Tena doesn't live here anymore

I've Moved!
YOU WILL BE REDIRECTED MOMENTARILY
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You looking for me? I've gone into the Witness Relocation Program. Not really... you can find me HERE now. If you subscribe, I might even share my stash. You're dying to know if it's chocolate, Xanax or pot, aren't you?

www.tenastherapy.com

In high school, I never gave into peer pressure. I was cool with being uncool. It worked for me.

I never drank because I felt I had to- just to fit in. I did drugs in college because, well, I wanted to. I was promiscuous with only the men that I wanted to be promiscuous with. I've always marched to the beat of my own doped up, slutty little drummer- usually in a band with long hair and tattoos... until... yesterday.

Ah, yesterday, times were so much simpler.

I had my modest little website and we were happy. I had hundreds dozens of committed readers and subscribers at my little blog and things were good. Until... yesterday.

Yesterday, I was just minding my own business and being my normally productive self (read: goofing around on the computer with my Aiming Low friends) when the topic of owning your own domain came up. If you're not a blogger, this is, simply owning the domain name- like www.mytherapy, for example. It's way more professional, easier to get to, and known commonly in the blogosphere as "putting on your big girl pants".

What's fun about being professional and wearing big girl pants? I'm not sure.

I considered it for a moment, but then when I discovered that http://www.mytherapy/ was a real therapy site and already taken, I said screw it.

Until the peer pressure started.

"Your blog is not cool unless it's on WordPress."

"You suck if you don't own your own domain and take this hit of acid."

"Everyone's doing it."

Ok, so maybe I just heard those things in my head and they didn't pressure me, but still... I'm impulsive... I ran to the home of the domain names and bought www.tenastherapy.com.

Then, I decided to move to WordPress- which is the equivalent of taking off the blogging training wheels on a bike that I already didn't know how to ride.

What the hell was I thinking?

That is a very good question.

I was trying to keep up with the cool kids. Prove that I could fit in. How wrong I was!

These are big technological moves. I am not tech savvy- like, REALLY not- like, I'm proud that I know how to check e-mail and use a cell phone- not tech savvy. I hadn't the first clue of what I had gotten myself into.

I felt like I was going to puke for the last 18 hours, but with the help of a little Portuguese angel with a gorgeous technical brain and more patience than Taylor Swift, and a few doses of anti-depressants, I am now wearing sexy panties and riding a two wheeler at www.tenastherapy.com!

And... I have 1 subscriber. Yeah, they didn't carry over. So, this is me... starting over. Have pity on me and join me, won't you?

www.tenastherapy.com

Shallow much?

This week I will be turning 37. That's not old, really, is it? Lie to me. While we're at it, these pants don't make me look fat, do they?

It has been almost 20 years since I graduated high school. Now THAT makes me feel old.

I am planning my reunion and being reminded of old names and faces. Some, I don't remember, at all. I told myself that must have been a mistake- that they couldn't have been in my class- because I would have remembered them! Upon referring to my yearbook and being proven wrong- it's official, I'm getting old and losing my mind.

This morning my fear was reinforced by me removing my eye make-up with toner.

Being faced with a rapid decline in my quality of life and a reunion of people that knew me when I was skinny, had a tight ass, and was academically over-achieving, oh, have times changed! I've decided it's time I get my shit together.

So, I have 11 months to lose the 30(+)lbs that I've put on since high school, decide what I want to be now that I'm grown up and become VERY successful in my chosen path so I can brag about it and be able to afford that much needed tummy tuck, Botox, Restylane, and Juvederm.

My son needs to become the star football player on his team (even though he's not even a starter) and an honor student (that's gonna take a little a LOT of work), my girls need to become accomplished students, musicians, and maybe models or actresses. My husband needs to get in shape so he can be my "trophy husband" who dotes all over me and make those ex-boyfriends kick themselves.

I don't know... am I expecting too much? Don't get all philosophical on me, I'm joking. Mostly.

No one needs to know that I wear elastic waisted pants and my husband's t-shirts, preferably without a bra, while I sit at a computer daily and spew random thoughts and way more information about incontinence, parental mis-steps and mental instability than one person should reveal on a public forum.

That'll be our secret.

I watched it so you didn't have to

I seriously get sexually aroused at the thought of the Academy Awards every year. It's so exciting- the glamour, the guessing, the parties, the movies. Ironically, I don't get out much... or see movies much until they're out on DVD... which puts me at quite a disadvantage in my Oscar picks. Frankly, I am thoroughly unqualified to write about the Academy Awards.

HOWEVER, the Emmy's, is a different story, entirely. I watch a lot of fricking TV. And for you... I watched the Emmy's in case you didn't have 3 hours to sit on your ass and eat ice cream... you're welcome.


Here is my recap...

First, it was a great show, I didn't nod off once, which is a good sign for an award show. The new format worked well. There were 5 segments- separated by genre- comedy, variety, reality, miniseries/movie, and drama- good idea- I knew I could go refill my glass of wine during the miniseries/movie segment of the show!

I will admit, I was leery about Doogie Howser being chosen as the host. I'm sure I wasn't the only one, which I believe made him try that much harder and it paid off!

Neil was very entertaining (and adorable- yet another cute boy lost to the other side!)... and not in a "I'm trying too hard" kind of way. He was real and honest about jokes that sucked. From his announcing presenters by their most obscure acting credit (like after school specials) to his sidekick color commentator (actor), John Hodgeman, who made up hilarious facts about the winners as they walked up to the stage, it was a FINALLY, an awards show with personality!!!

I won't bore you with any more details... now, the stuff I noticed...

***Tracy Morgan looked pissed off at a joke about Kanye West ("Let's hope that Kanye West likes 30 Rock")- get over it Tracy, that was funny!

***Kristen Chenowith is adorable and they should shrink her down just a little more and make pocket sizes of her- they'd sell like hotcakes. HOWEVER, there should be a rule against nominations from cancelled shows OR cancelling shows that have nominations, just sayin'.

