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.

I’m not prepared to make these kinds of sacrifices.

I turned 35 a few months ago, and since then, strange and unsettling things have been happening.

Let me start at the beginning.

I started this new medication and it didn’t do what it was supposed to do, but it did inflate my ass by about 20 pounds.

Obviously I stopped taking it. Now, one would think that at that point, those 20 pounds would melt away, slip off the way they slipped on, get the fuck outta here.

No. *shakes head sadly* No, friends, I have learned that THAT IS JUST NOT HOW IT WORKS.

I have sat on my pajama-clad ass eating cheese quesadillas for months now and that weight just isn’t going anywhere. It’s baffling, really.

Five days ago I smoked my last cigarette. In the past five days I have consumed roughly 1,000 peppermints.

Obviously I did not major in fucking geology, because clearly I don’t know how calories work.

I have gained three. more. pounds. And that is not the worst part. Oh no.

My chin is…having a baby. It’s a chin baby. I have a baby chin growing under my other chin and it’s…it’s distressing.

I don’t think I’m ready for this jelly.

All my life people have said, “You’re too skinny! Have some pie!” And all my life I’ve said, “I LOVE PIE!” and now this goddamned aging is RUINING EVERYTHING.

I’ve been thinking about my options. I don’t like any of them. It seems like a real dick move that on top of trying to quit smoking I have to worry about this chin thing! Wtf, life? I mean, really. WTF.

Obviously I have to slow down my consumption of peppermints. Like maybe only eat one when I want a cigarette 25 a day instead of just constantly having one in my mouth from 10 am to 10 pm. I can work with that.

I could start walking, except I have anxiety about bears and dogs and snakes.

I could start doing yoga again as long as I lock up my judgmental fucking cat first. (She is looking at me right now with one eyebrow raised, like “I’m the reason you don’t exercise?” I told you, she’s judgmental.

Bitch, please.

Bitch, please.

I just googled “Chin exercises” but I’m not even really sure why since I can’t even be counted on to do a Kegel.

Mostly they said make stupid faces while looking at the sky or just get over it and get a haircut.

I have an appointment this weekend. I wonder if bangs help?

What was your favorite age? Least favorite? Do you have a chin baby? We should get them together for a playdate.

 


More Shit My Family Says

Hi there.

As you can see, I survived the Holiday Season, fraught with human interaction though it was. It has taken me this long to reach some semblance of recovery…you know, back to my normal state of pajamas and pony tails and questionable hygiene.

I’m just going to dip my toes into the blog in this first post, and maybe next time I will plug my nose and jump all the way in.

Here are some of the Most Ridiculous Things my family has said to me during my break.

 

From my 6-year-old.

From my 6-year-old.

 

Thing 1: I slept for like 13 hours!

Me: I know. I thought about waking you guys up, but I knew you’d want me to feed you.

Thing 1: Wow…the maternal instinct is so strong…I can’t even.

 

Husband: *speaks only in puns for a damned hour*

Me: Your puns are not making me happy.

 

Thing 3: Boogycalla.

Me:

Thing 3: A long time ago, ancient people used that word for ‘hello.’

 

Me: I hate everything that’s on my desk.

Husband: You also hate everything that’s not on your desk.

Me: Excellent point.

 

Thing 1: So…food?

Me: It’s one o’clock. I’ll make dinner at dinnertime.

Thing 1:

Me: I can’t feed you twice a day! WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM?

Thing 1:

Me: Anyway, dinner is the most important meal of the day.

Thing 1: We’ve been talking for like 10 minutes and you’ve lied to me three times.

 

*You may have noticed a theme here regarding my children and their near-constant demands for nourishment. I don’t know if all kids are like this, but mine like to eat at least 12 times a day. I personally don’t care how much they eat, it’s how much they expect me to cook that appalls me.

I would like to point out that these kids are 16, 12, and 6.

1.5 of them are fully capable of cooking for themselves without supervision.

**Thing 2 is missing from this post because all he says anymore sounds to me like, “Football, football, yardline, pass, interception, football, that guy, football, some guy, Madden, football, football, football.” It is barely English.


We are in a state of emergency

Operation Thanksgiving was a success, thanks to my mother and my mother-in-law (the cooks), two bottles of champagne, and many pies.

