Roid Rage

For the last few weeks I have felt off. Well, actually if you want to know the truth, the last couple of years I have felt off. Last year, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. Which is basically an autoimmune disorder where your body destroys your thyroid. It was preceded by a litany of bizarre problems and it was a relief to find out that there was a reason for them all. That has not stopped the bizarre problems from coming, but it explains them.

I am sure no one wants to hear about my TSH levels, I am bored talking about them. I am tired, I am anxious, my hair is falling out, I feel like  I can't breathe, I am anemic, crazy bad anxiety, I have dry skin, Half of my eyebrows are gone, oh and I gained half a person in the last 2 years. In the big picture, people have it a lot worse than this. I know this. I also know that I have the power to make myself better through diet and exercise. I also know that I am not in the greatest of places emotionally.

I have said before that I often feel guilty complaining incessantly, that really does not stop me though.
The last time I visited my doctor, I voiced my concern that I was not feeling any better. She tested me for a bunch of stuff, most of which I did not have, which is awesome. What was super annoying was the fact that my thyroid level was up to where it was before I even got my diagnosis. A year in, on medication. We did the test a week later just to make sure it was not wrong, as it jumped up quite a bit since the summer. It was even higher. Sigh. Once again, there is relief in an explanation to my feelings because I spend most of evenings trying to talk myself off a ledge. I have had horrible insomnia, which coupled with the exhaustion I feel due to my stupid non functioning thyroid makes me feel loony. So it's back to the medication drawing board, trying something different and hoping for the best. At this point, I just need that little spark back, that feeling that I don't have to summon up every last bit of energy I have to go down to the basement and throw in a load of wash. That is one pathetic loserish feeling to have.

So, my pity party is going to be over soon, I am really starting to annoy myself. Today, today will be the last day. It's the first day of my new medicine, and I am going to call a nutritionist to help me get back on track with the healthy eating. It's time for some goals, I should make big ones and a few small ones just so I can remember what it's like to reach a goal.


Goals for the next 6 months:

1) Wear that fitbit.  Remember to not accidentally throw it in the garbage.
2) Fire up that vitamix. Nothing like starting your day with a zillion grams of protein in a nice green smoothie. What's that stuff Charlie Sheen drank? Tiger Blood, that can't hold a candle to my green smoothie.
3) Make sure I go on a vacation that does not involve: bringing your own toilet paper, 1 million steps, getting an x ray, and cooking my own food.
4) Try and figure out a way to get some sleep. I might have to hit myself over the head with a sledgehammer.
5) Get off gluten. Everyone's doing it. Why not me? (no seriously, it's bad for autoimmune diseases)
6) Do something different. I am thinking of volunteering somewhere. I want to put something good out there.
7) Be happy and grateful and loving.

Sometimes I think they are trying to kill me

This weekend, we took my son to New Hampshire for his belated birthday present. He wanted  to go mining, and we took him here.

that was 6 miles up a mountain by the way

We have never been to NH, and I will just start off by saying it is a beautifully magnificent breathtaking place. Breathtaking might be the operative word for me as I have exercised more in these last 2 days than I have all damn year.

We spent a lovely sunny day at the mine, which was at the top of a gorgeous mountain. Usually when my husband and son go on their adventures, I don't go. I was feeling extra feisty this trip though and I tagged along on everything. It was actually a lot of fun.

The next day, we went here.

that was just a small smattering of the stairs I would be going up and down

My first thought was 'wow, it's really pretty here' and my second thought was 'holy shit, I am going to die walking up those steps'. It was a trail throughout this amazing gorge, with caves you could go through (or not go through as in my case). I was thrilled to see my anxious child crawling on his stomach through these tiny little tight spaces. We had a blast and thankfully I did not die. I was also really glad I went along. That was something I was glad I did not miss.

So we were 2 for 2. Day 3 involved a trip to some obscure rock shop that my son somehow found out about. We drove over an hour to get there and included in this days festivities were a trip to a place called "Moat Mountain" where according to my rockhounding child, there was smoky quartz in them there hills ripe for the picking. The rock shop was able to give us directions and we were told that there was a 1 mile hike up a mountain bike trail to get to the mining spot. Already I started feeling trepidation. I probably should have listening to my gut instinct then and there, but honestly, I was still riding that buzz of 2 great days.

We finally arrived at the spot. It was just a little side of the road thing, with a few cars. We saw some dude on a bike and asked him if it was a hard trail. Well, apparently in NH, a 'hard trail' must be climbing mount everest, because this guy said it was easy. Ok, so we go. Buckets and hammers and waters in hand. Did I mention that I had my skechers go walks on and I was carrying all my crap in a knock off louis vuitton never full? I even brought a library book with me because I figured I would find a nice boulder to park my butt on and relax while the boys found me sparkly gems.

We embarked on our journey. At this point it was fairly late in the day. The trail started off just fine. We even got to see this:

beavers were here

We were so excited. How cool is that? So we continued on till we came to that proverbial and literal fork in the road. I am sorry NH but your park signs are jacked. Fix them. We thought we were going on the right trail. It was a series of hills, where you had to use things like rocks and tree roots to hoist yourself up. Going up was not as bad as going down, oddly enough. By the fourth hill, coming down, I lost my footing and my ankle let go and my foot twisted underneath itself and I wound up on my ass. I dusted myself off, got up and told myself, not entirely convinced, that I was in fact, ok. I figured we were almost there. It should only take a good 15 -20 minutes to walk .9 of a mile. So I soldiered on, pretty much impressed at myself. I am not a hiker and this was way way way out of my comfort zone.

Yeah, it still looked pretty to me at that point.

At about the 45 minute mark, we started to realize that things were not going the way they should. There was no mining area in sight and this up and down hill business was getting really old.  We were not sure if the trail would go in a circle, and we were not sure if we should keep going or turn around. It was like we had so much invested in this stupid hike, we did not want to just turn around. I was secretly hoping I would just go up one more hill and see the my car waiting for me. We debated what to do, and we decided to give it a few more minutes. We, meaning not me decided that. I wanted to leave. We finally got to a point where we faced the reality that we were not going to be finding the mine and that we had no idea if this dumb ass trail was going in a circle. Turning back was our option. My husband decided that he was going to find some smoky quartz dammit. Come hell or high water. So, I planted myself on a mossy spot and sat there listening to them hack away at rocks they most certainly should not have been hacking away at. While sitting there, ignoring the throbbing pain in my foot, I imagined all kinds of lovely scenarios. most of them involving getting eaten by a bear. It was starting to get less sunny and I kept calling to my husband to go. "In a second" he kept saying. Then, my son started crying that he had to go to the bathroom. Numero Dos. So, in a firmer voice, I called "WE ARE LEAVING NOW". Me, not being much of a hiker, was starting to get a slight panic attack. My foot was hurting and my son was having a bathroom emergency. And my biggest fear was it getting dark before we could get back to the car, and maybe we were in some endless loop and we would never find the car and we would be forced to eat wild berries and leaves and huddle in a pile to keep warm and eventually wither away and die with no one ever even knowing where the hell we were.
I tried to focus on just walking. Putting one mangled foot in front of the other and trudging up and down the path. My poor son was whimpering and my husband kept yelling at him to go take a dump in the woods. I in turn yelled at him to stop saying that and to just pick up the damn pace. Eventually we came back to the sweet,sweet beaver dam which signaled the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel for us. It was something we recognized, that was a good sign. Then up in the distance, 4 long eternal miles later, we saw the stupid evil jerk face, asshole sign that pointed us in the wrong direction.