***I don't like that Jon Cryer won. Johnny Drama. It urks me more than words. Kevin Dillon. I don't like Two and a Half Men, I think it's a lame ass comedy that belongs on the CW. Johnny Chase. He was originally offered Matthew Perry's role of Chandler on Friends, he must have something, but I don't see it, all I see is Ducky! Kevin Dillon. I had a favorite, but I won't editorialize.

*** I'm not loving JT's 'nerdy look'
*** I liked Amazing Race and Survivor FOR THE FIRST TWO SEASONS- I'M OVER IT! Why do they keep winning in the reality category???

***Neil's gayness shone through with his overt excitement over the dance segment.

***Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgewick didn't look destitute to me.

*** Ken Howard, The White Shadow- himself, gave goose bumps when he thanked the woman that gave him a KIDNEY!!! I just got chills again writing it- what a nice story!

*** Patricia Arquette had no business wearing that dress- holy boobs- I hope she got out alive!

***Dear music director, when Patricia Arquette comes out, don't play Toto's Roseanna, that's HER SISTER not her!

*** I'm also over The Daily Show winning.

*** YUM

*** Toni Collette- YEAH!!! You must watch United States of Tara if you don't already. I once wrote a post about it, but true to form, I can't find it, trust me, the show is good.

***BOO! Aaron Paul from Breaking Bad should have won, but YEAH Bryan Cranston- 2 years in a row! You must also start watching Breaking Bad.

***I'm probably going to hell for this one, but I was uncomfortable watching Michael J. Fox.

*** Last year, I had 'watch Mad Men' on my list of things to do, now I really must get around to that.

Walk a mile with someone else's boobs

I'm not an expert in... well... anything. However, I feel like my life experiences have taught me a lot. Jack of all trades- master of none- is really a good way to describe me. I dabble in a little of this and that.

This is my breastfeeding saga.

When my son was born, I was a single mom. 23 years old and freaked out, scared out of my wits. I had never even changed a boy's diaper. I didn't even plan on having kids until my life took this unexpected detour.

I made a conscious decision to not breastfeed him because I knew I would have some hurdles in this solo parenting journey that haunted me and I wasn't up for any more unknowns. I knew I would likely be depending on the help of my family and friends and that being the sole milk machine, might make it more difficult to call on them in times of need.

In the hospital, I got 'the look' from the nurses, that look: you young, ignorant, slut- don't you know breastfeeding is best! I knew, I didn't care, I was lucky I had gotten this far- healthy baby, full term. In hindsight, I was selfish and fresh out of my college rebellion phase and maybe grasping onto it, slightly, minus the sex and drugs.

My son thrived on formula (GASP) and is still healthy and, as a 14 year old, I think he's thankful that I can't pull out stories and pictures of me breastfeeding him when his friends are over.

Enter child #2- planned- thought out- legs up in the air- watching the calendar- taking pregnancy tests constantly- planned. I was determined to do this one right. I wouldn't let those bitches judge me this time. I was in the mothering groove and I was ready to attempt breastfeeding. I took the classes. I read books. I was serious.

Child #2 had other plans. Plans of crying constantly. Plans of screaming until my ears bled. Plans of being lazy and having NO INTEREST of latching on. I went to the lactation consultants with baby in hand and tears in my eyes. Nothing.

I attended a nursing support group that was held in the backroom of a child's second hand store. The store owner and leader of the group was pregnant and had her 2, 3, and 5 year olds undoing her bib overalls at their whim throughout the meeting to get a drink of "milky". As much as I was put off by this, it made me feel like that much more of a failure, because I couldn't get my ONE newborn to latch on! I left there feeling worse.

I went to my pediatrician. I sat in a dark room swaddling a naked baby at my breast while massaging her legs and begging her to latch on while the doctor watched-for-an-hour. AWKWARD. But still nothing. She was 4 weeks old when my doctor finally decided that she was a 'lazy nurser' and I would probably be better off bottle feeding. She won. Her will was stronger than mine.

Child #3 -I could prove that I wasn't a failure. Breastfeeding wouldn't take me down. I was confident. I had done this before (no one needed to know that I failed, miserably.) From the moment she was born she latched on like a champ. It was a completely different experience- it was rewarding, overwhelming, redeeming. I reveled in it. I finally accomplished this hurdle and unspoken judgement that had followed me for so long. She nursed for 11 months and never took a bottle or drank formula.

Child #4 followed suit of #3- as if she left the directions, step by step, in utero. It was too easy. So easy, I never wanted to stop, knowing that she would probably be my last, I wanted to hang on as long as I could. I needed her to need me. I started getting family comments, "isn't she about old enough to be done nursing, yet?" She probably was, I wasn't. I could have kept going for a lot longer. I gave in to social stigmas and acceptability. At 13 months, I weened her. And me.

I've been on both sides. I see why people make the decisions that they make. I don't judge. This is never an easy decision and is rarely a simple road. Women need to stick together and stop with the high and mighty shit- from both sides.

The cherished smell of a baby, a mother's love, the emotional attachment and adoration for that baby is no less or more with breastfeeding. We all want to do what is best for our baby's health, future, and happiness. Every one's circumstances are different and we do the best we can with what we have. Only you know what works best for you and your baby.

Deer might seem pretty, but they mean you're going to have a shitty day

Today I woke up to 3 deer running through the pasture across from my house as the morning fog was clearing. It was picturesque- you'll have to take my word for it because my camera was in my car.

I decided that was a sign of what should be a lovely and productive day, as I raced upstairs to put on a sport's bra and workout clothes. I never got to the gym- how the time flies.

Next, on to be productive at the grocery store, to pick up a few 'healthy items' for dinner. I walked out with donuts (Wha? They were on sale!?) and pasta (it's easy) in PLASTIC bags because I left my reusable bags in the car!

I thought I'd get ahead on my bills- not paying them- that's funny- no, just getting them ready for when the money tree blooms. I found an insurance bill that was due 2 days ago- FAB!

This day just keeps getting better despite the momma deer and her fucking frolicking fawns!