There were so many pies that my subconscious has woken me up every night at midnight to eat a slice two slices. I consider this taking one for the team. The pie team. Of which I am the leader.

Now with Thanksgiving barely over, the time for Holiday Shenanigans has commenced.

I have to LEAVE MY HOUSE every day for the next four days.

Let that sink in.

Although I do want to see my daughter sing today and I wouldn’t miss Thing 1 in the play and I’m sure the band program of Thing 2’s will be phenominal…I would much rather watch these things from my couch. And let’s not even speak of the parade.

Can you even imagine the amount of bathing and getting dressed this is going to entail? More than I’ve done in the last week, I can tell you that.

Then you throw in that it is cold and rainy outside and when it is cold I don’t like to get out of my bed. I may be part bear.

bear

And I have to wonder how I will make an ass of myself at these various functions. SO many opportunities to be weird and awkward!

Being an introvert with anxiety almost guarantees that I will say or do something idiotic…in public…with no place to hide.

I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first and best-case scenario is that I won’t speak at all and will avoid eye contact with anyone I didn’t give birth to. If cornered, I will answer questions only with “yes” or “no” and will fidget and bolt at the first opportunity.

The second and least desirable and therefore most likely is that I will start nervous talking. This is the one I’d really like to avoid because once I start nervous talking, I can’t be stopped and my subject matter leaves much to be desired. For instance, I need to not talk about the zombie apocalypse and the fact that once the meds run out I will be a dead weight but I still don’t want to be eaten so I’ve been practicing with a sling shot, the only weapon I will be allowed. When people say, “How have you been?” I’m pretty sure that is not the answer they are expecting.

I also shouldn’t talk about my pets bowel habits (though they are very interesting) or say, “You are making me anxious.” and then walk away.

Basically, the next four days are a damned social minefield and I’m not fully equipped to navigate it. Or even partially equipped. I have no equipment.

Are you already sick of holiday engagements or is it just me? Is crawling under a chair a viable option in an auditorium?


School Fundraisers Suck

delightful

The beginning of the school year was filled with sales. Girl Scout sales, PTA sales, band sales; everybody was selling something and basically driving me crazy.

So. Fast forward to last week when I started getting these notes home saying that the cookie dough order would be in on Thursday and HAD to be picked up on THURSDAY between the hours of 3:30 and 6:30.

I threw every one of them away. We, I was sure, had sold no cookie dough. These increasingly threatening letters were not meant for me, and I trashed EVERY ONE OF THEM.

Fast forward again to Thursday night. Imagine my surprise when the school calls me at 6 pm to ask if I am going to pick up my cookie dough order. Or rather, to TELL me to get my ass down there and pick it up. I tried telling them that we didn’t sell cookie dough. They replied with yes, you did, you sold it to yourself and so-and-so and so-and-so. I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

I sent my husband to pick up the “cookie dough” explaining to him that they were calling it the wrong thing. WE had never sold cookie dough, so this must be that other stuff we sold and they were IDIOTS and were calling it cookie dough which is why I THREW AWAY ALL THE LETTERS.

So he brings home this giant box of stuff we allegedly sold and I ignore it. Because I was sure it was full of nuts and magazines and whatever else we had sold but CERTAINLY NOT COOKIE DOUGH.

This morning the box is still sitting in my chair so out of curiosity I opened it.

Guess what was in it. Guess.

FUCKING COOKIE DOUGH. We DID sell cookie dough. I even BOUGHT cookie dough. Then I argued with the school about it and left it sitting out overnight in my warm house instead of the fridge because I was SO CERTAIN that we didn’t sell cookie dough.

I have obviously lost my mind. I blame the school and their “cookie dough.”


YES, Bring Your Fucking Jacket!

Ode to that most frustrating creature, the teenager who would rather freeze his bits off than wear a goddamn coat.

wear a fucking jacket

Teenagers everywhere

Freezing off their derriers.

Wear a fucking coat

It’s wintertime you dolt.

 

They are impervious to the cold

Until they get so old

Hoodies are not jackets

I’ve tried every kind of racket.

 

They don’t even care

As long as they have good hair

They don’t give a shit

About being frost bit.

 

This mom is wearing layers

But her boys are being players

Put on a fucking coat!

You are not a fluffy mountain goat.

 

You are a boy who this mom loves

And she worries because you won’t wear gloves

So please for the love of God

Put a fucking jacket on.