I was never, and I mean never so happy to see my car. My husband at this point, I think is slightly disappointed in his wife and child's waning sense of adventure, but I felt zero guilt about that. We zoomed back down the mountain, and found the nearest gas station for my son. By that point, my foot was unwalkable. I think I willed myself not to feel as much pain as I was really in, so that I could get myself out of there. I got back to the cabin, iced it and took an aspirin and today, I am waiting on the results of my foot X-ray. It's probably a sprain, but I am seriously convinced that my husband and son are trying to run me ragged with their shenanigans. Next time, I am going to make a detour to the nearest spa. They can go do whatever they want.

Apple Whine

look, an apple butt

Ah fall, the crisp air, the smell of fireplaces burning, pumpkin spice everything. Apple picking. Oh yeah, that. My husband wants to go apple picking upstate this year. In the past, we have gone out on the north fork of Long Island. The apples were meh, but the apple cider donuts were really tasty and we would end our trip with a visit to the notoriously overrated Lobster Roll restaurant and declare the fall season officially in full swing.
Only last year, we did not go apple picking. I was ok with that. Why didn't we go? Well, first of all, my son has zero interest in apple picking. We tried to make it fun and interesting, in spite of that. The last year we went, he was particularly difficult. He wanted a woolly bear caterpillar, like the one he found the year before. The one he oddly named "Gary". We tried to find a woolly bear caterpillar but there were none. He was disinterested and pretty much made it impossible to enjoy the day, and coupled with the unusually copious amounts of yellow jackets, it was not fun.
That day, we tried to salvage what was left of it and as we left the orchard with our overpriced, unattractive, names I have never heard of apples, I mentioned how I was looking forward to enjoying a nice glass ofLong Island wine at the Lobster Roll restaurant with my meal.
My 9 year old son sitting, of course, in the back seat chimed in. "I'd like a glass of wine with my meal", he said, matter of factly. After 9 years on this planet, I am fairly certain we have discussed that alcohol is a grown up drink only to be enjoyed in moderation (and never while operating a vehicle).  Of course, I gave him my 'wine is for grown up's honey' spiel. My husband and I shared a glance, with a little smirk that said 'he is so funny'. That quickly morphed into 'Good God, make him stop' as he continued to carry on about how he wanted a glass of wine. Why couldn't he have a glass of wine with his lunch, especially since I was having one, he yelled. He sounded like a passionate lawyer. Like he took this to a level of it being disturbing.
He pretty much made it clear that he had zero idea why a 9 year old could not drink an alcoholic beverage with his chicken fingers at lunch.
At that point, we drove past the Lobster Roll, my desire for my overpriced lunch long gone. We drove home in silence, of course after my husband gave my son the 'see what you did to mom' speech as I sat there , plotting how I was going to run away from the two of them.

That day, we realized that as parents, in spite of our best of intentions and love, we had created a monster. Our only child, at 9 years old felt he was our equal. He felt like a 3rd partner in the relationship, with his vote counting just as much, if not more than ours. Things had to change. I am not entirely proud to admit that it was not something that happened overnight, and it's something we still struggle with. The nature of my son's issues also make it a little more complicated, however, instituting boundaries, consequences and rules, with a lot of 'because I said so's' thrown in, it has gotten better.

So, as we plan out our latest apple picking adventure, we are cautiously optimistic. My son won't go apple picking unless we throw in some rock hounding (his latest passion). We already know that apples are going to play sloppy seconds to rocks. As long as he does not insist on a scotch in a dirty glass at lunch though, I will consider it a success.

Question of the day

"Mom, are sock monkeys boys or girls?"

"I don't know"

"Well they have to be something. Maybe they are transgendered ?"






I have  to add, today, a day later ,that this question was prompted by a commercial that had a sock monkey in it. I think after he said it, I shrugged and said, 'maybe' and went back to whatever I was doing. That said, as I was falling asleep that night this conversation popped into my head and I kind of  waffled between, 'ha, that was cute and Oh shit,  I probably should have talked to him about what his understanding of that term and found out where he learned it. Once again, lackluster mom in the hizzhouse. At any rate, my alarms did not go off because it was said without judgement, more of a matter of fact statement.

Just no

This just made me feel like a super awful pet mom.

Someone really loves this goldfish.

The Universe has decided that it's hilarious

Tonight was open house for my son's school. It's his first year in middle school so we were very excited. This year, my son is in 2 self contained classes, which meet for 2 periods a day, and then 2 inclusion classes and he has Art and Health as well. The self contained classes are small, only about 6 kids in the class. This is my son's first time in a self contained class as he has been in only inclusion from kindergarten on. Not that it matters in regards to what I am about to write. At any rate, he loves this teacher, and he really likes the kids in the class. He has been talking about one boy in particular, and he has told me all about this boy and I am just so thrilled that he is finding people he can connect with. His friend, has invited him to join the chess club with him and my son agreed. That was huge news in our house, not only was he choosing a club, it was chess , which was something new and not having anything to do with gems and minerals. He was doing something because someone else asked him and he wanted to hang out with someone and try it. Thrilled. That is me.

Anyhoo, as the parents filed in, I pretty much knew which parent belonged to what kid. Except for my son's new friend. And at that point, his father walked in. Who was his father, you ask? You are asking because I am saying, "You are never in a zillion years going to guess who this kid's dad is". Go on, ask. Ok, I will tell you. This man just happened to be the principal of the school from the interview of doom. Oh yes, that interview. The one where I made a complete and utter fool out of my self. He was in each and every class (with the exception of art and science) and sat just to the left of me each time. When I saw him walk in, I said to myself, 'fuck no, please, really?????'. I texted my husband who was sitting behind me and told him who it was. He said 'screw him'. I of course just wanted to run over to him, tug on his sport jacket and say " I swear to you I am not really like that, please believe me. Pleassseeeeeeeeeeeeeee believe me." It took every ounce of restraint I had not to desperately and somewhat ironically try and convince him that I really am a reasonably intelligent functioning adult. He did not seem to even recognize me, but I am sure at some point the light bulb will go off and he will say to himself , 'oh yes, I know where  I know her from, she is that dingbat woman incapable of putting a string of words together to form a coherent sentence. Ha ha, loser'.

It would be one thing if that was the only contact I will have from him. I won't. My son has already informed me that he has invited his son  to come over next weekend and he has given him our phone number. Yes, universe, I get it, you have a sick sense of humor. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

It's so strange, but after that rotten interview, I kept thinking , if only I could run into one of them at the supermarket or something, I could somehow convince them that I was not a sorry fool. I know that job was not meant to be, but I could somehow erase that bad impression I left. Undo what cannot be undone. Maybe the universe decided to teach me a lesson that what you want, might not always be what you really want. Maybe the universe needs to get punched in the throat.

