’s what broke me. I spent Thursday pretending to be okay. In vain, I suspect. No. No. You know what? I’m a goddamn professional when it comes to pretending. I probably looked like a stuck-up bitch, but I was there, and I wasn’t curled up on the floor crying.

My daughter’s Christmas party. I made it.

Then came home and was violently ill.

Friday. Sick. Panic attacks. More sick. More panic attacks. Migraine.

Saturday. Lightheaded. Headache. Everything hurt. Panic attack. I laid down, hoping to wake up and not be this fucking disaster, but I dreamed about being a bad person 20 fucking years ago. LET ME GO!

Anyway. I put a chair in the kitchen to try to make dinner. My husband and kids were having Family Game Night and I. Just. Couldn’t. Just fucking couldn’t.

So I sat in that chair and stirred, and it hurt, so I went and laid in bed until it should’ve been ready, and my son asked, all excited, “Is it done?” and I burst into tears because I remembered that I hadn’t put the seasoning in.

I’ve been crying since then, which has not helped my headache at all, surprise, surprise.

I want to see all my doctors, in the same room, and DEMAND to know why I’m taking all this medicine AND I’M STILL FUCKING BROKEN?!

I know that’s not how it works. There is no magic pill to make me all better. I know I will have good days and bad days, but I am so tired.

I’m so tired of fighting to just be “okay.”

Not “great.”

Not “a productive member of society.”

Just “alive.”

Or “out of bed.”

I’ve lowered my fucking goals and expectations about as low as they can go, and I still can’t reach them.

I did these things yesterday to make myself feel better:

Listened to music. Took a bath. Read. Colored. Played games.

But even though I spent almost an entire fucking day doing what I’m supposed to do, “practicing my coping skills,” I still feel like screaming.

WHY? WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THIS? WHY NOW? WHY CAN’T I JUST…STOP? STOP BEING THIS FRAGILE, CRUMBLING, SHELL OF A PERSON?

Today, I hate myself. Again.

Maybe I will tomorrow too.

Either way, I’ll fucking be here to find out.

semicolon tat

My story isn’t over.

 

 

56 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in Depression, Mental Illness, thoughts, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

November 17, 2015

Oh. Deer.

By Steph

When I was born, my family lived here, in rural Arkansas. Shortly after that, my Dad joined the Army and away we went. I spent around 9-10 years on Army bases, then we moved back home when I was in the 5th grade. This is important to note, in light of what I’m about to tell you.

I’m not against hunting; I’ve just never really been interested in it. There were no “youth hunts” on Army bases.

The first post-hunted deer (I’m trying to save your sensibilities here, people) I saw was in the back of my uncle’s truck, and I was about nine. I cried. I petted its nose, and whispered prayers and apologies, and wouldn’t speak to anyone the rest of the day. (I TOLD you guys, I’ve ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS.)

I didn’t come in contact with another deer until I was about 17. This time I was running in the dark and ran INTO the carcass of the deer, which was hanging from a tree in our yard. I feel like that’s something you really ought to mention to people. “Hey, there’s a giant dead thing with horns around back.” Or something.

Anyway. So I’m not a complete moron about guns. I like to target shoot. (I am good.) (Well, I’m okay.) (I’m not terrible, jeez!) I just don’t really even think about deer season except to tell the kids to wear orange if they go in the woods.

Well. I know that my 13-year-old hunts and fishes with his dad and grandparents at their place. Long as he’s safe, have at it, right? They know what they’re doing, my son loves it, so it’s cool.

Then last weekend I got a Very Excited call from my son–he’d shot his first deer. I was really proud of him and it was awesome to hear the story of his amazing shot and how much fun he’d had. It really was. It’s always great to see him joyous and happy. Then I hear, “You better get ready for a lot of deer meat headed your way ha ha ha.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

To me, this meant, “I hope you have room in your freezer for a few prepackaged select cuts of deer meat.”

So I said, “Ha ha ha, well, okay, but I can’t eat it and I don’t know how to cook it, so send instructions! Ha ha ha!”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Then I get a text as they are on their way to bring Thing 2 home.