I really planned to make this day positive and move away from my Negative Nelly route, but alas, it is not time to move on yet. I had the best intentions, hoping for simpler times when my cable went down and I could call the cable company and complain... but now, I have to go check and see how late I am on the bill.

History

Today is 9/11.

I never liked history. It bored me. It was something I could not relate to since I wasn't alive for any of it. My eyes glazed over as a student taking the required courses.

My husband loves history, can't get enough of it. He has always been able to see how it relates to him. His mom was pregnant with him when JFK was shot. His mom has always told him the stories of where she was and how it felt and in that way- he felt connected. I think that's where his love and appreciation for history began- he could relate to it- he saw how his life was affected by it.

September 11, 2001 was that point in my life, when something so huge happens in your world, that it makes you take a step back and appreciate everything and look at the big picture. A time when you see that things are bigger than you and the bubble you live in. A point when you realize it's not all about me.

Sadly, regretfully, I was 29 when this tragedy brought that revelation to light.

Eight years later, instead of harping on the sadness of that day, I think of the positives that grew from living that experience. I am more conscious of my world and interested in learning what led us to where we are today.

This is my account of what happened from my view on that day (posted last year). The man that was killed was also my son's best friend's uncle.

My son was only 5. His favorite subject in school is History.

I'm now proud of that...


Seven years ago, I had a 10 month old that was going through a bad habit of waking at 4:30AM- screaming for a bottle. I had a routine of going to her room in a zombie state, bottle in hand, and feeding her as I sat in the rocking chair in her room. Not being a morning person, the broken sleep was more than I could stand. I stumbled my way back to my bed and cozied in. My husband would leave for work at 5:30, right as I was getting the baby and myself back to sleep.

My 5 year old was just a few days away from starting Kindergarten. Luckily, I had trained him well enough to pour cereal and turn on cartoons for he and his 2 year old sister as I caught up on my beauty sleep!

I remember the clock read 7:58 (Central time) and the phone rang. I remember cursing my husband in my mind for dare waking me out of my slumber before my babysitter, Dora the Explorer's, time was up. I'm sure my tone of voice was not welcoming to my neighbor, a friend and fellow stay at home mom, who was actually on the other end of the phone.

She asked if I was watching TV. I recall trying to 'play off' the fact that I was sound asleep while my kids fend for themselves. I'm, uh, cleaning, the television is on Nickelodeon, but no, I'm not watching it, why?

She goes on to say that she assumed that I was watching kid's TV, like her, and that I probably had no idea of what was going on. Her husband had just called her and told her to turn on the news- that the World Trade Center had just been hit by an airplane.

Let me say that I was relatively young, very naive, non-political and a horribly ignorant Midwestern. I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was. I turned on the TV and was immediately enthralled in the tragedy. I had no idea what any of it meant, at that point, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it and wanted to learn.

My husband called shortly after my neighbor. He had been in a class for work and was given a 15 minute break and caught the news. I remember two things he said... 1.) The people in this class don't care, they don't get it! 2.) You know this means we're at war, right?

He was horribly disturbed by the fact that his class continued on after a short break- even with the knowledge of what had happened. This was still shortly after the first plane hit. There were still reporters justifying the acts as 'a possible accident'. I didn't know any better, they could have been right, for all I knew. But, my husband, the conspiracy theorist, knew- from that first moment. I dismissed him, at first, as I usually do. Then, I watched the second plane hit as I was living and breathing!

The news commentators slowly began unraveling the dark, ugly truth that we have all come to know today. I sat in front of the television for 48 hours straight- I may have dozed off for a couple hours here and there, but as the facts, personal stories, and gritty emotion poured out of, otherwise monotonous anchors, I couldn't pull myself away.

In my little part of the world, I was relatively unscathed, on a personal basis. However, one of my friends, a neighbor, had a brother that had a business meeting at the World Trade Center that morning. He had flown from Kansas City that morning and she had spoken to him after the first plane hit- all was well. He hadn't arrived at the designation, yet, but hung around and still planned to make his meeting, after all had been cleared.

After the second plane hit, she felt confident that he was out of harm's way. She still made efforts to call him on his cell phone to make sure. A stranger answered his cell phone which was lying on the streets of New York. Some members of her family spent the next week in New York hospitals in the 'search' for the missing and unidentified that we all so eerily remember being pasted up and down the city's scape. Sadly, within days, they learned that he had been hit on the street by a large piece of flying debris from the second plane's entrance and killed.

I remember our neighborhood having a candlelight vigil and my friend breaking down and falling to her knees. I remember all of us rushing to help her up and comfort her, as nearly impossible as that was. I remember the goose bumps, the tears, and the helplessness I felt were overwhelming. I remember the new found feeling of patriotism- the pride I felt with every flag that lined our streets. I remember the anger and the uncertainty of our future as Americans.

I cried a lot and hugged my kids more. This was my "JFK" moment. I would always know "where I was when...".

Life sucks so be nice

I'm not going to write about Obama. Not because the letter that my kids' school sent home didn't outrage me, but because I'm trying not to go there. Politics is a slippery slope. I am a liberal. Whose kids go to a strict Catholic school. I've been climbing that hill for a while.

I'm not going to write about the puffy allergy eyes that me and my girls have been waking up with. I can't breathe. My nose is running. It's uncomfortable.

I'm not going to write about the huge debt that my family is in and how I wonder if we will ever get out from under this rock. Or the fear that sets in my stomach every time I pay bills or, at least, go through them and decide which ones can wait.

If I harped on all the negativity going on in my life right now, I think it would sink me and it would win- I can't let that happen.

Then, I am reminded of a friend who lost her daughter. And another friend whose daughter fought cancer and will always wonder what looms in the future. And that my step-mom is putting her combative delusional father in a home while her sister is fighting late stages of breast cancer. I feel petty for worrying about my little problems.