Oh Spikes

Spikes is at it again. I have never had a pet that is always appearing to have one foot at death's door. I don't know if it's just our bearded dragon or if that is the way it goes with these creatures but it's damn stressful.
After our last fiasco with spikes and his oozy sores on the side of his face, we were elated to see them healing and him returning back to his usual almost dead self. After a few weeks of no pooping, we gave him his bath, which seemed to do the trick. Yesterday, I noticed that his beard was black. It happens in adult male bearded dragons, when they are pissed off and/or stressed. Well, his beard is still black. Last night, I really truly thought we were going to lose him. He was not really moving and barely holding on to his log. He could not lift his head up.
He looks so unlively. I even sat with him, and put my face up to his face in his tank. I imagined it to be my own little pet hospice, I would help usher him into his next life. "It's ok Spikes", I telepathically communicated to him, "you can let go if you want, it's ok". He stared back, although it was impossible for me to gauge just what he was thinking. My son was understandably upset. My husband , always one to assign blame was peppering me with questions about what I was feeding him. That did not go over well.
I went to bed with a heavy heart, and also with the dread that I would discover spikes tits up in his tank in the morning. The logistics of that was not something I wanted to deal with. I asked my husband just what are we supposed to do with him, should he pass to the other side. He shrugged. I just did not want to be the one to have to deal with dead spikes.

We discussed taking him back to the vet. Honestly, and I know this might sound awful, but I just cannot afford another 200 dollar trip to the doctor, in which she can tell me that she does not know what is wrong with him and that he might possibly die. I already ascertained that. I also don't think a stressful car ride would help him at all. If he is pissed and or stressed right now, a car ride would just set him over the edge.

So, I google. I google some more. How many different permutations of "my bearded dragon is sick" can one come up with? A lot more than you think. I am trying to come up with explanations for this behavior. It could be the weather, it could be that the fly that was trapped in there by mistake the other day drove him insane, it could be an impacted intestine, it could be nothing, it could be the end.

I think after this, I am done with pets. I can barely deal with keeping the human I created alive and happy. And he lets me know on the daily what he needs and what hurts him. Which reminds me, I must go see if our beta fish is alive.

Bad manicures, and silver linings and gratitude.

Last Monday I got my nails done. Among my many neurosis and self defeating behaviors, biting my nails is at the top of the long list. So, in order to keep that demon at bay, I get manis. Feeling extra smug at the length of my lovely talons, I asked the lady to cut them. Apparently that was the beginning of my demise. She was a little over zealous, cut too much and possibly nicked the skin.

One week later, a thumb that looks as though it has been inflated like a balloon and feels like someone is repeatedly banging it with a hammer. It has woken me up the last two nights. If a thumb could scream, mine would be doing so at full blast right now. Sometimes I feel like my doctor internally rolls her eyes when I show up there. She is really nice and kind and a good listener, but I am just kind of filled with disgust over myself and my litany of odd problems. Once I convinced myself I had finger cancer because I had a weird lump on my index finger. I had an X-ray of my finger. Inconclusive, and I am still here with my finger. Once, one of hairs (from my head!) got stuck in my mouth and wrapped itself around one of my taste buds. It was there for a good 3 days or so and it hurt like you could not believe. I had to call up my dentist and tell them I needed help, but I was too mortified to tell them why. Luckily it dislodged itself before I had to go there and tell them I had no freaking idea why my hair was trying to kill me.

It turns out I have an infection in my finger. I feel so bad because all along I have been taking my thumb for granted. I had no idea how much I used it til now. Even typing this is excruciating. I am willing to suffer for my art though, I will carry on. I might not be able to make dinner though. I am going to warn my husband now that he might be foraging tonight.

It also turns out that I have now accomplished what I once thought impossible. I have reached my insurance co pay deductible. It is so high, and I think the joke is now on my insurance company, because I might actually be one of the first people to have that happen. I feel like I should go have some elective surgery or something, just to make it worth my while. I went to pick up my prescriptions today and there was no charge. Nothing makes me happier than free xanax.

If someone were to tag me in that gratitude thingy going around on Facebook, I would say I am thankful for:

My thumbs

Free pharmaceuticals

hair free taste buds

Not having finger cancer.

I realized today that as much as I want to go back to work, I am not ready to not be home for my son. I realize this is a huge luxury, me being able to make that decision. A huge luxury. I also realize it is a a big sacrifice as well.

I had the chance to go on a job interview for a great job. It was not a permanent position, just a leave replacement but it was a great opportunity. The only time they had open for the interview was at 1:40. Which would not allow me to be home for my son's bus, returning home from his very first day at Middle School. Never mind the fact that I had no idea what I would do with him if I actually got the job as I would have had to leave my house at 6:20 in the morning to make it there on time. Or what I would do with him when he got off the bus and I was not home for another hour.

I know people do it, and I know that if for some reason I absolutely had to do it, I would. I also know that at the moment I had to tell them , no, I am sorry, I can't make that, was both a very difficult thing and a very easy thing to say. I realized today, that I just can't do it yet.

Before I had my son, I had a great job. I was a tenured teacher, with ten years in. I had a year maternity leave. I was able to get another year of maternity leave as well. By this time however, it was apparent that my son needed a lot of help and that my work was going to be taking place in my own home. I had to resign. I was OK with it at the time. I figured I would just go get another job when he was older. Who knew how the future would unfold. Who knew?

It was not even a decision I made, it was just that I knew I needed to stay home. 20 hours of in home therapy each week, along with various physical therapy and occupational therapy appointments pretty much became a full time career. Getting my son to talk became my life's all consuming passion.

I guess I thought things would simmer down and I could make some space in my life for a career. While my son started talking and doing all the stuff I was terrified he never would do, the work is not finished. I know plenty of parents of children with disabilities manage to do so, somehow I feel like less of a person for admitting that I can't. Childcare is a whole different ball of wax when you have a kid on the spectrum. We don't really have that village that it takes. Today, as I listened to this school secretary describe the job I knew I was going to turn down, I felt a sense of panic. I could not leave, just yet.

I'd like to think that when I am really ready, the universe will smile down on me and gift me with the perfect job of my dreams. My son is my everything, but there are financial matters that must also be attended to. We are not what I would call 'financially sound' and at almost 50 years of age, my husband and I still struggle. We live in a less than perfect fixer upper tiny house that is bursting at the seams with just the three of us. We have very little saved up for retirement. We need a new car. The list goes on.

But today, I realized none of that mattered right now.

Deep Thoughts Staring Down the Barrel of the Teenage Years

My 11 year old son told me the other day, very matter of factly, that he was not going to college. I asked him what his plans were and he said he was going to follow his passion, which was rock collecting. I told him that most people do that kind of thing as a hobby, and it might be hard to make a living doing that. He asked me if I would force him to go to college. I explained that at that point in his life, I would not be able to force him to do anything, but if he was not going to college, he would need to find a way to support himself. He then asked me if people who work at walmart make a lot of money.