His Gram: “A lot of meat & the head coming your way. The head needs to be hung up high in a tree. I’m sorry, he wanted to bring it home!”

Me: Oh shit.

Her: “The meat needs to soak in plain water overnight & then packaged & frozen then I will find you a couple delish recipes.”

Me: OH SHIT.

Her: *laughing her ass off* SORRY! Who knew he would get one?! HAHAHAHAHAHA *laughs forever.*

Me: Oh…shit.

So, at this point, my main concern is that my husband isn’t home, it’s dark, and there is a HEAD on its way here that I am going to have to somehow, someway, get up a tree.

To prepare for this, I put on my boots and paced, thinking furiously. I came up with zero ideas. None.

20151116_201208

Maybe because I have the wrong kind of boots?

Anyway.

They got there and my son was all, “LOOK! LOOK AT THIS! DO YOU WANT TO TOUCH HIS TONGUE?”

And I was all, “That’s so awesome pleasepleasegetitawayfromme.”

Then they were like, “So, do you have any rope?” and I was like, “OH! Good idea! Yeah! Rope!” Then I ran in the house, did a few circles chanting “rope, rope, rope” and then went back outside to do the same thing out there.

Thankfully, Thing 2’s Papa is a Good, Good Man and he found something that would work AND found a tree (not the tree by where I drink my coffee, THANK YOU SO MUCH) and he and my son hung the thing up. I basically just stood there, wringing my hands and nervous talking.

THEN comes the transfer of the meat. Thing 2’s Gram was snickering at me. SNICKERING at me! It was a loving snicker, but a snicker nonetheless.

They have a big plastic tub, presumably full of meat. When I saw it, my eyes lit up. I had visions of never opening that tub. Then she said these horrible words: “I need to take this with me.”

Shit.

We trooped into the kitchen for the big reveal. My son started pulling meat out of the sack like he was some sort of, fuck, I don’t know, a hunter I guess.

Once the sink was full of meat and my son was done shoving body parts in my face and his grandma was almost done laughing, I received my instructions for the next day. How To Package The Meat.

The following morning I was dismayed to find the deer still in the sink. There are no such creatures as Deer Fairies, in case you were wondering. I prepared myself for the job ahead.

By “prepared myself” I mean “looked everywhere and found nothing in which to wrap this meat.”

I had to improvise. In my defense, I WAS NOT READY FOR A….I don’t even know what this is called. I’ve got A LOT of learning to do before the zombie apocalypse, I’ll tell you that.

Anyway. So I used three coats of plastic wrap, two of wax paper, and then wrapped it all in duct tape. Seemed legit to me.

Because he told me it was a tenderloin. I think.
Because he told me it was a tenderloin. I think.
20151109_092453
Big Fatty Thing.
Possibly a butt.
Possibly a butt.
Really Big Thing
Really Big Thing.

I really want my son to be happy, and if he likes to hunt and fish, that’s great.

But I’m making a rule RIGHT NOW that I am not ever, ever, EVER duct taping a deer’s ass again.

Ever.

35 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, parenting, total chaos

November 8, 2015

I hear the secrets that you keep…

By Steph

…when you’re talking in your sleep…

You are so welcome for that earworm.

Don't be jealous of my jammies.

Don’t be jealous of my jammies.

I guess we’ve established that I’m not Really Awesome at life and things. When I’m awake, anyway.

Now I have learned a new trick, which is to be a mess even in my sleep.

I wake up every 2-3 hours a night anyway, so you would think that I wouldn’t have time for any nonsense.

But you’d be wrong, because while I may not have being a human adult perfected, I am a master weirdo.

So, a few months ago, I started talking in my sleep. I believe people usually sleep through this. I wake up mid-sentence and look expectantly at my husband for his response…and see that he is sound asleep.

Apparently, I’m able to hold entire conversations with a snoring man.