I'm not a cutter. I don't have bulimia or anorexia. My parents divorced and I was completely NOT traumatized by it. I was not molested by an uncle. I've never done crack or cocaine, so, no, I'm not an addict. I've had about 23 drinks in the last 12 months and it's safe to say that 20 of those were at BlogHer. My father was an alcoholic, but has been in recovery for the last 20 years and he couldn't be a greater guy! I have been blessed with healthy kids.

When life gets tough, it's important to put things into perspective and sometimes a big cry helps.

We all have a story. We all have shit to deal with. Some shit is worse than others. But you know what, it's all just as hard. Because it's OUR LIFE and we are the ones dealing with it. Life is a struggle and there are constant tests.

We all have our own coping mechanisms. Some internalize and some are drama queens. Some gripe, some are riddled with sadness and some are in agony.

No one should negate each other's pains or struggles as inconsequential or how they choose to endure it. We should be compassionate to the human tribulations that cause discomfort.

Friday Fragments

Friday Fragments - beware - they are all over the place today... Join in with your own at Mrs. 4444's place.

***I like morning talk radio. It's nice to hear someone talk to me in the morning that's not complaining about Oatmeal Cream Pies or insisting she brushed her teeth when the stalactites (or is it stalagmites?) growing off of her teeth are a good sign that she didn't. Labor day weekend should not start on Friday- my verdict is still out on whether Labor Day should even BE a holiday! All my morning talk radio shows were playing music this morning because of the "holiday weekend"- I don't get it.

***So I don't listen to a lot of current music- lately in the car, it's E.T. on DVD, but this morning's coupe on my morning talk, I had to hear Brittney Spears Radar- which is awful, but I think she could change her image and do a PSA with it and change "On the radar" to "I'm a reader" and start her own literacy program.

*** I LOVE Jason Bateman... like considering the logistics of getting 'rid' of our spouses so we can be together the way nature intends like. Sure, just like everyone, I first crushed on him during his short appearances in Silver Spoons and Little House on the Prairie... and, of course, my love for him only increased throughout The Hogan Family and Arrested Development... BUT I knew I loved him during It's Your Move. I remember his snark making me hot and wanting to lick his freckles... He's out promoting his new movie Extract right now and, I have one question... do you know of another man that gets so much better with age?
***My daughter likes to eat cherry tomatoes- they give her a funky B.O. breath.

***My guilty pleasures this week, aside from donuts and ice cream( 'cause they have a special place in my heart EVERY week) are Jeff Lewis from Bravo's Flipping Out (I love him, too, and think I could actually get along with him) and Kathie Lee Gifford- I don't know what it is (yes, I do, I think she's real and I think she tries to make fun out of some hard situations as a defense mechanism and I really get that!) but I enjoy her. So much so- that I started following her son on Twitter.

*** At carpool drop off, there are student and teachers along the line helping open doors and they must be told to smile and wave as we drive by- I hate this. It's insincere and if I wave back I look like a doofus and if I don't, I look like a bitch- it's a no win situation.

***I enjoyed the show The L Word. My husband thought that this was a sign that I was a lesbian- he's deep like that. I also enjoy Intervention- he told me the other day that he was "worried about me" liking this show so much- implying that he's afraid I have a chemical addiction... that I've apparently been hiding from him... and have been able to function completely under the influence and keep his house, kids and underwear clean and keep up with our very busy schedule while he's been at work... and it's definitely not crack because my appetite has been too good for crack. Why does he think that shows I watch are reflections of my life? I don't MAKE the show- I just watch them! So I asked him: So I guess when you watch the Military Channel that's because you want to go into the military and go to war? And he says: YES! Ok, bad example, then.

***I can't wait until the kids from Glee sing Gold Digger.

***My husband screamed from the living room yesterday- "what is the dog chewing with blood on it?" The bathroom trash can. 7 days out of the month. That's all I'm giving you. Holy Hell- this is hands down more disgusting than him licking his own balls or even Dooce's husband licking her dog's open wound!

Decisions, Decisions

My youngest starts preschool this year. Next year, I will need to make a decision on Kindergarten. It's not as clear cut as you may think. Or maybe I complicate- yeah that's probably it, but we don't need to point fingers- whatever the reason... it's a hard decision... take a step inside my decision process...

First, you need to know that I have a freshman in high school at public school and a 3rd grader and 5th grader in a very strict Catholic school and I'm not a model Catholic.

If you must question my sanity (and why wouldn't you)... the back story goes a little like this... when my kids started school, we lived in a city with a scary unaccredited public school system and since I was a new mom and liked my kids enough to want them to return home alive, but not quite enough to home school them- Catholic school was the only option. Oh yeah, I'm Catholic, too. We loved that school. It was laid back and the way I remember my Catholic school. The people were like us. It was a community within a community.

Four years ago, when we moved to a community with good public schools, I was an idiot- a sheep who didn't think for herself and shoved my kids into the same school that my sister sent her kids to (said strict Catholic school) even though one of the reasons we left WAS to be in a good public school district and did I mention... I'm an idiot. So, after the first year, it was awful, I hated the school, the judgement of the people, the cliques that I didn't fit into, the smiles on all the mom's faces while I was rolling my eyes- just pissed me off. It's a fine school, academically, but it's not a great place for me, personally.

However, I realize it's not really about me - which is hard for me to admit, but I did and asked the kids what they thought. My 3rd grader is easy- she likes the school OK, but is open to a change if that's what we decide is the best way to go. I love her. My 5th grader was not as diplomatic. Meaning she broke glass with her squeal while flailing and I heard something like..."I know you are doing this to me because you hate me and you want me to clean my room and NEVER let me pick the restaurant and now you are destroying my life by making me change to a new school where the kids are all stupid- why did you even have me?" I love her, too, but she makes me tired and sweaty.

So... sending my son to public school was easy. He hated the school he was at, too, and we left the decision to him and... cha ching- saved $10,000 a year and started my love affair with the bus system!

So, we decided that the girls didn't need to make more transition and we would just keep things consistent for them- plus, I have like $1000 invested in school uniforms.

Next year will be the test.