"No, no they don't" was my reply. Then he asked me about McDonald's. "No" , I replied again, "you won't make enough to live on if you work there.

He then asked me about a family friend's son, if he went to college. This friend, is developmentally disabled, and lives in a group home. "No, he did not go to college", I said. "Why?" my son asked. I took pause, as I have been doing a lot as of late, due to the prickly nature of my son's questioning. I explained that it takes him a little longer to learn things and that college would have been really difficult for him to understand and he would not have been able to keep up. I said though, he had a job and he had people helping him so that he could live with his friends in a group home. 

My son has suddenly become aware that he is not the same as the other kids. I kind of feared the day that this would come as I was not sure how I would even explain his diagnosis to him, when honestly, it did not seem to make much sense to me. Pdd-nos is such a vague term. I never really myself understood just what that would mean. It has been kind of amazing to see him mature and develop this self awareness. It makes me sad, yet at the same time, it's like an awakening in him, that ability to think in terms of himself in relation to the world. He point blank came out and said "Do I have special needs?". I stared at him blankly. Again, that pause. Um, Um, Uh....., "Well, Do I?". I took a deep breath. "Yes, you have special needs". " Well , what are they?", he so rightly asked. Again, my brain seemed to stop working. Like when the cable tv just seems to freeze and the people on the screen just stand there in stunned silence.

I told him that in school, he sometimes needs a little more time to work on things, and that sometimes he gets frustrated when he does not understand things right  away and gets upset. I said that he needs a little help staying focused on things, that sometimes he does not always pay attention. I should add that my son agreed with me. I realize that is lame and vague. But this is hard on me. These are things I have struggled with since those days we got that punch in the gut diagnosis. I am not always sure myself, just exactly what his special needs are. I know he has a hard time making friends. I know that he likes to talk about rocks incessantly and sometimes other kids don't want to hear it. I know he wishes that his friends would just do what he wants all the time and that he can't read their social cues to know when they are kidding and when they are serious.  I know he likes things the way he likes them and has no interest in the way anyone else likes them.

After he kind of took that in, his new question involved all the other special needs people he knew. He rattled off a list of the other kids that have been with him in his inclusion class since kindergarten. "Do they have special needs too?" , he asked. I said that they did and that most people need a little extra help every now and again. He seemed to be relieved to know that he was not the only special needs person in existence.

I was advised at one point by an overzealous school psychologist that I had to tell my son he had autism, sooner than later. I did not want to. Not because I am in denial. That ship sailed a long time ago. I am just not sure I can define autism in terms that he can understand. It's a lofty concept for a grownup, let alone an 11 year old hypochondriac who will think it's some kind of incurable disease. I can just imagine his reaction, "will it go away? how did I get it? Can I die from it? Does it hurt". This is a child who has inherited my ability to turn a hangnail into terminal cancer. 

I don't think I need to give him a finite definition of who he is or isn't, or what syndrome  he has or has not. I think, for him, it's important that he knows his strengths and he knows the things that he struggles with. 

As we embark on the new adventure that is called Middle School, I need to remember that he is far more intuitive and sensitive than I had ever thought. I need to take a giant step back and try and see things in the larger sense. I need to give him way more credit than I have been giving him.

11:59

Today has been a rough day. What have I been busy doing, that is so rough, you wonder? Mothering. Mothering and laundry.

I feel guilty for this whole damn day. I feel guilty for my feelings, guilty for the way I reacted, guilty for the words that came out of my mouth today.

My son, my joy, my reason for being, my heart, my son is difficult. One of his biggest issues is rigid thinking. He has always been like this but as we enter the teen years, I fear we will be experiencing a whole new level of this. I fear for my already fragile sanity. I often wonder what the neighbors in back of us think of us. My son likes to yell. The therapist tells us to remain calm and not engage, but by gosh by golly that is fucking hard. We just want him to be a happy well adjusted child, who learns how to manage frustrations, and can follow directions. We want him to be able to hold a job.

Today, from the second he got up, til the second he went to bed, he argued with me. He argued about ice cream choices in target. We left with none. He argued about the time he would show up to a friend's house tomorrow for a pool party. The invite said 12:00, he decided 11:50 would be perfect. Of course I politely tried to launch into a teachable moment about why we don't show up to people's parties early. He relented to arrive at 11:59. Um, no, 12:00. Mr. Control Freak did not like that and continued to press 11:59. I internally chuckled to myself for a moment, but then it started to get really annoying. He argued about dinner. He wanted tacos. I had no ingredients for tacos. If I asked him to take something out of the car, I got a resounding 'No, I am not doing that'. Honestly, he knew he would be doing it, he just seemed to enjoy the act of telling me no. He really enjoyed it as he did it at least 10 freaking times today. Did I mention the incessant tapping and drumming and noises he can produce. I know that some of it is involuntary, and whatnot, but when I ask  you to stop, for fucks sake, stop. Don't mutter under your breath 'never'. Don't.

If I vent to my husband,  he will tell me to take things away. I can tell you that taking things away, does not really move the needle.  I think the only thing that will help is if I act like a zombie. Dead inside and non reactive to any of his shenanigans. Say it once, and walk away. I can say it once, but the walking away part is kind of hard to do. I think that is more of a 'state of mind' in this house as there really is no where to go to get away from him when he gets upset and starts ranting.

Now that I have made my son sound like a maniac, I need to say that for the most part, he saves this behavior up only for me. I get compliments all the time about how polite he is. How well mannered he is. Tonight as he sleeps, I will relive each interaction we had today and mostly blame myself. I feel  like I somehow fuel this fire and don't handle the control issues all that well. I wonder if my control issues somehow make this whole thing even worse than it should be.


Mommy needs a spiked seltzer tonight. Or two or ten.

I've been dranking

Link to article about dumb ass teacher fired for playing drunk in love to her students

For real, I would not even let my 11 year old hear this song. If it came on in the car while I had the radio on I would change it immediately. Honestly, I would change it when it came on my pandora station while I was taking my walk around the neighborhood. I listened to it maybe twice and it made me uncomfy. Plus it kind of confused me. Surfboards, and watermelon? Waking up in the kitchen? Huh, wha? I felt like church lady listening to that song. I would not want to answer any questions that my child might have while listening to that song. Honestly, if I think about it that song kind of pisses me off. It's inappropriate and it's almost like porno.  I am not a member of the bey hive.

This story pisses me off because I am pretty much convinced that I am never going to find a job as a teacher any time this century and yet, morons like this are able to convince someone out there that they are worthy of collecting a paycheck for educating our youth. A math teacher too.

I am trying to figure out how she incorporated this song into a math lesson? How many stupid heads did it take to hire me as your math teacher?

Please Mr.Postman

Today, the mailman was kind enough to bring me 2 letters. One was from the hospital where I had my medical tests, the one where I applied for financial aid.  Apparently they need more information. They need documentation of my income. When I called, I explained that I had no income, that I was a stay at home mom, the charmer who answered the call, told me that since I had no income, then I would have to provide documentation of how much money I cost my husband each week to provide for me. I sensed a certain amount of self satisfaction and enjoyment as she told me this. I can't wait to work on this list. It will be so fun.