One night I woke up talking, realized that I was the only one fully engaged in what was no doubt a scintillating discussion, and went back to sleep. Then I woke myself up AGAIN, talking, and this time I was telling my husband what had just happened. Yes. I woke up explaining to snores that I had woken up talking to snores.

I’ve also fallen out of my king-size bed twice, woken up just as I was about to squirt nasal spray in my eye, and had vivid dreams (nightmares) involving denim jumpsuits, the price of cheese puffs, and being unable to move. When I wake up I still can’t move, but once I can, I’m usually so relieved that I’m not wearing head-to-toe denim or cheese puffs that I don’t even care.

The newest inexplicable occurrence happens when I get up in the morning.

Every morning there is a song stuck in my head, a song that I know I didn’t hear anytime recently, so I guess my crazy ass dreams come complete with soundtracks.

First it was Baby Got Back (which actually led to an epiphany. “She got an L.A. face and an Oakland booty.” Not an open booty, which is how I’ve been singing it since approximately the eighth grade. For fuck’s sake.)

Next it was early Metallica. “Anywhere I roam, where I lay my head is home, YEAH.”

After that I woke up singing old school Whitney Houston. “How will I know if he really loves me, I say a prayer with every heartbeat…”

Since I wake up (doing strange shit) all hours of the night, I always think, “screw this, I’ll just get up.” Then I’ll see that it’s 12 or 1 or 3 a.m. and I’ll make myself lay back down until at least 4:30. Then I go sit on the porch so I don’t wake anyone else up, and get harassed by the extremely rude armadillo who has taken up residence under my porch. It’s almost enough to get me to stop singing and go back to sleep, where my husband responds appropriately.

That never happens when I’m awake.

Do you do anything weird in your sleep? Am I the only one who has almost blinded myself with nasal spray? Surely not.

32 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, total chaos

September 25, 2015

Depression Lies, Especially in September

By Steph

This month they call September is fucking brutal. It’s Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, and that is so ironic to me that I can’t even stand it. September sneaks up on me. The memories sneak up on me. The pain comes at me and I feel trapped. Stuck in this mind that won’t forget, that won’t cooperate, that won’t just let me be.

So, I enjoyed the fleeting success that came with a recent post, and it really was lovely. But my anxiety was telling me that I did not deserve the compliments, the comments, the shares, the likes. My depression was telling me that I tricked everyone because I am a terrible mom. My anxiety was telling me that I needed to respond to every single sweet and wonderful person who reached out to me, but my depression was keeping me from all but the most necessary tasks.

I had an emergency session with my psychiatrist on Monday and I am feeling a little better. Talking to her made me remember that there is hope. I will not always feel like this. Yes, I will feel like this again, but when I do, I will wait this bitch out and I will laugh again and love again and still be here when the motherfucker comes back again.

I don’t know if you have heard of Project Semicolon, but I got myself a new tattoo to celebrate making it through the weekend.

My story isn't over.

My story isn’t over.

The following is part of a post I wrote shortly after Robin Williams passed, right before another September.

….I am not alone.

Out there, somewhere, is someone struggling as hard as I am struggling. Out there, somewhere, someone is giving up and someone is still fighting. Someone is feeling just as hopeless and empty as I feel. Someone is putting one foot in front of the other even though it hurts. Someone is hiding under the covers. Someone is crying. Someone is dying.

I understand.

I know the feeling and it is not just one of giving up, giving in, letting go of the pain. Depression is insidious and it lies. It will tell you that your family, your friends, everyone would be better off without you. That you are a useless weight around their necks and that ending your life would be a gift to them.

When you write it out like that it seems so stark, so cold, so untrue. But these are the thoughts that swirl when my head is buried under the pillow. These are the thoughts that I share with others who fight this monster every single day.

If you are reading this, I promise that I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. I promise that I will not listen to the lies, I will wait them out, I will drown them out, and I will keep going.

Come with me?

Here is a link to NAMI: National Alliance on Mental Illness, with numbers you can call if you are in crisis, and a lot of information regarding mental illness.

75 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Depression, Mental Illness, thoughts