If I stay with Catholic school, I will have to break the bank-again- and make the decision of half day Kindergarten vs full day- for an extra $1000! Public school is full day- FOR FREE!

It would just seem easier to make the switch next year and put them all at the mercy of tax dollars! I will then have a 6th grader, which in public, would put her at the "middle school", a sophomore at the high school, and Kindergartner and 4th grader at the elementary school. Simple enough, right?

The catch? And the reason I didn't take the plunge this year? Was not from all the broken glass caused by daughter's screaming... it was because the elementary school goes year round. YEAR ROUND! What kind of crap is that? They go 9 weeks and off for 3 weeks- ALL YEAR LONG- NO SUMMER- it's just un-American! Then I also have to deal with the regular schedules at the middle school and high school which differ from each other, but at least, have summers, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

The people that live around here swear by it and think it's great, but if it's so great- why don't they sync all the schools on the same system- they like parent's heads exploding? And can you imagine the what employers of these parents have to deal with?

So yeah, that's what I'm thinking about.

My random thoughts for the day

*** My son has started high school this year. Public school. It is our first experience with public school. I think I'm in love. First day- he comes home with a t-shirt given to the Freshmen, me: "ugh- who do I write a check out to for that?" No one! FREE! And, um, the bus. Oh. my. god. I don't have to wake up. I don't have to put on shoes. It picks him up directly in front of our house which probably contributes to the childhood obesity issue these days, but WOW- how easy! Why didn't someone tell me about this earlier?!

*** My husband used to bring hardback books into the "library" (the commode for his special time). It disturbed me because, well, it's gross, but more than that, if he had a whole book- he could be in there for like an hour, when really the "chore" at hand only needed a maximum of 18 minutes! Lately, I've noticed a new disturbing trend... finding DVD cases in the bathroom. Now, the bathroom is right off of our bedroom and only feet from the entertainment center in our room, so the first time or two, I gave the benefit of the doubt, that he was putting away a DVD and the urge, if you will, came upon him and he ran to the bathroom- with the case in hand. First Gladiator, next, The Firm, then... Rocky Balboa, I figured it was time to address it. He fessed up. Admitting he didn't have the time to get through a whole book- the synopsis on the back of the DVD made for good shittin' reading. However- these are OUR movies- in OUR DVD collection- that we ALL touch! EWWW! I have two suggestions- Reader's Digest or the back of his Preparation H tube!



***I have looked like a homeless person for the last 2 weeks. I swear, next week, I'm turning a new leaf- going to the gym, putting on clean clothes- that match- sort of, but I get the weekend to prepare myself. Monday is the day though! No excuses.



*** I think I should stop getting my bank statements online because the e-mail is labeled "XXXX Bank Alert" ("alert" is a bit of a strong word for my monthly statement, don't cha think?) It makes my heart drop out of my chest every single time I see it! It's reminiscent of when I use to get snail mail from the bank, but it wasn't a thick envelope so I knew it wasn't a statement- it was just a third of a sheet of paper stating that my account had insufficient funds. It's actually kind of funny that they only put that on a tiny piece of paper, but your statements include an 18 page outline. I guess once you bounce a check , you're not worth the investment of paper anymore.

I envy Oprah's eggs!

My mom has told me stories about when she was 37, she started going to the doctor complaining about random symptoms of nausea, faintness, irritability, and hot flashes (sound familiar?)

She'd insist to the doctors that she thought maybe she was starting an early stage of menopause, they'd shoot that okay, crazy lady glance her way, assure her that her eggs were still juicy, and shoo her away with some muscle relaxers.

Oh have times changed, right?

Yeah, sure.

Instead, my hush money was in the form of refills of Xanax and Lexapro. Valium is so 1980.

My recent bout with similar symptoms led me to the doctor for a battery of tests.

But I was really sick. I had the textbook case of thyroid disorder, Graves disease, and anemia. Urine specimen and blood work result were in.

Normal.

Note to self: you are officially banned from WebMd.

Now, to most, normal test results should have been accompanied by a sigh of relief.

Not me.

I feared being the crazy hypochondriac lady at the doctor. I feared not having closure on the symptoms I was having. I feared PERI-MENOPAUSE!

My mom's dreaded fate has been passed down to me. I can look forward to 10 years of unexplainable hot flashes and mood swings (although, I refuse to believe that the fact that I cried today when I couldn't find my RENT soundtrack, a mood swing- that's perfectly justifiable!)

Hormones to regulate these feeling are frowned upon because of breast cancer or something -thanks Oprah! 100 bucks- she would have never done that hormone therapy show if she felt like this!

Is there a doctor in the house???

I'm pretty sure I'm dying.

Web Md diagnosed me with Fibromyalgia, but that makes no sense- fucking quack!

I have been dizzy. Like pulling the car over to the side of the road and freak the crap out of the kids- dizzy! Like reminiscent of the time I fainted in the front row of the sixth grade choir and the boy behind me thought I just tripped and was "doing me a favor" by helping me forward so I fainted and went straight forward like that "trust" exercise" except no one caught me except the concrete floor and about 300 people gasping as they thought they watched me plunge to my premature death... KAPLAT flat on my face and bit straight through my bottom lip and still have the scar to prove it- dizzy.

I have been nauseous. Like constant fear, feel, and desire to vomit, but never getting the relief except from a measly little burp now and again. Unfortunately, shoving more food down my throat does give a false sense of comfort for about an hour- so I'm eating hourly which has been contributing to this fat suit I've been wearing lately.

I am hot. Not "fever" hot- but breaking out into cold sweats and feeling like I'm going to spontaneously combust hot. Like seeing how far a human can fit into the milk freezer at the grocery store hot (and don't think my kids weren't thoroughly entertained by that experiment!)

And, for your reading enjoyment, constipation is the newest symptom. Yeah!

Today is the 4th day of this hell.

It's highly unlikely that I'm pregnant although, I'm aware, it's text book case of early symptoms. I could get into details, but I won't- HIGHLY UNLIKELY.