The other letter was this:

In other words, you suck.

Thank you, Universe, for making me feel like a big useless loser today.

Got it bad, Got it bad, Got it bad....I'm Hot for Teacher

Oooh teacher barbie, you so naughty

When I first started teaching, back in the 90's, my mom got me a teacher barbie with a talking blackboard for Christmas, as a kind of joke gift. For shits and giggles, I did a search on eBay to see how much that was worth, as I have never taken it out of the box.

Apparently in 1995 there was a glitch in the system and a number of these teacher barbies were extra naughty and were packaged in their boxes sans panties. Maybe the dude working the underwear putting on device at the barbie factory that day was feeling a little randy. Once Mattel realized the issue, they stopped sending out bloomer less dolls. According to the pervs on ebay, this makes teacher barbie extra valuable.

I don't think I would feel comfortable even selling my poor pantie-less barbie to some creeper.


OK, I am going go tear my closet apart now and do an undie check on my doll.

The Things We do for Love

For my son's 9th birthday, we got him a bearded dragon.  We never had a reptile before, there is quite a learning curve when embarking upon a herpetological adventure.  Growing up, I  had a sister, and neither of us liked bugs or insects or creatures of any kind. Having a son myself, I have constantly amazed myself at my willingness to encourage my son's love of nature. Before we got Spikes, my living room hosted a multitude of wildlife, including millipedes as thick as your index finger, tomato hornworms that hatch into disgusting bird like moths, a Madagascar hissing cockroach (that actually hissed)and various worms and bugs found in the backyard. I was not thrilled, but after a while, I kind of got desensitized to the various flora and fauna I was forced to host.

Bearded dragons are omnivores. I did not know this before we got him. I did not realize that what he ate, would also become our pets. We learned the hard way after a bag of crickets turned died en masse. The guy at petco laughed when we tried to return the plastic bag of cricket carcasses explaining  that we needed a special cricket keeper to house them and a jar of gelatinous cricket food.

It was not enough that we were charged with feeding Spikes, we were also responsible for the survival of his meals. My living room sounded like a forest. The chirping was almost deafening at times. Eventually we tuned it out, and even later on, crickets were abandoned in favor of mega worms. The first time I brought home a container of meal worms I cried. I opened the bag and I just sobbed. All I wanted to do was go to an American Girl doll store. That was not in the cards for me.
So, it became a big pain in the ass to feed our beloved creature. No one told me he would eat ten dollars worth of crickets/ worms in a week. No one told me I would be running to Petland discounts twice a week to purchase these items.

That said, Spikes became part of our little family. He does not do a whole lot, but he is a kind little creature. He is quiet. We are thankful that he does not poop that often because bearded dragon poop smells like a swampy roiling sewer on a 99 degree day. I consider myself a lucky gal the times he poops when I am not home and my husband has to clean out the tank. Spikes sits in our tiny living room, plodding along with us, watching us watch TV, listening to us argue and laugh, he is part of us.

Yesterday morning, my son ran upstairs and busted in my room crying that Spikes has a sore on his face. He was very upset about it. I came downstairs and checked, and yes, indeed he had a really bad sore on his face. That was not there the day before, or at least we did not see anything. He is in the middle of a shed though, so it's not uncommon for him to look like a slight fiasco. I googled, and did not really come up with anything. I thought about putting some neosporin on him.  I could not let it go though, and I started calling up some vets.

It's not really an easy thing to find a vet that treats reptiles, or at least not in my area. I called at least 11 vets and finally someone was able to give me a number of someone that could see him. We got an afternoon appointment. I dug out an amazon box for him and we got him ready for the ride. Can I just say now that it's not a good idea to put an angry lizard in a box without a top in the care of a germaphobic 11 year old boy in the back seat, while you are driving 60 mph on a highway. No matter how high you think the box is, it's not tall enough to thwart an escape.  At one point, spikes was clamped tightly to my son's shirt, he did not want to go back in the box. We finally arrived at the vet. My son ran into the bathroom and washed his hands for a good solid minute and tried to wash the part of his shirt where Spikes climbed on to him.

So, Spikey got an exam by a doctor. She started by pulling off all the shed from him, which kinda sorta made me want to yak. Then she asked me questions. I felt like my mothering skills were being put to the test with her questions. I guess I need to work on my defensiveness. On that exam table, his sore looked even worse and in fact, he had another one. It broke my heart to see that little guy suffering. They look really painful.

She said that he might have something called 'yellow fungus'. Which along with sounding completely gross, is also fatal. We were not prepared for that. It could also just be a skin infection, maybe he tried to scratch off his shed. Who knows, we certainly can't ask the patient. They were able to get a stool sample (lucky them) and I was given instructions on how to give him a syringe of antibiotics. If you think wrestling with a belligerent toddler trying to get them to choke down bubble gum flavored amoxycillin is rough,  you have never tried to give an angry bearded dragon antibiotics. It is not an easy task, by any means. It's a ten day supply. It's also a 2 person job. I will do what I have to do, but this morning I dreaded it. I think he realizes that the drops taste like shit. Today, he took one drop, then closed his eyes and tried to pretend I was not there trying to jam a giant syringe into his mouth.

She also gave me a prescription for some cream, which I had to take to CVS. That was almost comical. When I dropped it off, they asked for all my info. I explained that it was not for me, but for my pet.  When I went to pick it up however, they would not give it to me because I could not provide them with spike's birthday.  I thought the Rx was under my name, it was not, it was under Spike's name. The line was growing long with impatient people while they were trying to figure this out. The whole event was somewhat bizarre and and strangely humorous. It was weird not to use my insurance card at CVS, thankfully the cream was not too pricey. It needs to be mentioned as well that this whole extravaganza cost us a few dollars shy of $200.00. I got a lovely low balance alert on my phone this morning.

So now, we wait. Many times in the two years we have had Spikes, he has looked like he was circling the drain. Every now and again I have poked him with my finger to see if he was still alive. He likes to crawl under things and stay there for a few days not moving. I came downstairs this morning with great trepidation, and thankfully my fears were eased when I saw his slow moving breaths rise in his little lizard body and his eyes opened and shut. Our ultimate hope is that our Spikes makes a full recovery from whatever it is that plagues him. I hope that any treatment we give him now cures him and at the very least helps him not be in pain.