The only thing that helps is laying still in a dark, quiet room and not moving, talking, or having ANY stress. And since 4 practices a night has been our routine- that's not been possible, thus my impending death.

We have a weekend full of activities and I'm sooo nervous about how I'll hang in- I wish I could get the shits and throw up profusely!

Since Web Md sucks- I need your diagnosis... and if you don't come through... my plan is to see a doctor on Monday.

BLOG- the new four letter word

Twelve years ago, I stopped working to have and take care of kids. That life was, and still is, greatly rewarding. I am the one who has seen all of their monumental firsts. I am so lucky to have had the pleasure to witness the wobbly steps, wipe the tears and kiss the boo boos- first hand.

Instead of gaining tenure and a nest egg, I've sacrificed a little bit of me to mold four little newborns into four little people that I am crazy proud of. My resume has instead gained colic, night frights, bedtime stories, and trips to the emergency room. And I am proud of that.

Admitting this life was a sacrifice was just being honest- never was it with the intent to negate the value of the role that I have held and the rewards that we reap from it.

The fact is, some people fall into this role seamlessly, like they nurtured their baby dolls from infancy. I, however, chucked my baby doll, as soon as I was old enough to open a lemonade stand.

My youngest child starts preschool next month. She will only be in a few hours a day, at this point, but I know what is on the horizon. I have always known this time would come. The day she would fly this cuckoo's nest and I'd have to fill my time ruffling feathers elsewhere.

For the last two years, I have been calculating my life, sorting out logistics and asking myself, "what do I want to do when I grow up?"- or rather- when they grow up? I've sent my share of resumes, filled out applications and stalked Craigslist- none of the "Earn $30,000 a month- and not even leave your home!" have panned out. I'm still needed here on a limited basis so I had to turn down all the overseas CEO positions that were offered to me.

16 months ago I discovered a way of journaling. An outlet for all the things I had to share. It seemed to fill the little free time I had and the creative releases that I needed. It offered the support from a community of people that understood. It fit into my schedule with my kids and I enjoyed it.

I share thoughts, feelings, and fears. Everything is derived from my experiences and my opinions. Take all or nothing that you want from it- I don't claim to be an expert of anything- just a slave to blatant honesty. I editorialize. I kid. I trivialize. I curse. I poke fun at myself.

I blog. ***GASP***

I am a mom who blogs. Not a 'mommy blogger', which has its own negative connotations and hype without any help from me. And, no- I am not a drunk.

'Blog' is the new four letter word. Fear of the unknown, the predators, the ignorance. Some may be threatened by it.

My mothering has come under attack and been criticized because of my blog. That's certain to only increase if others in real life find out about it. I have banished pictures of my kids from this site in an effort to prove to make this about my words. Note to perverts: you are not welcome here- I have enough problems and if you're jacking off to my words- you also have some problems to tend to. I have come under fire as being naive and clueless when it comes to the "reality of the Internet".

I stand firm that I am hurting no one and putting no one in danger with my rants.

In July, I went to a blogging conference and among 1500 bloggers, I did not spot one axe murderer in the bunch- and I was looking! Each person I met was just as they represent themselves on their respected sites (well, maybe a few photography tricks to disguise second chins- but bygones- I was sucking in my gut, too!)

There was no Chris Hanson. No squirrely, fat, middle-aged men carrying six packs of wine coolers and boxes of condoms meeting his cyber-girlfriend that he knows only as "14YROLDSXYGAL"!

Blogging has saved my sanity and my brain from turning to a ball of animated mush. I am saddened that it's shamed and not taken as a serious forum for writing. Not for myself, but for so many talents out here.

You always hear, "do something you love"... I am doing something I love- it's oddly rewarding (and not in any sense, financially), but I still love it. Yet, slightly disheartened that the perception of the "blog" holds me back from sharing it.

>

Exorcism for breakfast, anyone?

I am not a morning person- never have been- probably never will be- my mom still enjoys sleeping until noon- so technically, lazy runs in my family.

This fact made school morning rituals less than fun.

My grandma, on the other hand, was a morning person- a chipper, pull open the blinds to reveal the dreadful sunlight, singing hokey Zipadeedooda songs- kind of morning person. Lazy skipped a generation on her.

She was the one that would have the pleasure of waking me each morning for school. And by pleasure, I mean, abuse that by any other standards should have landed me in a juvenile detention center or, at least, a brisk slap across the face. But the woman, God rest her soul on a super duper puffy cloud of a pillow, was a Saint. She would keep a smile on her face and take my demon side in stride and prepare me a hot breakfast.

Which, in hindsight, makes me feel like even more of an asshat.

I'd scream. I'd curse. I'd call her names. I remember throwing a brush once.

In the afternoon, my grandma would pick me up from school and I would eat my words, apologize emphatically, and shower her with hugs for being such a dickhead.

Paybacks...

My 10 year old is not a morning person. Funny how that works, huh?

The second her foot hits the floor she screams. I don't know what this is about. This squeal, shrieking whine that wakes up the house with such glee- that's when we know... here it comes.

Sometimes it's her hair.

Sometimes it's a zipper.

Sometimes it's her sister.

Sometimes it's the cereal.

This morning... it was a granola bar.

They get out of school at noon today. So they will not get lunch, but they can have a snack, a "healthy and nutritious snack" per the student handbook. I offered her a bag of grapes or a granola bar. Holy fuck. You'd think I'd just given her Sophie's Choice!

The tears, the torment, the shrilling. Seriously? All this- over a granola bar?

I channeled my grandma and kept my cool. Deep breath.

She channeled Linda Blair and her head spun...

"I want chips!"

Deep breath. "No you can have grapes or granola bar," I said with as much reserve as my body contains.

"I hate you and your granola bars!"

I took the possessed little girl to school and as I said goodbye, the demon left her body as she kissed me goodbye and said sorry.

Who says you shouldn't start a sentence with "And"?

Today is the day that I pulled my head out of my ass and realized (ummm, because my sister told me) that two of my kids go back to school- ON MONDAY- GULP.

And we have Open House tomorrow.

And my son has football practice everyday after school for 4 hours (is it just me or is that excessive? That seems excessive.)

And we have soccer practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

And we have Volleyball practice on Wednesdays.

And flute practice on Thursdays and Fridays.

And in September, my youngest starts preschool (she's 4 and I suck because I decided to only send her to one year of preschool unlike my others that each went two years, at least. I enjoyed her company too much. And preschool is expensive.)

And that brings my grand total to 3 different school schedules, 4 kids, 5 activities, and my den floor full of school supplies that need to be separated and labeled.

And gone are the days when I can just say "find something to play with and shut up" (you know, hypothetically, if they were driving me nuts and my head felt like it was going to explode and I was out of Xanax- but totally hypothetical because a mother NEVER talks to her kids like that. Or runs out of Xanax.)

And then that means I have to start putting on clothes that are somewhat presentable (pants), shower on occasion, and wear shoes.

Freshman

Sweet innocent school boy.

Awake at the crack of dawn with excitement and anticipation.

I can still see his red uniform shirt tucked tightly into his starchy creased navy shorts with the backpack snuggly on his proud tall shoulders.

His toothless grin said it all.

I tied his fresh-out-of-the-box bright white tennis shoes in double knots. I walked him to the kindergarten door and kissed him goodbye.

My misty eyes said it all.

High school teenager.

Rolled out of bed late. Nervous with uncertainty and insecurities.

Crumpled baseball jersey and camouflage shorts to make certain he doesn't appear to have tried too hard.

"I can wait for the bus by myself, mom," he said with an eye roll.

"Good luck", I said, as I wistfully walked back to the house.

I peeked from the inside corner of the window as he waited for his first bus. I watched as he apprehensively walked down the aisle of the bus with all of the new faces sizing him up.

He caught me spying. He turned his head abruptly the other way to avoid making eye contact with me.

I miss tying his shoes, spit wiping the cereal from the the corner of his mouth, and combing his hair down with my fingers.

But mostly, I miss kissing him goodbye.

It's been an emotional day- go read some of my lighter side at my other home, Aiming Low, today.

Scrappy Doo

Murphy loved the cows...


And by "loved", I mean he truly wanted to take them out. The 9lb Shih Tzu/Bichon vs. the really really (can you tell I have no idea how to estimate his weight) heavy bull...

Murphy reminds me of Scrappy Doo, Scooby's nephew that is really brave and always putting up his dukes to take on the bad guys. I've told my family this analogy before and no one gets the reference. They clearly didn't watch as much Scooby Doo as I did, which really just makes me sad for them, but also pissed that they don't understand what I'm saying.

He didn't head the warnings...


and only got shocked by the electrical barbed wire fence a handful of times before we decided to put him on his leash- which drove my dad absolutely nuts because it's against the natural order of things and dogs should be able to wander on several hundred acres of land freely and be electrocuted and eaten as small snacks for Black Angus- or something like that.


We threw the leftovers into the cow crossing after meals and Murphy lived like a king and ate NOT ONE OUNCE of his dog food this week because he figured out a path into the cow corral without getting shocked...


And in case you were wondering.. that hot dog bun came up in his vomit yesterday- still all in one piece!

Survival

I survived the farm.

The peace.

The tranquility.
The huge spiders.


The modes of transportation.


Thanks to caffeine...

and S'mores.

Gone Fishing- seriously.

Starting tomorrow morning, I am going off the grid. As in no phone, no Internet, no McDonald's for a 40 mile radius, the aroma of cow shit and savage coyotes to eat your left over crappy casseroles overnight. I hate casseroles. I don't make the rules- I just follow them. I think casseroles are suggested in some farming handbook passed down in my family- to ensure that my kids eat NOTHING except peanut butter and jelly.

The family farm.

I usually enjoy it, though I complain about having lost my modern conveniences and my will to live while I'm there. It's my sunny disposition.

The nearest living population are the Mennonites about 50 miles away, but they're busy singing A Capella standards while making pies from scratch, so they certainly won't hear my cry for help, but I will buy a pie from them on the way to the farm.

So think of me while you are sitting in air-conditioning, catching up on Internet gossip (or porn- whatever your poison), and Twittering. I'll be looking at a bazillion stars- and while that's lovely and all- it gets old after the first 3 and 1/2 minutes. Luckily, the fridge is stocked with beer.

I will be taking boring pictures of gorgeous scenery and NOT pictures of my kids next to cow dung (like I did last year) because there has been a gag order put on pictures of my children on this blog. Note: some posts in my archives will seem like I was on major drugs because they no longer make sense without the photos- I was just too lazy to delete the whole post.

I will also have a new post at my mother ship- Aiming Low- please go visit and share some love with all the great writers there- including me!!!

The last one- promise!

The celebrities:

Happy Hour Sue and I with Queer Eye's Carson Kressley.

Me and the Michelin Man ( he was getting blown- must be why he seems so happy.) There was a blower ( I think it was a machine, but I can't be 100% sure- inflating or fluffing him- take that however you like). There was a definite humming.

Jen and Paula Deen shooting the shit. I love this picture because I imagine they are exchanging the secret to the flakiest pie crust this side of the Mason- Dixon and I'm pegging Jen as a BIG BAKER- you know, in the down time when she's not Twittering or cleaning up her newborn baby boy's puke out of her mouth!

The Swag:

Everyone wants to know about the swag. I was a swag whore, but not in the bad way. I didn't knock anyone down in the process and only took what was offered to me. I still have bruises up and down my arms for having to carry 5 extra bags on the train full of swag- I was the swag bag lady.

The angel in endearing lesbian form behind me on the train with the eagle tattoo on her arm helped me board the train- bless you- I don't care what the conservatives say, there's a special place in heaven for you.

At last count, some of the highlights were 18 flash drives, 22 tote bags, and one girly toy that is currently tied with my chocolate as "the swag that has provided the most pleasure."

The Fallout:

This blog is my document of my life. Any external components are how they affect me. I try not to bash.