What I should be doing right now

Right now, this Monday night at 9:58 pm, I should be cleaning out my freezer. My window of opportune times to throw out unidentifiable and no longer wanted food is very small for 2 main reasons.
The first reason is because the trash is collected tomorrow and that would mean my unwanted food could be disposed of immediately, instead of fermenting all week till the next pick up.
The second reason is because my husband is working tonight and won't be home to scrutinize all the things I will be removing from the freezer.
I do all my cleaning based on those two principals. If I am cleaning up a closet, and I have bags of things I need to either donate or trash, I hide them till they can be disposed of. My husband has hoarder like tendencies. I think part of it is due to him being incredibly sentimental. Or at least, that is my way of making it seem less annoying.
Once, I had 1 big black garbage bags of toys in the back of my car ready to drop off at savers.It was also there with another large bag of my old clothes. I left it in there for a few days, and that was where I failed. When I got to savers, I opened up the back of my car and discovered that I was missing the bag that had the toys. I angrily dialed my husband on the phone and discovered that he was worried I was getting rid of something good and took the bag out of my car and into his garage. I use the term garage loosely as my garage looks like a post apocalyptic nightmare. I learned a lesson that day. Hide all evidence.
So, tonight, I must purge the freezer. There are random hot dogs in there leftover from camping trips. Giant bags of artichoke hearts that seemed like a good idea at the time. I need to make room for my new frozen fruit collection. I have been pinning vitamix smoothie recipes like a madwoman and I saw someone put all of their veggies and fruits in little individual serving size ziploc bags, ready to throw in the blender in the morning. I figured it would eliminate the excuse of having to actually assemble the ingredients for a smoothie if I had them all ready to go. I subscribe to the illusion that I too can have a freezer worthy of pinterest.

At any rate, everything must go now, the planets are aligned and the time is right to throw things away without guilt, or having to explain myself.
I think it boils down to how we were raised. I would not say my family was wasteful, but I would say my husband's family is the polar opposite of not wasteful. It pains my husband to waste things. I often find a half of paper towel stuck on the side of my coffee pot when my mother in law comes to visit. A whole sheet would have been wasteful, so the non wasted piece sits crumpled waiting for it's turn. Rotten fruit is a travesty. Once, I got a half hour lecture over a pear that I did not want to eat as it was way past it's prime. Not wanting to cause unnecessary angst for my husband, I feel like I am doing him a favor as well as me by doing my tossing when he is not around. I know that there is truth to what he says. We are a wasteful society. That said, I am not eating freezer burned hot dogs.

I am mind numbingly tired right now. All I want to do is go sit on my couch and watch a real housewife. But I must plug on. Such is the life of a clandestine tosser.

Life Lesson of the Week: How to Suck at a Job Interview.

When someone asks what you can bring to the job, be as vague as possible. Leave out as many details of all the things you have accomplished over the last 20 years. Disregard the work experience that has prepared you for the job. Do not even consider the life experience that you bring to the table. Stuttering and stammering is a great accompaniment to this.

Trembling hands are a nice touch. As is dry mouth.

Try not to include how you work well under pressure and can motivate even the most unmotivatable of people.
Don't come across as capable, instead, it is wise to just keep your mouth moving and  make as little sense as possible.

Don't hand out a hard copy of your resume either. You know, the ones you spent 20 dollars copying at office max the day before.

Make sure you are self depreciating. And make sure you use the word 'actually' at least 25 times.

When they ask you what your strengths and weaknesses are, make extra sure to spend more time talking about your weaknesses. Have at least 3 to discuss. Go on a little longer than you think is adequate. If you dare come up with a strength, it should be of indeterminate origin and not a really useful one for the job.

Try not to give specific examples at how you would act at this job. Try not to give the impression that you would be capable.

On the way out, don't look at the table of people who just asked you all those questions. Whatever you do, don't shake anyone's hands.

For a follow up, don't send a thank you note.

Spend the rest of the week mentally punching yourself in the throat and reliving each and every question and wondering what the hell happened to your brain.

The word of the day

My 11 year old son has the vocabulary of a 38 year old man. That lives in his mom's basement. Sometimes the words that come out of his mouth make me take pause. For someone who spent the first 4 years of his life essentially wordless (although not silent, by any means), he must have been taking in all the five dollar words he heard people using. Sometimes he uses them in the correct context. Other times, not so much.

Today, in Target, at the check out line we were talking about our impending bike ride. In an effort to get my non athletic self, and my non athletic offspring out and moving, we were planning on biking to the post office to mail out an ebay package. He wanted to get popcorn at the target food counter. So he told me, "first I need to go get my popcorn, and go home and eat it, and then we will go bike riding. Does that sound formidable?" "What?, I said. He again said "does that sound formidable, mom?. I said "yes". Although, I was not entirely sure what formidable meant. Upon looking up the definition of formidable, my answer to his question is actually debatable. Unless he thought I was taking him on a hell ride down a mountain cliff, I guess the correct answer would have been, "no, actually it's not formidable". I think he was trying to make it sound like he was trying to be agreeable. In actuality though, if you were to spend any time at my house listening to my child argue about every dang thing under the sun with me, including trying to be physically fit, you might actually think formidable was the correct word choice.

for·mi·da·ble

ˈfôrmədəbəl,fôrˈmidəbəl,fərˈmid-/

adjective

Inspiring fear or respect through being impressively large, powerful, intense, or capable.

"a formidable opponent"

Synonyms: intimidating, forbidding, daunting, disturbing, alarming, frightening, disquieting, brooding, awesome, fearsome, ominous, foreboding, sinister, threatening, menacing, dangerous

It's not easy being green

I have a love hate relationship with green juice. Mostly hate. I want to like it, it's packed with goodness and full of life and bursting with nutrients and vibrancy and all that stuff. But it tastes like ass.
I think it's mostly my rigid thinking getting in the way of my taste buds here. I like fruit . I even like fruit juice. I love veggies.. I like V-8. But somehow, mingling the two causes me some form of tastebud anxiety. My brain can't process a fruit and a vegetable mixed together like that.
I just got a vitamix for my birthday. It was on my long list of 'things I really want but won't ever get'. I was shocked last week to see a giant box on my dining room table next to a smiling husband. He was so proud of himself and I was definitely surprised. My kitchen is not worthy of it. I know it sits there mocking me thinking it somehow wound up in the wrong house. It came with a giant binder of recipes. Recipes filled with goodness. The promise of a new day of healthy living in a shiny new gigantic blender.
The first thing we made was a pina colada. With the exception of the rum, it could actually be considered a Paleo concoction as the only other ingredients were pineapple and coconut milk. It was delicious.
The second thing I made was a green smoothie. After a $98.00 jaunt to whole foods and a cart full of hope, I was good to go. My idea of a smoothie is like a milkshake. This was not my idea of a smoothie. It had grapes, a half an apple, a half a kiwi, a smidgen of cucumber and a bit of broccoli along with some water and half a lemon. It was supposed to be a breakfast energy drink but I procrastinated making it all morning and after 5 cups of coffee, I finally relented at 11:00 am. It was a beautiful shade of lime green.  I still did not want to drink it.
I felt the pressure though. My husband got this for me so that I could forge on with my ever present plans of eating clean and vigorous exercise. I spent all this money on fresh organic produce. I poured the concoction into the glass and took a sip. I'd like to say it was delicious. It was not. But it was not the worst thing I ever drank. I choked down the rest of what I had in the glass. While I was drinking that, the stuff left in the blender started to turn brown due to oxidation. Part of me felt guilty for pouring it down the drain. But most of me did not.