My husband's anxiety is one such thing. My enabling throughout the years had worsened the situation and I made a decision to stop it- or try. Thus my trip to Chicago. It was hard for him- his security, his fear, the unknown. I reacted poorly to his poorly directed concern. Like a rebellious teenager screaming at her dad, yeah, I reacted poorly. But his way of showing his love came across less loving and more controlling. We agreed to disagree, kinda.

All the drama, I knew it would make or break us.

To complicate matters, while in Chicago, my husband indulged and read my blog in length and was not happy. Though I have been conscious to not slander and be entirely vague where he is concerned, he felt hurt and violated. Anything I wrote was not a secret to him and was 100% true, but reading it in an open forum was a shock for him and I felt awful.

The truth has often been my curse.

Sunday night, I was a caffeine jolt away from deleting this blog. I began this journey as a healing process and an outlet. I never wanted to hurt anyone with its content. Never.

I ramble. Many things I say in a sarcastic tone. Unfortunately, my writing may not be as descriptive and translatable as it seems in my head.

As hard as it has been to confront these issues with him, I think, I hope, I pray that it has assisted us in a more open line of communication and directed us toward some healing and awareness.

Obviously, I have not deleted this blog and don't plan to. It's too important to me. I will make an asserted effort to not include him in a negative light as long as he keeps his part of the deal and doesn't give me such rich blog fodder and buys me jewelry, flowers, chocolate, what? I'm easy.

The Details- Part 1

Roommates:
Heather greeted my sorry ass at the train station. She saved me from a blind man in a wheelchair that befriended me and told me he was going to surprise his nephew in Albuquerque that didn't know he was coming and had never even met before and made me rummage through his grocery bag luggage to pull out a map so he could show me his stalking route- that wasn't weird- at all!

She then helped me drag my broken wheeled suitcase to the bus stop through construction and had the patience of a saint during my cursing of all things living.

I will forever get misty- eyed when I hear the hum of a breast pump and not be able to look over and see Brittany draining her engorged bazookas with her computer on her lap- bitch can multi-task like no one's business. Sniff.

The room was trashed and not once did I try to clean it up. I'm pretty sure even the Hispanic cleaning staff never set foot in the room for fear of stepping on a dirty needle or catching airborne Hepatitis. The coffee and booze that I set on the table throughout the weekend stayed there the whole time. They were an intelligently safe cleaning team.

The best, messiest, and least modest roommates (Anissa) were understanding as fuck with the 7AM wake up calls from my husband that lead to my number of breakdowns. They totally saved the mocking for behind my back and those- are good friends!



Anissa, Me and Brittany (Heather left early- leaving me with a bed all to myself- yay, but of course, I missed her!)


The People:

The first people I met as I was walking into the lobby were these ladies and HOLY SHIT (of the cool as fuck Canadian Brigade) what kind of way to start off my weekend, right? I'm certain they were clueless who I was and have no recollection of meeting me, but, in my mind, we're totally acquaintances.

I met a lot of people. I remember every single one of them because I'm a dork like that-I have a dissociative mind of a steel trap. I won't list them all because the glamour of restraining orders are wading in my mind and they're a pain in the ass. I seriously enjoyed each and every person I met. I will, however, share the ones that I have pictures of... because blackmail is fun.

There should be a law of equity against someone being so god damn beautiful, leggy, and sincerely a nice person- there has to be a balance in the world- and she is proof that life ain't fair. Lisa's energy and charisma could be bottled up and it would outsell heroine easily! (Yeah, I don't look the least bit uncomfortable being in the same picture as her, do I? Self conscious much? At least she crouched down to my level- she's like 3 feet taller than me- she's a giver that way- just another aspect of her perfection- bitch! I mean that in the most loving way, dear!)
The Parties:

Friday night, we attended The People's Party. It was wrought with anxiety and perspiration in there. I'm pretty sure the room contained 200 people over the Fire Marshall's guidelines.

Jill, Brittany, and Me- couldn't push our asses and knock over more bloggers with our swag bags towards the bar fast enough!

When that party started clearing out- the people that knew the schedule and had their shit together went to the Room 704 party-that I totally forgot about. Besides missing out on the candy bar that makes the best sex you've ever had seem rather mediocre in that swag bag (thanks to my roommates for sharing!)- it was all good.
Because with the room winding down, Jenny, The Bloggess, came out of the bathroom! And we totally groped.
Then we (and by we, I totally mean Lisa) asked Nina from Imagination Movers if she would be willing to sign Jenny's boobs and she was all, "well..." and then her publicist jumped in and was all, " um... Hellz to the no," but politely and professional and blushing. You'd have thought she asked to do a blow job to one of her puppets! When Lisa discovered she was on a children's show with puppets- she was mortified- bless her Christian do-gooder heart. But the look on the publicist's face will live with me in hilarious infamy for the rest of my days!

As if that weren't entertaining enough... Jenny says, "that's Nancy"... then I say, "oh my fucking Christ"... (Nancy W. Kappes, paralegal) we compared and contrast medication bottles and hers put mine to shame with all the fun colors and shapes. She shared her vodka disguised as a water bottle with us since the bar had stopped serving.

You can see the combination of fear and excitement in my eyes- the fear was from that gang sign she was doing with her hand!

The Sessions:

On Saturday morning, there was a "speed dating" exercise where you introduce yourself randomly to someone and then move on after about 60 seconds. The first 10 people I met were travel bloggers, photography bloggers, Christian bloggers, and techies- I shit you not. If you have ever read me- you can imagine my eyes glazing over and the panic that began to set in. Then the next few people that I gave a card to- recognized me- they read me- they had been in my crazy mind and, although, that should have totally freaked me out- I was moons over my hammy about it! They reignited my flame- thank you so much!

On Saturday afternoon, HappyHour Sue graced us with her presence and reaffirmed that the friendships made on the interwebz can become lifelong ones! I love her and I'd share my last Xanax with her, if it came to it!

Credit for most of these pictures goes to Lisa- yet another thing she's good at.