I don't know if most people are like me. I have two me's inside me. The one that is on the straight and narrow, gluten free, sugar free, carb free, riding my bike, parking far away, drinking lots of water and going to bed early. That me is well groomed, wears makeup and even puts earrings in.Then there is the other me. The one that eats cookies for breakfast, and wears pajamas to the supermarket, and frequents the wendy's drive through, and does not always wash her hair and accidentally throws her fit bit in the garbage.  It's a constant battle between these 2. They both put up a valiant fight and honestly, it's still anyone's game. Somehow, they need to go to mediation and come up with a plan to get along. If I could figure that out, I would not need to drink green juice.

It must be known that I love my vitamix. It was a very thoughtful and extravagant gift and I know I will get lots of use out of it!!!!!! Both sides of me love it too as I am going to whip up a nice broccoli soup in it, as well as some margaritas.

Lift that rock up for me so I can crawl under it.

I had a job interview today. After 11 years basically at home, with the exception of a bullshit part time job here and there, I had an interview for a real job. I submitted my resume on the online teacher database for my state, and low and behold, right out of the gate, I landed myself an interview. I did not need any favors called in, any friend of a friend to put in a good word, or hand in my resume. I got it all on my own.

I spent the last 2 weeks mentally rehearsing all the platitudes of life I would spout. Profound yet no nonsense was the angle I was going for. I am a good teacher, and I would have been really good at this  job. It was not an easy one, and it was not a high paying, tenure track job, but it would have been a great way for me to get my feet wet so to speak. There was a panel, 4 people.  They did not ask me any hard or unusual questions. Yet for some reason, all of the philosophies of life I spouted to myself on the long drives in the car last week seemed to evaporate from my brain and all that came out was blah blah blah blah blah. Even as it was coming out of my mouth, I knew it was not the way I intended it. Why did I choke? Why did I act like someone who had no teaching experience, or life experience or even any kind of brain?

Maybe I am not as ready as I thought I was . Maybe my confidence is not where it should be. I used to be a lot more confident. Being at home for 11 years, gaining weight, frumpified and somewhat isolated is not good for your ego. I need to work on that. I know one day I can use this horrid experience to my advantage. Just not today. Today I want to take my bra off, put on my jammies and go watch 'Don't beTardy to the Party' with  a bag of chips in my room.

I sat on a hiring committee a couple of months ago as parent member, we hired a high school special ed Social Studies teacher. I felt so bad for the candidates who had to endure that. I think what made me choke is knowing that these people who interviewed me were going to spend the next 15 minutes after I left ripping me apart. I think, no, I know, that is the part that I must get over.  If I can be strong enough to not let that rattle me, I will be ok.

When I left, the one teacher to my right made eye contact with the principal on my left. She made a face, it was not a good face and it was about me. I wanted to say then and there, 'um, lady, I can see you'. I made it out to my car and proceeded to sob like a pathetic sad sack.

In the big picture, it's a blip on the radar, one of life's lessons. My son asked me how it went and after I told him , he said 'that's ok, you will get another chance, was it something you loved to do?' That was  good question. I am not entirely sure that was the job for me, and perhaps the universe has some other plans for me.

The Daily Grind

I am a night grinder. To put it mildly. I am slowly destroying all the teeth I have in my head. I have lost 2 teeth on my right side due to this horrible habit that I can't seem to control. I am about to lose a third tooth, only now it's on my left side.

I have a night guard, in fact, I have had many night guards, the one before last I dropped in the toilet bowl. I could not bring myself to put that back in my mouth, no matter how many times I cleaned it. I just got a new one, apparently this one is the heavy duty model. They don't make them out of stainless steel yet, I think I need something stronger than a piece of plastic.

This disturbs me. It bothers me that my mind is so troubled, that it's not even enough that I worry and stress during my waking hours. No, I must continue the self torture while sleeping. It's like my mouth says to my brain as it lulls me off to sleep 'don't worry guys, I got this'.

In my  many googles, I came across this sentence, "nighttime bruxing can occur as often as 40 minutes for every hour of sleep, producing up to 250 pounds of force per square inch. That is enough pressure to crack a walnut"


Maybe instead of the night guard, I should just shove a walnut in my mouth.


It sucks. It really does. I would like to be a Buddhist but I think my wiring is not conducive to that. I think my brain needs a kill switch. I have read all kinds of things, like you are supposed to consciously open your jaw, and not have your teeth touch while you have your mouth closed. The problem is, I don't do it during the day. I am not much of a sleeper to begin with. Between the hot flashes, and the subsequent chills and the thoughts of my mortality and the bill I forgot to pay last month, it's really not that great.

In an effort to save my remaining teeth, I downloaded a hypnosis recording for my iPad. I listened to it last night. It has this emotionless British woman telling me to relax and pretend my hands feel like lead. In addition to this it supposedly emits frequencies that send my brain into a relaxed state and then I guess it tells me to stop grinding my teeth. Honestly, I fell asleep halfway into it, although I would kind of wake up intermittently and hear all these weird and crazy sounds. It was a little disconcerting to be honest.

I am not sure if it helped with my grinding, but it certainly did help to lull me off to sleep. I will give it some time. If it does not work, I will go buy a bag of walnuts.

The endless road

My son does not like traditional camp.  Once I signed him up for the y and by the second day he told me he was not going back. Since he is an only child and my block does not have much in the way of kids to play with, I have to find various week long programs in his area of interest. That is not too much of a problem, the finding of the programs. It's just that none of them are even remotely close to where we live.
I tell myself each spring when I start signing him up for this stuff that it won't be so bad. I will listen to music, I will drop him off and go to the gym, I will organize the closets in the 2 hours in between the 2 hours of driving. I don't know why I believe these lies I tell myself each year. I am almost done with the second week of a three week stint and my sanity is starting to falter. To say I am developing a slight case of road rage would be an understatement. I think I have that look in my eye.

I have a lot of time to think on these drives. And think, I do. I remember the most random crap. And I think about all the weird stories and people I have met in my life. Little snippets of bizarre. I guess we all have those.

Today, I was thinking about a group project I had to do in college. Does anyone in their right mind enjoy a  group project? It was for a philosophy class. I remember not knowing anyone as it was my first year there, and well, I was not the most confident, outgoing and social creature. My team, including me ,was made up of 4 people. Two guys , myself and another girl. One guy, I can't remember his name but I think he was a jock,  seemed like he was disappointed to be in our group. The other guy was named Chad.  The girl was named Sheila.  Our project was on the philosophy of art and if it was indeed possible to discern the difference between fine art and a print ad(it wasn't). I remember it being so awkward. We met that first time in the rathskeller (a glorified bar). It was like a blind double date. I don't know how we managed to get that presentation together. I remember Sheila and I bonding over our dislike of Chad and his smarmy attitude. The other guy did not contribute much either. I remember our presentation, we were all so nervous and I think it was over really quickly. I also remember we got an a-. I think during that time I considered double majoring in art and philosophy but my mom got angry at that idea and told me to forget about that immediately. I think the rationale behind her insistence was that majoring in art was not really going to make me career ready and there was no need to add in another useless major in there. I liked philosophy because it made me feel smart. I liked feeling smart.
At any rate, after the presentation, I never spoke to Chad or the other guy again but I remained friends with Sheila. She was kind of bizarre and I appreciated that, although I never really felt entirely comfortable with her either. It was hard to get a read on her. There was this peep show place near our university. It had those booths that you put money in and watch a show. I think the women's study majors would go and picket it regularly. Sheila and I used to talk about how creepy and gross it was there. She decided she was going to go in there and see what the hell they do in there. She went by herself. I decided Sheila had some set of balls to do that, as I would never have ventured in there in a group, let alone by myself. I think she said she took the bus there. She said it was kind of depressing. That there were a few men in there that would go into a private room and a screen would come up and a girl would do a little dance and then the screen would go down. She said they also had these movie that you would look at, which I imagined to be like those flip book contraptions that they used to have at the shoe store when I was little. You cranked the handle and looked through a view finder and it would be a little movie. Only this was a dirty version.
I wonder what happened to Sheila. If I knew her last name, I would look her up on Facebook. It was 30 years ago, good Lord.
I have no idea what made me think of Sheila, or that group project or even the University of Wisconsin at Madison today, but I did. I feel like I have been going through the catalog of the stories of my life lately. That was a nuggett that wanted to be remembered.

and another thing.

Today, I kept thinking about that movie. I also kept thinking that I was recommending a great movie to absolutely no one in particular as I don't think anyone is actually reading this blog.  I was going to delete it but even that, is kind of silly and pointless. Instead, I just want to talk about that movie. Tonight, I let my son stay up a little later so I could get him to sit close with me on the couch and watch diner's drive ins and dives. It's rare that I get my 11 year old to lean his head on my chest and let me pretend he is just a bit younger. He lets me kiss his head and smell his freshly washed hair. I remember vividly one night when he was like 2 weeks old, when I sat up all night, watching bad TV with him on my chest. I remember telling myself one day he is going to be so big and it's going to be a blink of an eye. It was one of those profound moments you have. Like a notch in time.

Just watching 12 years of lives unfold right before you, it just kind of got to me. I mean, I know it's a movie, but it had that special element, it could even be called a gimmick but it added such a bittersweet tinge to the whole thing. That sweet boy, he just evolved in front of me, and even though I know it goes really fast, to just watch it up there on the screen kind of drove the whole thing home. And just in case anyone is actually reading this, I won't give away too many details(not that there were any shocking moments, it was more of a glimpse into a family's life) but I really relate to Patricia Arquette's speech in the end where she realizes that her kids are grown and that's kind of it. It really is the blink of a flipping eye. 

I have really been feeling that pressure lately, that pressure to make something of the time I have left. That quote I see on fb, attributed to Buddha, about how you think you have more time than you do. Ugh. It's kind of ruining my present for me as I feel like I really need to get my ass out in the world and go make some kind of difference. 

Motherhood has kicked my ass ten ways til Tuesday. But it's time for me to stop hiding. And I need to really be in the moment, especially when it comes to my son.

When things are crappy, as they kind of are for me right now, I really want to make it better now. I want this feeling, these feelings to go the fuck away. Honestly though, it does not work that way. Change is a process that you can't rush.You can't wish those icky feelings away, instead, I need to look that tiger in the eye. Stare it down. Feel the feels. I have been reminding myself of that when I start to freak out and think that things are never going to change and I am just going to sit here and be stuck. I have already changed so much in the last few months, I need to remind myself of that too.

Anyhoo, if anyone is actually reading, go carve out some time for yourself and see that movie. It was like watching a really good book unfold before your eyes.

Boyhood

See this movie. Once you get past the totally cool concept of Linklater filming this movie over the course of 12 years so that everyone in the movie ages and grows up right before your eyes, it's a really great story. Especially If you are like me and like to cry at movies. There is part in there where the mom, Patricia Arquette really nails motherhood home. It's long, so get a large popcorn and lots of ice in your big soda. And bring tissues.

ebaybaybay

Why have I waited so long to discover the goodness that is ebay????? I could kick myself at the thought of all the valuable treasures I have dropped off at savers,  just happy to get it out of my house, when all along, I could have been earning cold hard cash. I don't know what my problem was. I think the shipping is what scared me away. I was under the impression that I needed to somehow weigh the items I was selling and be precise and accurate and that it was just a whole bunch of trouble that I would not be able to deal with.  I think I also thought no one would buy anything from someone without a long history of feedback. I don't even know what I was thinking.

2 weeks ago I listed a marc jacobs bag. It was a bag I bought when I was angry at my husband for going to Oktoberfest in Germany with his friends. I saw it in Lord and Taylor, all shiny and unaffordable and completely unnecessary. I did not buy it at first, but I let my anger fester and build till the only solution for it was to go and purchase that bag. I have to admit that as cute as it was, it was bought under bad circumstances. It had bad vibes. Anyhoo, I listed it a week and a half ago. It wound up not selling, but it popped my ebay cherry and I was now free to go rummaging through my house like a crackhead looking for things to sell for my next fix.  I remembered the  horribly uncomfortable leopard skin peep toe pumps stored away in their original box on the top shelf of my closet. Someone might want those torture devices. They were cute, albeit painful. I know some people don't mind wearing uncomfortable shoes for the sake of looking adorable, but I am not one of those people. So I got my iPhone and snapped a few pics of them. I highlighted the bottoms, they had not even one scuff mark due to the fact that I might have hobbled maybe 25 feet tops in them. From the car to the restaurant and then from the restaurant to the car. 

Those wound up selling, proving that one person's trash (or painful instruments of torture) is another persons cute pair of pumps. I have to say, I really enjoy the whole process, there are so many elements that I love. I love deciding how much I would like. I like that I don't have to tell this to someones face, like at a garage sale. I like that no one hassles me or laughs at me and says 'are you nuts?' or 'could you do better like that ' or ' I will give you fifty cents for them'. You get to start the bid at any number. I am now conducting my own studies on what is most preferred- having a straight up number, like $20.00, or perhaps using the 'as seen on TV technique of adding $.99 to the end, or coin you go with $.50. Such decisions.Then, you get to decide if you want a reserve.  You pay for that security, but for some things, I have realized it's worth it. Or you could just throw caution to the wind and have no reserve.
Oh and the 'buy it now', do you settle for less? Cut your losses, or just make it a crazy high number and hope for the best? It's like a game of chess. 

Then, you get to obsessively check and see if anyone is watching your item. I just keep the page on my computer and refresh it ten million times a day.

Right now, I have 10 things for sale, one of them is the mangry marc jacobs bag. The rest are vera bradleys. Which my sister refers to as my old lady bags. I am not sure what I saw in them, but at one point I must have loved them hard because of I have so many of them. They were my reward that I unearthed when I cleaned out my closet last Sunday.

Then, if you have the app, you get a little sound letting you know that someone has entered the arena, and placed a bid. The best part is waiting till the last hour of the auction. That is when it's a real nail biter.

The whole thing just kind of makes me hand flap in anticipation. I am mad at myself for not discovering this sooner.